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men holding their chain / dog tags in between their teeth as they fuck you in missionary ……….. grunting, teeth clenched, arms somewhat cradling your head as they go deeper and harder, your face full of pleasure just turning them on even more … much to think about

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“i am so fucking done with this shit” i whisper to myself as i continue 

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imagine not liking nanami and this is what he’s up to 🍅 🥖 [old drawing]

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deeply obsessed with this

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by dareum

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What if you’re giving a bj in the shower and they just start shampooing and conditioning your hair 

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something so cute and endearing about your fave being injured quite seriously but he wants to have sex with you so badly and he really can’t since he’s still healing. he’s pouty and frustrated, tries to urge each kiss you give him to his lips drawn out a little more, a little more heated, his bandaged palm sliding up your thigh but you gently place your hand over his and tell him he shouldn’t move too much because you don’t want any wounds to open up. he huffs rather petulantly when you offer him a sweet smile, pushing his hair from his forehead to kiss and he’s laying there so horny and yearning for you ♡

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i think osamu is the type of husband who has a series on tiktok titled “cooking for my spouse so they don’t divorce me” and i think that’s beautiful

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no write only daydream

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movie night₊˚⊹ ᰔ.ᐟ

ஐ summary. pre-relationship movie night w/ bokuto!

ஐ warnings. none, SFW. 475 words

ஐ notes. having some big fat huge sappy thoughts of my baby bo n i wanted to write a tiny something after being absent for a while so it might be a little rusty! (also my first posted hq work!)

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

“d’yo won ayore?” bokuto asks around an almost too full mouth while shaking the oversized popcorn bowl in your direction. 

“ew, kou, you're getting crumbs all over my couch!” you stifle a laugh as you push the bowl away from you. 

he breathes a laugh around the popcorn, making crumbs fly out sending you both into a vicious cycle of giggles and crumb plumes. 

“oh my god, swallow it already so you don't choke. i’m not strong enough for the heimlich maneuver so you will die here.” you warn him trying to mask your laugh to not spur him on even more. he huffs out a laugh once more before chewing exaggeratedly, eyes squeezed comically shut while he swallows the lump of popcorn, ending with a loud “ahh!” after it's gone down. 

you roll your eyes playfully at his antics while typing up the name of the next movie on the list into the platform’s search bar, bokuto snickering every time you mess up and have to slide all the way to the backspace before continuing to type. 

finally starting the movie, you settle back into the couch and throw the fuzzy blanket over your legs, the edge of the blanket falling into bokuto’s lap. before you could move to pull the blanket off his thighs, he grabs a handful of the edge to pull it over his lap, scooching a little closer to you on the couch, his thick thighs bumping against the side of your leg. 

you glance over at him curiously, “are you sure you want the blanket? you run super hot anyway.”

he shrugs, pink lightly dust his cheeks as he keeps his eyes firming on the screen. 

“i dunno… it's nice, y’know,” he mumbles 

“being overly warm and uncomfy is nice to you?” you tease, eyes turning back towards the movie subsequently missing his face burn a little brighter. 

“nooo,” he says a little sarcastically before speaking in a much softer, almost shy tone, “i meant like…it’s nice that i can be a little closer to you,” trying to seem nonchalant by ending his subtle confession with a little shrug.

your widened eyes blink a few times at the tv, mind replaying his words to make sure that yes- he really did just say that. he nervously chews on his lip at your frozen state, about to change the subject when you begin to adjust your position and shift just a hair more towards him. leg pressing against the side of his, feeling his thigh twitch and tighten before relaxing once more. 

both of you sit there, eyes fixed on the screen but not watching the film at all, cheeks burning a little brighter as you shift your torso to press your arm against his while the back of his fingers brush against the skin of your thigh, ever so softly.

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movie night₊˚⊹ ᰔ.ᐟ

ஐ summary. pre-relationship movie night w/ bokuto!

ஐ warnings. none, SFW. 475 words

ஐ notes. having some big fat huge sappy thoughts of my baby bo n i wanted to write a tiny something after being absent for a while so it might be a little rusty! (also my first posted hq work!)

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

“d’yo won ayore?” bokuto asks around an almost too full mouth while shaking the oversized popcorn bowl in your direction. 

“ew, kou, you're getting crumbs all over my couch!” you stifle a laugh as you push the bowl away from you. 

he breathes a laugh around the popcorn, making crumbs fly out sending you both into a vicious cycle of giggles and crumb plumes. 

“oh my god, swallow it already so you don't choke. i’m not strong enough for the heimlich maneuver so you will die here.” you warn him trying to mask your laugh to not spur him on even more. he huffs out a laugh once more before chewing exaggeratedly, eyes squeezed comically shut while he swallows the lump of popcorn, ending with a loud “ahh!” after it's gone down. 

you roll your eyes playfully at his antics while typing up the name of the next movie on the list into the platform’s search bar, bokuto snickering every time you mess up and have to slide all the way to the backspace before continuing to type. 

finally starting the movie, you settle back into the couch and throw the fuzzy blanket over your legs, the edge of the blanket falling into bokuto’s lap. before you could move to pull the blanket off his thighs, he grabs a handful of the edge to pull it over his lap, scooching a little closer to you on the couch, his thick thighs bumping against the side of your leg. 

you glance over at him curiously, “are you sure you want the blanket? you run super hot anyway.”

he shrugs, pink lightly dust his cheeks as he keeps his eyes firming on the screen. 

