I Made A Post All About Sanji Going Above And Beyond For Zoro’s Cravings And Taking Care Of Him Through

Solo cuteeee

wassup one piece fandom

sometimes u forget ur lighter ok

serving cunt since the break of dawn (both of them)

Its sooooo cute im dieeng

what if, and hear me out: sanji one day grabs zoro's hand so they could run together away from some bad guy and zoro develops a dreadfully deep seated longing to hold sanji's hand (when he's not cooking ofc). it drives him insane. he cant sleep. sanji's hand is so Soft. Why??? Why does he want to feel it again??? he wants to yell into the sunset

they're sprinting through the streets, skidding into random alleyways and falling over each other as they try to outrun whoever's chasing them and sanji's laughing, head thrown back and eyes blue as the damn sky, his hair in absolute disarray. he's beautiful and his hand is warm and slim and strong around zoro's and it hits zoro like a fucking bullet to the heart.

the memory haunts him like a particularly persistent ghost. he closes his eyes and all he can think about is sanji's fingers laced with his, lightly calloused, nails filed down to a perfect glossy sheen and skin butter-smooth from the hand cream that the cook is so adamant about using. his laugh rings in zoro's ears like the echo of a bell, merry, taunting— the swordsman is half-sure he’s losing his mind. he is one more restless night away from climbing to the top of the main mast and hollering until he scares seagulls up into the air.

as it turns out, he does not go seagull scaring. he carries on and keeps an iron grip on his self-control and acts like nothing’s wrong, because nothing’s wrong! it’s all fine! it’s all fine, who, him? peachy fuckin’ keen.

…yeah, right.

sanji’s fingertips brush his and he nearly drops the plate he’s just taken. the cook hip-checks him out of the way and he damn near chokes on a breath. they spar and he almost dies, not just because of everything, but also because sanji gets his thighs around zoro’s neck in a chokehold and zoro just gives up. throws in the proverbial towel. he doesn’t even try to get out of it.

strong, slender fingers drag him by the ear back to the men’s cabin to pick up your fucking clothes, marimo, what is this? a pigsty? because it looks like one and it smells like one, do you really expect me to— and sanji cuts himself off, because zoro’s. picking up his clothes. he looks so bewildered at the lack of protest that zoro almost laughs, and he hides it by bending down to snag a pair of pants peeking out from under his bunk. (he decidedly does not laugh, because it has suddenly hit him that he’d probably do just about anything sanji asked him to. he might complain, sure, but he’d do it—

and that is a terrifying thought to entertain.)

the days carry on, and it doesn’t get any better; hell, zoro would say it gets so much worse. his heart seems to recognise every touch of sanji’s skin as cause to go absolutely fucking bonkers; chopper literally asks him if he has arrhythmia. it’s that bad. he tried to go to sleep and imagines sanji, one bunk up, in his bunk instead, his fingers tangled in flaxen hair, his free hand laced with sanji’s. he eats dinner and gets hit with a pang of desire to help with the dishes so strong that he almost stabs himself in the face with his fork. there is something wrong with him, he thinks profoundly, a familiar sense of gloomy dread spreading in his sternum as he rests his chin in his hand, like an oil spill marbled through with potent fondness.

they’re forced to get their shit together in the end but only because luffy manages to get them locked in the galley while franky is “too occupied” to get them out. (he isn’t. he’s sunbathing on the damn deck and absolutely in on the plan.)

zoro’s barely breathing as he goes up to sanji, eyes wild, and as soon as the cook looks at him he smacks a big fat kiss on his mouth and yells OKAY BYE. he’s seriously considering jumping out the window but someone snags his collar and yanks him back, pinning him in against the countertop.

“and where do you think you’re going?” sanji purrs, but it’s breathless. his eyes are sea-sky-sapphire blue, like the heart of a flame, and zoro is the stupid little moth that was too damn dumb to fly away when he could and now he’s in the thick of it and he’s burning up, smoke drifting like it always did from the tip of sanji’s cigarette.

the edge of the counter digs into his back. “nowhere,” he breathes, and it’s a lie and too much of the truth all at once. anywhere away from here. nowhere away from you. nowhere i can’t find you. nowhere you can’t follow.

sanji sucks in a trembling breath, electric eyes searching for something in zoro’s face, and he must find it because the next moment zoro’s being kissed within an inch of his life and the only thought in his head is yes, yes, yes. finally. yes.

they walk out red-faced, hair mussed, clothes twisted, avoiding all eye contact and immediately darting off to opposite ends of the ship with mumbled excuses.

zoro’s mouth is kiss-bruised and his head is spinning. his hip aches where he’d banged into the edge of the table. his heart aches where he’s finally let go of the wound he’d been holding shut for ages because now it’s bleeding afresh and sanji hasn’t stitched it up yet.

