Modern au Acesan where Sanji is obviously in Luffy's friend group so the time he mentions wanting to get a tattoo Luffy immediately takes him to his cool asf tattooer older brother (Ace) so now Sanji has to worry not only for the tattoo that will likely hurt, but also about his friend's brother who is hot as fuck and keeps looking at him in a way that makes Sanji's stomach flip. The feeling only intensifies once Ace starts actually tattooing him, because his chill and layed back flirtatious demeanor gives place to seriousness, after all, tattooing someone's body calls for a lot of attention and focus. Anytime they need to pause tho he returns to his flirting.
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You confront Zanka about him leaving you in bed extremely early, not knowing that he's been going through it. Figuratively and literally.
tags: porn with a little plot , dry humping , riding , subby Zanka , praise kink if you squint , making out , unprotected sex , fem reader
wc: 5.5k (I got EXTREMELY carried away 😭)
all characters are aged up
Zanka has been in a real predicament these days.
He has some ideas on when it started happening, he swears to his life that the reason behind Zanka's pain is the continuous nights of you sleeping in his room.
Not that he minds though, Zanka absolutely loves it whenever you sleep over his sometimes, cuddling to sleep with you is one of his favourite additional parts of his meticulous night routine (even if he won't say it outloud).
But the thing is, Zanka has... Zanka's been getting morning wood every time you decide to sleep over. Waking up in cold sweat very early in the morning just to see his raging erection over the blanket. And that happens like what? four times a week? That's a bit concerning, no? Well, it's also insanely embarrassing, Zanka would have to fight the urge to bury himself six feet underground at the thought of getting caught by his lover, jerking off in the bathroom first thing in the morning like the pervert he thinks he is.
Naturally, Zanka obviously can't control it. But he swears that if he can, a hundred percent he would've done it already. He feels really bad about it too.
It gets even worse when one quiet night, you tell him the cause of your frequent sleepovers.
"Zanka?"
"Mhm... Yeah?" he hummed beneath you, shifting slightly to raise his head that was buried onto your neck. You stared at his deep blue irises for a bit, his cheek now squished on your plane of your shoulder while his eyes were as wide as ever, looking up at you.
You sigh out, Fingers fiddling with his tassel earrings. "The thing is.. I can't really sleep well in my room these days, but when I sleep over here with you, I'm able to sleep peacefully. I think it's because my body feels at ease in your presence"
After a moment of silence, Zanka blinks. He didn't reply or say anything but before you fill the awkwardness, he suddenly lifts your torso up with his arms that were tangled up on your waist.
Now sitting on his bed, you get a good look at Zanka's state. His features are now illuminated by the moonlight that seeped through his blinds. Zanka was undoubtedly flushed from his neck to his ears, his funky eyebrows now scrunched with his lips in a small pout.
"If that's the case, then... Then ya can sleep in my room whenever ya want. Well— if it'll make ya feel better, I ain't gotta problem with it" Zanka murmured, his eyes shifting to yours and down his fingers fidgeting with your own. Still, the bashfulness remains in his face, Zanka would be lying to himself if he said that his heart's not beating a million times per minute because of your words right now.
In the midst of you, and Zanka's sweet little moment, one heavy line you dropped felt like a vinyl scratch. A sad frown was evident on your face, Zanka felt his heart drop to his ass.
"Then why do you leave me in bed so early?"
"I—"
"Is there some important activity you can't tell that you'd sneak out on me? In the crack of dawn?"
Zanka has never been this paler. His adams apple bobbed as his brain scrambled to decide on which words are right and which would lead to your relationship's demise. It's also ten times more difficult when an annoyed expression is apparent on his girlfriend's face.
He huffed out, a palm covering half of his face in shame, "Promise me ya won't laugh"
You raised an eyebrow at him, but decided to hear your distressed boyfriend out. "Sure. Go on"
Zanka exhaled dramatically, "I... I've.." he sighs for the nth time. "for some reason, every time we sleep together, I always wake up with a damn boner" oh God he actually said it. You're probably gonna think he's weird and perverted, a creep who can't keep his dick in his pants—
Soft giggles interrupted Zanka's train of thought. He can't believe it, he takes a peek from the gaps of his fingers. Your head lowers down, a hand muffling your mouth as a horrible attempt to save Zanka's pride.
