queserasora

[queserasora]

JULIUS NOVACHRONO X FEM READER / NSFW WC: 3.9K CW: choking, fingering, penetration AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first Black Clover fic ever, and my first Julius fic, so please forgive me for any short comings lol. I tried to capture Julius' playful nature. Also this is my first fic after a long time of not writing one so if my writing is rusty not it ain't. You didn't see anything wrong here, carry on. I wrote this for @soleilnomoon who asked me for this Julius fic like maybe 20 years ago so here I delivery it during the apocalypse of 2025. I hope you're happy bestie. If you like it, I love it. [insert awkward smile here]

I - LIGHTNING

He remembers the crashing thunder resounding in his ears the moment right before his eyes first met yours; a lightning bolt in the dark granting clarity to the silhouette of your existence.

Your hair, swirling tendrils plastered to your damp cheeks became illuminated in flashing fragments, photographic negatives he couldn't blink away. There was a joke dancing somewhere in the back of his mouth; something between 'look what the storm dragged in' and 'have you ever fallen in love with the curve of someone's cheek'. But between his heavy tongue and the persistent thunder, he lost the right timing to speak.

For once, he felt speechless.

"Don't just stand there," your voice broke through the sound of rain. "Don't you want to get out of the rain?"

II – THUNDER

“Well, look at that,” says the man with an eye patch, the same man Julius sidesteps as he obstructs his perfect view of you in the sun. Albeit, it's not that sunny, and the sun is filtered through impossibly gray clouds; clouds that could never put a damper on your smile.

“I know,” Julius says smoothly, his lips curling into a smile. “Isn't she a beauty?” His head tilts and his eyes soften as he takes you in. Julius raises his arm to wave at you. You look a little confused as you wave back.

“No, I'm not talking about her,” Eyepatch says, moving so he was back to blocking Julius' view of you. He was typically already easy to distract, that much Julius knew, but your presence was practically impossible to ignore. How could anyone fault him? There was no way he could keep himself from just dropping everything he was doing to admire the soft timbre of your voice, or the way your eyes lit up when you were excited, or the way the wind danced in your hair as if every strand of it was alive.

“What?” Julius mutters, doing his best not to sound affronted. His brows draw closer together in a frown that feels out of place on his face. It isn't an expression he dons often, and he is unaccustomed to the unpleasant feeling in his stomach. He couldn't ruminate over it right now. There were more pressing matters. Julius dismisses the feeling and Eyepatch's look of concern with a wave of his hand. He feels a hand close around his chin, and his face and eyes are dragged away from your laughing face to the dirt road now occupied by magic knights on horseback. Between them, they have a cart with them, dirty blankets stained with blood covering what he could only assume were bodies.

“There are more pressing matters than romance, Julius,” his friend murmurs with equal amounts of impatience and kindness. “Focus, will you?”

Julius stood in silence as the rest of the knights marched on, his eyes narrowed, but on occasion his gaze would drift back to you. As it went, his priorities always included magic at the top, but what was magic without a little romance?

As if by that same magic he loved and was fascinated by, you turn your face to meet his gaze. The sky nearly splits with the sound of thunder. You both look up immediately then back at each other, secretive smiles stretching your lips. Julius feels his chest tighten as he can see the mischievous glint in your eyes from the distance separating you.

“Looks like it's going to rain!” he ventures to call out. Next to him, he hears Eyepatch groan and mumble something about being obvious. If Julius's observation was an annoyance to you, you don't show it. Instead he is delighted to hear the soft tinkling of a giggle carried down to him by the wind.

“Are you trying to get caught up in it?” you ask him with a small tilt of your head.

“It's pretty warm. Might serve to cool us down.”

“Or slow us down.” You nod in the direction of the camp and start walking. Julius ignores Eyepatch's word of warning and trots towards you until he is walking breathlessly next to you. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath and he uses it to the best of his ability to inspect the profile of your face. Inside him, Julius could feel his soul quiver.