“i dunno… it's nice, y’know,” he mumbles 

“being overly warm and uncomfy is nice to you?” you tease, eyes turning back towards the movie subsequently missing his face burn a little brighter. 

“nooo,” he says a little sarcastically before speaking in a much softer, almost shy tone, “i meant like…it’s nice that i can be a little closer to you,” trying to seem nonchalant by ending his subtle confession with a little shrug.

your widened eyes blink a few times at the tv, mind replaying his words to make sure that yes- he really did just say that. he nervously chews on his lip at your frozen state, about to change the subject when you begin to adjust your position and shift just a hair more towards him. leg pressing against the side of his, feeling his thigh twitch and tighten before relaxing once more. 

both of you sit there, eyes fixed on the screen but not watching the film at all, cheeks burning a little brighter as you shift your torso to press your arm against his while the back of his fingers brush against the skin of your thigh, ever so softly.

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movie night₊˚⊹ ᰔ.ᐟ

ஐ summary. pre-relationship movie night w/ bokuto!

ஐ warnings. none, SFW. 475 words

ஐ notes. having some big fat huge sappy thoughts of my baby bo n i wanted to write a tiny something after being absent for a while so it might be a little rusty! (also my first posted hq work!)

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

“d’yo won ayore?” bokuto asks around an almost too full mouth while shaking the oversized popcorn bowl in your direction. 

“ew, kou, you're getting crumbs all over my couch!” you stifle a laugh as you push the bowl away from you. 

he breathes a laugh around the popcorn, making crumbs fly out sending you both into a vicious cycle of giggles and crumb plumes. 

“oh my god, swallow it already so you don't choke. i’m not strong enough for the heimlich maneuver so you will die here.” you warn him trying to mask your laugh to not spur him on even more. he huffs out a laugh once more before chewing exaggeratedly, eyes squeezed comically shut while he swallows the lump of popcorn, ending with a loud “ahh!” after it's gone down. 

you roll your eyes playfully at his antics while typing up the name of the next movie on the list into the platform’s search bar, bokuto snickering every time you mess up and have to slide all the way to the backspace before continuing to type. 

finally starting the movie, you settle back into the couch and throw the fuzzy blanket over your legs, the edge of the blanket falling into bokuto’s lap. before you could move to pull the blanket off his thighs, he grabs a handful of the edge to pull it over his lap, scooching a little closer to you on the couch, his thick thighs bumping against the side of your leg. 

you glance over at him curiously, “are you sure you want the blanket? you run super hot anyway.”

he shrugs, pink lightly dust his cheeks as he keeps his eyes firming on the screen. 

“i dunno… it's nice, y’know,” he mumbles 

“being overly warm and uncomfy is nice to you?” you tease, eyes turning back towards the movie subsequently missing his face burn a little brighter. 

“nooo,” he says a little sarcastically before speaking in a much softer, almost shy tone, “i meant like…it’s nice that i can be a little closer to you,” trying to seem nonchalant by ending his subtle confession with a little shrug.

your widened eyes blink a few times at the tv, mind replaying his words to make sure that yes- he really did just say that. he nervously chews on his lip at your frozen state, about to change the subject when you begin to adjust your position and shift just a hair more towards him. leg pressing against the side of his, feeling his thigh twitch and tighten before relaxing once more. 

both of you sit there, eyes fixed on the screen but not watching the film at all, cheeks burning a little brighter as you shift your torso to press your arm against his while the back of his fingers brush against the skin of your thigh, ever so softly.

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꒰ THE UNBEARABLE WEIGHT OF LOVE ꒱ RORONOA ZORO X READER

warnings ⟢ slight angst (though it gets resolved). hurt/comfort. mentions of death and dying. descriptions of blood and wounds. brief allusions to buddhism. reader is gn and described as “beautiful” once.

word count ⟢ 1086

notes ⟢ happy birthday to my most beloved! this fic is self-indulgent (i.e. full of my hcs about zoro’s childhood) and a labor of love. the three of swords design in the banner is from the rider-waite tarot deck. three of swords generally depicts a difficult, sorrowful experience.

So this is how it ends.

The midafternoon horizon is fathomless—a halycon ocean—the sun anchored in its depths. A cool breeze stirs, kissing his tawny flesh, rustling his hair, and chiming his earrings; whispering beachgrass casts sinuous shadows across his face, allowing his good eye to rest in partial shade. Nearby, the tide laps at the shoreline—tenderly, the caress of a lover. Foam glides across half-buried seashells and beached debris in a brief greeting before returning to the sea, heeding her call.