(but that night, as he lays awake heavy-limbed and staring at the bottom of a bunk, long legs swing over the side. sanji drops down, angling himself to land on zoro with a soft oof.

they talk. it is easier, somehow, when they cannot see each other— but zoro knows those blue, blue eyes are on him. he feels them slip shut, lashes dragging against the pad of his thumb as he tilts sanji’s face for another kiss; softer, this time. gentle. a banked flame flickering in the hearth, warmth and not destruction.

they fit together like their hands do, puzzle-piece natural, and it feels like coming home. zoro hasn’t known home in a very, very long time.

he buries his face in silky, sweet-smelling hair and falls asleep with sanji’s pulse thrumming beneath his palm.

come morning, he wakes to find the sheets twisted around them, a dull ache blooming across his shin— sanji’s a kicker. being privy to this information delights him an unreasonable amount.

the cook stretches with a loud yawn, arms falling to rest around zoro’s neck as he rubs his socked feet together. “come make breakfast with me,” he mumbles, the words muffled against zoro’s shoulder—

and zoro finally lets himself laugh, lets it bubble out of him like champagne, a rumble in his chest. “sure, curly. five more minutes.”

he feels impossibly light. five minutes turn into ten, and ten into twenty. they both fall back asleep. their captain will have to settle breakfast himself for the day; their cook’s hands are, unfortunately, otherwise occupied.)

Dazai and Chuuya have advanced past the “Hey! You almost shot me” stage, to the “WTF that extra bullet was unnecessary” stage

WHAT HVE THEY BROUGHT IN TO THE WORLD (⁠ノ⁠｀⁠Д⁠´⁠)⁠ノ⁠彡⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

It's so uglyyyy

YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING.

Some guy Steve and rockstar Eddie

Steve sees Eddie out in public and partially recognizes him, no idea he's famous but in one of those I've definitely seen your face before but he can't get his concussion riddled brain to place where

Eddie meanwhile is bracing himself for either an over eager fan or based on how angry Steve's confused face is for him to start shouting about 'satan worship'

Imagine Eddie's surprise when Steve does finally approach him he simply asks 'do you know Dustin?'

Dc x Dp prompt #13: Hell to Pay

They say there are only two things certain in life: death and taxes. That’s why even the Joker doesn’t fuck with the IRS.

However, unfortunately for the Joker the other certainty is death and he has yet to pay his dues. Just like how he could only get away with tax evasion for so long, there are only so many times the Joker can dodge death.

Death is coming to collect, with interest.

And the Joker will have hell to pay.

~ A dark green cloud swirls over the city. From it, emerge three oppressive figures:

The one on the far left with flowing hair like white-hot fire. His vambraces made of (what appeared to be) molten glass stopped under his fingers, which then extend into into claws that seemed to drip lava. He had spiked obsidian pauldrons on his shoulders, fastening a luminous, stark-white cape to his shoulders. He wore a coronet of lightning and wielded a flail that appeared to be made of coal chains and a shrunken Red Giant star.

The second on the far right had a helm of dark iron wreathed in a plume of purple flame. His gauntlets and sword flamed with green hellfire. A pure black sheath seemingly made of void and a silver hunting horn were tied to his waist. He wore an armor forged of shadows and proofed with fear. He rode atop a mighty stead. An inky dark stallion with a curved horn and bat-like wings. His form was constantly slightly shifting depending on the angle which viewed him making him appear larger and more slippery than he was, enhancing his disquieting nature.

The third stood in the middle, smaller but no less terrifying than her companions. Her hair was wild with movement, only just visible because it appeared as if someone had bound the winds to her head. She wore a tiara made of storm clouds and pearls. She carried with her a spear, the shaft crafted of amazonite and the tip of a clear quartz, almost reminiscent of sea salt. At her hip lay a whip made of a restrained gale and a sea glass knife. She wore armor that appeared to be Greco-Roman in origin: a chest plate made of some sort of coral-like material and a battle skirt decorated with metallic bronze feathers.

They slowly descent on the city, bringing down a sense of power and dread. They paused at the top of Wayne Tower, where the city's vigilantes had all gathered in an attempt to create and feasible plan of action to discern what these beings want. The young woman in the middle speaks and the wind carries her voice. She is not loud but it the whole of Gotham hears her words.

"Greetings, Heroes of Gotham. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Spirit, Princess and Head Diplomat of the Infinite Realms. This is Samhain, the Fright Knight, loyal knight to the king,” she gestured to her right before switching to her left “and this is Prince Wraith, current General in Chief of the Realms. We come to you as the King’s Guard and entourage. We have official business in your city and wish to civilly notify you of our presence. The King will be arriving shortly and your cooperation would be great fully received.”

Batman moved forward to shake her hand and address the situation.

“I’m afraid that we prefer not to have unknowns operating within the city. Would you be able to tell us what business you have here? Perhaps we could reach an agreement?” Batman tried to negotiate as politely as he could. He did not want to risk offending the evidently powerful beings.

Princess Spirit’s smile sharpened as she thrummed her finger against her knife. She spoke again with an unnervingly pleasant tone.

“It appears you do not understand. We are not asking for your permission.” Her grip around his hand tightened. “ We are informing you.” She finished releasing his hand.

