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corpsedogs · 19 days ago

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✿ Chromatic silence (Jason Todd x Reader)

soulmates, alternative universe (no vigilante hero stuff), teacher jason todd, artist reader

sypnosis: The reader’s soulmate power is to see colors for the first time when she touches her soulmate. When she met Jason, her world bursts to color but not his. She fell for him quietly, but she’s not his and she’s torn between waiting for his colors to come or moving on. ao3 link, last chapter

a/n: i forgor to post

The painting had sold, for a lot too.

It had been wrapped in layers of brown paper secured around at the corners with painter’s tape stuck and curled like clumsy apologies.

It was the first time you had ever sold a piece that felt most personal. Most of your work went with a pleasant sort of landscapes and portraits that were all dispatched to homes, hotels, lobbies and galleries but this one was different.

But it was too late, you had already signed it with your initials. A gallery sold it within a week, with a very generous buyer too.

And yet you stared at the package as if it might change its mind and stay.

You sighed, hand tracing on the brown paper. “I hope whoever takes you handles you with care.”

When a knock came, it felt like a disruption you needed and dreaded.

You padded across the floor, barefoot. You opened the door, you expected a delivery person for the painting or maybe some rando asking for sugar again. Instead, it was Cassie— smiling wild, rain misting her curls. To you, Cassie always carries the chaos of sunlight on a rainy day.

“Hey,” Cassie said. “I brought food, but more importantly— are you still in your ‘melancholy artist’ era or can we pretend you’re emotionally well-adjusted for like an hour?”

“Depends on how good the food is,” you replied with a smirk, stepping aside to let Cassie in.

Cassie was your half sister, you weren’t around when she was little. It was only a few years ago since you and Cassie started talking.

She glanced at the wrapped painting, her eyes softened. “Is this the one?”

You nod, “Sold yesterday. It ships today or tomorrow.”

Cassie made a sympathetic sound and handed you a takeout bag that smelled like grilled cheese and garlic. “Congratulations, and I’m sorry.”

You place the food down on the kitchen counter you convinced yourself to clean in case Jason comes by again. “It’s weird. I didn’t think I’d feel this sad selling a painting.”

“Well.” Cassie crossed her arms, “It’s him.”

You didn’t reply to that.

The two of you ate by the window, the plates balanced on mismatched cushions. She talked about everything and nothing while you listened.

“Sooo,” Cassie said, licking the cheese off her thumb. “We’re doing a booth thing for the school fair. My advisory class has been arguing about it for like.. three weeks.”

“Oh?” you asked “What are you guys gonna do?”

“That’s the thing!” Cassie groans, “Greta wants a face painting, Bart wants a haunted house, and Conner is so locked in on a dunk tank.”

You laughed, “What does your advisor think?”

“He pretends not to care. But he does. Do you know Mr. Darcy? He reminds me of him.”

Something flickered in your chest, “Sounds familiar.”

Cassie smiles. “You’ll love him big sis. He’s an English teacher, big on sarcasm, hates mornings, drinks too much coffee. He acts like we drive him crazy but he’s the one who always shows up five minutes early and stays five minutes late.”

“He’s so weird though. He has this look sometimes like he’s somewhere else. Like his head is full of stories.”

Cassie didn’t notice the pause in your chewing, the way her sister stared at the window like it might offer some clarity. She didn’t see the way your fingers curled in a palm— remembering the night Jason sat in the stairs of her apartment, damp with rain.

It had only been a day since then, but the colors haven’t faded yet somehow.

Cassie kept talking, then noticed her silence “What?” you snapped in your day dream and shook your head, “Nothing.”

That wasn’t true, the memory was still fresh. Jason standing beside you, hand clutching the umbrella handle as he stared at the rain like it hurt to breathe.

I don’t know why I can’t feel what you feel.

“Anyway.” Cassie continues, “He’s a good teacher. Weirdly good. Even when he’s being a jerk. I actually learned stuff this year. And I don’t hate Shakespeare anymore.”

That made you smile.

The two of you finished your food. The painting still sat in the corner, silent and still and waiting for its new life. You would never see it again.

Letting go was its own kind of closure.

After a while, Cassie started scrolling through her phone, showing you Pinterest ideas for their booth, pictures of decorated cupcakes and paper lanterns. It was silly and bright and messy, everything the painting was not. Everything Jason wasn’t, that was okay though.

