ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟs.

𝐑𝐔𝐍 𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐓, 𝑹𝑼𝑵 𝑹𝑨𝑩𝑰𝑫.

[balefier]

ㅤㅤㅤ⸻  #BALEFIER  :  a  private,  highly  selective  /  low  activity  MULTIFANDOM  MULTIMUSE,  fting  SABO,  of eiichiro  oda's  ONE  PIECE.  all  portrayals  are  headcanon  based  &  potentially  canon  divergent.  not  spoiler  free.  (  crossover  /  au  friendly  )  adult  themes  will  be  heavily  present.  (  minors  /  personal  blogs  absolutely  do  not  interact  )  written  by  chi  /  32  /  they+them  /  cst.

⁰¹  carrd.   ⁰²  prompts.   ⁰³  wishlist. ᴀғғɪʟɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ : jormungr / resolutepath / ikkaku-of-heart / lovehungered / pyreate / willofd

MAIN.

sabo.

PRIMARY.

dracule mihawk. sir crocodile. panchax d. nivale (original character). jackren (original character).

SECONDARY.

smoker. nico robin. koby.

TERTIARY.

king the wildfire. kalifa.

ON REQUEST.

donquixote doflamingo. iceburg. shakuyaku. paulie. sakazuki. kizaru.

OTHER OCS.

dr. varo roux. myco velm. kestro veynar.

[jormungr]

it looks like a mating dance, the way they cling to each other, clawed fingers hooking on fabric and the breaths they share bridging their mouths like almost-kisses. perhaps it is. one they've been performing for decades, whose steps they'd known blind, and it makes it all the more pleasurable. laskey could undoubtedly find a way to resist his lover's merciless teasing, if only to make a statement—but he's old, and does not care to deny himself what they both want.

the curve of kestro's perfect rear is right there for him to shallowly grind against it, and the hand that the falcon knowingly drags where he wants it loosely palms him through his pants. lightly, at first, then he presses with more intent. he could envision himself bending kestro over the counter, and even though he knows it would not be sustainable for him, laskey is about to suggest it with his casual, shameless elegance.

until kestro obviously changes his plans, as though he'd heard them taking form in his partner's head. he spins in laskey's arms, touching and being touched. one of the psychiatrist's gloved hands finds the counter behind the falcon to lean on, bodies perfectly pressed against each other, as the other shamelessly fondles kestro's rear. ‘don't make promises if you are not willing to keep them. besides,’ blue earrings sway softly as laskey dives for what looks like a kiss, only to stop centimeters apart from the other's lips—warm breath tickling, as he playfully tug at kestro's bottom lip with his fangs until he tastes a small bead of blood. his tongue laps at it eagerly. ‘you love when i eat you alive. you make so much noise.’

their lips crash at last. laskey is methodical, though there's an intensity in the way he urgently intrude kestro's mouth that speaks volumes of how badly the falcon's proximity affects him. he tries to brush it off, tries to appear nonchalant most of the time—controlled. but the clinical intent with which he indulges in that perfect heat gives in to ill-concealed need, and when they part they are both panting, cheeks flushed and mildly disheveled.

‘would it be too forward if i suggested we cut the chase here and carry the rest of this conversation to the bedroom?’ a thin irony pools in his voice, but his smile is sharp and his eyes predatory. ‘my leg hurts, and you're looking particularly delectable today.’

[balefier]

ㅤㅤㅤthere's so much familiarity in this — one could say it even put him at ease. things in their world did not often stay the same. agents lived and they died. trainees lived and they died. the government kept on working and they kept on obeying. but something ephemeral existed here — outside of time, outside of space, as if laskey and kestro could descend into each other time and time again, and nothing could surely keep them parted. it was easy. it was simple. they understood each other in ways others couldn't, and though they were both cutthroat predators at the end of the day, sometimes he was just a man, and laskey his lover who knew just how to correct him.

ㅤㅤㅤtheir lips are close, and the falcon's mis-matched gaze darkens with intent. as always — laskey is seductive, enticing. kestro hums as he drifts closer — the prospect of a filthy kiss on the horizon, and defeated only by the puncturing of sharp teeth. kestro huffs, making an odd clicking noise in the back of his throat, but he hardly pulls away. indeed — his body rubs against the other's, one hand settling lightly on his lower back, and kestro reflexively lets his tongue dip forward, chasing laskey's own to flick away the smallest sliver of his blood. ❝ i'm hardly noisy. ❞ he breathes, voice lilting with the promise to be — if laskey plays his cards right. ❝ i'm not a pornstar, laskey, that would be uncouth. ❞ and yet...

ㅤㅤㅤthe second their lips truly meet, kestro does moan. he adores laskey's kisses. they are thorough, intense. he is never left wanting as the feline sets his entire body alight with swipes of his tongue, as gestures force his hips to arch forward, and his nipples to peek through his thin shirt while they lick into each other's mouths. somehow it's filthy and elegant all at once, but he would be lying if he tried to subdue the way that particular twist of laskey's tongue didn't make him hum with delight.