“I didn't know you to the be the type to be against adventure,” he says cheerfully. He smiles, hoping you're aware he means no judgement.

“I'm not,” you retort just as cheerfully, your lips pursed as you do your best to stave off a smile. “I'm just against becoming a soaked noodle in public--or getting struck by lightning.” You aim a lofty look in his direction, paired with an arched eyebrow; it is near lethal. He feels his heart stutter.

“Are you referring to that day?” He asks you. You glance at him silently as a reply. Julius chuckles before he plows on but not before he artfully avoids a puddle. “I had it perfectly under control.”

“You could have died!” you tell him loudly, your voice rising in pitch, eyebrows high on your forehead. Julius' smile becomes warm. “We could have died.”

“That was never going to happen.” He sees your lips part for breath as you geared up for your next argument. Julius speaks even quicker. “I was never going to let that happen.” Your eyes meet his, and Julius can hear something sizzling; in the air, in the sky, all around him, like searing hot lightning. “Ever.”

After a prolonged pause, you break the silence with a disbelieving scoff. “What?” you look up as a challenge lurks behind your captivating eyes. “You think yourself the Wizard King or something?”

Julius laughs, delighted by every word you speak.

“Would that impress you?” You shrug one shoulder, and Julius wonders how the soft roundness of it could be so tantalizing. What magic had you just performed to make him think of the skin underneath the fabric, the softness of it, the scent of it?

“Maybe,” you answer at last, looking up at him through your lashes before you walk faster, leaving him behind with his thoughts and a heat that was beginning to shoot into his nether regions.

“If that's what it takes then,” he mutters, stepping oddly as if he suddenly grew interested in doing walking lunges. You look up confused, as if you didn't catch all his words, and look even more perplexed for his actions. Julius is surprised to find that there's blood left to go to his cheeks. Funny, he thought all of it was currently busy with his very inconvenient erection.

“D'you say something?”

Julius furiously shakes his head. He feels a hand clamp down on one of his shoulders. In the time he was taking to adjust himself, Eyepatch had caught up to them.

“Nothing worth remembering, I can guarantee you that,” Eyepatch chimed in with his unsolicited opinion. Julius shot him a tense smile over his shoulder wishing he could beam him away with the simple power of his charm. Unfortunately for Julius, he didn't possess that kind of magic but he was sure that someone somewhere out there did and he would be keen to meet them at least once. That way he could ask them if they had ever used their power to get rid of a very pessimistic gray cloud with two legs and a mouth.

“I was saying!” Julius said loudly—even louder than usual, as he escaped Eyepatch's grasp. “We should race back to camp. Last one there gets to do all of tonight's cooking.” He doesn't wait for you to agree before he starts, laughing as he hears your protests.

“That's not fair!” he hears you shout. “You don't even cook!” As he looks over his shoulder, he sees you racing towards him wearing a fierce expression that makes him howl with laughter.

III - Hail

It sounded like the window was being pelted with rocks. Your penetrating gaze flies to the arched window behind Julius, as if you could incinerate the imagined risks with one look alone. Somehow the thought of someone trying to harm Julius was enough to make your skin feel prickly. Thunder moved raucously through the sky as sweat clung to the dip of your lower back. It was insufferably humid. Your misery was made near palpable every time he looked at you.

If he had any idea of the effect he had on you, would he be apologetic? Would he laugh; enigmatic, friendly yet unapproachable? Would he find any excuse, as he always did, to suddenly disappear from view although his eyes always lingered on your mouth, as if he wanted nothing more than to venture into you instead? Or—by some impulsive whim—take advantage of your weakness and finally succumb to the same kind of madness that consumed you?

You blink yourself back to the present, his melodious voice taking up the space of his office, as the storm raged on outside.

You near forgot what you were in the office for, in the first place.

"Anyway, that was the report," you mumble, hands behind your back, fussing with the rings on your fingers. "Not very exciting, is it? Most missions aren't." You wanted to addend your statement almost immediately. You wanted to let him know, that indeed, most of your missions had been stale, boring, and uninspiring without his company. Yet your tongue remained stapled to the roof of your mouth; soldered by an invisible flame you had no protection from.