Zanka could only fall back into the sheets in distraught. Both hands are now covering his face, your laughs still ringing in his flushed ears certainly did not help.
After a few more cackles on his demise, you crawl up at Zanka's body. Now leaning onto him with arms supporting you up, "Zan-zan? look baby, I'm sorry for laughing" you softly murmur, trying to lure Zanka out. The only response you got is his fingers twitching, but you've never met anyone as stubborn as your boyfriend. He refused to give in, the hands are still glued to his face. "Say something? Please?" this time, you purred on his ear, fully laying on top of him.
That seemed to do the trick
You knew he'd fold easily with a teensy bit of pressure. But the brat avoided eye contact, his head now in the opposite direction of your face. A little more push would surely bring him back.
Bringing a hand to grab his chin, he complied with no resistance, blue orbs now staring back at you. Faces centimeters away, Zanka's stuttering warm breath fans over your lips.
A smile formed on your face, "you're so cute"
You closed the gap between your lips, gently connecting them. It never fails to amuse you at the perfect fit of your lips with his, always feels like both of you were made for each other. The soft yet sensual pace made Zanka's head swirl, accidentally slipping out a moan on your lips in which you greedily swallow down. He feels like exploding.
Your fingers ghost over his wrists, feeling his pulse under your thumb made you grin a little. Having your usually cocky boyfriend under you like this felt euphoric. Obviously, you're continuing this til he breaks.
"Darlin'—" You barely give Zanka any time to talk nor breathe as your lips crashes back on him. Tilting your head to get a deeper angle, tongue sliding against his, Zanka was now only mindlessly obeying your ministrations, the warmth of your mouth is slowly melting him from the inside, the way your tongue swirls with his tenderly is making him weak in the knees, no doubt that you can feel his throbbing and already leaking cock twitching beneath you.
With that being said, your hips rolled down at the tent of his pants, Zanka choked on his moans, literally. The almost violent coughs prompted you to quickly break the kiss, finally giving the poor guy some air.
"Hey— oh my goodness, Zanka breathe!"
A hand surged panicked taps on his chest as if it'll do something to his choking. But with a shaky exhale, his breathing returned to normal.
You laughed dryly at his state, "You're such an idiot, Zan-Zan"
"am not!" he coughed out
It's not everyday that you're blessed with this sight of Zanka, laying beneath you, a soft shade of pink painting his cheeks, lips now chaffed, damp and shiny from spit. He looks so cute like this, so pliant.
Your hips started moving once more, "You know, you honestly could've just woken me up if your dick's bothering you every morning"
Zanka's eyebrows pinched together, mewling slightly as he tried to match the slow grinding.
"C-can't, ya always looked so peaceful sleeping. I can't get myself to— Mngh—! Can't get myself to wake ya up jus' 'cause I'm horny" Zanka clawed the sheets when you started to quicken your hips, his moans are getting louder, getting needier.
Low sighs have also been escaping your parted lips, the delicious friction was starting to get to you. "Yeah? How sweet of you. Good boys deserve to be rewarded right?" you coo at him. The slut nodded eagerly, tears now forming on his eyes.
"Yes! Please I've been s'good to ya!" he croaked out, voice now strained from his continuous wailing.
You put a halt to your movements, giving Zanka one final kiss to the cheek to cut his complaints off before scrambling your hand down to free his aching cock.
With his tip already leaking like a faucet combined with your slick, sliding down on him was a smooth task. You place your hands on Zanka's chest for leverage, he has his own on your thighs, unintentionally gripping them. A tiny whine left your lips, having him in this position is making you lightheaded
"So deep.." you muster before rolling your hips, picking up a steady pace, the sound of skin slapping was almost deaf to your ears due to your needy moans and Zanka's whimpering. The curve of his pulsing cock was hitting the sweet spots inside you, your eyes rolled back.
"Mngh! I-I wont last— fuck, please— keep goin'!"