ㅤㅤㅤwhen they part, kestro's golden cheeks are dusted with a flush, his usually pristine hair out of place. his sharp gaze assesses laskey's face — and then he snorts, the sound close to a laugh. ❝ hm. ❞ the falcon seems to contemplate the idea, ❝ we're not going anywhere with your hand on my ass like that. ❞ he blinks once, a sharp brow arching, and then he is free. ❝ come. ❞

ㅤㅤㅤkestro does not offend laskey by moving slower for him or waiting for him to catch up. he knew better than that. instead, he advances down the hall towards his room, angling open the door with a shove of his hips. light from the lamp on the low table illuminates it, and a small residual curl of pax's mist flits across the floor. the bed is made, and kestro does not turn down the sheets. instead, laskey is afforded the privilege of him steadily unbuttoning his shirt as he enters the room, svelte muscle revealed when fabric falls away, right alongside the pert nipples and scars marring his body. kestro does not have the sense to be shy as he advances on him again. ❝ sit, ❞ he whispers as if he's ready to fight for who will be setting the tempo for this encounter tonight.

[balefier]

everyone go look at my shiny new pinned.

[balefier]

in the process of a little blog revamp! CRUCIFOR -> BALEFIER

[balefier]

Sorry to complain again but I cannot believe my ass has been taken out by a bug bite like explaining to my boss that I was taking the day off to rest from my bug bite was not on my 2026 bingo card

[leop4rdo]

the assassin had not really been thinking of what sabo's reaction might be when he snatched that severed finger and slipped the ring off, tucking it away in the safety of his pocket. something like the one he gets, probably, but he does not remember ever stopping to consider it—he'd seen the glinting metal as the man tried to weakly shield himself from his ruthless clawing, and the thought of how fitting it would look around sabo's elegant digit had simply washed through him, cold and quick like a spray of water. another claim. one that spoke in the language of humans instead of that of beasts.

even so, lucci is not quite ready for the way his lover reacts... cheeks so prettily flushed pink, like some inexperienced virgin receiving a kiss, clever remarks failing him as all air is kicked out of his lungs for what feels like an impossibly long instant. he distinctly hears sabo's heart drumming in his chest, loud against his ribcage, and one of the leopard's sleek, dark eyebrows arch in quiet perplexity.

at least until sabo latch onto him, slender arms tightly surrounding his torso and his face tucked against his scarred chest. it's a bit of a surprise, even though lucci half-expected a similar reaction would occur—they never hug for the sake of it, unless they're fucking, or lucci wants to bask in his lover's scent and leave another trail for him to indulge in later. or both, at times. but never like this, light-hearted, spontaneous, as if they had all the time in the world and the universe outside of the room stopped mattering. the assassin frowns, even though his arms shallowly mark their claim around sabo's shoulders and he leans a bit, nosing his golden locks. he detects a familiar trace of lavender, from his own shampoo. a memory of last night nudges deep inside him... the ring plucked from his unknowing victim, and shortly after, as though he'd offered a satisfying show, the agent that had approached him. rob lucci, he'd called, the massacre weapon.

‘hm-’  half in acknowledgement and half distracted, as though sabo's love confession had just snapped him out of his trail of thoughts, lucci searches for his gaze. blue into blue. ‘i went shopping, of course.’  eyes narrow, his scowl mildly easing as the sarcasm dripping from his words turns his voice acidic. surely the revolutionary can put two and two together, but the leopard cannot resist raising a hand to the side of his neck, catching the bloodstained hem of the collar of his own shirt. it falls temptingly loose around sabo's lithe frame. his fingers shift, catching sabo's chin and tilting his head to side as to get easier access to the slope of his neck—with the first buttons of the shirt undone, it is almost too easy to spot the beautifully scarred outline of his mating bite. lucci presses his nose against it, inhaling his scent before sucking a kiss on the tender skin.

‘do you really want to know?’ 

there's a fanged grin stretched across his lips as he pulls back, and molten wickedness in his glinting eyes as his gaze locks with the other's once more. his fingers guide sabo's chin, and they're so close to kissing when lucci rasps against his lips, ‘i killed a man just to get it for you—no other reason.’  the kiss is quick, but heated. an interlude. it helps pushing what happened later from his mind... for now. sabo is too smart for his own good, and the last thing lucci wants is him asking questions. his eyes burn into him, fangs flashing briefly. ‘a shame you weren't there to see it.’ 

[balefier]

ㅤㅤㅤsabo knows lucci won't say it back. sabo also knows lucci likely cannot process love the same way he can. but sabo knows too, in the very depths of his heart, that doesn't mean the leopard doesn't feel it. as he stares up at the elder — sabo is so aware that 'i love you too' has been expressed in countless ways already. it was in every gentle touch — when lucci only knew ferocity. it was in every quiet morning in bed, when the leopard let him rest over his heart. it was in lucci giving up the dregs of the world government, forfeiting that conditioning, to live out the rest of his days with sabo — and his enemy organization. he could not imagine the strength that took, and it fills him with adoration so deep — he might burst into flame.

ㅤㅤㅤit's lucky, perhaps, that sabo is busy staring at the glimmering gold band upon his hand, admiring the way it catches the light and reflects on his pale skin, and does not detect a hint of anything amiss. it's almost mundane — almost entirely human — the blush on his cheeks, that smile on his beautiful face, and the way he leans into lucci like he can't be supported on his own two feet. he is impossibly warm, and his sky blue eye glimmers with the dregs of those feelings, as lucci tugs at the shirt collar, cracks a joke, and then takes another hit of his scent.