Where Zoro is, he can’t be certain (not an uncommon occurence, though he would never admit it). His robe was slashed off at some point, and fell to the ground in shorn tatters. He lies bare-backed in a slurry of sand and ichor, his swords beside him; weeping wounds litter his torso, the most gruesome of which stretches from his navel to his right side. While he had the wherewithal to cut his haramaki and tie it around his waist as a makeshift tourniquet, the fabric is sodden, metallic teardrops puddling in the sand.

Pain is a feeling he greets like an old friend. It’s comforting, almost, like a suffocating embrace. As a boy, he had to nurture that cold familiarity if he wanted to survive—be it fighting bigger kids for spare scraps at the orphanage, or taking lashes from a bokken at the dojo. Strength comes with a cost, as does physical and mental growth. Existence is suffering, and suffering is—in its purest form—pain. But the mind-numbing sting that currently radiates from his injuries is the last thing on his mind.

For the first time in years, Zoro is afraid. He shivers despite the scorching sunbeams, sucking in shallow mouthfuls of air, glistening beads of sweat sliding down his body toward the earth.

It isn’t the prospect of death that scares him; he has walked most of his life along the corpse-strewn path of demons, fighting against his fate as an asura. And he has peered into death’s grim visage before—too many times to count. He even dived into hell and cleaved through its bowels to face Enma, emerging victorious as the king of souls departed.

Regret, however? Regret is a different beast.

It’s why he trembles now, covered in grime and gore, half-lucid. As dark thoughts slink to the forefront of his consciousness, he’s aware that dying here will mean failing. Not simply failing himself and his own dream of becoming the greatest swordsman, but also failing his captain and best friend, and failing to preserve Kuina’s legacy. Most gut-wrenching of all, he knows that dying here will mean failing you. There’s so much Zoro wants to do with you, so much he wants to say. He itches with regret, calloused digits twitching at his sides, desperate to claw his skin off.

Clarity torments him. Memories flit before his steel gaze, now wet—a tear-streaked blade. He sees you: the flicker of your eyes when you tell a story; the curve of your lips when you poke fun at him; the halo of your hair when you nap against his chest; the set of your jaw when you’re serious. More than anything else, he longs to tell you how he feels.

I love you.

Three simple words that he always struggled to string together. Perfect moment after perfect moment was presented to him on a gilt platter: inside the crow’s nest at dawn, or beneath the lush boughs in the tangerine orchard—even perched atop the Sunny’s bow to watch the sunset. He squandered each of these opportunities because he (foolishly) assumed there would be more in the future.

I love you.

If only he could muster the strength to breathe out the sweetness of your name once more—to taste each smooth, honeyed syllable on his lips, to feel it silken on his palate. Maybe then he could forgive himself. But instead, it dies on his tongue as his vision blots and blurs. Eventually, his world goes black.

I love you.

Zoro awakes to the muffled creaking of a hull.

His head pounds, his mouth is bone-dry, and his limbs are leaden and stiff; he feels like death, and suspects that he looks like it, too. Surgical gauze tightly wraps his frame, stifled wounds screaming in agony. When he glances up and sees framed pictures of the crew above his cot, he recognizes where he is: the Sunny’s infirmary. In his periphery, you’re sitting at Chopper’s desk with a book in your lap. He tries (and, to his frustration, fails) to shift into a seated position. As soon as you notice the movement—head snapping up in surprise—you rush to his bedside.

He waits for you to reprimand him for being so reckless while away from the rest of the crew. But you don’t—not yet, anyway. (Not until he’s mostly healed. And for that, he wonders if you may be an angel.) Instead, you kneel on the wooden floorboards to level with him. Your fingertips tentatively brush against his cheekbone, as though you’re testing to ensure that he’s real. Content with what you find, you cup his chin, allowing him to lean into the soft warmth of your touch, catlike.

“I was worried about you. Well, so was everyone else. But I’ll only speak for myself,” you murmur.

His voice is gravel, cragged from disuse. “Sorry.”

After a few beats of silence, he clears his throat. “Is Chopper on break?”

You nod. “I’ve picked up the night shift so he can sleep.”

“How long was I out for?”

“Roughly two days.”

“Fuck.”

That draws a chuckle from you.

Zoro swallows. “Listen, I—”

Your thumb grazes his chapped lips, forcing him to pause. “Save your energy, Zo. You don’t have to defend yourself; you’re safe with me. I promise.”

Tired but patient, your gaze breaks him, only to piece him back together. His heart aches.

He inhales deeply. Then—in a flood of emotion he can’t stem—the words flow out: “Y’know I’m not good with feelings…or words. But, uh…” A broad palm wraps around your wrist, your skin hot against his. Ignoring the heat creeping up into his cheeks, he sighs, “I love you.”

Before he can second guess his confession, your lips bloom and burst into a radiant smile, setting your features alight. He doesn’t think you have ever looked more beautiful.

“I know,” you admit airily. Leaning in, you dot a kiss to his scarred eyelid. “I love you, too.”

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