You whine out Zanka's name, your bouncing getting sloppier, focusing more on chasing your release. "Z-zan, haah— feels so good, so good for me baby" your voice weak from your consistent noises, but still, your praises drove Zanka to the edge.
His hands travel to your waist to help your already aching thighs, his hips pistoning up to meet yours. Your cunt squeezed around him tightly, earning a hiss from Zanka and an urge to thrust up his lower body faster. "Ngh—! just like that, keep going baby!" You can feel your orgasam tumbling closer, feeling it build up as you meet Zanka's thrusts. His hands are definitely leaving marks.
You can also feel Zanka's nearing his peak, the steady rhythm of his thrusts stutter and get more desperate. He also somehow got louder, moans turning into shouts. Zanka cries out, "I— I can't anymore, please— fuck , 'm gonna cum!"
You throw your head back with a gasp as your orgasm crashes down, your slick gushing down on Zanka's pelvis. It's not long before Zanka's twitching cock spurts out his warm spent, back arching as he flooded your insides. After a few more pumps of his load, you collapsed in his chest, Zanka grunts but wrapped you up with his arms.
Heavy breathing filled the room, not a word spoken. The two of you silently bask in the aftermath, he's still inside you and you didn't mind one bit. All you need right now is Zanka's warmth, he seems to be thinking the same.
It's safe to say that Zanka had a good night's sleep and did not wake up once before his alarm. Thanks to his girlfriend, obviously.
I'm sorry if there are any mistakes, I was half asleep writing the ending 😭
Me: OH BOY! im so motivated today to finish all my school projects and homework, let's see what Classroom has for today!
*Open classroom and seeks my artist's book project*
The professor: *comments every single paragraph with suspicion of it being written with Chat GPT*
Oh. Okay
Quick reminder. I'm an 8th semester College Arts student with over average grades in all the courses referred to interpretation, redaction and philosophy, and the only student on my generation graduating via thesis.
I KNOW TO READ AND REDACT, IM NOT USING CHAT GPT FOR SHIT
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Guess who's idiot decided to erase all his sociall media accounts. I hate social media honestly, I'm just leaving Tumblr and Pinterest BC are the ones that don't overstimulated me
summary. you're cute! plus, it's his birthday so even if he gets caught sneaking around your bedroom at night, technically he can get away with it, right?
notes. i said i actually didn't have anything but then its like tamsy caines slammed a hammer directly into my skull and forced me to write this. very strange. also hi @absentrelic was gonna write birthday sez but he doesnt deserve it. u can tune into four eyed for that. wink wink.
warnings. stalking, tamsy caines being tamsy caines, probably ooc.
Tamsy likes to watch you sleep. It’s just a thing he does.
The best part is that you have no idea.
You do complain that your door lock is busted and it slips open as you sleep—a huge invasion of your privacy. None of the Cleaners notice your door is slightly ajar as they don’t fix it if any of them are to walk by.
Nope. Tamsy picks the lock. Every night. Without fail. And he stands at your door and watches you.
Some nights it’s quiet. He drapes over your bed and stares. He doesn’t think too much. He watches as you shift and occasionally hum, stuck in some fantastical dream that doesn’t involve him. Other nights he twirls a small blade within his fingers, and then he thinks.
He’s not usually so hesitant with frivolities. It’s a quick in and out of the blade pressed right into the sweet spot. Silent, barely any discomfort, kind of romantic if you think about it. The idea of your white sheets slowly dampening to a deep red as you gasp in pain.
You would reach out to him instinctively, and wondrously his name would be your dying words.
See?
Romantic.
Not many people think that way, though. And well… it’s hard to just stab a Cleaner and get away with it.
Also there’s another problem he can’t quite manage.
He likes you. Not in the way he likes the others—and that’s not much. He can stomach Delmon for perhaps an hour (and maybe two in a good day) but that soon comes to a close when the man starts hollering in Tamsy’s already ringing ears. He thinks he’ll go deaf within the next two years.
But you’re more pleasant to stick around. It’s possibly because you don’t talk too much. Maybe you’re shy, maybe you just have nothing to say, but he appreciates it. Tamsy has sidled up next to you many times, purposefully shattering your very apparent boundaries to drape over you like a woolen scarf.