ㅤㅤㅤsabo hums, having long since realized that burying his face in his neck and nuzzling that mating bite is the equivalent of a comforting kiss for his instinct driven lover. he hardly minds — and makes no move to stop him, especially as lucci's dark voice fills his ears. he lets his good eye drift shut, lets the imagery wash over him. he places the morality of it aside. seeks, instead, the allure of the elders violence. his lips are claimed before he realizes it, and the revolutionary leans into the brutal kiss, a little disappointed as they separate, but still basking in lucci's story — his promise. ❝ mm. ❞ finally his good eye drifts open. his hands have long since secured themselves around lucci's shoulders, gently toying with the ends of his artfully soft curls. ❝ naughty. ❞ he's on his tiptoes, chasing soft, plump lips. he presses them together again, this time a lingering peck. ❝ at least tell me he was committing a crime or something. as your husband, i cannot condone the murder of innocents. ❞

ㅤㅤㅤhe raises his finger over lucci's shoulder, and grins, ❝ ...but i'll let it slide this time. ❞

[balefier]

oh my god ashveil?

[balefier]

BTW I have been taken out by a bug

[balefier]

Twitter is slowly conditioning me into wanting to come back to HSR

[jormungr]

‘don't sound so wishful. it makes you appear desperate.’ 

laskey faintly sneers.

they are both used to a kind of sharpness that feels familiar, comforting. talons and claws. laskey is hardly fazed—if anything, he's always enjoyed how kestro never lacked some cutting retort from everything he said, hitting and never missing, as though they could endlessly prod at the vitals without ever truly managing to hurt each other. he does not mind kestro being a little difficult, tonight. and kestro, he is sure, deliberately tests him because he knows he will follow shortly. and laskey does follow.

he stands up with calculate carefulness, and though he winces in pain as soon as he places his weight on his injured leg, this time he discards his cane in a corner. it's one of those days—and those days are getting more frequent as he ages, he'd noticed. but even after twenty years of forced inactivity, laskey does not forget his training. he tests his knee, clinically cold as he evaluates how bearable each stab of pain is, and takes his time going after kestro.

trying not to limp makes it worse. it's foolish, kestro's back is turned, but each step rattles his pride and laskey grits his teeth until he reaches the falcon. slender arms surround his waist as gloved, clever hands roam his abdomen, invitingly close to the waistband of his—tragically tight pants, though he abstains from toying with the button lest the accusation of appearing desperate might be returned to the sender. instead, his lips find the back of kestro's neck. he places a kiss there, then another. ‘the word you're looking for is grumpy, birdie.’  the next kiss is wet, lingering, sucked into kestro's skin. feline fangs rake the reddened spot, and he knows, instinctively as laskey knows most things, that it's only by some stupid principle that the other hasn't already started stripping.

‘and demanding.’

  he's leaning into him now, and no doubt kestro notices that he's putting more weight into it than normally necessary—but if he does, he's been gracious enough not to mention it yet. laskey smiles against his neck. ‘they say change is good for a couple. and you're always so, mm, enthusiastic when your feathers are ruffled.’ 

[balefier]

ㅤㅤㅤkestro knows many things. he knows many things about laskey. and he knows many things about them. so he knows — without a sliver of a doubt — that the feline will follow him eventually. he is no fool to what ails him. laskey is only lucky that cipher pol found a use for his talents rather than putting him out to pasture — or in their line of work, ensuring he died. perhaps it was because he'd fathered an excellent agent. perhaps it was his unique haki. kestro could only hope the organization would continue to use his expertise as well — though he would be lying if he said he did not occasionally wonder if he was past his prime. yet it was by kestro's hands exceptional agents such as rob lucci were created... that alone, called to his intelligence.

ㅤㅤㅤhis pointed ears and sensitive hearing detect the slight off cadence of laskey's steps. he knows the movements pain the other, and his pride won't allow him anything less than this. he doesn't quite understand the pang of fondness that finds him — but he lets it settle over him all the same. it's not unpleasant. it's even warm. he finds he quite likes it.

ㅤㅤㅤit's followed quickly by the other agent's warm embrace, the way his slightly taller body presses almost perfectly to kestro's built back. he falls into it easily. no sense in denying he doesn't like it. hands are dried quickly on the dish towel, before he leans his neck to the side. it's there he lets laskey pepper him with attention, set his fangs upon tan flesh and stir his blood to life. the agent isn't above the hum of pleasure that leaves him, the way heterochromatic eyes flutter shut and one hand falls to laskey's own, taloned fingertips raking lightly across his gloves, as if demanding he do more indeed.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ but you like it. ❞ kestro's lightly accented voice lilts matter-of-factly, dipping an octave. his body bears laskey's weight with ease, and he even presses his hips backwards. the psychiatrist is familiar with the cut of him — how discipline and training has kept his svelte but strong figure from softening much with his age. still — the plumpness of his rear is inviting, and the way he drags laskey's hand lower. ❝ you would not find me nearly as interesting as some kind and wilting flower. instead, you'd eat me alive. ❞

ㅤㅤㅤkestro turns in laskey's embrace then, their fronts now pressed together. those shrewed dual-toned eyes peer up into laskey's own beautiful ones, and he raises an absent hand to flick away a bit of that ash blond hair. their lips are close, the proximity as familiar as breathing — yet just as delicious as the first time. kestro's free hand roves down laskey's side, and his lips faintly tilt upwards in a smirk. ❝ this way, i can rip you to shreds instead. ❞

[jormungr]

‘i think you need to look up the meaning of the word genuine.’ 

laskey comments, a faintly amused tilt now filling his raspy voice. the steaming mug that sits in his lap is mechanically brought to his lips, the hot sip he takes causing the tantalizing bob of his throat. once, twice. he knows kestro does not miss it. kestro never misses anything. it is deliberate, perhaps—there's a restlessness prickling at his bones, and something in him urges to run, to ambush, to kill, until the solid hit of reality reminds him it hurts too much to even walk, on certain days. there's a loose thread hanging from kestro's words that he could easily pick apart if he wanted, even if the falcon prides himself in being unreadable... the dark, muddy waters of his relationship with panchax, with tintalim, could be rendered a crystal-clear stream for laskey to wade through. but he does not go there. it is a courtesy.

one of the many they've extended each other throughout the years.

there is little shame in the way laskey checks him out. they've aged, yes—but the other is still as elegant and razor-sharp as the first time they sized each other up. he sets the mug on low table next to his seat, his folded elbow propping on the armrest as his chin rests in the palm of his hand. lazily, almost reflexively, laskey strokes his beard as he studies his lover. from his casual movements to the slightest flutter in his eyelashes.