Maybe the only thing you could do now was live outside of the memory of him, even though there wasn’t a lot. Let his world stay grey. Let your world keep its color, even if it makes you lonelier.

Cassie stayed for another hour before heading back home. You hugged her at the door. “Hey,” Cassie said, just before leaving. “You’ll come to the fair, right?”

“Of course,” you said.

When the door closed again, you turned back to the painting. You knelt beside it, pressing your palm lightly against the wrapped canvas.

Goodbye, you thought.

You stood, walked to the window, and watched the clouds roll past, heavy and pale.

Outside, the world was still in color.

But part of you still ached for the one who couldn’t see it.

It was the third day of school fair planning, and Jason had already begun regretting agreeing to let his advisory class take the lead. Not because they weren’t capable.

On the contrary.. His students were brilliant and creative, but too enthusiastic for their own good. Somehow, somewhere between a brainstorming session and a spreadsheet, they had managed to weaponize Shakespeare for god’s sake.

The advisory room was loud. Posters and doodles littered the whiteboard. Cassie stood near it like a general presenting battle plans, pointer in hand, eyes glinting with ill intent.

Conner leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and far too smug for someone about to advocate for dunking their teacher in a tub of water.

Bart was practically vibrating in place beside Greta, his laptop open and showing a spreadsheet labeled: “To Dunk or Not To Dunk – Proposal Draft 3.”

Jason sat at his desk, arms crossed, one brow raised in suspicion, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying very hard not to sigh aloud.

“All right,” Cassie said, tapping the board. “Mr. Todd, we present to you: Shakespeare’s Time-Traveling Death Carnival!”

“That is not the official name,” Lonnie muttered from the back.

“Yet,” Cassie countered with a wink.

Jason dragged a hand down his face. “Is this going to involve poison?”

“Absolutely not,” said Greta.

“Unless you count the poison of passion in Romeo and Juliet,” added Kyle Rayner (who had been absent the other time), twirling a pencil between his fingers.

Poison of what?

“Help me,” Jason murmured to no one in particular.

But they were already in too deep.

Cassie beamed and gestured to the whiteboard, where each play had been transformed into a themed mini-game. There were drawings of potions, ghostly silhouettes, and dramatically large labels like ET TU, BOOTH? and SOMETHING IS ROTTEN!.

Greta handed him a printed outline, complete with bullet points and little Bard emojis next to each section. “We want the booth to be interactive and educational,” she said. “Each play becomes a station. You complete a challenge, get a stamp on your checklist, and then…”

“And then,” Bart cut in, bouncing in place, “if you get enough stamps— you get to poison Hamlet!”

Jason looked up, deadpan. “Poison who?”

“Not real poison, duh,” Bart said, rolling his eyes. “It’s a dunk tank. The prize is dunking ‘Hamlet.’ Which is you?”

Jason stared.

…

“No.”

“Come on!” Cassie laughed. “We already designed the flyer. You’d look great in a frilly collar.”

“No.”

Kyle held up a rough sketch on his tablet. It showed their beloved advisor, drawn in exaggerated Shakespearean garb— perched above a water tank, dramatically holding a skull as if pondering his fate. “It’s got aesthetic.”

Jason blinked slowly. “You drew a goatee on me.”

“You have a vibe, Mr. Todd,” Cissie said from her seat near the window.

“Dark academia. Tragic hero. Brooding Hamlet. It fits.”

“It’s not a vibe. It’s my face.”

“Exactly.”

Jason set the folder down and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me get this straight. You want to create an elaborate Shakespeare-themed obstacle course—”

“Educational experience,” Greta corrected.

“—culminating in publicly humiliating your English teacher by dropping him into a tank of questionable water.”

“Don’t forget the costumes,” Lonnie added helpfully.

Cassie bounced on her heels. “You wouldn’t even have to sit in the tank for that long. We just need to call you over!”

“Oh, that makes it so much better.”

“It’s for the children,” Bart said, placing a hand over his chest with mock sincerity. “Think of the joy in their faces.”

“It’s my advisory class,” Jason pointed out. “Why am I the one getting dunked?”

“Because,” Conner said with a grin, “you’re the only one cranky enough to sell the Hamlet act.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “What happened to decorating cupcakes?”

“Oh, we voted on that,” Cassie said. “Unanimous. This is better.”

“Unanimous?” Jason echoed. “I’m not even a part of the vote in my own class?”

