h1nanii

[h1nanii]

Girl are you alive 😫 missing ur talented skills come backkkk

I was so wrapped up I couldn’t believe I abandoned you guysss😔😣💔 IM SO SORRY YALL IM BACK and so are the posts‼️‼️‼️

Now you may ask, what have you been doing for the past month & a half? I got a j*b💔

Yess big girl checks!!!(😔)

I got back with my Ex….!

(Right after doing my whore-ly duties ofc)

But ladies ladies (and all genders ofc)

I hope you’re ready just as much as I hope you’re reading my posts with BOTH hands on the phone!!🧐

H1nanii is back.

Requests? Always open for my lovely’s.

[h1nanii]

Ahem........... Boxer Ace or Law, with a gf/wife that do that type of rough motivation on them when they get beat up on the ring, yknow....... it may be better if it's like a bout underground/illegal fighting too muahhaha

Round One

Pairing: Boxer!Portgas D. Ace x Fem!Reader

Modern / Underground Illegal Fighting AU

Word Count: (1,500)

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Summary: Ace lives for the burn—the fight, the blood, the chaos—and you’re the fire that keeps him grounded in the madness. In the depths of the illegal fighting circuit, you’re not just his girl. You’re the only voice he hears when he’s getting rocked in the ring. But rough love breeds rough loyalty, and when he loses control, you’re right there to drag him back to his feet—then drag him somewhere darker to finish what the fight started.

He bleeds for you. You bite back. That’s just how it works. And you both wouldn’t have it any other way.

Warnings: mentions of Violence / blood / boxing injuriesExplicit sexual content NSFW (fingering, wall sex, dirty talk, slight risk of public exposure) Rough dynamics / rough language Possessiveness / obsession themes Established relationship with chaotic chemistry

MINORS DNI

It was at some trashy underground fight two years ago. Your friend had dragged you there to sell fake IDs and vape pens to sweaty teenagers. You weren’t even into the fights, until you saw him.

Ace.

Too pretty to be brawling. Shirt half off. Laughing in the face of the guy trying to kill him. He moved like fire—fast, untouchable, cocky.

But he lost that night.

You found him afterward in the back alley, bleeding, spitting blood into a cracked bottle of Gatorade.

“You let him hit you like that on purpose?” you asked, crouching beside him.

He looked up, all freckles and bloodied lips. “He owed me money. Figured I’d knock it outta him slower.”

You snorted. “You’re a dumbass.”

Ace grinned. “You got a name, or just insults?”

You handed him a napkin. “[Name]. I patch up dumbasses.”

“Perfect” he said. “I break things. You fix them. Match made in hell.”

He was right. Two weeks later, you were in his corner at his next fight. A month after that, in his bed. And before long, in his heart—even if he only ever said it with a bloody grin and your name gasped against your throat.

—

—

Now The basement was loud—sweat, blood, and beer thick in the air. Concrete walls vibrated from the chanting of the crowd packed shoulder-to-shoulder around the makeshift ring. You were used to it by now, the screaming animals they called spectators and the risk of cops busting through the side doors.

But nothing made your heart beat faster than when he stepped into the ring.

Ace. Your Ace.

He was shirtless, taped fists flexing at his sides, muscles slick with sweat and tension. His freckles contrasted sharply with the crimson bruises already forming on his jaw. He’d been losing the last two rounds. Bad. Too slow. Too cocky. The guy across from him was built like a goddamn refrigerator and fought like he had nothing to lose.

You pressed yourself to the corner ropes, shoving past some idiot holding a drink. “Move.”

The bell clanged.

Round Four.

Ace took another hit—a heavy one that rocked him off his stance. He stumbled back, coughing. The crowd roared like bloodthirsty hyenas.

“COME ON, ACE!”

No response. Just more bobbing, weaving, then bam—another punch to the gut.

Fuck that.

You ducked under the barrier before anyone could stop you, storming toward the edge of the ring, your voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

“ACE, YOU BETTER GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER OR I SWEAR TO GOD—!”

His head turned, dazed. Eyes found yours.

You pointed a finger straight at him like it was a loaded gun. “You gonna let some brick-wall bitch end your streak? You gonna come home dragging your ribs again, acting like a kicked puppy? No. Uh-uh. You’re mine, and you don’t go down unless I say so!”

Ace wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a crooked grin bleeding through the pain. His eyes lit up.

The crowd laughed.

His opponent glanced over, confused—and Ace struck.

Like fire through gasoline.

One hit to the jaw. Another to the ribs. A clean uppercut that sent the other man crashing to the mat like a sack of concrete.

The place exploded. But all you could see was Ace, panting, bloodied, cocky as hell as he staggered back toward your voice.

You met him ringside, your hands grabbing him by the cheeks, smushing his stupidly handsome, bruised face.

“Idiot” you muttered. “You trying to die on me or what?”

He chuckled through a split lip. “Needed a push.”

You kissed him hard, tasting blood and sweat and something like home. “Next time, maybe try dodging first, Firestarter.”

He wrapped his arm around you, fingers twitching from the adrenaline still in his veins. “Where’s the fun in that?”

The second the fight was declared over, Ace didn’t even wait for the announcer. He ducked under the ropes and grabbed you by the waist, dragging you into the back hallway behind the ring—damp concrete, flickering lights, and the sounds of the next bout already beginning.

Your back hit the wall with a thud, and his mouth was on you before you could speak.

“Fuck, babe…” he growled, hands tugging up your shirt. “That thing you said out there—tell me again.”

“You mean when I told you to stop fighting like a little bitch?”

Ace groaned, biting at your neck. “Yeah….that.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against his abs—taut, bloodied, shaking with adrenaline. “You’re so hot when you fight like that.”

“Then you must be soaking right now” he murmured, voice low and cracked, hand sliding down into your jeans like he knew the answer.

He wasn’t wrong.

Your breath hitched as his fingers found you—already wet, already pulsing with need from the fight, from the danger, from him. His knuckles still had blood on them, smeared across your thigh as he pushed your underwear aside sinking through your puffy folds and circled your clit with filthy precision.

“You come to every fight like this?” he rasped. “Wet for me before I even step in the ring?”

You moaned, head hitting the wall. “Only when you fight like you’re gonna die.”

“That’s the only way I know how to fight.”

He sucked your tongue into his mouth, then pushed two fingers inside you, curling just right. Your hips bucked, riding his hand, chasing that high while he whispered shit that made your knees weak.

“You’re mine, y’know that? You yell at me like you own me, and fuck—you do.”

You clenched around his fingers, losing it completely when his thumb pressed harder on your clit. He kept you pinned with one arm and worked you open with the other, bruised knuckles curling against your sweet spot until your thighs were shaking.

“You gonna come?” he asked while watching you nod immediately after with a whine. “Right here where they can hear you? Let ‘em all know whose pussy this is? Who makes you scream like this?”

“Yes, Ace—fuck—don’t stop—”

You broke with a shudder, legs trembling, crying out his name as your orgasm hit like a wave. He kissed you through it, all heat and teeth and possessive growls.

But he wasn’t done.

“You think I fought like that just to finger you in a hallway?” he grunted, undoing his jeans with one hand. “Nah, sweetheart. I’m gonna fuck you like I earned it.”

And he did.

Right there against the concrete slipping his dick in slow, then fast and deep and filthy. With one of your hands gripping his sweat-slick shoulder and the other stuffed in your mouth to muffle the moans. You came again with him growling your name like it was the only word he knew.

[h1nanii]

I just wanted to pop in and tell you how much I adore Pink Clouds, I just found it yesterday on recommendation from fellow Law fan girlies and binged all the current chapters. It’s instantly made it into my favs.

Thank you so much for continuing writing chapters for it!

Thank you so much for reading my bs💔💗💗

I’m still baffled that you guys loved what was a silly draft of mine in the middle of my midterms, how far I was able to push the series as well (the fact it even BECAME a series!!) you guys are definitely the best. Let me know if you guys would like bonus chapters and feel free for some plot requests for them!💗

Im officially back from my mini hiatus of sharking around.. lmk if you guys would like to hear these stories with any characters of your suggestion ‼️

[h1nanii]

Girl!!! whatever “messing around” you were doing in your update imma need it an a zoro fic😩😩 pls queen let us in on ittt

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.

Pairing: Cowboy!Zoro x fem!Reader

[Genre: ModernAU!, Romance, NSFW, mini slow-burn chemistry, opposites attract, based on real events]

[Warnings: NSFW, Explicit themes, Manhandling, Fingering, Rough sex, Semi-Public setting, Riding]

MINORS DNI

You’d seen him before—always from afar. Zoro Roronoa, the quiet man just 3 years older than you who lived at the edge of town, where the hills met the forest. People said he was a little gruff, always shirtless in summer, his skin sun-kissed and muscles defined from working the land. Coming back home for the summer to volunteer at the preschool, You’d caught glimpses of him when the school bus passed his property. Sometimes, you’d spot him chopping wood or carrying hay bales like they weighed nothing.

Now you were actually headed to his farm.

The schoolhouse you volunteered for every summer had a new idea for the kids, a petting zoo project that needed chickens, and the principal had joked, “Send someone he can’t say no to.” Apparently, that was you.

You clutched the little wicker basket of muffins you’d made—your peace offering—and finally stepped through the white gate leading into Zoro’s farm. The scent of hay and earth filled the air. You heard a distant cluck, and then the sound of boots against gravel.

He was even more imposing up close. A tank top hung from his shoulder by a thread, leaving little to the imagination. His skin glistened with sweat, and he had a piece of straw stuck between his lips, his green hair tousled under a Black Cattleman hat.

His eyes narrowed when he saw you. “You lost?”

You blinked, smiled brightly, and bowed out of respect, just a little. “No, sir. I’m from the schoolhouse down the road.”

He blinked once. “…Didn’t know the school was doin’ door-to-door visits now.”

You giggled, voice light as a cupcake. “Oh, no, it’s about the petting zoo! We’re starting one for the kiddos and they need chickens—and, well, everyone said you had the prettiest ones.”

His brow twitched. “You want my chickens?”

“If you don’t mind, just a few” you said sweetly, swaying a little. “And I brought muffins! Peace offering.” You held out the basket.

Zoro stared at you like you were a talking unicorn. Then, slowly, he took the basket.

“I’ve seen you before, ‘think we went to school together” you said softly, twisting a lock of your curled hair around your finger. “But we’ve never talked. I’m [name]. I help with the kids. They adore animals. Especially the soft ones.”

Zoro scratched the back of his neck. “You always wear stuff like that?”

You looked down at your white sundress and matching French tip pink nails a bit offended. “What? ‘like feeling cute. Doesn’t mean I can’t work hard, though.”

“Huh.”

The silence stretched for a beat, then another.

Finally, Zoro sighed, muttered something about chickens, and waved you to follow him.

“Alright. You can pick a few. They like sweet things” he said, glancing at the muffins. “Guess you’ll get along.”

You followed him, heart fluttering a little.

Maybe this wouldn’t be just about chickens after all. [no it was not]

—

—

You’d only meant to visit once. But somehow, you kept finding reasons to come back.

“The kids want to name the chickens.”

—

“I think one of them might be broody—can you show me?”

—

“Would it be alright if I brushed the goats too?”

Zoro had seen through your flimsy excuses by the third visit. Still, he hadn’t told you to stop coming.

The truth was, you made the place… softer. Brighter. Where his world was wood, metal, and sweat, you brought pastels and laughter and the smell of strawberries from your body spray.

He pretended to grumble when you showed up in another frilly dress, all cleavage and big lashes, carrying some homemade treat, but he always took it. Always ate it. Always let you stay longer than you should.

Today, you were trying to catch one of the younger hens, giggling as you fumbled through the coop.

“Come here, you track runner” you cooed, crawling forward in your ruffled sundress, the back riding up just enough to make Zoro tilt his head.

“You know that’s not a catching outfit” he muttered from behind the fence, arms crossed.