You never raise your discomfort with him.
Now he behaves like a weighted blanket. He finds comfort in your presence. Very few times (and admittedly, it’s embarrassing) has he fallen asleep on your shoulder. It’s usually in the quiet of your room after you’d begun to invite him inside to continue a quiet conversation.
So, all that lost time of him being asleep on your bed this evening is made up by him just… staring. It’s fun. It’s better than staring at the ceiling.
You shift to face the wall.
It’s harder now, because your shirt has ridden halfway up your back, and he gets a sickening taste of your spine. He once suggested piercings to which you hesitantly turned down. Ouch.
But your skin framed by silver would look beautiful in the dark. He can imagine it. He could hold you down, pull your tongue and slit a hole through it with a needle. You would cry and it would hurt, but it would be worth it.
He’d like to feel it on him, too.
Tamsy reaches over and presses a single pad of his finger to the middle of your spine. You don’t stir.
This happens. He touches, you don’t react. Same old, same old. He breathes down your neck and you don’t stir. It’s strange. He finds he’d wake up the minute he heard his door creak.
You hum and sigh.
Your skin is soft. Mostly unmarred, too. You’ve got a scar that runs along your back from who knows what. Probably an accident when you were younger. He risked once pressing his tongue to the corner of where it begins. One day he’ll slide his tongue along it, maybe when you’re awake, maybe when you allow it.
Maybe you’ll let him slice new scars across your body. And lick your wounds.
You’re nice enough. You rarely reject things, even if you’re not interested. When you were a new recruit and Enjin tried veering his head too close you only smiled awkwardly until he eventually got the hint. No “I’m not interested” or even a half-baked “I’m seeing someone” to get him to go away.
Tamsy tried once. You were clearly on your way to meet someone for a date so you’d dressed up. Not dramatically. Just a bit more colour, and nicer shoes. He said you looked nice, like a gift. As strange as it was given you were on your way to meet someone for dinner, you’d hesitantly leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
Tamsy did two things after that occurrence. First he’d sauntered back to his room and stared at his reflection blankly for an hour with a dried gloss stain on his face. He elected not to wash his face after a headache-inducing debate. Then, he’d followed you, and the person you were seeing mysteriously never responded to your attempts to reach out after that.
He can tell something is wrong.
It’s sudden, actually, the way the air shifts, like it flexes and bends at random intervals. Tamsy stands quickly and backs away. He’s practised this before: how to leave without a trace. He grabs the blade tight and steps through the door, purposefully leaving it ajar.
He doesn’t exactly move though. He stands outside and waits.
He hears you stir until you sit up. The bed creaks. You switch your lamp on. Like always, you stumble to the bathroom. It’s muffled through the door. You’re quick as you try not to lose the drowsiness.
The problem is when you exit the bathroom you don’t immediately go back to bed as you normally do.
He stands there completely befuddled as he listens through your door. You move around. It sounds like you’re pacing. The lamp remains on. He hears your feet shuffle over the tiles. This isn’t your usual routine.
Tamsy’s eyes dart around the door.
He expects you to close it.
Maybe you don’t notice it.
Maybe he should run and hold it closed with string. You’ll probably just think it’s jammed. You’ll eventually give up too.
Instead, he plays his cards. He’s bored. He’s still awake. He loves to bother you. He peers cautiously through the gap in the door.
Thankfully, you’re facing away. You’re fiddling with something on the nightstand. It looks like a tube of lip balm that you continuously open and close. Free of blood stains, free of scratches and bites and drool that he leaves. Maybe you had a nightmare. Poor thing.
He grins.
And then, he pushes the door open. It’s slow. It creaks.
You look up in alarm, suddenly wide awake. The knife slips up his sleeve. It points inwards towards his wrist.
“You’re still awake,” he comments idly, like he hadn’t realised. Like he hasn’t been standing next to you for an hour now twirling your hair around his finger.
You huff, “you scared me.”
“Sorry.” He’s not.
You adjust your position on your bed, trying to console your racing heart.