“You’re the dunk target,” Bart said. “It’s a conflict of interest.”

Jason stared at the ceiling like it might offer him divine guidance. It didn’t.

Cissie chimed in, flipping through the proposal. “We also built in learning outcomes. Each station ties to a major theme— ambition, betrayal, identity. There’s even a mini quiz built into the trivia game.”

Jason squinted at her. “You put Shakespearean educational objectives into a carnival game?”

She nodded. “Well, yeah. You’d kill us if we didn’t.”

Jason opened his mouth. Then closed it. Fair.

There was a moment of silence as Jason pretended to read the rest of the proposal, he hated how good they were at this.

His students weren’t just clever, they cared. Cared enough to connect themes, to build structure around chaos, to argue for a dunk tank in iambic pentameter if they had to. He looked at Bart, who had clearly rehearsed lines from Julius Caesar. Cassie had doodled Caliban quotes in the margins. Greta had handwritten notes about sensory-friendly game options.

Jason exhaled through his nose, a sound that came close to a laugh but not quite.

“No Hamlet costume,” he said eventually.

A victorious cheer went up.

“Fine, fine.. no collar,” Cassie conceded. “But we are putting you in black.”

“I’m always in black.”

“Then we’re already halfway there!”

Jason rolled his eyes. “You’ve all lost your minds.”

“Madness in great ones must not be unwatched go,” Greta said solemnly.

“Touché.”

The class was still celebrating when he stood up and walked to the front, grabbing a stack of recently graded assignments from his desk.

“Before we start planning the dunk tank dimensions, I need to give back your papers,” he said. “Let’s see who actually read King Lear and who skimmed the SparkNotes.”

A collective groan rippled through the room.

Jason smirks.

“Allen,” he said, tossing the first paper at Bart, “C+. Points for creativity. Negative points for referring to King Lear as ‘a certified drama king.’”

Bart grinned. “Still true though.”

“Kent,” he said, handing Conner his B+, “good analysis on power and blindness. But next time, less boxing metaphors.”

Conner shrugged. “I write what I know.”

“Rayner—A. Your sketches were weirdly on point. Also, stop turning in essays with illustrated margins.”

“But they enhance the mood.”

“Noted.”

One by one, the papers were returned, each with its own snide remark or praise muttered just low enough to keep them on their toes. Jason didn’t hold back, but he didn’t tear them down either. It was a dance, mockery wrapped in care, sarcasm dipped in guidance. And they knew it.

Jason stared at his laptop like it had personally offended him.

The cursor blinked against an empty document titled: Advisory Class Contribution Proposal.docx. There was something cruel in how smug it looked, taunting him with its emptiness and the ticking clock in the corner of the screen.

The deadline for contribution submissions was creeping closer, and while most teachers had long chosen their projects, some boasting about them over coffee and stale donuts in the break room— Jason still had nothing but his students’ half-muttered mural idea echoing in his brain.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The teacher’s lounge was oddly quiet today, aside from the low hum of the vending machine that always dispensed lukewarm soda. He didn’t mind the silence. It gave him room to think.

He sipped his coffee and grimaced. Burnt, bitter, and flat. Like disappointment in a cup.

“You’re brooding again, teach.”

The familiar lilt of Harleen Quinzel—Dr. Quinzel, technically, but everyone just called her Harley— echoed from behind him. She swept into the lounge like she owned it, all red lipstick and bright smiles and chaos in high heels.

“Mr. Todd,” Harley sang as she waltzed into the shared staff room, coffee in one hand, a stack of glittery cardstock in the other. She was dressed like she raided a color wheel and won. “Heard your kids are going for the Bard Booth thing, huh?”

“They’re enthusiastic about it,” Jason muttered, clicking his pen and avoiding eye contact.

“Aw,” she grinned, sliding into the chair beside him. “That’s cute. But you know about this year's contribution, right? Something permanent. Y’know. Real legacy stuff.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Booths count.”

“Oh, my angels are donating free supplies,” she said, examining her nails. “Glitter pens. Notebooks. Scented erasers. I even bribed a parent to fund some eco-friendly stuff. You know, the whole save the turtles, win the fair angle.”

Jason exhaled sharply. “Of course you are.”

Harley leaned in, grin stretching. “Which means you’re gonna lose. Spectacularly. And I can’t wait.”

Jason blinked slowly. “You know what your problem is?”