You turned, breathless and smiling. “I’m wearing pink —everything’s a catching outfit.”

Zoro choked on his own spit and looked away, ears turning red.

You straightened, dusting off your knees with exaggerated swipes. “You always look so serious” you teased, stepping closer. “Don’t you ever laugh?”

“I don’t have much to laugh about” he said, gruff but not unkind. “Busy workin’. Raising animals, fixing fences, feeding stuff… dealing with flirty school volunteers dressed like walking cupcakes.”

You blinked, then giggled. “That sounds a lot like flirting, Mr. Roronoa.”

“Only if it’s working.”

A beat passed. You smiled, biting your bottom lip.

Then you stepped right into his space, placing a delicate hand on his arm, fingers skimming over his bicep like it was just another part of the landscape.

“You know” you whispered, “it is working.”

His eyes pinned you like a stake in the earth. “You sure you wanna play like that, sweetheart?”

Your breath caught.

Because suddenly the air shifted. The heat wasn’t just from the sun or the chickens anymore. It was from the way he was looking at you, heavy and slow, like he was deciding whether to devour you right there against the fence.

“I’m not playing” you said softly.

Neither was he.

Zoro stepped forward, closing the last inch between you. One hand landed on your hip—hot and rough. The other curled into your hair, tilting your head back just enough for him to lean in.

“You really want this?” he asked, voice low, smoky.

You nodded.

He kissed you like he’d been holding it back for years.

It was heat and hay and the tension of days spent circling each other with polite excuses and hungry eyes. Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging, and his grip on your waist tightened.

When he finally pulled back, your head was spinning.

“You got a thing for cowboys now?” he murmured, smirking slightly.

You laughed breathlessly, touching your lips. “Only the grumpy ones.”

—

It started with another “visit.”

Just a week after the first kiss, 24 hours after the latest.

You’d brought fresh eggs from the school coop—one of the kids insisted Zoro should see how well their new chickens were doing. Total excuse. You both knew it.

He met you at the barn.

No shirt. Low-slung jeans. A bandana hanging out of his back pocket. He looked like a dirty dream made of sweat, muscle, and bad intentions.

And you? You wore your cutest sundress yet—yellow, ruffled, just barely clinging to your curves. No bra. No panties. [That’s right] Just the dress. You’d been thinking about this all week.

You handed him the egg carton with a sweet smile. “For you.”

Zoro didn’t even look at the eggs.

“You came here like that on purpose?” he asked, voice thick, eyes already tracing your body.

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

He stalked closer, slow and measured like a predator. One hand rose and skimmed your waist, calloused fingers playing with the hem of your dress.

“This frilly little thing” he muttered, tugging lightly. “Nothing under it, huh?”

Your breath hitched.

“Zoro…”

“Say it.”

“No bra” you whispered, voice trembling. “No panties, either.”

The next moment happened so fast you barely had time to gasp.

Zoro grabbed your hips, spun you around, and lifted you onto a hay bale. Straw scratched your thighs, and your dress rode up obscenely—but you didn’t care.

You spread your legs, welcoming him in, and he groaned when he saw just how wet you already were.

“Fuck” he muttered, dragging his fingers up your slit, gently teasing your clit. “This all for me babygirl?”

You nodded, clutching the edge of the bale behind you. “Been thinking about this since the coop.”

“Cute ‘lil thing like you, pretty pussy n all comin’ out here lookin’ like temptation. You got any idea what that does to a man?”

You whimpered as he slid two fingers inside you, knuckles deep. He moved slowly at first, watching your face twist in pleasure.

“I-I wanted you to touch me.”

“You got me touchin’ you now.”

He leaned in, kissing you again—rougher this time, hungry. His mouth claimed yours while his fingers fucked you open. When he pulled away, your lip was swollen, kissed raw.

“Zoro, please…”

“You wanna ride me, sugar?” he growled, undoing his belt, jeans dropping just enough to free himself. Thick, hard, Veiny Cock begging to be cared after. Your mouth watered.

“Yes” you breathed.

“ ‘Gotta earn it hun” He lifted you again, turning so your back was to the barn wall. One thrust and he was inside—stretching you wide, filling you deep. You gasped, legs locking around his waist.

Zoro cursed against your neck. “So fuckin’ tight…”

You held on to his shoulders as he pounded into you, each thrust jostling the barn wall, your moans echoing through the dusty air. His hands gripped your thighs, nails digging into soft skin. Your dress was bunched around your waist, your chest bouncing with every movement.

It was rough, messy, and filthy.

And perfect.

And then finally he shifted position. His back on the ground, now covered in soot and hay as you lowered yourself onto his cock, straddling his hips like a saddle.

“ You know how to ride princess?” He grunted softly, his hands meeting your hips in the moment.

You only whined and nodded in response, fully sinking down onto him as your fingers gripped the bunched up dress. Earning a smirk from him.

“Take whatcha can sugar, easy now” his voice guided you through the rolls of your hips. His hands remained on your waist to keep the dominance going, helping you find the right pace to bounce and roll. His right hand slipping to the side to grab his cattleman. Placing the cowboy hat on your head as you rode him out. “Atta girl”

You clawed at his chest, desperate, close. “I’m—Zoro—I’m gonna—!”

“Let go, sweetheart” he growled, grinding deep against your rolling hips. “I got you.”

You came hard, legs shaking, vision flashing white. He wasn’t far behind—groaning against your neck, spilling into you with a grunt, holding you like you might float away if he let go.

Silence followed.

Just breath. Straw. Sweat.

Zoro finally pulled back, brushing hair from your face. “Gotta admit” he said, voice hoarse, “I’m startin’ to like the schoolhouse more.”

You laughed, still dizzy. “Gonna let me come back?”

He smirked, tucking himself back into his jeans. “You’re comin’ back tomorrow.”

[I did in fact, come back tomorrow]

[h1nanii]

pt. 2 to a collection of my favorite zoro x reader stories. (pt. 1 here)

disclaimer: none of the fics are my own works. all writers will be credited. please read all warnings provided by the writers in their respective stories.

scenarios

**other one piece characters are included in these posts**

a kiss on the cheek by @one-sunny (sfw, fluff)

buddy by @chibinasuu (sfw, fluff)

calling them husband by @yoyomomiko (sfw, fluff)

curls and waves by @haerenven (sfw, fluff)

i feel kinda ugly by @bitchimasnake-sss (nsfw)

lipstick stains on the monster trio by @imsryyimlate (nsfw, fluff)

love and affection by @luffydotcom (sfw, fluff)

monster trio & kissing by @vyainide (sfw, fluff)

one piece boys rescuing you by @badgerbl00d (sfw, little bit of angst/comfort, fluff)

seeing their wanted posters in your room by @seerius (sfw, fluff)

sitting on his lap by @arkaiveofurown (sfw, fluff)

stay, please by bitchimasnake-sss (sfw, angst/comfort)

sweet dreams by @sleepymarimo (sfw, fluff)

virtuous by @eggrollforyou (nsfw)

stand-alone fics

abandonment by @2b4st4r (sfw, angst/comfort, fluff)

a sweet window by @triangularz (sfw, fluff)

back to back by @tinytownn (sfw, fluff)

be my muse by @kana-daydreams (sfw, fluff)

between you and i by @mandiemegatron (nsfw, fluff)

by the fire by chibinasuu (sfw, fluff)

first snow by @coveofsecrets (sfw, platonic!zoro x child!reader)

glimpse of us by arkaiveofourown (sfw, angst/no comfort)

hibiscus by @zorosangell (sfw, fluff)

if you were a fruit by kana-daydreams (sfw, fluff)

it’s yours by @urinarythreatinfection (sfw, platonic, fluff)

lullaby by @zoros-bandana (sfw, angst/comfort)

meditation by @tetzoro (sfw, fluff)

nightmares by @angel1010xx (sfw, angst/comfort)

not that kind of guy by @h1nanii (sfw, fluff)

one bed, two sinners by @strawheart-pirate (nsfw)

one lesson by @sleepymarimo (sfw, fluff)

onsen by @nanamimizz-archived (nsfw)

rip my ribcage open (devour what’s truly yours) by @yourtamaki (nsfw, fluff)

smut drabble by @shy-writer-999 (nsfw)

stars, snores, and sake by @alatushours (sfw, fluff)

steel and shame by @hummingbird24220 (sfw, angst/comfort)

strip poker by @superfreakfranky (sfw, fluff)

swan dive by @whirlybirbs (sfw, fluff)

the right direction by @willowbelle (nsfw)

the swordsman and the singer by @evergone (sfw, fluff)

time apart makes you insecure by @grandline-fics (sfw, angst/comfort, fluff)

together by @ink-perfect (sfw, angst/comfort)

undercover discoveries by @justauthoring (sfw, angst/comfort)

wanna savor this by @brairslair (nsfw)

ways that zoro wordlessly says “i love you” by @nina-ya (sfw, fluff)

with a bookworm s/o by @roronoacherries (sfw, fluff)

you’re his soft spot by grandline-fics (sfw, fluff)

series

**some series are complete**

beautiful things by @sanjisleggy (sfw, angst/comfort)

infinite possibilities by @pikapeppa (nsfw, fluff)

oiran (pt 1) and stupid (pt 2) by zorosangell (sfw, fluff)

pain of healing by @cozage (sfw, angst, fluff)

undercover lovers by @inseobts (sfw, light angst/comfort, fluff)

whispers of the wind anthology by tetzoro (sfw & nsfw, fluff)

text au/smau

**other one piece characters are included in some posts**

accidentally texting you pre-relationship by @luffyssa (sfw, fluff)

down the hall by @shotosjupiter (sfw, fluff)

falling in love with him by @portgasdbru (sfw, fluff)

you have a son with zoro…but you’re not a couple anymore by portgasdbru (sfw, fluff)

last updated 05.28.25

writers: if you would like your fic and/or name removed from this collection, please message me. i will update the list at your request

thank you @elleisdesigning for the dividers!

[h1nanii]

Sorry I haven’t been too active guys I’ve been messing around with my roster trying to find more “inspiration”😉🥴

Lmk if you guys want me to insert the “encounters” into a fic.🤠

[h1nanii]

sneaky ace smut in the kitchen and almost getting caught by someone walking in 🌞

Ask and you shall receive.

Burn Me Better

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x fem!Reader

[Genre: Romance, secret relationship/situationship Canon-verse context, NSFW 18+]

[Warnings: NSFW, Sensual dominance, grinding, heavy makeout, deep intimacy, smut, hands under clothes, restrained desperation, semi-public, almost caught, power play. Porn with minor plot]

MINORS DNI

The galley was quiet—dimly lit, warm from the dying fire in the stove. The ship creaked softly in the water, cradling the Moby Dick in its usual lull. You thought you were alone.

You were wrong.

“A little late for a snack, don’t you think?”

Ace’s voice came from the shadows like heat slipping under your skin. You turned—and there he was, shirtless, sweat-slicked from training or trouble (you never could tell which). His freckles glowed faintly orange under the low light. His pants hung low, riding his hips like they belonged there more than they belonged anywhere else.

You raised a brow, heart already betraying you. “Could say the same to you.”

“I wasn’t looking for food.” His smile was slow. Lazy. Dangerous. “But now that you’re here…”

He didn’t move until you were already stepping toward him, until your hands were in his hair and your lips were crashing against his with months of tension you couldn’t hold back anymore.

Ace kissed like he was starving—tongue hot and rough in your mouth, hands spreading across your lower back, dragging you flush to him. The sharp burn of his fingers under your shirt made your breath stutter. His thigh pressed between yours, and when he angled his leg just right—

You whimpered.

He grinned against your mouth. “That desperate already?” he murmured, voice thick with heat and amusement.

“You started it.”

He gave a low hum and shoved you backward until your spine met the edge of the prep counter. The wood was cool under your bare thighs as he hoisted you up with a strength so casual it made you dizzy.