‘how should i flirt with you then?’  he knows the other minds it less than he claims, the psychiatrist's sensual flair—his casual, idle seductiveness. age has made them more honest than they were decades ago. ‘or rather,’ a pause. laskey eyes the falcon's elegant frame appreciatively. he would know it blind, his body; he's mapped it countless times before. but there is always something new in the way kestro shows up in a new pair of pants that clings to his form indecently well or a new tailored shirt that is begging to be unbuttoned, and alongside it, something worth letting his stare linger on. ‘how would you like to be flirted with?’

he knows, of course, but it's a test. idle mind games that he never gets tired of. panchax can't be the only one to suffer his questions when falcon himself is so fascinating. ‘don't give me that look.’ the smile that tugs at laskey's lips is not endearingly soft, although there's the pale, distant reflection of a mysterious fondness pooling in the darkening lust. it cannot be grasped, nor questioned. it's human, perhaps physiological, but humanity has frayed at their edges past the point of recognition. when kestro drifts close enough, laskey looks up at him over the edge of red-colored shades—a blond eyebrow arching, his smile now a challenge. ‘the likes of us never stop working.’

[balefier]

ㅤㅤㅤkestro is rarely comfortable — and he's certainly never at ease. perhaps in this abode yes, when it's just panchax and the mist that mournfully recognizes him too — and after many years, laskey as well. he could never quite lower his guard around the other though — for his fellow agent was always looking to poke at his mind. he found at as charming as he did annoying — but laskey had seen him dressed down in all ways. some were mental. most were physical. ❝ hm. ❞ is the noise the falcon offers him, finishing the last of his tea and setting it aside. poke and prod poke and prod. he's lucky kestro didn't bite him — but he looks decidedly less menacing at the moment. to be frank, laskey's arrival had interrupted him as he was preparing to bathe and tuck in for the night — so kestro is without his monocle, and his hair seems to be hanging more loose about his features. it was just as well. laskey was much more fun than a bath.

ㅤㅤㅤslowly, he drifts to his feet. kestro steps around the coffee table that rests between them, and advances on the cat as if he were the one prowling. indeed, he tilts his head in a distinctly avian manner, as he stops before laskey's lounging frame.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ hm. ❞ he says again.

ㅤㅤㅤmismatched eyes narrow shrewdly, the falcon's lips pursing into a thin line. his position is elegant, sharp, but still relaxed — as if laskey has not truly perturbed him yet. ❝ aren't you flirting with me right now? ❞ he questions, more rhetorical than anything. kestro's gaze goes far off, and he fixes his attention on the window behind laskey — the sky illuminated by stars. there were so few stars here. tintalim used to have even less, shrouded in mist as it was. his gaze dips down, and finds the other's once more. this time, kestro's lips cock up at the edges.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ if so, i don't like it much, it annoys me. ❞ well at least he was honest. ❝ if you want to take me to bed tonight, laskey, analyzing my reactions is not going to get you there, i'm afraid. ❞ slowly, he leans down. their torsos are close, faces even closer. ❝ you know what to do. ❞ he says lowly, eyes aglow, ❝ you've been doing it for years. ❞ and then he rises, plucking laskey's empty cup from the low table and collecting his own as well. ❝ don't change it up now. ❞ he calls over his shoulder, meandering off to the kitchen to place them in the sink for later, ❝ seas know i've grown particular in my old age. ❞

[a0kiji]

there is a sliver of disappointment that wedges deep inside kuzan. he wishes it didn't, because a voice in the back of his mind tells him he does not deserve it anyway, but pax sits in his lap, tightly secured in his cold embrace, and still he does not say it back. his love overflow, and it is everywhere, bright and electric and soft as steam, but it is not voiced—and the former admiral can't help looking up at him, hating himself for the expectant light in his speckled eyes. kuzan dives for another kiss, and it gets more desperate every time their lips clash, slick and filthy, the combined noises rising from their chests a testament of how badly they both want what they promised each other, long ago. kuzan's hands crawl all the way up and down the mistbinder's back, feeling the goosebumps that are left after his passage like a trail of pleasure for him to retrace.

he loves him... his heart of ice feels like it might explode from how much he loves pax, how badly he needs to tell him again, even if he won't get it back—but his mouth is busy, and his mind is filled with the faint aftershock that the friction between his half-hard cock and pax's pretty ass sparks through him. when they part, kuzan licks his lower lip, as though he could still savor his beloved's taste in the sweet, silver gleam of his saliva. he's so close to finding heaven, in a secluded hut in the middle of nowhere, but he only realizes how far he'd actually been when pax unclasps his top, letting it fall between them. kuzan's eyes widen, his breath catches. ‘arara,’ well, there's no way he could ever turn back now. he does not want to, neither of them wants to. they've been waiting for so long that the opportunity to touch pax like that feels almost like a mirage.

kuzan feels himself twitch, and no doubt pax feels it too.