“Too charming?”

“You talk too much for someone who thinks Euphoria is literature.”

“Ouch,” she said, clutching her heart. “Low blow, Mr. Todd. But seriously! If you haven’t got anything yet, you’re gonna get steamrolled. I hear Waller’s cracking down this year. Wants the school looking clean, fresh, and ‘aesthetically aligned with our values.’ Whatever that means.”

Jason took another sip of his coffee. It didn’t help.

He hated losing. Especially to Harley.

But if he was being honest, the kids had already come up with something. It was stupid, sure, and messy, and full of chaotic energy— but it had potential. The mural idea had been tossed around during advisory, but the more he thought about it, the more it started to take root. They could paint something meaningful. Big. Permanent.

He rubbed the back of his neck, thoughtful.

“Don’t tell me you’re considering something risky.” Harley smirked, eyeing him like she could read his thoughts. “That little wrinkle between your eyebrows means trouble.”

“Get out of my face, Quinzel.”

She winked, unbothered. “No shame in losing, Todd. Some people just weren’t built for flair. You’re more… brooding hallway monitor than star advisor.” She twirled out of the lounge like she’d just won an Oscar and left Jason gripping the bridge of his nose.

He sat there a long while, listening to the echo of her words like they were bouncing off the walls of his skull.

Brooding hallway monitor. Mural. Losing.

His eyes drifted toward the faculty bulletin board where a half-torn flyer read, “Think Big, Be Bold — Advisory Contribution Challenge.”

He slammed his laptop shut and stood, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair like it had personally dared him to try.

Principal Amanda Waller’s office was less “academic administrator” and more “top-level military base.” Her nameplate was polished to a mirror shine. The walls were bare except for a black-and-white portrait of the founding faculty, all looking like they’d rather be in a warzone than a classroom. Waller herself was seated behind her desk, paperwork neatly aligned in front of her like soldiers at inspection.

“Mr. Todd,” she said without looking up. “To what do I owe this unscheduled intrusion?”

Jason cleared his throat. “I want to formally submit a project proposal for my advisory class.”

Waller raised a brow, glancing at the clock. “Cutting it close, aren’t we?”

“I know the kids are doing the Shakespeare booth already,” he said, “but I’d like to approve a mural for our hallway.”

Her eyes flicked up, calculating. “You want to give me graffiti on my wall.”

“It’s not graffiti.”

“Is it going to peel?”

“No.”

“Is it going to offend someone?”

“No.”

“Are there swords?”

Jason hesitated. “…I don’t know yet.”

Waller stared at him. The silence stretched.

“And you want permission to bring in an external contributor?” she said finally.

“Yes,” he replied. “A friend. She’s an artist. Graduated. Good with students. Clean record.” he lies a bit, considering he didn’t know your background that much.

Waller leaned back, “You’re lucky I like your students.”

Jason didn’t flinch. “They’re lucky too.”

She tapped her pen once, sharp and deliberate. “If it’s for the good of the students, and they’re supervised at all times, I’ll allow it. But you’ll be responsible for anything that happens under your advisory’s banner. Understood?”

Jason nodded. “Crystal.”

Waller leaned forward. “And Todd?”

“Yeah?”

“Try not to lose,” she said flatly. “I don’t like Harley gloating.”

He left the office with a strange sense of determination knotting in his gut. The kind that felt like cold metal warming slowly in his chest. Like purpose, maybe. Like pride.

By the time he made it back to his desk, the sun had shifted through the high windows, leaving golden slats across his papers. He stood over the cluttered surface of his workspace, staring at the notepad where he’d scribbled possible contributors earlier. None of them had felt right.

But there was one name that hadn’t made it to the page.

He paced. Sat down. Got back up. Stared at the faculty phone. Stared at his cell.

He’d seen your work. Knew how intimately you painted, how everything you created bled emotion. That portrait of him, haunting and personal, and not meant for anyone else’s eyes still ghosted the back of his mind.

You hadn’t painted him in flattery. You had painted him in honesty.

And that scared the hell out of him.

Jason rubbed the back of his neck and muttered something halfway between a curse and a prayer. There was no reason not to call you.

But you had looked at him like you saw through every wall he put up.

Did he want you back in his orbit again?

He sat down, jaw tight, and opened his contacts.

Your name stared up at him. Simple. Unassuming.

He hovered over the call button, thumb shaking just slightly.