“Gonna make a mess of you” he muttered, lips brushing your neck as his hand slid under your shirt. “Right here. Where anyone could walk in.”

Your breath caught. “Then you better be quick.”

“Oh, baby” he groaned, dragging his mouth down your throat. “I don’t do quick.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, hips rolling without shame as he thrust up against you—slow, punishing grinds that made your whole body quake. Every friction, every drag of your clothed core against the hard line of him sent sparks up your spine. His heat soaked into you, fire licking just under your skin.

You gasped, fingers clawing at his back. “Ace—”

His hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back, exposing your neck for his lips, teeth, tongue. “Tell me what you want.”

You bit your lip. “Want you to—” You moaned when he rutted against you again, pressure perfect, “—keep doing that.”

“You like how I fuck you with your clothes still on?” he growled, grinding harder. “That filthy enough for you, sweetheart?”

You cried out softly, trying not to beg. But he had you—completely. Every grind dragged fire across your nerves. Every word he whispered against your jaw made your walls clench around nothing, made your whole body ache.

Then—footsteps.

Both of you froze.

“Oi, anyone in here?” came Thatch’s voice, echoing down the hallway.

You slapped a hand over Ace’s mouth.

He grinned behind it.

You felt him buck his hips again—slow, cruel. Deliberate.

You bit back a moan, hand trembling against his freckled cheek.

Thatch’s voice moved on. “Huh. Must’ve been my imagination.”

Silence again.

Then Ace pulled back, lips slick, pupils blown, voice barely a whisper. “Bet you’re dripping through your shorts, huh?”

You nodded—ashamed, aroused, shaking.

His hand slid down your stomach, slipping beneath your waistband, his fingers teasing just over where you burned for him.

He didn’t go further. He just cupped you, warm and possessive.

“Next time” he breathed, mouth ghosting over yours. “I want you naked on this counter.”

And he meant it.

[h1nanii]

Golden Hour, Blue Smoke.

Pairing: Sanji x Fem!Reader | inspired by the 2016 film “La La Land” |

[Genre: ModernAU!, Bittersweet Romance, Romantic drama, angst?, Musical inspired, Oneshot]

Summary: In a city made of jazz and dreams, you’re chasing your passion for dance while Sanji cooks for ghosts of his past in a small, hidden-away kitchen that smells of saffron and smoke. You meet at the wrong time, love like it’s the last time, and chase dreams that might just tear you apart.

[Warnings: None]

Word count: 3,500

A City of Almosts

Los Angeles in the summer is cruel in its beauty—neon lights against lavender skies, sun-baked streets littered with dreams that almost came true. You’d been in the city for two years. Just long enough to know how many times a heart can break without making a sound.

Auditions blurred into each other. Same lines. Same fake smiles. “We’ll call you.” But they never did.

That night, your dance bag was cutting into your shoulder. Rehearsal had run late. A casting director told you your hair was “too distracting.” You hadn’t eaten in twelve hours, and your ankle was starting to swell. Still, you walked instead of calling a car. You liked walking at golden hour. It was the one time the city pretended it was kind.

That’s when you saw Le Bleu—a little place wedged between a record store and a vintage suit shop. The sign flickered in cursive: Jazz. Wine. Food. You followed the music in like a sleepwalker.

It smelled like home, though you weren’t sure what “home” was anymore. Lavender smoke. Garlic in butter. Saffron and something sweet, like pears soaked in red wine. The pianist nodded as you walked by.

And then there was him.

He stood in the open kitchen like he owned the night. Blond hair tucked back, cigarette dangling from his lips, his shirt rolled up at the forearms as he plated something delicate and impossibly beautiful.

He caught your eye. One visible eye, a piercing blue that held you like a spotlight.

“You look like you just got dumped” he said, barely looking away from his work.

You blinked. “Is that how you greet all your customers?”

He finally turned. A lazy, crooked smile. “Only the ones who come in looking like they ran away from something important.”

You slid onto a barstool at the counter. “If you must know, I just didn’t get a part.”

“Ah” he said, theatrically solemn. “A tragedy.”

“You don’t even know what I do.”

He leaned in slightly, cigarette smoke curling around him like a secret. “You’re a dancer. Feet say everything.”

You looked down at your worn-in ballet flats, at the ribbon slipping out of your bag.

“I’m Sanji” he added, offering his hand. It was warm and calloused. “Let me make you something to forget the rejection.”

You should have walked away. You should have said no.

Instead, you stayed. For the food. For the music. For him.

—

—

You came back. Again, and again. Sometimes after auditions. Sometimes after rejections. Sometimes just to feel the way he looked at you when you walked in—like you were a poem he wanted to memorize.

You learned that Sanji had trained in Europe—classical French cuisine—but got kicked out of more kitchens than he’d worked in. “Too emotional” he said. “Too many opinions. Too many cigarettes.”

He talked about opening a restaurant that didn’t play by the rules. A place where jazz would drift in through the walls and every dish was personal.

You told him about your dream: to perform at the Palais Garnier in Paris. Ballet had been your first love—before you even knew how to want anything else. You wanted to be more than another pretty girl in a leotard. You wanted to matter.

He listened. He always listened.

“Come here” he said one night, dragging you into the alley behind the restaurant. The light above the door buzzed.

“I’m not dancing in a trash alley.”

“You’re not dancing. You’re existing.”

He pulled out his phone, played “My Funny Valentine”, and held out a hand. You took it, reluctantly.

He didn’t dance well. But he moved like he meant it.

And you laughed.

It was the first time in months you didn’t feel like you were auditioning for your own life.

—

—

You started dancing to his records in the quiet moments before dinner service. He cooked for you—real meals, not the instant noodles you were used to. Duck confit. Ratatouille. Tiramisu with orange zest.

Sometimes, after closing, he’d smoke on the roof of your apartment while you stretched beside him, your hair tied up, your body aching in the best way.

He kissed you for the first time after a rainstorm. You were soaked, your blouse clinging to your skin, laughing over something stupid. He looked at you like you were fire. You kissed him back like you needed oxygen.

You were in love.

But so were you both—with your dreams.

—

The Paris callback came on a Wednesday. You had three months to prepare.

Sanji didn’t blink.

“You’re going to go” he said, passing you a dish like it was the most normal thing in the world. “You’re going to dance your heart out. And you’re going to make it.”

“You say that like it doesn’t matter” you whispered.

He was quiet for a moment. “It matters more than anything. But so does your dream. If we don’t chase them, we’ll hate each other for it.”

You said nothing.

He kissed your forehead that night instead of your mouth.

You didn’t sleep.

—

—

The weeks blurred into rehearsals and late dinners. Sanji was always there—but less like a lover and more like a shadow. Quiet. Distant.

He got an offer. Investors. Enough to start his dream restaurant. A sleek space near Sunset. He didn’t tell you for a week.

“I didn’t want to make you choose” he admitted one night, pouring wine into two chipped glasses. “But I didn’t want to pretend it wasn’t happening either.”

You looked at him across the table. Two people who had built a rhythm. A life. A future.

But not the same one.

“I don’t want to say goodbye” you said.

“I know.”

“We could try long distance. Flights. Letters.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that breaks instead of bends. “Yeah. Maybe we will.”

—

Five years later.

The stage lights feel foreign now. You’ve danced in Paris, London, Tokyo. The Palais Garnier became your second skin. But LA still holds a piece of you.

You’re back for a brief break, and someone tells you about a place. A restaurant hidden behind a jazz club. No menu. No reservations. Just experience.

You go.

You don’t know what you expect. But the moment you walk in, you feel it. The saffron. The smoke. The sound of a piano.

And there he is.

Behind the counter, dressed in black. Still tall. Still golden. Still Sanji.

He looks up. Sees you.

Something shifts behind his eyes. Surprise. Warmth. Bittersweet memory.

You don’t say anything. You just sit.

He sends out a plate—risotto with truffle and lemon. Just how you used to like it.

You raise your glass slightly.

He smiles. Doesn’t wave. Just watches. Like he always did.

The band starts playing. A familiar melody—slow, swaying, full of longing.

“What could have been, if only…”

You imagine dancing again. With him. A rooftop. A record player. His hands on your waist. Your laughter in his mouth.

But the dance ends. The food cools. The spell breaks.

You leave before dessert.

Behind you, the door chimes softly.

He doesn’t follow.

And neither do you.

—

You made it.

So did he.

Just not together.

But for a moment—brief, golden, infinite—you had everything.

And in a city of almosts, that’s more than most ever get.

[h1nanii]

Not an update

I saw that new Mission impossible movie today—and GOD……..

Boy do I got a bomb he can detonate? A bomb ass p—ok sorry guys bye💗

[h1nanii]

Concrete Promises [Pink Clouds Pt.7]

Pairing: Plug!Law x Fem!Reader

[Pt.1 ] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6]

[Genre: ModernAU!, Romance, NSFW 18+, angst, Fluff, comfort, Emotional confrontation, vulnerability, Adult themes, Princess treatment, Luxury Romance]

[Warnings: NSFW, Violence, Mention of drugs, Firearm usage, Explicit themes, Soft dom!, p in v sex, makeup sex, aggressive language/behavior.]

MINORS DNI

He left without a trace, like he never cared. So why did he seem care when his phone flashed with that notification?

He was still signed in.

Still getting every motion alert from your doorstep.

And now he was watching—watching this man corner you, watching you scream for help, watching your hand scramble toward the doorframe—

Then the screen went black.

You didn’t remember much after that.

A neighbor opened their door and screamed. The man ran. You got inside, barely able to breathe, hands shaking so bad you couldn’t lock the door right.

You collapsed in the hallway, sobbing.

Then your phone rang.

Unknown number.

You answered with a shaking hand. “H-Hello?”

His voice hit you like a freight train. The sound of his V8 roaring in the distant background.

“Where are you?”

You choked on a sob. “Home.”

“Did he touch you?”

“Law—”

“Did he fucking touch you?!”

“No—but he almost did.”

Silence. Static. Something rustling.

“I’m on my way.”

“Where were you?” you asked, voice cracking. “Why’d you leave me?”

More silence.

Then, just before the line went dead

“…I thought I was the threat.”

—

LAW’S POV

The fight hadn’t even been the worst they’d had.

But something about the way her voice cracked—“you could’ve died, and now you’re handing me the tools to watch you die again”—it buried itself in his chest like another bullet.

He left because he knew she was right.

Because he didn’t want to put her in a position where loving him could get her killed.

Because if she was gone, he wouldn’t survive it. He already knew that. The hospital made that clear.

He thought silence was the safest thing he could give her.

But silence became something else.

He hated the way her name lit up his screen. He hated how his fingers hovered over the answer button every time she called, but he didn’t press it. Not once.

Because if he heard her voice, he’d cave.

And if he caved, he’d crawl right back into her arms and bring the danger with him.

He was on a couch in some no-name trap when his phone buzzed with the Ring notification.

Motion detected at front door: 11:38 PM.

He tapped it out of habit. Then he saw her.

Panicked. Cornered. Backed against the wall.

Some dude in a red jacket grabbing her.

Law’s world stopped.

He didn’t think. He grabbed his keys. Didn’t say goodbye to the boys. grabbed his piece. Didn’t even grab his shoes.

All he saw was her.

Screaming. Backed against the door. Alone.

And he’d left her there.

—

—

You didn’t even know you were still on the floor when the first knock hit the door.

You startled, still crying, barely able to move.

Then the second knock came.

“Baby. It’s me.”

You scrambled up, unlocked the door with shaking hands, and—

There he was.

Hair messy. Hoodie halfway zipped. Face wild with panic. He looked like he’d been running for miles.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t answer. You just threw yourself into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably, fisting his hoodie like he’d disappear again if you let go.

His arms wrapped around you instantly.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

You pulled back just far enough to look at him, hands on his jaw. “What the fuck is wrong with you—Why didn’t you come back? I called 46 times”

His expression cracked then. Breaking into tears as he held you tighter.