‘you have to warn me next time, i'm not a strong man.’

there's a wicked glint in his eyes as his hands travel from the mistbinder's back to the front. two cold fingers rush to tease a nipple, toying with the piercing as he rubs it to hardness. kuzan's eyes lid heavily as he meets the younger's gaze—something of a test quietly taking place as pax's warmth pools, his consent palpable as it grinds down against kuzan as the tiniest movement. the former admiral does not wait much to cup both of his breasts in his hands and squeeze them with hurried desire, as his head dips and his mouth finds the same nipple that is, by now, puffy with attention. he laps at it with hunger, tongue swirling over the sensitive head, then switches to its neglected twin—again and again he sucks passionate kisses, on the tip as well as the rest of pax's soft breast, and fuck, if this foreign warmth that spreads through him is pax's doing, he will take it.

a silver thread of saliva connects his lips to the mistbinder's nipple as he parts, that he reflexively licks away. mischief gleams in his eyes as he smiles. ‘—anyone ever told you that you taste amazing?’ kuzan leans again, teeth gently nibbling pax's breast for a fleeting instant, as if he could not pull away. he does not doubt someone probably did, though he's not sure how the idea makes him feel. ten years... pax must have had lovers. flings. one night stands. kuzan sure did, and now he realize, from how little it took to get him that achingly hard, that no one is going to compare. he places a sweet, chaste kiss on pax's sternum—on his heart. ‘all of you, i bet.’

[balefier]

ㅤㅤㅤhe wants to say it. pax desperately wants to say it — but it doesn't seem the right time. it's not that it doesn't flow within him and consume every fiber of his being. it's not that he doesn't fill it so viscerally he might die. rather — it's the fact it has to be perfect. it has to be special. as he looks deeply into kuzan's warm gaze, as he stares down at that achingly handsome and rogueish face, panchax is no doubt filled with love greater than the seas, but not yet — he tells himself as they kiss again. soon, but not yet.

ㅤㅤㅤthere is no shyness in what pax does — at least for now. he's well aware kuzan finds him attractive, and well aware of the former admiral's appetite too. he'd caught those lingering eyes on his cleavage, and on the occasion in which he found himself alone and exploring — it would be his own hand that would find his breast and cup the heavy flesh. he'd tease his nipples as he stroked himself with fingers, and he'd find relief with kuzan's name on his tongue — but it was only just enough to leave him restless. pax finds now though, that kuzan is so much better at this than his own hands.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ strong in most things. ❞ he teases, ❝ just not — mm — this... ❞ pax's eyes widen, before fluttering shut. immediately, long fingertips find that curly hair, and he lets out a breathless sigh. a shiver skates down his spine. kuzan's fingers are cold — his mouth even more so. they force his nipples to immediate sensitivity by chilling them and the tiny rings piercing the flesh. pax had no idea how sensitive he could be — but he figures it out quickly. that cold mouth and wicked fingertips pick him apart, sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. pax moans, he gasps every time kuzan does something particularly delicious with his tongue, and he outright moans at the sweet sucking noises leaving his lovers mouth — especially when their eyes meet. pax is disheveled, his cheeks flushed, his lips slick, and his chest pressed towards the other's mouth — begging for more attention, despite the already raw state of his nipples.

ㅤㅤㅤheat continues to pool at his core, a slick wetness heavy between his legs and already inviting at the thought of kuzan. as the elder pulls from his breasts to instead so gently kiss him, pax smiles sweetly, stroking his fingers down his cheek, and biting his lower lip in wanton satisfaction. he has a quip on his tongue-

ㅤㅤㅤuntil he doesn't.

ㅤㅤㅤpax's smile purses into something else. his flush deepens, though not from arousal this time. the mistbinder instead ducks his head and looks off to the side, once more absently fiddling with kuzan's shirt. ❝ ah, no. ❞ how does he relay the info? should he even? does it matter? kuzan's penchant for one night stands and flirting hadn't been lost on pax. too many times he'd witnessed it at navy galas, or heard through the grape vine that some unsuspecting woman left his quarters giggling that morning. he could not begin to describe the bitterness that had filled him, the despair. and it had happened for years. as those years drifted by — pax rejected advances, politely turned down offers. he had just never wanted to. except with kuzan. and now they were here, and he didn't know how to put all that in the word. ❝ i've never... ❞ he squirms in kuzan's lap, incidentally grinding against him, ❝ mm... you know. ❞

[resolutepath]

It is only the sound of spoken words that draws the attention of the Celestial Dragon, head shifting slowly to cast the indifferent gaze upon the medic uttering them into the space between them. There's a thin press of lips that follows, the delicate raise of an eyebrow and the weight of his stare, heavy and unyielding. The pain in his side is little more than a distant irritant; little more than spilled ink on the page or a dropped glass at a fine dinner silencing the chatter of the crowd. Irksome, but hardly worrisome, to be regarded with contempt. At the attempt, at himself.

The voice in his ear that sounds so much like his father's own criticises his inability to prevent a lesser being from landing a blow, at being so pathetic as to allow himself to be touched by an unworthy blade. Beyond it, his face remains impassive, his stare lingering as he looks down upon Panchax.

"It is a minor annoyance, nothing more." He replies, as he stares at that haunting gaze, a distant curiosity at the swirling mix of gentility and sorrow, wondering what struck such a chord. There was little that moved him beyond his strive to be the pinnacle of power he has been trained for and yet... there is something in that look.