"Exciting is what you make of it!" Julius said, in his stereotypical cheery voice. He had an incredible skill into turning everything he said into some motivational speech. Perhaps his real magic was the gift of gab. Julius walked around his desk, fussing with a new magical artifact; the latest object of his attention.

"Besides," he said softly this time. His eyes flicked towards you from across the desk bringing with them an unexpected warm breeze. "It's you." There is a heavy silence that almost takes physical form. You feel yourself drowning in it as he chooses his next words carefully. "I wouldn't dream of calling you dull."

You laugh, as the instinct to fight off his honeyed words seizes your body. You fantasize about falling into his sticky trap every night but the moment you feel a toe dipping into the warmth substance you buck; a bull refusing to give in. You couldn't understand what was wrong with you; as if you were the machination behind your own destruction.

"Weeeell," you start, dragging your vowels as you drag your feet through this ridiculous exchange. As you stall, a deafening thunder catches both of your attentions, right before the room falls into darkness. In the dark, it's as if his breathing grows louder, and louder, until it's all you can hear. You clear your throat as you try to shake free from whatever spell he was casting on you. You hear him moving in the darkness; feel him. "What are you doing?"

It wasn't your intention to sound accusatory. He laughs anyway, his feet soft on the floor. You take a hesitant step back as you feel his body heat grow nearer. Lightning strikes the sky, and for a moment, his silhouette is white against your eyes. It feels as if it would burn forever.

"Looking for you," he says after a while. You feel him in front of you, and after blinking repeatedly and quickly, your eyes adjust in the darkness. You see his face, softened by shadows, but nothing could snuff that treacherous light in his eyes. It was enough to take your breath away.

"Why?" You ask. You draw your hand back as he reaches for your wrist. He tries again. "What for?" Julius hums contemplatively as he finally borrows ownership of your wrist. You feel his fingers drop lower, his thumb caresses the hollow of your palm. You consider it a miracle that your knees haven't buckled.

"What else for?" he murmurs as he lets go of your hand, to barely hold on to your fingertips. The option to run is there on his soft grasp "I have to get to you before you escape again."

It should be diabolical the way his gaze burns through the darkness; a fire erupts within you as the storm rages on. Before you can protest further his mouth is on yours, his lips softer than you could have imagined. His hands are warm on the small of your back, as he presses you against him. You feel them move upward slowly, as his tongue presses against your lips gently. It's a tentative kiss, as if he wasn't sure you'd let him cross the line yet.

You hesitate as usual before you finally give in, bringing your hands up to rake your nails through his straw colored hair.

You part your lips and it's all the permission he needs. His kisses become hungrier, soft moans drowning in the back of his mouth as he explores yours with his tongue. His breath is intoxicating, sweet like malted barley. His teeth snags on the sensitive skin of your neck, making you hiss. He punishes you by taking hold of your ass and lifting you on the desk. You hear items tumble to the ground.

"I didn't take you for a brute," you mumble breathlessly, as his trembling hands take hold of your clothing, pulling and tugging until you sit naked on his desk. His mouth is searing against your skin as he sucks on the hollow spot of your neck. His hands knead your breasts carefully. "I take that back," you remark with an arch of your brow. You crane your neck, doing your best to look down your nose at him. You see him bumping the tip of his nose against the chain around your neck. "You're being gentler than a mouse right now. Do you think me so fragile?"

"You're as fragile as the storm outside," he mumbles distractedly against the mound of one breast before he turns his face to seize your nipple. You inhale sharply at the feel of his teeth. Goosebumps run down your body, all the way to your toes, and they curl tightly as his lips lock around your breast. Your back arches as he sucks, and you try to drown out the small whimper that bubbles up. Heat spreads and consumes you. Every breath you take feels more urgent than the next. His hand slips between your legs, his calloused fingertips expertly finding the swollen bundle of nerves that so desperately needed his attention.