Like he’d been holding everything back until now.

“I thought I was the thing hurting you” he whispered. “I thought the best way to protect you was to stay the fuck away. But seeing that video—you—screaming for help, and I wasn’t there…”

He trailed off, throat working as he pulled you back into him.

“I’m not built to lose you. Not after everything. Not like that.”

You shook your head, tears falling fresh. “You left me alone, Law. I didn’t know if you were dead or just done with me. You shut me out.”

“I know” he whispered. “And I hate myself for it.”

You pulled away again, barely able to breathe. “You gave me a gun and vanished. That’s not love, Law. That’s not how you protect someone.”

“I thought you’d be safer if I wasn’t around.”

“And I wasn’t!” you snapped. “Don’t you get it? You leaving doesn’t erase what you’ve done. It just takes you away from me.”

His eyes locked with yours tearfully.

For once, no walls.

No ego. No deflection.

Just pure, bone-deep regret.

“I’m sorry” he said, quietly. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You grabbed his hand, placed it on your chest, over your heart. “You want to protect me? Then stop trying to disappear when things get hard. Be here. With me.”

He nodded. Slowly. Sincerely.

“I’m not going anywhere again.” His hands reached out in concern towards your arm that was still slightly trembling after slipping on the pair of slides he forgot by the door. “But for now let’s go, I’m getting you checked out.”

His car remained the same as you remembered, all black interior, the scent of sativa mixed with the black ice air freshener. The little pink gems on the dashboard spelled out in your name on the passenger side.

—

You hadn’t said much since the hospital released you.

A bandage peeked out from your jacket sleeve where the bastard had grabbed you. Your neck still ached from the chokehold. The bruises hadn’t bloomed yet— but Law saw them anyway, every time he blinked.

He hadn’t let go of you since.

Not when you flinched unlocking the apartment door. Not when you quietly checked the locks twice. Not even now, sitting on the edge of the bed, your knees pulled up to your chest, his hoodie swallowing you whole.

Law sat across from you, elbows on his knees, eyes glued to the floor.

His voice was low. Gravel.

“I should’ve been there.”

You didn’t answer.

“You wouldn’t’ve been alone if I’d just fucking answered the phone. Or stayed. Or—” He stopped, jaw tight. “—Or never put you in this shit to begin with.”

Your throat burned.

“I could’ve died, Law.”

He nodded slowly. “I know.”

“I thought I was going to.”

He lifted his head, eyes bloodshot, guilt swimming in the brown you loved so much.

“I was screaming” you whispered. “He had me on the ground. If the Ring camera hadn’t sent you that alert…”

Law’s fists clenched on his knees.

You broke. Quiet, broken sobs, shoulders shaking as you finally let the fear spill out of your chest. “You said I was safe with you. That this life wasn’t gonna follow me anymore.”

He was already moving before you could say more — crossing the room, pulling you into his arms with a gentleness that split you open. You clung to him like the last solid thing left in the world.

“I’m sorry” he whispered, lips pressed to your temple. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You shook in his arms, hands twisted in the fabric of his shirt.

“I can’t do this forever, Law” you breathed. “Looking over my shoulder. Praying the people who hate you don’t come for me instead.”

He nodded into your hair. “I know. I know.”

Then silence.

Heavy. Thick. Until he finally said the words that would shift the ground beneath your feet.

“I was gonna wait to bring this up. But not after tonight.”

You leaned back, eyes searching his face.

“I want to marry you.”

You froze.

“I don’t care if it’s stupid timing. If we’re too messy. If the world’s still fucked. I almost lost you, and I realized I’d die never having called you my wife.”

Your heart thudded.

“I know I need to clean it all up. Tie off the streets for good. Move smart. But I’m already yours” he said. “Let me make it real.”

You stared at him. Bruised. Shaken. But completely his.

Your voice cracked. “You want to marry me after all this?”

“I want to marry you because of all this” he said. “Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that I can’t afford to ever take you for granted again.”

You lunged into his arms again, pulling him close, your lips crashing into his. A kiss that tasted like tears and truth and desperation.

“I want that too” you whispered. “But only if you swear you’re gonna protect us the right way. For real this time.”

“I swear” he breathed against your lips. “No more lies. No more slips. I’m done with that life. You’re the only future I want.”

—

—

Law wasn’t the same after that night as the months passed.

You noticed it in the small things first—the tension behind his eyes when he kissed you good morning. The way he double-checked every lock, every window, every car parked too long on your street.

But it was more than paranoia.

It was resolve.

It started with phone calls. Quiet meetings. That old duffle bag you used to pretend not to see under the bed replaced with spreadsheets and wire transfers.

“What are you doing?” you asked him one night, watching as he tapped something into his laptop, gold chains low on his bare chest.

He looked up at you, blinking slowly. “Washing.”

You blinked. “Washing?”

“Dirty to clean. I’m done moving weight. I’m investing it now. Quiet shit. Real estate. Trucking. Crypto that ain’t trash.”

You raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“I told you I was done” he said. “That shit almost cost me you. I can’t keep walking like that and expect to keep the crown.”

You walked over and sat on his lap, letting his arms slide around your waist. “It’s gonna be hard.”

“I know.”

“You gonna stay out?”

His eyes darkened slightly, but not in the way that scared you. In the way that said he was thinking about every move like chess.

“I’m getting out smart. That means slow. Quiet. And permanent.”

You nodded, burying your face in his neck.

—

Then came the next part—the one that made it all feel real.

“I want us gone” he told you two days later. “Out of this city. Somewhere they can’t touch you.”

Your heart sank. “But my girls—my whole life is here.”

“I know. I don’t wanna take you from what you love.” He took your hand gently. “But if I don’t take you away from here, it might take you from me.”

You looked into his eyes—and saw it. That fear he never said aloud. The fear of another night where he had to watch you through a phone screen, helpless, as someone tried to take what was his.

“I’ll still bring you back whenever you want” he said softly. “Fly your friends out. Spoil you. Give you everything you dreamed of. But we gotta start over. Just us.”

You swallowed. Nodded.

“Okay.”

—

The day he handed you the Glock again, you flinched.

“I don’t want this” you said, stepping back from the case.

“I know.” He didn’t push it. “But I need you to know it. Just in case.”

“Law…”

He gently took your hands and placed the gun into them. “I never want you to use it. But I want you to know how.”

The training didn’t last long—just enough for you to stop shaking as you held the gun in the range. He kissed your temple every time you hit your mark, held your waist down every time he caught you shaking. His eyes told you it wasn’t about turning you hard—it was about making sure you lived.

You weren’t just his girl anymore.

You were his wife-to-be. Even if there wasn’t a ring—yet.

And he treated you like it.

Princess treatment came in full waves: late-night bubble baths, luxury lingerie laid out for no reason, boxes arriving at your door with things you only mentioned once in passing. Trips out of town. Safe houses you didn’t even know he had.

One night, as you sat curled up in his hoodie, new silk bonnet tied, your feet in his lap, he looked at you over the rim of his glass and said

“Tell me everything you want in a house.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Your dream house. Every detail. No filter.”

You raised a brow, but he didn’t budge.

You listed it all—bay windows, walk-in closet, garden tub, light pink tiled bathroom, a kitchen with gold finishes. A backyard with enough space to read under the sun.

He nodded through every word.

Then kissed your ankle and said, “Done.”

“You serious?” you asked, voice soft with disbelief, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “You’re really about to build me a dream house?”

Law didn’t look up from your feet—his thumbs pressing slow, perfect pressure into your arches.

“I said tell me everything you wanted” he murmured. “You think I ain’t been listening all this time?”

You giggled softly. “You never look like you’re listening.”

“That’s ‘cause I’m too busy staring at your pretty ass mouth while you talk.”

You playfully nudged him with your toe. He caught your foot mid-swipe and pulled it forward, pressing a kiss to your ankle.

It was gentle at first. Reverent.

Then his lips lingered. Warm. Intentional.

You stilled.

“Law…”

His eyes met yours. Dark. Focused. A storm behind them, barely restrained.

“You got any idea what it does to me?” he said lowly, his voice husky. “Thinking about waking up to you every day, in that house. Watching you walk around in nothing but my shirt, barefoot in a kitchen you designed.”

Your lips parted as he slid his hands up your calves, slow and firm, spreading warmth and goosebumps in his wake.

“Watching you in our bed, in the sunlight…” His hands reached your thighs now, pulling you closer until your legs bracketed his lap, until he was staring up at you like you were the one who built the world.

“Law…”

He pulled you down gently, letting you straddle him on the couch. His hands never left your body. The way they slid under the oversized tee you were wearing—his, of course—made your breath catch.

“You know I’d give you the world if you asked.”

You rocked your hips against him slightly, and he growled low in his throat, cock twitching under the soft fabric of his sweats.

“Yeah? Then give me you,” you whispered. “Right here.”

His mouth was on yours instantly—desperate, deep, teeth grazing your lower lip as you rolled your hips again, grinding against his growing bulge. He grabbed a fistful of your ass, pushing you down harder.

“Fuck, baby…” he hissed, breaking the kiss, burying his face in your neck. “This how you say thank you?”

You nodded, breathless. “It’s how I say don’t stop.”

“Good, ‘wasn’t gonna”

In one smooth motion, Law pulled his sweats low enough to free his cock—thick, veiny, already leaking for you—and lifted your hips.

“No panties?” he growled, grinning against your throat. “You knew what you were doing.”

You bit your lip and nodded again.

He dragged the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing your entrance, both of you moaning softly at the contact.

Then—slowly—he pulled you down onto him.

You gasped as he stretched you, inch by inch, filling you so deep your thighs trembled around his.

“Shit—Law…”

“You take me so good, baby” he groaned, gripping your hips tightly. “Always so fucking tight f’ me.”

You rocked your hips slowly, both of you moaning in sync, your bodies moving like they were made to do this. Like they always did.

His hands slid under your shirt to grab your tits, rough fingers pinching your nipples until you arched into him.

“Love these” he growled. “Love you.”

You leaned forward, pressing kisses along his jaw, whispering the filthiest things in his ear—how good he felt, how badly you needed him to ruin you on this couch. You both were freaked out to the max.

But your thighs started to burn, your rhythm faltering.

He noticed immediately.

“Tired already?” he teased, breathless.

You nodded with a whimper.

He chuckled darkly, hands gripping your waist tight.

“Then let me take over.”

He flipped you onto your back in one swift motion, pressing you into the cushions as he drove his cock back into you, hard and deep.

You cried out, fingers scrambling for purchase as he fucked you slow, then fast, then slow again—each thrust measured, claiming, worshipful and possessive all at once.

“Mine” he grunted. “You hear me?”

“Yours—fuck—always—”

“You’re gonna cum for me, baby?” he growled, thumb rubbing fast circles against your clit. “Soak my dick, just like that.”

“Law—!“ You shattered around him, walls clenching, body jerking beneath his as you moaned his name like a prayer.

He followed soon after, cursing low into your skin, filling you deep as he collapsed against you, breath hot and uneven.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your combined breathing, the faint buzz of the record spinning somewhere behind you.

Then he kissed your forehead.

“I meant it” he whispered. “The house. The new life. You’re getting all of it.”

You wrapped your arms around him.

“I already got everything I want.”

—

You stood barefoot in the kitchen, the same oversized hoodie hanging off your shoulder, a bowl of ice cream in hand. The sound of your spoon clinking lightly against the ceramic bowl broke the silence, and Law, shirtless, leaned against the counter across from you—still watching you like you were dessert.

“You’re staring” you murmured, licking a bit of vanilla from your lip.

“You’re doing that on purpose..” he said lowly, voice still gravel from earlier.

“I’m just eating?” you teased, sliding the spoon between your lips, letting it linger.

“You really think I was gonna let you eat that and walk away clean?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You shivered under his touch, your voice barely a whisper. “I thought you were tired.”