He more feels the curl of the mist than sees it, the tease of it against his cheek, the daring in the very touch. That in itself amuses him. It is rare to feel someone be so daring, to offer a sense of push in his presence. As swiftly as it presents, it is gone, returned to a bowed head and a plain focus on working on the minor concern of the infection that will eventually push itself out of his system. His lips press together for a moment, a thin scowl on his visage, before his gloved hand shifts and tucks beneath chin tipping the medic's head back upwards to rejoin their gazes.

"If you intend for audacity, you ought not falter immediately after your action..." he chides, his touch firm, offering little escape from his judgement as he studies, thumb brushing across the chin briefly. He holds again, impressing his will on the moment, to see and be seen, to test the limits of courage and then the corner of his mouth curves fractionally.

"You will be thorough and attentive..." the correction is offered without room for alterations, his interest piqued. Will the push of his will stoke the other alive or curl him into a subservient shell, meek, mild and mundane. Another brush of the thumb and his hand moves away, the weight of his gaze remaining to tether the conversation. Perhaps such an injury is less irksome for the curiosity it brings to his monotonous days.

[balefier]

ㅤㅤㅤpanchax, for his natural born gentleness and kind soul — has never been meek. perhaps once, as a boy, when life was easier and the world not so cruel — but time had made him harder, more prone to guarding his pride and sense of self with sharp teeth and sharper words if necessary. though he may be cipher pol — there was always something rebellious about the mistbinder — unwavering in the fact that he would meet shamrock's eyes for a moment, until he bowed his head. it was hard not to under the intensity of a crimson stare. he was no average celestial dragon after all, and there was power behind that look.

ㅤㅤㅤbut panchax didn't look away this time, because he couldn't.

ㅤㅤㅤfingertips are not gentle as they find his chin — but they are not rough either. the grip is firm, steadying. the doctor's breath stills in his lungs. his face goes blank even as gold dusts his cheeks. amber eyes sharpen almost clinically. ❝ i didn't mean to- ❞ but the words are dashed from his lungs, sharp and impressive will pulling his thoughts and ambitions from him in one fell swoop. he really can't breathe then — and panchax is not proud enough to hide the way something like determination and strain both flicker across his pretty face. shamrock's intent felt like a hammer weighing down his entire body, the command and want enough to send pax's mind reeling. he wants to close his eyes. he wants to slump to the floor and bow, to give in — but he can't. he won't. stubbornness is all that feeds him anymore, and he refuses to dip his head — even as that will leaves.

ㅤㅤㅤhe doesn't look away. instead, blatant irritation flashes across his face as shamrock's hand drops. ❝ i was going to do it anyway. ❞ he finds himself snapping, ❝ you didn't have to do that-! ❞ and despite that utterly ill behaved tone — the one that could certainly get him killed or worse, pax finds himself sniffing — and his mist lazily returning to work. his irritation doesn't fade though, and his eyes don't flit away from shamrock's own. instead, his lips remain pursed in defiance, and his hands have paused their bandaging. ❝ there is no need to posture at me, saint figarland. i am only trying to help! thanks to you — i'm going to have a headache all day. i swear- ❞ only then does pax look back to his work, some sort of curses edging past his lips in a language only spoken by two people in the world. perhaps he did have a death wish these days.

[leop4rdo]

two opposing forces clashes within lucci. one is all teeth, the pure animal instinct that sees not threats but challenges, and answer them with unsheathed claws and careless excitement. the other is subtler, dark, bred cautiously throughout decades of careful conditioning—the pull that does not register sabo or his delicious jealousy, but pain, and pain must be endured stoically, pain must not be displayed, pain must be suffocated and cradled in privacy, nursed until it fades and another scar is born, a scar whose past no one will question.

lucci's teet morph into deadly fangs that scrape his bottom lips, and he has to draw from every ounce of self-control he has not to answer the pain that sabo inflicts with an equally vicious bite, one meant to kill instead of claim. the leopard inside him demands it. he snarls when sabo's searing fangs pierce his skin, blood drumming in his temples, but then ...

then the agent replaces the animal. lucci buries every sound that threatens to spill, lips pressed and eyes squeezed shut; he steadies himself the way he's been taught, his breath even and his tension released in the single, powerful grip that tangles in the mess of sabo's golden hair. everything burns—the fresh wounds on his chest, his lover's teeth in his neck, and the assassin's sweat glistens beautifully on his naked skin as he feels, for a moment that seems to last forever, that he is indeed being scorched from within. even so, he makes no sound. not a curse muttered under his breath or a shallow gasp of air. he takes it quietly, gritted teeth and all, until—slowly, sabo pulls back. only then lucci allows himself the luxury of a sharp intake of breath, panting heavily as his cheeks presses flatly against the sweat-soaked pillow.

glacial eyes follow the trajectory of sabo's frame as he leans back.

‘ngh...’ 

then the animal is back, because the revolutionary grinds down shallowly on his pelvis and pain and pleasure almost too swiftly blur. heat pools in his groin. the leopard, regardless of his physical wellbeing, wants to mate. they both want it—there is a darkness in the cloudless blue of sabo's good eye, a flush in his cheeks, and lucci does not have to meet his eyes to recognize the familiar scent of his arousal filling his nostrils like a sweet blood trail. his other hand, the one still pinned on the mattress by the intimate weight of their laced fingers, distractedly returns sabo's light squeezing. ‘you— ’

  lucci's fingers loosely disentangle, his hand raising to wipe his brow. there is something feral and beautiful about the way he finally looks up, splayed as he is in the evening dimness, lamplight illuminating his half-naked, bandaged body.