What if you said no?

What if you said yes?

Jason pressed the button.

It rang once. Twice.

The screen blurred as his thumb trembled again, and suddenly, all the air in the room felt heavier.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” he whispered as it connected. “It’s me. I know this is… sudden, but I’ve got a project. For the school fair. And I could really use your help.”

@theendodthematerialgworl @sep3mberchild @sinnamon-bunn @daffy-the-duck @mydarlingelena @jason-todd-rh @mercuryathens @feedthefandoms995 @no-oneneedsto-know @profoundgreenturtle

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eelnoise · 2 years ago

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paradigm shift

zoro x afab!reader c/w: jealous zoro, he raises his voice/yells at reader, possessive behavior, fwb to lovers, semi-public sex, piv sex a/n: inspired by a conversation @sunfloworcs and i had. meant to post this last night but i forgor! anyway here's wonderwall

Zoro watches you smile at the man attempting to court you at the bar. He watches as you laugh at something he says before replying in a manner that's a little too enthusiastic for the brooding swordsman in the corner.

He grits his teeth and tightens the grip on his drink, frustrated at the sight across the tavern.

The way your cheeks flush with mild inebriation makes Zoro clench the hand on his knee into a fist. His leg doesn't seem to stop bouncing as he glares in your direction, the tick going unnoticed due to his annoyance at the patron you're speaking with and himself for even caring.

You're not exclusive. The length of your shared relationship had been long decided as friends who just fuck on the side for a little stress relief, so why the hell does he care that some nobody is trying to coax you into their bed?

He takes a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth in what ultimately proves to be a feeble attempt at calming himself. It almost works, but as he brings the mug of ale to his lips he notices you lean in a little closer to the man, that undeniable look of desire flickering in your heavy-lidded expression that Zoro knows all too well.

Before he can even think to stop himself, Zoro stands from his seat and makes his way toward you, heavy boot steps trudging against the wooden floor of the tavern.

You don't notice his approach, far too lost in the music and conversation to really pay attention. It's only when his large hand envelops the small of your back that you pay him any mind.

"Yeah, if you wanna get out of here maybe we could fin-" the hopeful patron begins, the remainder of the sentence lost to time as Zoro rudely interrupts.

"We're leavin'," the pirate states bluntly, pulling you away from the man without hesitation.

"But-" You call out, a hand reaching in hopeless desperation toward the bar where your soon-to-be abandoned drink sits. "The others?"

"Fuck 'em," Zoro snaps, not looking in your direction as he leads you through the door and out into the humidity of the island. "They'll catch up."

"What's wrong with you?" Your voice wavers with uncertainty as you try and fail to wriggle from his tight grip upon your forearm. "Why're you so pissed at me?"

"I'm not pissed at ya!" Zoro shouts back defensively, stopping short to face you. "But I don't want some random asswipe tryin' to sweet talk my shipmate!"

You nearly trip over yourself when he suddenly comes to a halt in the middle of the street, the once lively town now having fallen into a slumber of its own. "So you just get up and leave?" You reply, managing to keep your balance before staring up at him angrily, a slight tilt to your head in mild confusion. "And what do you care if someone wants to 'sweet talk' me?"

"Because I care about ya!" Zoro barks, feeling his heart race in his chest. "I don't want anyone else touchin' what's mine!"

Your eyes widen, paralyzed in place as the words hang in the air somewhat awkwardly. Zoro's expression is still one of anger, brows furrowed and mouth twisted into a harsh frown. "I-" you swallow, shaking your head in an attempt to be rid of the butterflies threatening to form in your belly. "What's yours?" You finally echo, tone wavering between frustration and disbelief.

"You!" Zoro yells, grabbing you by the shoulders and forcing you to look directly into his eyes. "Me and you, we've got somethin' special goin' on! We don't need anyone complicatin' things!"

You part your lips as if wanting to speak before averting his gaze with an unreadable expression. Your brows are raised and your hands tremble at your sides. "I thought we decided to just keep it casu-" Zoro cuts you off with a firm grip to your chin, forcing your gaze upon him once more.

"That doesn't matter!" He huffs, the hand on your shoulder twitching slightly as he fights off the urge to move it to the back of your neck. "Fuck," Zoro groans, the low timbre of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. He looks around quickly, and before you can say anything you feel him start to pull you along by the arm again and down a stray alleyway.