At the pressure, you squirm and moan. He finds your actions punishable, or must have, because he immediately clamps down on a shoulder. He trails wet kisses up your neck to your earlobe as he rubs circles on your clit. You moan louder this time, and you can feel his lips stretch into a grin against your cheek.

"You're being so obedient," he jokes. You frown despite the pleasure making you tremble, your bottom lip quivering as you fight off another moan all in the name of telling him off but he silences you with a quick kiss; salve for your bruised ego. "Of course!" he sings as he laughs. "I admit. This should be considered cheating."

He inserts a finger slowly into you. You tense up. Julius stills his hand.

"You don't want me to?" he whispers softly, his brows drawing together in the darkness. You see his chest heaving, sweat glistening on his tanned skin. Once again, the office is intermittently illuminated by the lightning outside.

"I need a moment," you mumble, your hand finding the necklace around your neck. You fist it nervously in your hands, fingers playing with the medallion as you often did when nervous. Julius tilts his head down to kiss your moving hand. He looks up at you through his lashes and you nod. "Alright," you say softly. There's a quiet moment before he starts again, slipping his finger the rest of the way around your tight walls. You're slick, and warm. His mouth drops open as he loses himself to the sensation, a tingling feeling shooting from his navel to the tip of his dick.

"Sunlight," he pants, inserting another finger that takes your breath away. Your head lolls as you enjoy the stretch, watch him with lidded eyes as he scissors his fingers playfully, testily.

"What?" you spit out, teeth clenched as you fight your irritation for the sake of the impending orgasm. Your teeth bite down on your bottom lip.

"What's that necklace you keep holding on to?"

You blink, trying to focus instead on the way you move your hips in tandem with his hand; it was unsettling how easy it was to fall into his rhythm but what did it matter when it felt this fucking good?

"This?" your voice is a squeak that brings color to your cheeks. You swallow the lump of embarrassment down. "It was a gift. From my grandmother." Did he really need to ask you these kind of questions when he was curving his fingers in such a manner? Did he forget he was two knuckles deep into your pussy?

"Ah," was his first response before he allowed silence to fall between you. Rain pelted the window, but somehow the increased panting coming from you seemed louder. You press your lips together to keep from moaning. As you try to be as quiet as possible, it seems Julius was determined to be the opposite. His fingers worked arduously, enough that you could hear the pockets of air slipping around your arousal; a wet sound so devious that made you victim to a full body blush. From his mouth, were short little words of appraisal, all of which made you wand to catch fire and disappear. "Mood killer," he mumbled in between them before he went back to praising you. "Such a pretty pussy though."

"What?" You cough, and move around, his fingers slipping out of you. You see him pout dramatically before you tear your eyes away from his face. Perhaps you shouldn't have because you spot a smear of wetness on his desk that threatens to make you speechless. "I'll take the necklace off."

You begin to, but Julius stops you, one hand on your hand, and another on the inside of your thigh.

"No, don't," he says gently, a crooked smile taking over his sweet face. He pushes on your thigh with his free hand and slips his lower body between your legs. "Keep it on." You lower your hand. He cups your face gently. Your eyes are ensnared by his. You swear the moonlight is drawn to his irises. You're mesmerized by it, as his fingers travel down the column of your neck. You blink, feeling his erection press against your throbbing core. He presses his hands against the base of your neck before he snatches the necklace in his fist. You choke as he tightens the hold, your eyes widening with a mixture of fear and arousal. "I like it."

He holds you there, between fear and pleasure, as he brings his free hand to guide himself to your entrance. He pokes gently, his eyes low and heated. You stare back at him, and realize belatedly he was waiting for your okay. Unable to speak, you spread your legs wider hoping that was enough to clue him into your consent.

You realize with a start, it certainly must have been, as he slams into you. You gasp out, blinking through the tears as you try to adjust to his size. You squeeze around him involuntarily, fingers grasping at his hips.