His fingers dragged downward, slow and heavy, until his grip wrapped firm around your waist. “I was. Until I saw you sucking on that spoon like you forgot what my mouth just did to you an hour ago.”

You let out a soft gasp as he pressed his hips into yours. He was already hard again, the heat of him undeniable through the thin barrier of his sweats and nothing else.

“You’re trouble” he growled.

You leaned back into him, tilting your head. “You like trouble Mr. Convict .”

He spun you, lifting you onto the counter in one smooth motion, the cold marble sending a shock through your thighs. His hands slid up beneath the hoodie, pushing the hem higher, revealing more and more of your bare skin.

“You know what this hoodie means when you wear it, right?” he asked low, eyes locked on yours as his fingers slid along your inner thighs. Turning you back around to face him.

You nodded, breath catching. “Yours.”

His mouth crashed against yours with no hesitation, tongue deep, demanding. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, heels digging into his back, trying to pull him closer, harder.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his voice thick. “You gonna stay quiet, baby? Or you gonna let the whole building know who’s making you feel this good?”

Your fingers tangled in his hair. “The walls aren’t that thin.”

That was all he needed.

He slid the hoodie up your thighs, groaning at the wetness already coating you, his touch purposeful, claiming. He teased you just long enough to make your back arch before aligning himself—hot, hard, and ready—and sliding into you in one slow, deep stroke.

The moan that tore from your throat echoed off the kitchen walls.

He cursed low under his breath. “So fucking tight—like you were waiting for me to do this again.”

his pace picked up, hips slamming into yours, the sound of skin on skin competing with your gasps and his name spilling from your lips.

Every thrust was deep and punishing, and yet—somehow—he never lost that control. One hand gripping your hip, the other cradling the back of your head like you were fragile even as he broke you open.

You locked eyes through half-lidded lashes, your voice barely a whisper.

“Don’t stop…”

His jaw clenched, sweat beading on his temple. “Not till you’re cryin mama.”

He shifted your leg higher, changing the angle, and you felt it instantly—how much deeper he could reach, how perfectly he filled you.

Your body responded before your words could. The heat, the tightness, the dizzying pressure—until everything unraveled in white-hot waves. You clung to him, riding it out, gasping against his neck as he followed with a low, guttural moan, hips stilling deep inside you.

He stayed there for a moment—forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathless and trembling, wrapped in the silence of satisfaction.

“We’re really gonna build that new life, you know?”

You smiled, touching your nose to his. “Yeah. One kitchen counter at a time.”

[h1nanii]

Spent all night writing this one for u guys💗 #nosleep

TIME OUT [Pink Clouds pt.6]

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5]

Pairing: Plug!Law x Fem!Reader

[Genre: ModernAU!, Romance, Angst, Slight NSFW, Emotional tension, Relationship turmoil, Serious-context themes.]

[Warnings: NSFW, Violence, mention of drugs, mention of injuries, mentions of assault, gang violence. ]

MINORS DNI now when I said this one was long, it’s LONG.

The emergency room smelled like antiseptic and trauma. You pushed through the doors with no bra, no jacket, heart threatening to give out.

“K—Kilo. Where is he?” you asked, breathless.

His eyes were red. “They said he was stable. He—he got hit. Drive-by. Some East Side dude thought Law was settin’ up shop too close.”

“What?”

“He wasn’t even armed. Just talkin’. Got clipped in the side. He lost a lotta blood.”

You couldn’t hear anything after that. Just static. Just your own breath in your ears as your knees gave out beneath you.

⸻

The wait felt like a year.

You were slumped in a chair in the hall outside the ICU, fingers digging into your thighs, phone buzzing non-stop with people trying to check in. But all you could think about was the blood. The way his voice sounded the last time he called you. The way your hand had rested low over your stomach earlier that evening with a nervous breakdown on how he’d react to it.

And now he might not even make it. Might never hear about it.

When the doctor finally came out—young, exhausted, but with a faint smile—you stood up so fast the room spun.

“He’s out of surgery. Lost a lot of blood but… he’s strong. He’s gonna make it.”

You cried so hard your body folded in on itself.

You were allowed in an hour later.

He looked… pale. Hooked to machines. Bandaged tight across the ribs. His lashes were too long for someone who looked this wrecked. The monitor beeped steady and slow.

You sat beside him and just stared.

“You asshole” you whispered, voice cracking.

And then the tears came again.

“I was so mad at you for leaving” you sobbed. “I was gonna yell when you got home. And then I was gonna tell you that I’m pregnant. That I—I don’t know how to do this. That I need you.”

Your head dropped onto the edge of the bed, forehead against the back of his hand.

“I need you, Law. I don’t care how bad it gets, I just—don’t die on me.”

—

—

3 weeks earlier

He’d come home late, tired but wired, pulling you onto his lap on the couch. You’d kissed for hours, barely making it to the bedroom.

“You’re so fuckin’ soft” he’d murmured, pressing kisses down your chest. “My lil’ pillow princess. My girl.”

You were on your back, legs open for him, his fingers in your hair, his voice in your ear. “Take this dick like I know you can. Just like that, baby…”

He’d kissed you slow while he fucked you, his thrusts deep and thick and perfect, and you remembered now—how his hand had drifted to your lower belly when he came inside you.

He’d murmured, “You’d look so good with my baby in you.”

You laughed, half dazed from both the weed & your orgasm. “You seriously tryna baby trap me? Ring first buddy”

He shook his head with a smile “That’s the plan princess, whole future wit you.”

Now, days later, he lay unconscious in a hospital bed, and that image haunted you—because it might never happen.

You didn’t sleep.

You just sat there, watching the rise and fall of his chest, whispering please to anyone who might be listening.

—

—

It happened on the fourth night. You were asleep on the little couch in the corner, curled into a tight ball when something shifted in the room.

A groan. Low and strained.

You bolted upright.

“Law?”

Another groan. Then—

“Shit…”

You were at his side in seconds, grabbing his hand, pressing the call button.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.”

His eyes fluttered open, dark and glassy, darting across the ceiling. Then they landed on you.

“…Baby?”

Your heart broke.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

His fingers squeezed yours, weak but sure. “Where am I?”

“You’re safe. You got hit but you made it. You scared the shit out of me.”

He blinked slow, lips dry. “You cried for me?”

You let out a sharp laugh—half sob, half relief. “Of course I cried for you, dumbass. I thought you were gone.”

The door opened, nurses rushing in. You stepped back, wiping your eyes, watching the wires and beeping monitors flutter to life.

He was really awake.

He was still yours.

—

They moved him from ICU to a recovery room the next day.

The tension, though — it hadn’t gone anywhere. Not really.

He knew it. Saw it in your face every time he caught you staring when you thought he was asleep. The way you flinched when his phone buzzed. The way your hand kept drifting low, brushing your belly like it was second nature now.

“You gonna tell me what you’re not saying?” he asked finally, voice raspy.

You looked at him. Exhausted. Guarded.

“I was going to” you said. “That night. Before you left.”

His brow creased.

“I took a test.”

He sat up slightly. “A test?”

You swallowed. “I might be pregnant, Law.”

The air thinned.

“I found out right before you got shot. And I didn’t know if I’d even get to tell you. I just sat in that room for three days holding it in while you bled.”

He stared at you, frozen. Like time had stopped again.

Then—softly.

“You’re serious?”

You nodded.

“I’m gonna be a dad?”

“You might” Tears stung your eyes. “If you’re ready to stay. I can’t do this if you’re gonna keep almost dying on me, Law.”

He shifted, face scrunching from the pain in his side, but his hand reached for yours.

“I’m done with the streets” he said hoarsely. “I swear to God. I was already thinkin’ about pulling out. Now—fuck. You think I’d keep risking that with you possibly carrying my kid?”

The tears spilled before you could stop them.

“I was so scared” you whispered.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

—

Law’s recovery moved slow, like the city when it rains—fogged, aching, a little bit heavier every day.

The hospital room had gone quiet now. No more beeping monitors. Just him, propped up in bed with his stitches stiff and healing, his palm brushing absently over your belly whenever you got close enough. He hadn’t said much about the baby. Not in the way you expected. No grand outpourings of joy. Just quiet gestures—calmer hands. A changed look in his eyes.

He was processing.

You both were.

Until the test the nurses had ordered for you came back negative.

False positive. You were relieved, sad—confused about the emptiness feeling though you knew you both weren’t ready. But at least one of the things to stress over was done. But the next? Hit you both worse.

—

It started two days after he moved out of the ICU.

Two officers showed up in plainclothes—badges tucked into their belts, expressions taut and polite in that fake, we-know-who-you-are kind of way. You were sitting beside his bed, feeding him bites of sliced apple while he complained about the hospital pudding.

“Mr. Trafalgar” the taller one said. “We need to speak with you. It’s about your ‘injury’.”

Law’s body tensed beneath your hand.

“We understand you were shot. And per medical protocol, all gunshot wounds are reported. We’ve been looking into the incident.”

“I already told your guys,” Law said flatly. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

“We pulled footage from the alley. Witness statements. Seems like there’s more to the story.”

You stayed quiet, fingers digging into the fleece blanket draped over your lap.

Then the second cop spoke.

“And there’s also the matter of your past record. We reopened a few files—distribution charges that were previously dropped. And we’ve received some new tips since this incident. Mind if we search your residence?”

“Get a warrant” his eyes flicked to you for just a second. Just long enough.

The cops left, for now.

But you knew the storm was coming.

—

That night, he handed you a small, black ledger notebook.

Inside were clean handwritten pages. Bank account numbers. Safehouse addresses. Codes only you two would understand. And a note,

If anything happens, it’s yours.

You looked at him across the bed. “Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one I trust.”

—

The bust happened three days later.

His apartment was raided—twice. But by then, everything was gone. Flipped. Re-routed. Accounts emptied into your name. Laundered. Dissolved. What they found was scraps. Dust. A handful of old burner phones and empty baggies.

Still, it was enough.

They arrested him right there in his hospital room—still healing, still weak, still bruised. You watched them cuff his wrist to the bed. You watched his jaw flex as they read him his rights.

But he didn’t flinch.

Not once.

—

The trial was long.

back-and-forth. You showed up to every hearing, every bail review, every prep meeting with his lawyer. Exhausted. Constantly nauseous. The weight of it all dragging at your shoulders.

The prosecution tried to paint him as a repeat offender. A gang affiliate. A dangerous man who walked with a pistol tucked in his waistband and dirty money under his floorboards.

But his lawyer was sharp.

Clean suits, Sharper tongue.

They argued lack of concrete evidence. No cash found. No product recovered. An old injury report and empty history files do not equal an active case. He’d been clean for nearly a year. Owned a repair shop. Paid taxes.

The day of sentencing, you couldn’t breathe.

He took your hand before they read it out, fingers warm over your wrist.

“Whatever they say, I’m coming back to you” he whispered. “This ain’t the end.”

You nodded, throat burning.

“Mr. Trafalgar” the judge said, “based on the evidence presented, you are hereby found guilty. You are sentenced to two months in county jail. Time served will be credited. You will be monitored following release.”

Two months.

You thought you’d feel relieved that it wasn’t too Jurassic of a sentence.

But all you felt was Two months without him.

Two long months of talking behind a glass, watching him in that jumpsuit, hair messy, Exhausted and stressed. He still looked as fine as ever, but your heart couldn’t carry the idea of him being incarcerated.

Finally came his release. You stood outside by his car, waiting for him to walk out those fences, immediately crashing him into a hug when he did. His calloused hands wrapping around your frame tightly. You were his home.

The unspoken weight between you two after his injury never really left the hospital room—it just followed you home.

He moved quieter now. Watched corners more often. You noticed the second burner phone he carried, the late-night murmurs with Kilo near the window. He wasn’t flashy with it anymore. Precaution, he said. Control.

But it still scared you.

—

The gun came next.