He knocks quietly on the side. “Your door was open. I saw the light was on.” He looks sheepish, almost nervous. You think he feels bad for intruding. He doesn’t.
“Yeah…” You’re still recovering. “I think I had a weird dream.”
Tamsy hums.
“Like…” You glance up at him from the floor. “Someone was watching me.”
“Sounds awful.” He leans against your doorframe. He looks exhausted, but it’s strange, like he hasn’t slept a wink. It must be early in the morning. You don’t know the time. It’s still dark out.
You swallow nervously. “You couldn’t sleep either?”
Right. He needs some sort of explanation. “I was going to get cake.” Then, he brandishes the small knife from his sleeve and holds it out.
“You… just walking around with that?”
He hums, amused. “I keep it in my room.” He tilts his head. “You don’t keep cutlery in yours?”
You shrug. “Not really.” You watch the knife closely. “What’s the occasion?”
Tamsy raises an eyebrow.
“The cake.” You sniff once. “Felt like it?”
He shakes his head easily. “Birthday.”
You sit up. “Birthday?”
He nods.
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
“Yours?”
“Yes.”
“Really?” Your eyebrows furrow together.
Tamsy nods again.
“Oh…” You clear your throat. “Happy… birthday.” You glance quickly to the left. “I don’t have anything.”
He grins. “I didn’t expect you to.”
Your brows furrow. “But that sucks. Not getting gifts.”
“Don’t need them,” he reassures. He’ll throw out anything you give him anyway. “Would you like some?”
“Hm?”
“Cake.”
“Oh…”
Sometimes he’s thankful his strings do more than just tie things together. In the other room, the ropes have wrapped deftly beneath a box he bought the other day for the occasion. Just in case you wanted to share.
And eat off the same fork.
Yuck. He pulls his head out of the doorway, both to visibly gag and to retrieve the box that slowly pulls down the hallway.
“It’s chocolate,” he says.
You croak sleepily. You pull your legs up on the bed. That’s a good sign. That means you’re comfortable. Even when he’s holding the knife right out in front of you. Your eyes flit to it every now and again; he’s disappointed. He wants you completely relaxed.
For now, you look docile. That’s good enough.
Tamsy doesn’t grant you the opportunity to respond. Instead, he lets himself in slowly and kicks your door shut behind him. His hair looks yellow in the golden light of your lamp. It’s a nice antique. The shade is made of a red glass and the stem is golden. It bathes the room in orange and pink.
You look warm.
He sits down next to you on your bed.
And then he pulls a fork from his sleeve.
You snort. “Do you have a spoon as well?”
“No.” He sounds dejected. “I also don’t have any plates. Those didn’t fit under my sleeves.”
“You tried?” you ask.
“Of course.” He opens the box carefully. It’s a simple white cardboard with a plastic top to showcase the display. It’s nothing fancy; it’s a mud cake of sorts with slices of strawberries and cream frosting around the edges. He takes the knife—that unbeknownst to you was grazing over spine only moments ago—and slices through a decent portion of chocolate. He pulls it slightly away from the cake.
You expect him to give you a piece.
You don’t expect him to swipe a corner from the slice and hold it up to you.
You stare at it for a moment. Tamsy only stares at you. He blinks like a frog, expectant, patient, passive.
“Shouldn’t you have the first bite of your own cake?” you ask cautiously. Still, you slowly lean forward.
So, he spins the fork and pops the cake in his mouth. His eyes crinkle as he grins. You purse your lips together before you take the fork from him and slice off another portion.
You hold it up to him. You’re also embarrassingly giggling like an idiot. He thinks it’s pathetic, but his smile says differently. It doesn’t help as time progresses and he keeps accepting every bite he inches closer and closer. It’s a test, he tells himself, of your boundaries. How close can he get before you start cowering?
It seems he’s underestimated you.
Not only is he now practically straddling your lap, but every so often he giggles. Like a girl. It’s humiliating. It’s corny. It sucks. It’s genuinely revolting. This is like textbook romance. This is the stuff teenage girls read in their off time and kick their feet.
He’s kicking his feet.