You hurry along behind him as best you can, accepting your fate within his iron grip. He stops and you hear him sigh heavily, his shoulders tensing in irritation. "Zoro...?"

"Shut up." He commands harshly as he releases your aching wrist, turning to face you with a fierce scowl etched into his features.

You let out a sound akin to a squeak, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as if you had done something wrong. Suddenly you feel vulnerable. Small. Your eyes dare not leave his, unsure and anxious emotions swelling in your mind. You feel your mouth go dry.

"I can't keep pretendin' that this is just a casual thing between us," Zoro declares, taking a step closer to you. "I know what we agreed on, but I can't help it. I want more."

You heart feels like it's about to beat out of your chest. "Zoro-" you whisper, but the swordsman holds up a hand to stop you, not done speaking just yet. If he's going to do this, to expose how he feels, he needs you to shut up and listen.

"I don't want to share ya," He continues, his voice and words blunt. "I already told ya, I don't want anyone else touchin' what's mine." He leans in closer, his warm breath brushing against your earlobe.

Your back clashes with one of the outer walls of the two shops you're tucked in between. Zoro's hand finally finds the nape of your neck, leaning in even further until his lips ghost over yours. "Truth is," he murmurs, thumb caressing your soft skin. "I'm crazy about ya."

And at once, Zoro's lips crash onto your own, engulfing you in an open-mouthed, somewhat messy kiss. Your arms find purchase around his shoulders, eagerly reciprocating the gesture without a second thought. As your tongues dance together, Zoro's hand reaches down to cup your ass, pulling your body flush against his.

A surprised gasp is muffled between a mess of lips and tongue and teeth, the hands on his broad shoulders tightening their grasp at the newfound contact. With a low groan, Zoro breaks away from the kiss, panting heavily. "Now let's get one thing straight," he growls, running his fingers through your hair. "Ya belong to me."

You nod, a huff of what sounds like a breathless whimper of an 'Mhm!' falling from your parted, wet lips.

Grinning triumphantly, Zoro pulls you into another deep, passionate kiss. This time there's no hesitation, no holding back - it's pure desire and hunger and everything else that comes with wanting someone more than anything else in the world. And while your tongues continue to duel and your bodies pressed firmly together, Zoro's hand moves to cup your cheek before trailing down your neck to rest upon the exposed skin of your collarbone. He bites lightly at your jawline, his mouth leaving yours to taste your flesh and leaving a trail of fire wherever he goes.

When he reaches the hem of your shirt, his large, warm hand slides beneath the fabric and meets the soft skin of your torso. A soft moan escapes your throat at the intimate touch, and though he's heard your symphony many times, this note is different. It sends an unfamiliar, but not unwanted jolt to his heart. As if something tugs at his very soul.

Zoro stops in his tracks, thumb just brushing the underside of your breast. His mouth leaves your skin, and you mourn the loss of his touch until he raises his head to look upon the whole of you once more. He scans your face as if committing to memory, and in what seems like an instant, he locks you into another kiss that takes your breath away.

It's tender and careful, each touch working as wordless confessions.

It's almost romantic.

His arms wrap around your middle, lifting you and pressing you flat against the wall. His lips never leave yours either, it's as if you're quite literally glued to one another. When he finally pulls away, he's breathless, and there's a glimmer in his eye that wasn't there before. "You're mine," he repeats, smirking almost wickedly. "And I'm not lettin' go."

Zoro's hand resumes its tour of your body, sliding back under your shirt and grazing over your breast. Your legs wrap around him and he rolls his hips into you, watching as you writhe for him. "You're always on my mind," he admits, his voice heavy and rough. "Even when we're apart."

He descends down your neck, trailing kisses and nibbles and licks to your tender skin. "I can barely keep my hands off ya," Zoro murmurs into you. "If I had my way you'd be in my bed every single night."

"But," Zoro says firmly, breaking away from your neck to look into your eyes. "I won't settle for less than all of ya. I want your heart too."

You exhale as if you'd been holding your breath in for days. You'd be denying yourself truth if you say that you aren't interested - that you're content with just being crewmates once again. But you're not content with it; for at some point in the circumstance of your relationship, what had started as a quick means to an end had indeed grown into something more raw and real.

Something more than just infatuation, more than just lust.

"You have it," you whisper, a flood of warmth bathing your heart. "Zoro, you've had it for a while." The confession is soft, and your tone is a little rasp and hoarse from the intensity of the moment.