It wasn’t wrapped in anything special. Just placed in a box on the kitchen counter like it was a new pair of earrings.

“Glock 19” he said casually, sipping from his water bottle. “No safety. No jam. Clean. Just in case.”

You stared at it like it might go off on its own.

“Law…”

He didn’t look up. “It stays in the closet. I’ll show you how to use it.”

“I don’t want to use it.”

He glanced over then, eyes sharp. “You rather not have it and something goes down?”

You clenched your jaw. “I’d rather you not be putting us in that kind of danger to begin with.”

That hit him.

Hard.

His mouth set in a firm line, and he turned, walking out of the room without another word. The silence that followed stretched for hours. Even when you passed by him on the couch, his eyes were glued to the muted TV. Not you.

You hated that damn gun. But worse—you hated the way he pulled away from you when you spoke out.

So you left. Not for good. But just to catch some air.

You texted Vivi to meet up at the lounge near South Ave—somewhere not loud enough to drown out thoughts but just busy enough to feel normal again.

It helped. At first.

Two drinks in, Vivi made you laugh for the first time in days. You were leaned against the bar, smile creeping back in, your lip gloss catching the low neon lights—when they approached.

Three guys. Chains heavy. Faces way too familiar.

One of them nodded toward you, grinning. “You Law’s girl?”

Your blood ran cold. “Who’s asking?”

The one in the red cap stepped closer. “Heard about him. Heard he’s out the hospital now. Moving quiet but still runnin’. You know how it is.”

You grabbed Vivi’s wrist. “We’re leaving.”

But the guy blocked your path. “Relax. We just wanted to say hi. Make sure he knows we’re watching.”

You flinched as one reached for your arm.

Then suddenly, a flash—loud voice, your voice

“Back the fuck off!”

They hesitated for a moment too long. You slipped past them, dragging Vivi with you into the nearest crowd. Heart slamming, throat dry, panic roaring in your ears.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you made it to the car.

You got home shaking.

Law was on the couch, hoodie off, white tank clinging to his chest.

His head snapped up the moment he saw your face.

“What happened?”

You dropped your purse, storming past him to the kitchen. “You happened.”

He stood immediately, eyes narrowing. “What?—Tell me what the fuck happened.”

“Three guys” you spat. “At the lounge. Said they knew you. One grabbed me.”

His whole body went rigid.

“Did they touch you?” His voice was low now, almost too calm.

“One tried to. I screamed. Got away.”

He was already reaching for his phone.

You grabbed it before he could call. “And what? You gonna go shoot somebody?! You think that’s gonna make me feel safer?!”

His jaw locked, but he said nothing.

Tears streamed down your cheeks.

“I’m tired of this, Law. I’m tired of living like this. Wondering if I’m next. If a stray bullet or some stupid beef is gonna be how I die.”

He was quiet. Too quiet.

And then he said it. Voice low. Measured.

“…and if I wasn’t who I am, you wouldn’t be living like this.”

Your chest ached.

He looked away. “Maybe you shouldn’t be with me.”

That broke you.

You walked past him, straight into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

—

He left.

No slammed doors. No shouting match.

Just silence.

You woke up the next morning and he was gone. Clothes, hoodie, phone charger—gone.

At first, you thought maybe he just needed space. He’d done that before. Cool off, come back.

But that was before he completely disappeared.

No calls. No texts.

Not from him. Not from Kilo. Not even from Nez, who used to hit you up just to say Law was “handling shit.”

Now? Nothing.

Like the relationship never existed.

Like you never meant anything.

—

You called. And called. And called.

Left voicemails you wished you hadn’t.

Tears soaking your pillow every night, eyes glued to your phone until it died in your hand. He didn’t block you — but he may as well have.

No response.

Even Vivi was helpless.

“I don’t know what’s going on, babe. Maybe he’s tryna protect you, but this shit ain’t right.”

You weren’t sleeping. You barely ate. You sat in the apartment that still smelled like him, staring at the locked closet where the gun was hidden — a gift you hated. A symbol of all this chaos.

You were alone.

And he wasn’t coming back.

—

Four nights later.

You worked up the nerve to go out again. You just needed air. Vivi begged you to let her come, but you insisted on going solo. You wanted to feel normal again.

You shouldn’t have.

You felt it the second you got off the train. Heavy footsteps behind you, too slow to be casual, too steady to be coincidence.

You sped up. So did they.

Your building was only a block away, but your heart was already slamming.

Maybe you’re just paranoid.

You reached your front steps and fumbled for your keys, praying you were wrong—

Then someone grabbed your arm.

Hard.

You spun around, eyes wide, scream caught in your throat.

The man was unfamiliar—but the way he looked at you wasn’t.

“You Law’s bitch?” he spat, voice low and thick with venom. “He think he can cross people and hide behind a pretty face?”

You shoved him, stumbled back, keys dropping to the ground.

He followed.

“You better tell that motherfucker his time’s coming. You too, if you keep living under his name—”

A flash—ding.

Your Ring doorbell lit up.

And somewhere across the city, Law’s phone lit up with it too.

[TO BE CONTINUED] [Uploaded here]

[I was thinking about adding the next part here but this chapter is already so long omg😭. Next part out soon guys dw maybe an hour]

[h1nanii]

Neglectful bf sanji losing his pretty thing to zoro the munch 😜

also i love ur work and page pls never stop 🫶

Oh you’re messyyyyyyyyyy I LOVE IT

Finders, Keepers.

Pairings: Zoro x Fem!Reader / Sanji x Fem!Reader

[Genre: Romance, Canonverse context, angst, NSFW 18+, Jealousy, Cheating? Relationships Turmoil. Established relationship Neglectful!Sanji, Munch!Zoro]

[Warnings: NSFW, Oral sex (f! Receiving), Adult themes]

MINORS DNI

The kitchen smelled like saffron and tension.

You stood across the island from Sanji, voice hoarse from the sharp exchange that had just erupted between you both. It wasn’t just about tonight. It was weeks—months— of watching him pour every ounce of charm into Nami, Robin, or whichever beautiful woman crossed his path on the last island. Weeks of brushing your hand away when you reached for him. Of falling asleep with your back to the wall and his side of the bed cold.

You had asked for more. For effort. For attention.

And he’d responded by shaking it off like he always did — saying you were being clingy. Insecure. That you knew what he was like when you got with him.

Now the kitchen was quiet, except for the thud of your heart in your ears and the echo of the last thing he said: “I’m sorry Mon Amor, but If I’m that bad, maybe you should find someone else.”

You didn’t wait to see if he regretted it. You didn’t want to see if he meant it.

You ran out, trying to breathe past the tears that threatened to choke you—past the sound of your own footsteps against the wood floors of the Sunny.

But someone was in the hall.

You didn’t look up right away, but a low voice stopped you in your tracks.

“…He’s an idiot.”

You blinked up. Zoro.

He didn’t look smug or self-righteous. He wasn’t grinning. His arms were crossed, brow furrowed—not at you, but at the hallway behind you. At the sound of raised voices and the echo of pain.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, swallowing hard. “It’s nothing” you croaked.

Zoro’s arms dropped. He stepped closer. “It’s not nothing if it makes you cry.”

That did it. The tears finally spilled over. And before you could say a word, his arms were around you—warm and solid and safe. His chest pressed to your cheek as you clutched at the fabric of his haramaki, letting the sobs come harder.

“I got you” he murmured, low and certain.

He didn’t ask questions. Just kept an arm around your shoulders, leading you slowly back toward your cabin.

—

Inside your room, it was too quiet.

You sat on the edge of your bed, shoulders hunched, wiping your eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m crying this much.”

Zoro leaned against the closed door. “Because he fucked up. Again.”

You sniffled. “I shouldn’t be this upset. It’s not like he… cheated.”

Zoro’s jaw flexed. “Emotionally? He checked out a long time ago.”

You looked at him—and he wasn’t angry. He was hurt. For you.

And then you noticed the way he was looking at you. Not the way Sanji looked at other women—hungry and performative. This was real. Slow-burning. Focused. It made your breath catch.

“Zoro…”

He pushed off the door, stepped toward you. “You know you don’t deserve that, right?”

You nodded shakily, but he wasn’t finished.

“You deserve someone who doesn’t make you ask for affection. Or beg for their time. Someone who sees you every damn day and wants you more each time.”

You stared at him, heartbeat skittering. “What are you tryna say?”

He was in front of you now. Kneeling between your legs. His hands were on your thighs, warm and heavy. His voice was steady. “ ‘m sayin…I could treat you better. And not just with words.”

He looked up, eyes dark, voice rougher now. “I want to make you forget what it feels like to be ignored.”

You leaned in before you could stop yourself, lips brushing his. It was soft—just for a moment—but it lit something inside you both.

Zoro’s hands slid up to your hips, pulling you to the edge of the bed as he kissed you again, deeper this time. His tongue traced the seam of your lips and you let him in, sighing against him.

Then he was easing you back, laying you down gently.

“I want to take my time” he muttered, trailing kisses down your neck, hands slipping beneath your shirt. “You’ve had enough of being rushed.”

He tugged your shorts off slowly—panties next, eyes locked on yours. When he kissed the inside of your thigh, you gasped. He smirked—just a little. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

And then his mouth was on you.

Hot. Wet. Devoted.

He licked your pussy like he was starving—something you never felt with Sanji. like he’d wanted this for longer than ever admit. His tongue circled your clit, slow and deliberate, it felt right. His mouth sucked on you like water in a desert, sure Sanji ate you out sometimes but this? God you didn’t want it to stop.

then faster when your hips bucked against his face. You gripped the sheets, moaning his name, thighs trembling as he moaned into you like he was getting off on your pleasure.

“Z-Zoro—” you gasped, and he looked up for just a second, lips slick.

“Good?” he asked, voice husky.

You nodded helplessly, eyes glassy.

“Then cum for me. Right on my mouth. Don’t think about him when you do.”

You did. Hard. Shuddering under his grip, crying out his name like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

And when he finally kissed his way back up your body, lips wet from you, you knew things weren’t just changing — they had already changed.

You didn’t just want comfort.

You wanted him.

You Needed him.

—

The soft whimpers behind the door should’ve told Sanji to turn around.

But it was late—the kitchen fight still echoing in his mind. Every clipped word, every tear on your face… he’d never seen you like that before. He thought maybe you’d cool off. Maybe you just needed space.

Maybe he hadn’t gone too far.

So when he saw your door closed, light still on beneath the frame, he approached, guilt burning under his skin. His hand hovered near the knob.

“Baby?…?”

No answer. Just a choked moan.

He frowned, leaned closer.

“Z-Zoro… f-fuck—”

His stomach dropped.

That voice wasn’t sad. It was wrecked with pleasure.

Sanji stared at the door, hand still hovering like he was under a spell. He should walk away. He should—

Another cry. Louder this time.

Against every instinct of self-preservation, he opened the door.

And froze.

You were sprawled across the bed, legs open, body trembling. Zoro was between them—broad shoulders locked around your thighs, his mouth buried in your pussy like it was the only thing keeping him alive. The sounds were obscene—slick and wet and needy.

Zoro didn’t stop. Didn’t look up. One hand held your hip steady, the other slipped under your ass, tilting you to his mouth. His tongue licked a slow, torturous circle around your clit—then sucked.

You screamed his name, hips jerking, a hand buried in his green hair.

Sanji couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

“Z-Zoro! I— I’m gonna—!”

“Do it,” Zoro growled against your skin. “Cum right on my tongue.”

And you did. Right there. Body arched, legs clamping around his head as he licked you through it, slow and thorough, like he wanted to savor every second.

Sanji staggered back, hand gripping the doorknob like it could stop the crack forming in his chest. His mouth opened — but nothing came out.

You still hadn’t seen him.

But Zoro had.

He looked up, tongue still gliding lazily between your folds, eyes locking with Sanji’s.

Smirked.

“Too late, cook.”