Not only that but after two bites you left the room and returned with a bottle of champagne. He hates the stuff; it burns his tongue and it tastes like shit. But, he drinks from the rim because your lips have touched it. And he gets buzzed. And so do you.
“You need to have more,” you insist lazily. Half the cake has vanished. “‘Cause it’s your birthday.”
Tamsy hums stupidly, “I feel sick.”
“Same.” You end up laughing. “Are you staying?”
He turns his head to look at you. He stares blankly, maybe comprehending what you’re saying. His brain sloshes for words. His nose is buried in your blankets.
“I think you should,” you try lightly. “I’m a bit tipsy.”
“Me too.” He’s dizzy. There’s faded black spots swimming in his vision.
Your nose presses to the side of his face. “‘T’s okay.” You kiss the fat of his cheek lightly. “Thanks for coming.”
He’s too drunk to even acknowledge anything. “Mhm.”
“Happy birthday,” you slur to him.
He’s almost asleep. Maybe he feels safe around you. Maybe he’s faking it so he can pull the knife out of the chocolate and ram it through your sternum. Maybe he can grab your heart while it’s still beating.
That sounds lovely.
For now, he sleeps soundly as he usually does. He thinks he sleeps better in your arms. You don't; mostly because you have a mouthful of his hair in the morning to deal with. Still, you suppose the warmth is nice.
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Zanka hates, hates you! How can you steal his clothes and his heart and still look so adorable, huh!?
fluff, gn!reader, no use of she, he or they, reader steals zanka's clothes, very fluffy in my opinion || Thank you for the request dear<33
it starts because you’re cold, in the middle of the night.
that’s what you tell yourself the first time you tug one of zanka’s t-shirts over your head. it smells like metal and faint detergent—like him, basically—it’s huge on you, the collar slips off one shoulder, the sleeves swallow your hands whole and you fall asleep like that.
zanka notices the next morning immediately.
he’s standing there in his room, staring at his open drawer. then he slowly turns his head toward you, curled up on his bed, drowning in fabric that very clearly belongs to him.
“…oi.”
you pretend to be asleep.
he walks over, grabs the hem of the shirt, and lifts it slightly. it nearly drags you with it because it’s so big.
“…that’s mine.”
you crack one eye open. “it’s comfy.”
he clicks his tongue but his ears are faintly red, he doesn’t tug it off you, he just stands there awkwardly, arms crossed, trying very hard not to look pleased.
after that, it becomes a habit.
he’ll wash his clothes, fold them neatly, and somehow one or two shirts will disappear before nightfall.
sometimes he catches you in the act—sneaking into his room like you’re on a mission, grabbing the biggest one you can find.
“you’re like some weird little raccoon,” he mutters.
“your raccoon,” you reply casually, already halfway out the door.
he nearly chokes.
one night he walks in to find you already in his bed.
you’ve bundled yourself up in three of his shirts layered over each other like you’re building some kind of nest. you’re curled up on his pillow, face half-hidden in the collar of one.
he just stands there.
“…you’re unbelievable.”
you blink up at him. “it smells like you.”
he goes completely still.
then his face goes red, not light pink, red.
“don’t say stuff like that so casually!”
you pat the empty space beside you. “are you going to complain or are you going to get in?”
he glares, he huffs, he absolutely gets in.
the second he lies down, you scoot closer and wrap your arms around him, sleeves hanging off your hands.
“you’re wearing half my wardrobe,” he grumbles.
“mmh...it’s soft.”
“it’s just cotton.”
“it’s zanka cotton.”
he makes a strangled noise.
the real turning point is the night he decides to “teach you a lesson.”
you’ve stolen his favorite shirt this time—the one he actually looks for.
he finds you walking down the hallway in it, the hem nearly to your knees.
“that one,” he says flatly.
you freeze. “what about it?”
“mine.”
you grin and start walking faster.
bad idea.
he lunges.
you barely make it three steps before he tackles you onto the couch. it’s not rough—just sudden and heavy and very zanka. his arms cage you in instantly.