Zoro smiles, the gesture reaching all the way to his eyes. He leans down to capture your lips again in a yearning kiss, and as your lips lock together, his hand moves lower still, sliding up your thigh and beneath your skirt. He teasingly skims along the edge of your panties before dipping beneath the fabric. A breathy gasp falls from your lips, the sound thankfully swallowed by Zoro's hungry kiss.

He groans, feeling your wetness against his fingers. "Damn, ya drive me crazy, y'know that?" he mutters against your lips. You whine as he touches you, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure and clutching him ever closer to you. "But I love it," he adds, pulling away from the kiss to gaze down at you with a smirk. "Love how much ya need me."

"Always need you," you reply, lips swollen and glossed over with saliva. "All of you."

With a wicked grin, Zoro pulls back slightly, giving you a better view of his erection straining against his pants. He pulls his hand out from beneath your skirt just long enough to free his aching length from its confines before wrapping it around himself, stroking his cock lazily while watching your face contort in anticipation.

He aligns himself with you, carefully sliding your panties to the side. With a hiss, he pushes himself into you. Zoro's slower than usual, but still just as needy and desperate as ever. He buries himself to the hilt within your warm, plush walls, filling you completely until there's no room left for doubt or denial.

You cry out in surprise and ecstasy, back arching off the wall as Zoro begins to fuck you relentlessly. He holds nothing back, diving into you with all his strength as if trying to claim every inch of your being. His free hand digs into your hipbone, keeping you anchored to him while he pounds into you mercilessly. "Nobody else can have ya," he growls into your ear. "Nobody else can fuck ya like this either, isn't that right, princess?"

You nod wordlessly, unable to find the breath needed for anything more than short gasps of air. Your whole body quivers with each thrust, desperate to take everything he has to offer. Zoro seems determined to make sure you remember exactly what it feels like to be taken by him - and to show everyone within earshot just how much he owns you.

The sound of footsteps echo through the alleyway behind you, causing you both to stiffen momentarily before relaxing again. Clearly, whoever it was didn’t stick around to see what was going on. Zoro doesn’t let go of you though, continuing to fuck you with unrelenting force even as you both know they could come back at any moment.

And you're lost in him once again, completely bent and shaped to his will. Breathless and broken attempts at speech mix in between gasps and moans and sighs of pleasure. He moans softly into your ear, feeling your submission wrapping around him like a warm embrace. It fuels his desire even further, pushing him to go harder and faster until there's no thought left beyond the primal need to fuck you senseless.

It seems like his pace won't ever let up, soon losing any cadence to his motions as his eye closes tightly. A wild light burns within him as he loses himself completely in the act of taking you. The sounds of the village fade away, replaced by only the rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh and the ragged breath shared between you both.

Your inner walls flutter around him wildly, moans befalling into frantic whimpers that tell him just how close you are to cumming around his cock. You feel yourself reaching the brink, and without warning, Zoro suddenly pulls out of you.

For a brief moment, he leaves you empty and aching - before shoving himself back inside you with a ferocity that makes you cry out in shock. His movements become frantic, almost violent as he tries to bring you over the edge with him.

As your orgasm washes over you, Zoro lets out a near-animalistic growl deep in his throat. His hips piston forward relentlessly, driving himself deeper and deeper into you with each pulse of euphoria. You scream his name, the blissful sensations coursing through your body as waves of pleasure crash over you again and again.

Zoro's moans into your ear grow more erratic, feeling his own peak building rapidly. With one final surge of power, he drives deep into you one last time before releasing himself fully inside and filling you to the brim with his spend. The sensation sends shockwaves through you, leaving you a shuddering and panting mess around him.

Zoro holds you tightly as your head lolls into his shoulder, body twitching slightly as you recover from his harsh fucking. He pulls out from you slowly, giving you a moment to catch your breath before withdrawing completely. Once he does, he helps you straighten up and adjust your clothes before leading you out of the alleyway.

Despite the roughness of your encounter, there's an underlying sense of tenderness in his movements - a reminder that he truly does care for you deeply. And as you walk toward the port where the Sunny is anchored, neither of you speak; instead, you revel in the afterglow of what just conspired between the two of you. There's something incredibly intimate about it now, knowing that you both feel the same way for one another, and it leaves you feeling closer than ever before.