‘—know that you will have to fix these stitches again by the time i'm done with you?’ 

you're mine too. don't forget it.

and at last, he grins.

[balefier]

ㅤㅤㅤwhen clarity momentarily returns to sabo, he is unequivocally surprised by his own actions. it was such a strange route to take — so entirely animal, yet it had seemed right. lucci had marked him with a bite, and the revolutionary wanted to return the claim. he pauses to admire his handiwork. it's much smaller than the one lucci had given him — much less vicious too, but the burns are obvious, the intent of the marking clear. sabo makes a content noise. he might not be a zoan — but something wholly animal in him felt satisfied by the mark.

ㅤㅤㅤlucci looks beautiful beneath him — panting with his hair sprawled to the side, chest shuddering as he works his way back through the pain. sabo does feel bad — but he knows it'll only be fleeting, and entirely worth it. he feels his jealousy and anger ebbing away, replaced instead by pleasure — arousal — and a contentedness that lucci had chosen him. he supposes they'd long since given up the farce that they weren't lovers. boyfriends certainly didn't cover it either. but there would be no one else for sabo, and though lucci was his enemy — he no longer saw him that way. he was his, first and foremost. everything else was secondary.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ hm... ❞ amusement flickers across his lips, his now free hand reaching out. it delicately strokes away a bit of lucci's sweaty hair, freeing his handsome face to the lamplight. sabo's smile then is almost rogueish, as he leans down to rather sweetly kiss the grin off lucci's face. his mouth trails invitingly to his cheek, then along his jaw, over his neck where he sucks a few, luxurious kisses — and then finally to the bite. sabo lingers there, and presses a light peck to the mark before sitting up.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ absolutely not. ❞ he says almost sweetly. he swiftly dismounts from the leopard then, and instead rolls to the side of him, head propped in his hand and his elbow pressed to the mattress. ❝ there will be none of that tonight- ❞ his voice dips, he leans closer. their lips are close, breath shared. ❝ the last thing you need is to be exerting yourself. ❞ despite sabo's own arousal — despite the way he can envision lucci taking him now, the sweet bliss they could have after, he's clearly more concerned for his well-being as he moves to stand and clean up the medical supplies. ❝ get some rest. i'll give hattori some grains and make you some food. ❞

[jormungr]

‘you know what he said?’ 

there's a comically scandalized edge worked in laskey's otherwise even tone as he speaks. he does not bother specifying who it is he's talking about—consistently updating kestro on his sessions with panchax had been a poor excuse to see him, but the first time laskey had gracefully slipped into his quarters with the results folded under his arm, only to stay well past his time, the hawk had not objected. even now, it is clear in the way he carries himself that laskey is not just here as a psychiatrist: he lounges with his legs folded, the first buttons of his shirt undone, sea-green eyes keenly watching kestro. ‘that my smile does not reach my eyes the same way as yours does.’ 

and yet there's a grin somewhere, coloring the way his voice tilts. he should not be pleased that the other is so evidently better than him at something that is so fundamental to his daily performance in his own field of competence, but after all, laskey considers, this is a role he was forced into when his real talent lied elsewhere—and forced he was, because of how distinctly he could feel emotions, not replicate them. he does not tell kestro. though they may have known each other for a long time, laskey knows weaknesses are better kept close to his chest. his head tilts to the side, ashen blond curls spilling as his blue earrings sway loosely.

‘frankly, it's a little offensive. but,’  a flash of fangs in his practiced smile. the one that panchax calls hollow, when it's only just hungry. ‘you call always teach me, agent.’ 

@crucifor.

[balefier]

ㅤㅤㅤby now, kestro should be used to the other's intruding — and he is, to a degree. it's been decades, and there is something familiar about laskey invading his space, slipping into his quarters without even a knock or a greeting. years ago, he might have complained. but now? it's as normal as the familiar green color of his sheets, or the dried herbs that panchax has once more begun hanging on the wall. he had not had to request laskey's reports on his wayward charge, they came to him freely. no doubt an excuse to be in each other's presence, but he hardly complained about that either. it was useful information and... well, there was something to be said for their time spent alone together.

ㅤㅤㅤthe falcon sits across from him, sipping lightly at the tea he'd brewed upon the cat's arrival. it sits steaming before them both — a warm chai mixed with milk. it's a familiar taste of home — one only he and panchax are really able to replicate. laskey should consider himself lucky he allow him the privilege to drink it at all.

ㅤㅤㅤkestro can't help it, the way his lips curl behind his mug, the barest hint of a smirk peeking up around the cup. another sip is neatly taken, and he sets the drink down to neatly fold his hands in his lap. mismatched eyes study laskey with ruthless efficiency, as always, his keen gaze catching every bob of his throat — every movement of his eyes, and the inviting way his shirt dips low. ❝ have you considered my smile for him to be genuine? ❞ it's a rhetorical question. kestro himself was not sure of the answer. ❝ pax sees the young man that taught and nurtured him in the past when I smile, not who I am now. but let him. it keeps him pliant. ❞

ㅤㅤㅤthe words are blatant, matter-of-fact. whether he had any legitimate feelings of care for the boy was hard to say. laskey could probably discern the truth, but it was a weakness he preferred to keep the psychiatrist away from. instead kestro leans forward. every inch of him is covered of course, but his blue vest sits invitingly around his waist, cinched tight over the long cut of flowing cream pants. ❝ I believe you would be a lost cause on that front, laskey. although there are many other things I could teach you. ❞ his lips kick up again, dashingly inviting in the low light of his quarters, ❝ like some manners. it's terribly uncouth to flirt with me like a teenager at your age. ❞

[ry0kugyu]

doctors and scientists are just like that. they think they know everything. they think can control everything.