“thief,” he accuses, breath warm against your cheek.
you squirm, laughing. “you can’t prove that.”
he grabs the collar of the shirt and tugs lightly. “i literally can.”
you look up at him—hair falling in his face, eyes sharp but flustered, ears already pink.
instead of arguing, you reach up and start kissing his face.
one on his cheek, another on the other side, his jaw, the tip of his nose.
“w-what are you doing?!” he sputters, trying to pull back but not actually moving away.
“calming you down,” you say sweetly, kissing his forehead.
he freezes when you cup his face with your oversized sleeves.
his blush spreads all the way to his neck.
“stop—” he mutters weakly.
you kiss his temple.
“…claiming you.”
he short-circuits. actually short-circuits.
his brain just shuts off.
“…y-you can’t just say that like it’s—”
you give him one final exaggerated kiss on the cheek.
“mine.”
he goes completely red.
for a second he just stares at you, stunned—then he drops his face into your shoulder to hide it.
“…you’re impossible,” he mumbles.
but his arms tighten around you.
he doesn’t try to take the shirt back.
he never does, actually.
in fact, after that, you start noticing something.
his shirts begin appearing on your side of the room without you stealing them.
sometimes folded.
sometimes just tossed there casually.
he pretends not to notice when you wear them.
but if anyone else comments?
“yeah,” he says quickly, arms crossing. “it’s mine. got a problem?”
and when you curl up next to him at night, swimming in fabric that’s way too big, he’ll grumble about it—but he’ll always pull you closer.
to make sure you steal his warmth too.
I'M BACK GUYSSS.LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!
Don't steal,copy,edit or use my works in any form without my permission.
Absolutely-fucking-kinda...? Guys im so weak to pretty dudes with a stricking features im so dumb if this man was trying to hurt me I'll probably never notice what the heck is happening
Slow, calm breaths are all that can be heard in the room.
The faint smell of vanilla and incense fill the space in a pleasant way.
A bruised and tired Zanka lay on your chest, arms wrapped around your middle. He was too tired for conversation, opting for going straight to the showers, then, your room. He had come home from a long day of training, fighting, and cleaner duties. All he wanted was you and your comfort.
So there he lay with the love of his life after a long day, calmly, knowing he’s safe with you.
You lean your head down to kiss the crown of his head, hair was soft on your face as you gently kissed him.
He groans at the feeling of you running your nails along his back, the sensation soothing to his exhausted body.
He looks up at you with a softness in his navy eyes that you and only you would ever get to see. You move a hand from his back to run through the soft hair of his head.
“You’re so handsome like this my love,” you spoke barely above a whisper as to not disturb the peace in the room. He was too tired to act like he wasn’t affected by your comment, a smile creeping up on his face and a pink tint that comes with it.
After a while of him enjoying your comforting arms his eyes closed as he drifted off into a sleep, you not far behind him.
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tamsy jealousy smut…. but consider… toxic tamsy jealousy smut….. (as if he’s not already a red flag)
no because youre so fucking smart, yes pleaseee. maybe i'll incorporate this idea into my yandere series.
{ 𝕮𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘 𝕿𝖆𝖒𝖘𝖞 } - toxic jealousy
No because with the way Enjin eyes raked down your body, you thought Tamsy was going to siphon all his energy and knock the poor bastard out. But he just simply plastered a smile on his face, his eyes threatening to glow that golden you discerned so much.
“Huh, am I not good enough for you?” Tamsy bitterly spat later on in the comfort of his room. “Think Enjin can fuck you better than me? Is that it?”
He had you face down on the mattress, pillow thrown against the wall as he needed to clasp his big hand around the base of your skull to drill into you. “Fuckkkk me, you feel so good.” He’d whine ever so often, but not high enough for you to hear it– the sadistic manner he had you folded was enough to get you going.
“Oh, c’mon, tell me you love me.” Tamsy teased, the octave in his voice flittering about as he drawled it out for you to savor. You’ve never seen the man so jealous, enough to just slip aside his bulky clothing and ram into you with a desperate tongue to yours. He had clawed off your shorts in record timing as he moaned into your mouth. “C’mon, please– I need you to tell me you love me.”