And then he buried his face back between your thighs like Sanji wasn’t even there.

[h1nanii]

Pink Skies is currently feeding my SOUL. We need more, plz, queen I'M SURVIVING OFF OF THIS 😭😭

No words can explain how grateful I am for yall💗

Currently working on part 6. I’ve been LITERALLY writing all night 😩 ITS OUT NOW

Now I need some opinions, the next chapter boutta be LONG. But I still have other pieces of plot to add.

[h1nanii]

MORE OF THE PINK CLOUDS SERIES IM BEGGING

Yall want it, yall got it. ILY guys. Spent all day typing this one out😩

ROUND TWO [Pink Clouds pt.5]

[Pt.1.] [Pt.2. ] [Pt.3.] [Pt.4]

Pairing: plug!Law x Fem!Reader

[Genre: ModernAU!, Romance, angst, NSFW, Luxury romance, Princess Treatment, Explicit themes.]

[Warnings: NSFW 18+, Violence, Weed use, infidelity themes, p in v sex, riding, oral sex, birthday sex [😉]Emotional tension, mentions of pregnancy🌚 this is a long one guys]

MINORS DNI

“Why the fuck is there a gun in your car?”

Law didn’t move. His expression didn’t shift. But something in the air changed.

“It’s just precaution” he said after a beat.

“Precaution? What the hell does that mean?” You sat up straighter, eyes wide now. “Do you use it?”

He looked away, jaw tense. “Only if I have to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He sighed and ran a hand over his curls. “Baby, you know what I’m involved in. You knew when you got with me.”

“I knew you dealt” you said, voice shaking, “but this? You didn’t tell me you were out here carrying guns. You didn’t tell me it was this real.”

“It’s protection.”

“From what, Law? Who the hell are you protecting yourself from if you’re doing this ‘quiet’ like you said?”

His silence was loud.

You stared at him, mouth dry.

“Have you used it before?”

More silence.

Then,

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t said with pride. Or guilt. Just truth.

Your chest tightened. You felt suddenly small in that passenger seat.

“This isn’t the life I want” you whispered. “Not for you. Not for me.”

His eyes cut to yours.

“And you think I do? You think I want this forever? I carry that because I got too much to lose now. You. Us. I can’t have people thinking I’m soft just ’cause I fell in love.”

That stunned you.

He looked away, swallowing.

“You’re not in danger. I keep all this separate. But if someone tried something? I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d protect you. Every time.”

You didn’t speak for a long moment.

Finally, you whispered: “I don’t want to lose you to a bullet or a sentence.”

His hand found yours—squeezing tight.

“You won’t,” he said. “But if you need me to walk away from all that—for real—I will.”

You looked at him, eyes glassy.

“Promise?”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“I promise, baby.”

You weren’t sure if you believed it yet. But in that moment, the honesty, the tension, the fear and love all braided together—it felt real.

—

You never asked him to stop.

You could’ve. You thought about it a hundred times—when he came home late with tense shoulders, or when his phone lit up with names you didn’t recognize. You saw the look in his eyes sometimes, quiet and calculating, like he was always five steps ahead of someone you couldn’t see.

But he always came home.

He never lied to you.

And most nights, he worshipped you like you were the only thing in his world untouched by all that dirt.

He spoiled you. Softened you. Let you see parts of him no one else got—his low chuckles when you teased him, the way he buried his face in your neck when he was overwhelmed, the late-night skin-on-skin talks where he’d run his fingers down your spine and confess things he couldn’t say in the daylight.

You never said it out loud, but you were scared.

Every time he left, that fear coiled low in your stomach. Not because you didn’t trust him—but because you knew what that life came with. And you loved him more than your pride wanted to admit.

So when your birthday came around, you didn’t expect much. You never did.

But Law had different plans.

He told you to pack a bag—just a weekend one. Didn’t say where. Just picked you up around sunset in his newly detailed car, eyes dark with something between lust and pride when he saw you step outside in that short, tight dress.

“Damn” he said, tongue grazing his teeth as he helped you in. “Birthday girl’s tryna kill me early.”

You smirked. “It’s my day, right?”

“It’s your world.”

The resort was just outside the city—private suite, balcony hot tub, candles lit like the place had been prepped by hand. And it had.

You barely had time to compliment the view before he was on you—spinning you around, lips on your neck, hands gripping the backs of your thighs.

“Didn’t even get to dinner yet” you teased.

“Dinner can wait” he muttered, voice already thick.

He lifted you with ease, laying you out on the bed like he’d dreamed about it all day. His mouth left heat wherever it touched—your collarbones, your stomach, the inside of your thighs.

“Let me take care of you tonight” he said, fingers already sliding under your panties, “just you. No stress. No outside shit.”

You nodded, breath hitching, your body already trembling from the way he touched you like you were breakable.

But his hands didn’t stay soft for long.

He had you moaning within minutes, head thrown back, his tongue deep between your thighs, working you slow until your legs shook against his shoulders. He didn’t stop until you were begging.

Then came the teasing—grinding his hips against yours without giving in, letting you feel just how hard he was while he whispered in your ear

“You gonna ride it for me, birthday girl?”

You nodded fast—real fast, already pulling his dick free, already aching to be filled. Licking a long stripe up his shaft before repositioning yourself in his lap. sank down on him slow, mouth falling open as you stretched around him, his hands gripping your hips tight.

You started to move—slow, deep rolls of your hips, using him just the way he loved watching you do. His hands slid up your waist to your tits, gripping, squeezing, his head tilted back with a groan.

“Just like that—fuck ‘ma” he said, voice low. “Take what you need.”

You rode him until your legs couldn’t take anymore—until you were panting, shaking, falling forward into his chest.

He didn’t mind.

Law flipped you with ease, taking over, thrusting into you deep and steady, each stroke hitting perfect, his hand gripping your thigh high, thumb rubbing circles on your clit.

You came again under him, gasping his name, and he followed with a grunt, burying himself deep, holding you close like he couldn’t bear to let go.

—

Later, you laid tangled in sheets, your head on his chest, heart still fluttering.

“You okay?” he asked softly, brushing hair from your face.

You nodded. “Better than okay.”

He hesitated. “I know you don’t like what I do. I know it scares you.”

You looked up at him. “I don’t need you to be someone else. Just… promise me you’ll be careful.”

His jaw flexed. “For you? Always.”

And just when you thought the night was done, he stood, walked to the closet—and came back with a tiny velvet box.

You blinked. “What is—?”

“Open it.”

Inside, a delicate diamond necklace. Thin, sparkling, with your initials twined into the center in gold.

Not a ring. But something close.

“I want people to know you’re mine” he said. “Even if I’m not ready to give you the last name yet.”

You smiled, heart aching with how full it was.

“You’re really trying to ruin every man for me, huh?”

He smirked, leaning down to kiss you again, slow and deep.

“That’s the plan.”

—

—

The week after your birthday trip, everything should’ve been golden.

You were still glowing — from the sex, the gifts, the way he made you feel like the only girl in the universe. You were wearing the necklace he gave you, his initials warm against your collarbone, curled up on the couch in one of his shirts, flipping through menus for takeout.

But Law had been pacing.

Phone in hand. Jaw tight. Chain swinging low over his chest with every slow turn.

You didn’t want to ask.

You knew that look too well.

Eventually, he stopped in front of the door and turned back toward you.

“Gotta step out real quick” he muttered, grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch.

Your heart dropped, just a little. “Right now?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be long.”

“Is it serious?”

He paused. Just for a beat.

“Nah. Just checking someone.”

You stared at him, lips parting to say don’t go—but you swallowed it. Nodded instead.

“Be careful” you said quietly.

His expression softened. He crossed back over, leaned down, kissed you deep—once, then again, like he didn’t want to leave either.

“Always am, mama. You know that.”

—

You tried not to spiral, but hours passed. No texts. No updates. It was supposed to be ten minutes.

You were going to tell him that night.

The test sat hidden in your purse, wrapped in a tissue, your fingers tracing the edge of the stick every five minutes like it would change. Two pink lines.

You were pregnant. Nothing official besides the clearblue test you took.

Your heart had been racing all day—caught between excitement and dread. You weren’t ready. He wasn’t ready. But still… it was his. Yours.

And somehow, deep down, that made it feel okay.

He said he’d be back before midnight. “Just a drop-off” he told you. “Ten minutes, tops.” So why was he late?

So you waited.

And waited.

And when your phone rang at 12:47AM, it wasn’t his name on the screen. It was Kilo’s. One of his guys. Voice tight. Shaky.

“Yo. It’s bad. We at County.”

[PART 6 HERE]

[h1nanii]

SLOW MOTION | Sanji Vinsmoke

synopsis: pussy drunk.

content: smut

He swore he’d stop after the third round.

You were trembling, flushed, soaked with sweat and stickiness as he held your legs up like you were fragile porcelain—but his cock was already hard again. Hard again just from watching it.

Your pussy, swollen and dripping with his cum, fluttering around nothing, practically begging for him to fill you again.

Sanji was on his knees between your legs, thick golden hair clinging to his forehead, his lips parted as he watched his release ooze out of you. That creamy white drip sliding down the seam of your folds made his cock twitch violently—he groaned like it physically hurt to not be inside you.

"Sanji—” your voice broke around the syllables, drunk on pleasure and face ruined with tears, “you said… y-you said one more…”

“I know,” he whispered—like he hated how much he was about to break that promise. “I know, I did, but—look at you, sweetheart. Look what you’re doing to me.”

You followed his gaze.

His pretty cock was already standing tall again, flushed in such a lewd pink, twitching against his stomach just from seeing how messy you were—how well you’d taken him.

A whimper slipped from your lips, your body tensing involuntarily as another wave of heat rolled over you. You tried to close your thighs, but Sanji groaned, pressing kisses to them whilst pawing them apart, legs wide open with shaking hands.

"You're driving me insane," he groaned, leaning down to press his forehead to your belly as he slowly stroked himself, hand messy and desperate. "You’re addictive. Every part of you—your sounds, your pussy, the way you squeeze me when you're about to cum—fuck, it's too much."

And then—without warning—he pushed back in. Deep. All the way.

Your body arched like it had been struck by lightning.

Your head fell back against the pillows, mouth falling open in a breathless moan that never quite made it to sound. Just a sharp inhale. A jolt. Your eyes fluttered, glassy and dazed, jaw slack as the stretch and fullness bloomed inside you.

Your hands fumbled to find him—grabbing blindly at his shoulders, then his face—pulling him down into a kiss that was less lips and more instinct. Mouths dragging, hot and wet, as you pawed at his cheeks like you needed to feel something real. You kissed him like you were drowning, drunk off the depth of him, the heat, the pressure.

Your legs wrapped around him without thought. Your heels dug in. He groaned, muffled against your lips, hips stuttering from how tight you clenched when he kissed you back.

“F-fuck,” he whimpered, barely pulling back an inch. “You feel—so good, baby—so warm, so full—don’t stop holding me like that.”

You moaned this time—audibly—soft and strained, like the only thing you could give him now was a cry.

And he devoured it.

“God—yes, just like that,” he whispered against your lips, trembling. “You look so beautiful”

He started thrusting again—slow and deep—watching your eyes roll back and your mouth fall open each time he bottomed out. His hand found your cheek, cradling it like you were precious even as he fucked you with a filthy hunger.

"Squeezing me so good—" he plops his head into the groove of your neck.

And every time your cunt fluttered around him, every little cry that escaped, it made him twitch and curse and moan like he was the one being undone.

He started to move again.

Not with the slow, teasing rhythm from before. It was deeper now. Steady. More honest. Like he wasn’t performing for your pleasure anymore—just feeling it. Feeling you.

His breath was hot against your skin as he sank his weight into the bed, his hips rolling into yours with quiet groans punched out of his chest. You gasped softly every time he bottomed out, your hands tightening on his shoulders.