‘you don't know shit.’ aramaki blurts, plain frustration streaking his voice. long, dark green lashes flutter as he blinks, once, twice—he tries to focus on dr. roux's words, what bullshit wisdom he thinks he's delivering, but it gets progressively more difficult the tighter his vine curls around his forearm. lifeblood drums, all those nutrients spilling on the thorny end that prods at the skin until it breaks, and dips when it does, the leafy appendage almost timidly absorbing the first drop, then the next. the admiral's eyes widen, fingers convulsively fisting the clean paper sheets of the surgical table he's seated on. fuck, it's good. there's a sweetness to varo's blood that is faintly reminiscent of aged wine, and he knows fuck-all wines but he sure knows a lot about blood, about nourishment, about growth.

MORE...

the vine pierces deeper, twirling inescapably around the other's arm. there is a pull in the way the greenery moves that aramaki does not care to resist: the tugs varo closer, as the thorns wedge like needles into the protruding veins of the doctor's arm, absorbing the blood without letting any of it spill. it coils around the fingers that varo presses into the vine as well, smaller thorns piercing them. a muffled chuckles shakes the taut line of aramaki's shoulders as he hunches slightly, the ruffled mess of his dark green hair curtaining his vision. ‘oh you like this,’  his voice hangs delicately, a thinly-voiced realization not really meant for varo to hear. ‘what, is that some kinky shit you do with all your patients, or am i special?’  there is a fleeting instant in which their gazes lock, speckles of red and green, blood and leaves—then aramaki throws his head back, grass and flowers beginning to sprout on the floor beneath their feet.

‘ahh—’  he sighs. there it is again, that fullness. his eyes flutter shut, his throat bobs thickly as the vines absorb and absorb, pumping generous amounts of blood and lymph out of varo's veins directly into his system. it's not enough, but it's a start. he could drink him dry. he could take and take until there's nothing left of him but the moss that would cover his paper-thin corpse. the forest wants that. but... the doctor isn't wrong, is he? it's one thing to feel sated every once in a while, when the leash of his duty goes loose and he gets to feast on some poor unfortunate fucker that no one will miss. he runs on that high for a few days, but the hunger always come back. more gaping, more haunting. but to be able to eat more regularly—it's tempting enough that the greedy will inside him slows down, and so do the vines.

it takes a great restraint to call them back into his body. now varo bleeds, freely, and the admiral almost laughs. well, that was better than sex.

‘you're a sick fuck, you know?’ 

[balefier]

ㅤㅤㅤdistantly, varo registers that the piercing thorns should hurt — and they do, but that cipher pol training is nearly impeccable. the doctor barely flinches as aramaki's vine threatens to bleed him dry. he barely blinks. what he does do is stumble only slightly as he's brought closer still. an absent hand raises to catch himself, and it falls on the admiral's thigh, clawed fingertips braced against ripped pants while he bleeds. he's interested — of course — in aramaki's response. it's hard to catalogue everything as his own mind rebels against the intrusion, but he forces himself to focus at least initially. there is vitriol and frustration on aramaki at first. it seems to be his own. and then somewhere between the first few drops of blood — he goes lax, almost lustful, as if the mori's encompassing behaviors instead take over and drive. the forest is greedy, aramaki right alongside it. varo has to admit, the admiral is the perfect host for such a pernicious fruit.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ mm. ❞ varo's voice is far away, his fingers tightening on fabric as the vine continues to drain him. but he does not like frightened, nor like he is in pain, instead he shakes his head. ❝ definitely special. ❞ he licks his lips, those fangs glinting again — especially as the admiral throws his head back in pleasure, and bares the tanned line of his delicious throat.

ㅤㅤㅤthe mori bites into him harder as if in punishment.

ㅤㅤㅤhe flinches just slightly but doesn't struggle. instead the hand braced on aramaki raises, and delicately strokes the thorny vine as if in comfort. he only gets about three touches in before he staggers a bit once more, and his hand catches him against the surgical table this time. he's close to aramaki — staring into his gaze with a haze over his crimson eyes, as if he's just a bit tired. ❝ i do. ❞ he swallows thickly, ❝ i do like it. your devil fruit is remarkable — plants are the lifeblood of the world, and forests alongside them. ❞ his words are shaky, less neat than before. varo looks paler — if possible, as those vines detach from his body. he catches the scent of something strange — satisfaction, fullness, the floral delight that is aramaki's skin. gods, he wants to bite him so badly.

ㅤㅤㅤ ❝ you're remarkable for even being able to control it at all. ❞ his hand squeezes the surgical table. varo has to lean against it, and close his eyes. his lips part, the glint of too sharp teeth poke from beneath his soft upper lip. the wound on his arm had yet to stop bleeding. he'd need to break into some food to get it to do so. ❝ i want to study you some more, i want- ❞ his eyes are fixated on the throb of aramaki's carotid, on the way he can hear his pulse. his pupils dilate, his lips part again, and he sounds breathless, ❝ to eat. ❞ he should leave, probably.

ㅤㅤㅤvaro does not tell him to go.

[balefier]

feel like i'm finally returning to the swing of things... full disclosure i started zepbound and have been on quite the weight loss journey but as a result i have been in a negative in the energy department

i will be, however, responding to people aside from vinn starting tomorrow!!! yaaay