“Fuck..Tam– love you so much..” You had pleaded before succumbing to the toxicity that was Tamsy Caines.
And God, Tamsy fucked you so good when he was grasping for straws– absolutely out of his goddamn mind that he would think you and Enjin were fucking on the downlow. The way that his hair came loose in his oversized bun as he crazed over you, his eyes widening as you shook your head at him but this was merely an illusion– he was so fucking out of it all you had to do was whine for it and he’d snap back into place.
“Tamsy– please..faster.” Widening your legs, you begged for him to take you; the arousal that covered your thighs from both you and the precum that slicked with every thrust from his dick.
“Does it look like I’m fucking sorry?” He hounded, doubling down on his efforts to get you to wring his dick dry. His hair swung against the small of your back with the pace his set, rough and fucking fast and oh, you were so goddamn tender at this point– so sensitive it drove you to tears. “A sorry excuse for a man.. amiright?”
A frenzied smile crept up on his face as he saw you reaching for the threads of the sheets, crying over how his dick drove you fucking mad and he suddenly stopped pounding into you with a harsh breath. “Back up on it and let me see you work for it, angel.”
THE HUSBAND OF THE YEAR™!!! Caring, attentive, supportive, and honestly, everything you'd want in a spouse, he has it all
A worry-rat—his eyes are always trailing to your surrounding, assessing whether something (or someone) might pose as a threat against you
"There's no need to go all bodyguard on me, y'know."
"Still, it wouldn't hurt to be cautious, right?"
Not big on PDA, but intimate touch is sacred to him. When you're around others, his arm naturally snakes around his waist, resting just above your hip bone, a quiet I'm here meant for you
Lets you repair minor damages on Cloth, heart-warming whenever he watches how gentle you handle his jinki—treating it as an extension of himself, rather than just an object
"Are you... stitching a flower?"
"Mhmm. Do you not like it?"
"I love it, darling. Thank you."
Loves watching you interact with Dear Santa. There's evident softness in his gaze when he watches you crouch down to your step-son, speaking gently and trying to coax a smile or laughter out of him. He'll pretend that he didn't hear Dear chuckle when the kid sent a glare
"C'mon, Dear. Can you give us a big smile?"
"On your daily 'Let me try to make our son smile' time?"
"You betcha! Our boy needs to exercise his cute cheeks!"
"Oh! He's actually smiling—Nope, never mind."
He yearns to have a big family. It didn't even have to be biological children; he's satisfied with Team Child and the rest of the Cleaner kids. He wants to build something lasting with you—a life where you two could grow old together and watch your children live out their own lives
Speaking of Team Child, they absolutely adore you. Most of the time, they prefer to listen to your instructions rather than his—the team leader. One time, they just stared at him with bored eyes when he relayed their mission, and only reacted when you repeated his speech word-for-word
"...That was literally what I just said."
"I guess they just like me better, honey."
"Ain't fair at all."
When he gets stressed, he gets quieter and snappier than usual. He won't lash out at you (he'd rather die than do that), but his words would have a slight edge to them. He's quick to apologise, though, pulling you into his chest and inhaling your grounding scent
He'd memorised every tone and mannerism you have. The difference between your casual voice and your don't test me, boy voice is crystal clear to him. One glance in his direction, one word said a little too flatly, and he already knows: Ah, I've messed up
Quick to make things right with you. A soft apology always comes first, followed by an explanation and genuine actions.
"'m sorry, darling... Just been stressed lately. I'll do better, I promise."
"I know you will, honey. It's alright. I forgive you."
Your shared room is filled with mementoes. Little things you've given him when you two were still dating? Taped on the wall. Photographs others had taken of you two? Framed and mounted on the desk. Every inch of your room was just a walk from the past
You'd usually fall asleep first most nights. He likes to stay awake a little longer, arm around your stomach as he listens to your breathing
Sometimes, when he catches you doing something mundane—folding clothes, feeding Dear Santa, or just fixing your appearance—his eyes sting. He still couldn't believe that he's allowed this kind of happiness on a trash-filled world
"I'm so lucky to have you, [Name]. Wouldn't trade you for anything... I love you to eternity and back."