“You feel too fucking good,” he mumbled, forehead pressed to your jaw. “I should stop. I meant to stop.”

But his body said otherwise. His cock throbbed inside you, every twitch making your walls flutter involuntarily. You could feel your own slick mixed with his cum dripping down your thighs. It was messy—so messy—and that just seemed to make him harder.

“Sanji, please” you whispered, a breathless edge to your voice. You didn’t even know what you were asking for. Maybe to slow down. Maybe to keep going. both.

He kissed your cheek, then your neck, then lower—trailing his lips wherever your skin was warm and trembling. “I know, baby. I know. But look at you. How can I stop when you’re this perfect? You’re still dripping for me.”

You turned your head, eyes locking on the way his hips moved—how deep he was, how wet the slide sounded. You should’ve been wrecked by now. Maybe you were. But you still needed more. Just like him.

Your legs hooked around his waist again, and he groaned at the feeling.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered, pushing deeper. “I’m not even sure I’m alive anymore. Just… floating in you.”

You choked out a soft laugh against his mouth, breath hitching when he hit that sweet spot again. “Then don’t stop.”

He stilled for a second. Just looked at you.

Eyes a little wide. A little awestruck. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Don’t stop, Sanji. Please.”

And that was it.

He buried his face in your neck with a low moan, like he couldn’t handle it. His thrusts picked up—deeper, a little faster. Still gentle, still careful, but full of raw want.

Every time he pulled back, your body tried to follow. You were soaked and aching and clinging to him like your life depended on it. He kissed you hard—lips sloppy, breathless, like he needed to taste the sounds you made just as much as he needed to feel your body wrapped around him.

“I’m gonna cum again,” he warned, almost helplessly. “I—fuck—I’m gonna fill you again, baby, I can’t hold it—”

You clenched around him and he whimpered. That soft, broken sound made your whole body light up.

“Do it,” you whispered, tugging at his hair, pulling him closer. “I want it, Sanji—cum inside, please—”

His hips stuttered hard, then slowed—deep, grinding thrusts that made your toes curl. And then you felt it again—his warmth flooding you, his body shuddering above yours, breath catching as he moaned your name into your skin.

You didn’t even realize you were crying again until he looked at you—sweaty, dazed, completely wrecked—and cupped your cheek.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing the wetness from your lashes. “Too much?”

You shook your head, lips parted. “No. Just… a lot. I feel full.”

He kissed you softly—no rush, no heat. Just gentle lips, soft and sweet and grateful. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “We’re okay. I’ll take care of you.”

You stayed like that for a while—your legs still around him, his cock still buried deep, the room warm with the heat of sex and sweat and something neither of you could quite name.

Then, quietly:

“You’re staying in bed all day tomorrow,” he said, pressing another kiss to your temple. “I’m not letting you walk after this.”

You laughed, weak and flushed. “Bold of you to assume I can walk.”

He smiled against your skin. Smug. Soft. A little in love.

“Good.”

[h1nanii]

Tattoo artist! law smut for the fans 😮‍💨

Needle & Nerves

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Law x Fem!Reader

[Genre: ModernAU!, Romance, NSFW 18+, Slow Burn, Heavy Tension, Erotic Romance]

[Warnings: NSFW , dirty talk, infidelity themes, Fingering, oral sex (f! Receiving) ]

Word count (2,200) I rlly put more effort into these than school wow

The tattoo shop was quiet when you walked in—too quiet. Soft music played low from hidden speakers, and the scent of ink, latex, and clove lingered faintly in the air.

You hadn’t expected it to feel so…intimate.

Shachi had told you about this place. About Law. “He’s the best in the city. But…kinda intense” he’d warned. “Don’t take it personal. That’s just him.”

You tightened your hoodie around you, heart doing an uneasy stutter. This tattoo—your first big one—ran from your waist down to your thigh. You’d thought it through a hundred times. Picked the placement, the style, the artist.

Still, when you saw him—all inked forearms, sharp jaw, and cold, unreadable eyes—you weren’t ready.

“You [name]?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Appointment at four.”

He didn’t smile. Just tilted his head toward the back room. “Come on.”

You followed, nerves building with each step. He moved with slow, deliberate confidence, as if time bowed to him instead of the other way around.

“I’ve got your reference sketch” he said, snapping on gloves. “Changed a few things. Flow’s better now.”

You leaned over the counter, peeking at the stencil. His scent hit you—clean, faintly smoky, masculine.

“Oh… I like it” you murmured.

He looked at you for a beat longer than necessary. Not quite rude. Just… assessing.

“Clothes off from here to your upper thigh” he said quietly, gesturing. “You can cover with the towel.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice. You turned your back to him as you peeled your hoodie off, tugged your leggings and underwear down on one side, and lay on the reclined bench. You pulled the towel over you as instructed, heart thumping like a drumline. This fine ass man wants you to strip? Say less

The coolness of the stencil hit your skin first, and then his hand—firm, steady—smoothing the paper down. His fingers dragged slightly as he lifted the edge, brushing bare skin. You didn’t dare move.

Then the machine buzzed.

You flinched.

“Try to stay still” he murmured. His hand was braced just above your hipbone, fingers pressing gently, anchoring you in place.

You nodded, swallowing.

The needle touched down. A sting at first. Then a pulse. Then… heat. Not just from the pain—but from him. He was so close, and every time the machine moved lower, every time his hand adjusted your hip, you felt the controlled tension in him. Like he was holding something back.

The hum of the machine, the press of his palm, the feeling of being laid out beneath his hands—it was all too much.

The sensation made your leg twitch involuntarily.

“Still” he said again, firmer.

“Sorry” you whispered.

He exhaled softly through his nose. You didn’t see the way his jaw tightened. Didn’t notice how his eyes flicked downward to where the top of your ass shook gently each time the machine worked deeper into the curve of your thigh.

You couldn’t see it—but he could. And he couldn’t unsee it.

His hand flexed slightly on your waist. He adjusted his stance, subtly shifting his hips away from the bench, trying to hide the tension growing below the waistband of his jeans. It wasn’t the first time someone attractive had been under his needle.

But this was different.

You were quiet. Careful. Your breath hitched every so often in the most delicate way. And your body responded to the tattoo like it was something far more intimate.

And fuck, that curve of you—every time the needle touched down, it sent a ripple through your skin. A subtle, hypnotic motion.

It was messing with his control.

He cleared his throat. “You okay?”

“Yeah” you said, voice soft and a little breathless. “It just… hurts, but it’s okay.”

He didn’t respond right away. His hand slid just a little higher on your waist, skin to skin now, the glove discarded during a quick ink swap. His thumb brushed beneath the towel without meaning to—barely—but it dragged across your lower back.

You shivered.

Law froze.

The buzz of the machine stopped. The silence rang loud.

You looked over your shoulder, eyes wide.

He was staring at you—still unreadable, still quiet—but his jaw was clenched, and his eyes were darker now. Focused. Heated.

“…Need a break?” you asked quietly.

“No” he said. Voice lower. Rougher. “Unless you do.”

You shook your head.

He stared a moment longer, then stepped away just far enough to breathe.

“Alright then” he muttered. “Deep breath.”

And the machine started again.

But this time, his hand lingered longer. His eyes wandered more. And every flicker of movement beneath his needle was seared into him like ink.

The machine finally fell silent.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your body buzzing from more than just the ink. Law wiped over the design with practiced care, his gloved hand steady and firm. Your skin throbbed beneath the fresh tattoo—raw and stinging—but all you could focus on was him. The way he leaned in close, the scent of his skin, the faint scratch of stubble near your hip as he moved.

The shop was quiet now. Empty. Just the two of you.

You sat up slowly, the towel slipping but still loosely draped over your hip. Law peeled his gloves off and turned away to grab the aftercare supplies. The movement made his shirt lift slightly, showing the sharp dip of muscle above his waistband. You looked, without “meaning” to.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“You handled it better than most” he said over his shoulder.

You gave a breathless laugh. “I thought I was gonna faint for a second.”

“You didn’t.” He turned, handing you a bottle. “This is what you’ll use for cleaning. No rubbing. Gentle pat dry. Keep it moisturized. Let it breathe.”

His voice had dropped a little. Lower. Slower. Like he wasn’t just talking about ink anymore.

You nodded. “Got it.”

Law studied you in silence, head tilted slightly. That unreadable look again. The one that felt like he was peeling you open without ever laying a hand on you.

“You seeing anyone?”

The question landed quietly, like a spark in the dark.

Your heart skipped. “No.”

A pause. “Didn’t think so.”

You blinked with a small smirk. “Why? You interested?”

He took a step closer. “Would’ve been hard to concentrate with someone waiting on you.”

The air changed.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He looked down at your side—at the art he’d just laid across your skin. His fingers reached out, brushing lightly across your waist. No glove this time. Skin to skin. Reverent.

“You ever let someone take care of you properly?” he asked, voice low.

You swallowed hard. “Not sure what that means.”

His thumb dragged slowly just below the band of your underwear.

“I do.”

You didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

He leaned in closer, voice almost a growl.

“Let me take you out.”

You nodded.

He didn’t move.

“Dinner. Not just this” he clarified. His eyes met yours. “But this too—if you want it.” Was this really happening? Thank god you had a bikini wax yesterday

“I do” you whispered. Biting your bottom lip gently.

That was all he needed.

He guided you gently back onto the bench, positioning you on your side again, but this time his hands weren’t clinical. They were warm. Sure. Possessive.

“I’m not touching the ink” he murmured, kneeling beside you. “But I’m gonna touch everywhere else.”

You shivered beneath him.

His lips ghosted over your hip, deliberately avoiding the tattoo, dragging lower instead. His hands roamed your thighs, your stomach, your back—every inch around the fresh design, treating your body like something he was mapping with his mouth.

“Still sore?” he murmured against your skin.

“Yes” you breathed.

“Good.”

His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you gently to the edge of the bench, your legs falling open slightly. He kept careful distance from the tattoo, but the way he kissed around it—slow, wet, deliberate all the way to the heat of your folds—had your hips twitching, your voice catching.

“I said I’d take care of it” he murmured. “Didn’t say I’d be gentle everywhere else.”

He worked you slow. Methodical. Not a rush—a study. He wanted to hear how your breath changed, where your muscles tensed, what made your voice break into a whisper of his name. And when he finally let his mouth dip lower, gently running his tongue up your slit, sending immediate attention to your clit. it was with practiced hunger, slow and devastating.

You clutched the edge of the bench, legs shaking.

“Don’t move” he said against your skin. “You’ll ruin the wrap.”

You whimpered.

His voice dropped lower. “Be good for me.”

And you were.

You couldn’t do anything but obey, drowning beneath him as he coaxed sounds from you you’d never made, his fingers pushed deep into your cervix all while keeping a careful, reverent distance from the art he’d left on your body.

“F-fuck—!” You bit your lip as his middle and index fingers curled upwards. The same smirk remaining on his face as he worked you. Keeping the pace slow just to tease—his mouth finding its way back to your aching clit, sucking on it gently sending stars to your vision.

When it was over—when he pulled away, mouth slick, eyes dark and wicked—he stood, hands braced on either side of your hips.

“You want the second session?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded, breathless.

“Next week” he said. “Same time. But dinner first, how’s Friday work for ya?”

You nodded again. “Fridays good.”

And this time, he smirked.

“Friday.”

[h1nanii]

I have to ask, do you type at the speed of sound or do you mass upload? Because your post rate is insane!

(also I'm fucking loooving the plug!law series. Your writing is really fantastic!)

This question had me laughing for a hot minute I love your choice of wording😭😭 and THANK YOU for your support!💗 I’m drafting up new plot-lines for the series at the moment I didn’t expect you guys to mess with it that much I used everything I had written already.



I’ve been Primarily mass-uploading my longer works, they’ve been sitting in my drafts catching up cobwebs since the beginning of the semester. I thought it was finally time to slut out for the summer ykyk