"Zoro," Your voice catches him off guard, the swordsman seemingly lost in thought.

"Hm?" He replies, looking down at you with a raised brow.

You entwine your fingers with his, holding his much larger hand tightly within your own as you point in the opposite direction.

"The ship is that way."

#one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x reader smut #zoro x reader smut #roronoa zoro x you #zoro roronoa x y/n #opla zoro x reader #zoro smut #opla zoro

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ranx0 · 6 months ago

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Okayokay so many multiple views and perspectives on how you could put things omg okay so Ive given it some thought and i guess there would be so many different ways depending on what changes and what doesn't, so assuming there are 2 ways to put things, Most canon accurate (with no other age switches other than pony and darry) and least canon accurate (other age switches)-- there are my takes. (if that makes sense)

Most Canon Accurate:

Soda would stay 16, (being closer to darry) what you said would definitely happen. You were literally on point with that so I aint adding anything to it.

Dally would absolutely hate Darry, and seeing that in the book Ponyboy said he least liked dally-- they weren't even that close until the park incident happened.

Johnny would be terrified of Darry too, after all, he's friends with one of the boys who jumped him so badly. (which brings up questions about Paul and their ages but wtv..) Darry is unsure how to feel about Johnny's jumping, his friends say Johnny was the one that instigated it but looking at the boy he could never do that to someone. After that happens, the gang is even more resentful of Darry but Soda no matter what Darry does to him tries to defend him because he doesn't want his family torn apart. Johnny is close to Ponyboy in more of a sense that Ponyboy understands his quiet nature and feels a need to protect him and nurture his quiet and creative side.

Two-Bit stays at 18 and instead meets Ponyboy after Two-Bit gets sent to the corner in 3rd grade. I just think that's funny.

Least Canon Accurate

Soda is four years older than Darry (18), so he understands Ponyboy a lot more. As you said, he thinks of Soda as an embarrassment, a dishonor. He is the only Curtis brother who won't be graduating high school, and he was so close to graduating too. He was in his senior year, but as soon as the year started he knew with his grades the year prior it would be useless. Darry, essentially brainwashed by the Socs, doesn't understand the boy's struggles with school and how he'd be much better off in something like a gas station where he is now.

I think Dally would hate this version of Darry no matter which au it is. Only because of his hatred of socs and stuff does he hate darry though, if darry hadn't ended up with socs he'd probably act like he does with canon Ponyboy.

Johnny's age is modified closer to Ponyboy's here, hes probably around 17. He's kinda like his second brother, the younger brother that Darry never was. He gets to teach Johnny about literature since the boy was never that good in school, and he gets to show him art and stuff. Darrel was never too interested in it for pony to show him.

Two-bit would most likely not be much in the gang in this. He's Darry's childhood friend, and he's two years younger than Darry in Canon. Here, that would mean he is literally 12. Though, let's just make him 13 and in 8th grade or something. Darry is still secretly friends with him, but hides it with the gang because he wants to make it seem like he doesn't associate with greasers anymore, and hides him from the socs for the same reason.

steve ur just sodas best buddy i truly do love you ur in my top 3 but you stay literally the same. The only thing that would change throughout either of the aus is his percieved veiw of Ponyboy. It would probably change to hating darry.

Has anyone done a Curtis brothers role reversal where Ponboy is the eldest and Darry is the youngest? Because I think that would be such an interesting dynamic to explore.

How differently does Ponyboy deal with the stress of being responsible for his siblings following their parent's death? What would his relationship with Soda and Darry look like?

How would a Darry who wasn't burdened with the responsibility of caring for his siblings react to the loss of his parents? What sort of friends would he surround himself with? What relationship would he have with Pony and Soda?

I feel like this has a lot of potential, especially if you play into the fact that Darry had Soc friends when he was in high school so it's highly likely he would also have those friends in this AU. If he and Pony argue like they do in canon, would Darry start to pull away from his brothers and the gang, to act more like Soc? What sort of issues would that cause within the gang?

#im thinking about paul now #his age kinda does have to change no matter what #i kinda just yap holy shit #sorry i yap alot and i like this idea #sodapop curtis #darrel curtis #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #johnny cade #two bit mathews #dallas winston #steve randle #i had something else to mention in the tags but i forgor #oh i was gonna ask what you think would happen with johnny's jumping and if it would still happen in the second au #maybe #i have a feeling thats not it but wtv

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