Batman withdrew his aching hand and regarded her with the beginnings of a protest on his lips. She didn’t allow him to speak.

“ This is out of your jurisdiction Batman. This is a matter of the Realms and the Afterlife. Whatever worldly rules or morals you wish to impose on those who enter this city do not apply to us. We will do our best to work within them, so as to appease you and to attempt to maintain a friendly relationship but in the macrocosm of the multiverse and afterlives you have no official power over us. Additionally, we have direct permission to operate here however we see fit from the City Spirit herself, Lady Gotham.”

Batman’s shadow seemed to fluctuated. His and his teams shadows moved from beneath them, closer to the Princess. Lady Gotham, though not manifesting. Was making her presence and approval known. Batman could not deny what he was seeing. His team shifted uncomfortably behind him. He appealed to her once more.

“ I see that we can’t stop you. We don’t want to get in your way either. Could you at least tell us why you are here?”

She smiled as if telling a joke, “All will be revealed in time”

Suddenly, there was a loud noise that sounded like tearing fabric. The green clouds mixed with purples and blues and began to churn faster. The cyclone emitted a flashes of bright light. In unison all three of the King’s Guard lifted up from the roof and took place underneath the eye of the wind storm.

Spirit holds her spear aloft. With one swift, commanding move she slams the butt of her spear down, creating a platform out of solidified air.

Wraith bellows out smoke and ash onto the platform to discolor it. With ferocious and precise movements his claws to carve in a sigil, leaving a soft orange glow against the black and gray.

Samhain sheathes his sword and pulls his horn from his waist. He wills his dark stead to rear up as he blows the horn, letting out one loud prolonged cry.

The three warriors stand at attention and Princess Spirit calls the winds to project her voice once more.

“ Now introducing the Ruler of the Infinite Realms, High King of the In-Between, The Great One, The Benevolent King, The Peace Maker, The Guardian of Souls, The One with the Cloak of Stars and the Crown of Frozen Light, The Perfect Balance, Ancient of Space and Reality, The Infinite King: Phantom!”

With a flash of white light a figure appear in the center of the platform. Simultaneously, the three knights bow in reverence.

The King has arrived.

As the Heroes of Gotham regain clear vision they are met with a striking figure.

There stood a toned young man appearing both boyishly young, yet wisened and weathered. He had side swept hair the creeped to the bottom of his neck. His skin was pale with an icy blue tint. He opened his eyes to reveal they shone an electric green. Upon his head rest a crown made of a crystalline material, reminiscent of an aurora. He wore a navy blue cloak that had a rich purple hood lined with stark white fur. The underside displayed a shifting galaxy pattern. His under suit was the same midnight black as Samhain’s. He donned golden arm bands and a gold chest plate in style quite similar to Spirit’s. His hand were covered in snow white gauntlets that matched Wraith’s vambraces.

They all stood in awe, beholden to the almost divine figure.

The king sent them a gentle smile. It was warm and comforting yet sent a chill down their shoulders.

King Phantom began to fly down toward the center of the city, his entourage fell into step behind him. He hovered several hundred feet over Wayne tower and looked down at the city. He then spoke in a booming voice, his tone kind but commanding.

“ I humbly greet the Lady Gotham, her champions, and her citizens,” the shadows curled toward him appreciatively. “ I am grateful for your cooperation in our effort to rectify a great injustice. As High King of the Infinite Realms it is one of my duties to preside over the afterlife. To bring guidance, peace, and justice to the souls under my jurisdiction. Recently, it has been brought to my attention that there is a soul among you who has not only dodged death, but caused great strife to a vast number of souls who call for justice.”

On the roof of Wayne Enterprises Jason and Damian both stiffen, but remain firm in their gaze toward the king. The king looks out at the city and sparing them the quickest of glances. He continues onward.

“ The man formerly know as Jack Napier, now called The Joker. He has avoided death on many an occasion but his life should have ended moment he fell into a vat of chemicals. Since then he has sent hundreds more to the afterlife. He has long yet to pay his dues. That is why on the behalf of justice, restoring balance, and of my subjects I officially condemn Jack Napier.”

“Jack Napier, you have been allowed 24 hours turn yourself into our custody in order to be put on trial for your crimes in the Infinite Realms. Should you fail to turn youself in, we shall take that as an admission of guilt and acceptance to be punished for your actions. After the 24 hours are up, Samhain shall use his horn to summon The Hunt and we shall track you down.”

His gaze passed specifically over Red Hood, one of the Oracle’s drones, Nightwing, Signal, Red Robin, and Batman before he spoke his next words.

“All those souls who have been wronged by the Joker, both living and deceased, who wish to have a hand in their justice have been invited to join The Hunt if they so choose.”

The king lifted his hand, calling the swirling green clouds to his gather in his palm. The clouds swiftly rearranged themselves into a smokey timer hanging in the sky.

An impish smirk graced King Phantom’s face as he let out a malicious laugh and gave his final decree.

“ Your time begins now!”