"Good," he mumbles, and leans down to kiss you once, twice, before his hips start moving once more. He thrusts into you, creating a rhythm that threatens to disarm you. You feel your apprehensions falling apart, like old thread. You choke out another gasp, his fist refusing to let go of the chain. He shakes it slightly when you try to close your eyes, to focus on the feeling tightening at the pit of your belly. Your eyes flutter open with a start to see him looking down at you, observing you with fascination; his brow knitted together, his lips glistening and parted. "Keep your eyes on me, Sunlight. If you look away, I'll disappear."

You almost headbutt him for the threat but he angles his hips and takes away your will to fight. You moan despite yourself, thrilled by the way he too couldn't keep quiet. His grunts and moans, arouse you, make you feel as if it's only you and could only be you who makes him feel this way. You give in to the delusion, allow yourself this small respite. It would be short lived, you knew. You feel his hold tighten around the necklace, feel him bring himself closer to you even as he slaps his hips against yours repeatedly.

His breath is hot against your face, as he presses his forehead against yours.

"I warned you," he breathes out in a whine. You swallow, unable to form a sufficient thought. "Look at me, Sunlight. Please."

Your eyes meet for a moment, but you shut them tight, feel your walls tighten and quiver as an orgasm wrecks your body. Your legs twitch around his hips, and he kisses your eyes, your cheeks, your forehead right before he reaches his own climax. His hips start to slow, just as yellow light spills in the room, power returning once more. Slowly, he lets go of your necklace, and just as slowly he stops moving against you. You can't help but notice he hasn't pulled out. You look up at him, feeling very wet and sore in between your legs.

"Oh," he says as if he had been struck with a brilliant idea. He still doesn't pull out. Instead, his fingers trail over your neck, his free hand tilting your chin up so he can get a good look. "There's some bruising," Julius says casually. As if looking like you had survived a kidnapping was an ordinary every day appearance. "Maybe you should edit your report. Embellish it a little. Ah!" He looks at you with a twinkle in his eyes. "You did this on purpose didn't you?"

You blink up at him, and slap his chest as you try to scramble off the desk. Julius seizes your hips and pulls you close instead.

"What are you talking about?"

"You were complaining about how boring your report was. Was this your way of making it exciting?" Your mouth twists, and he laughs through the slew of cuss words you launch out at him. "Alright, alright." He kisses you, even through your annoyed mumbling. "Don't be mad but promise me this? From now on, you'll only give your reports to me, and only me. Lest you get ideas."

That earned him another slap to the chest.

[queserasora]

it's me. i'm back again *does stupid dance* i want to request bleeding heart or/and calla lily and midnight for LUFFY!!, with neck kisses, eyelid kisses and jaw kisses , with themes 8, 12, and 22.

ꕤ ily bb, this... was a labor of love *says nothing else* ૮₍  ˶•⤙•˶ ₎ა ꕤ

3.7k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, there's a bit of angst but it's mostly smut. luffy's a menace and this is him level-headed. feat. cute stuff like overstimulation, oral (f receiving), alcohol, lots of good times and other stuff.

💖☁️ la vie est drôle ☁️💖

starring: "straw hat" luffy x reader.

bleeding heart (angst) & calla lily (smut) at midnight, with neck, eyelid, and jaw kisses; #8, 12, & 22 (surprise, blindfold, & stolen moments).

fireworks explode noisily from the shore, bright colors lighting up the darkened sky, blotting out the stars temporarily. a bonfire accompanied by laughter, drinks, and plenty of food. the sunny bobs lazily in the water as everyone enjoys the festivities. the party is a whim of his — something you’ve come to appreciate during your time with the crew — and there’s enough alcohol passing around to incapacitate everyone for at least a week — barring zoro and nami, of course. 

absently, you sip on your drink — fruity, sweet, the liquor blending well — giddy from it all. your feet sink into the sand and you chug the rest of your drink, hoping to absolve yourself of the heat taking over your body. your tank top offers no reprieve, so you tug on the collar hoping to incite some cool air to put you out of your misery. unfortunately, it never happens; and when a breeze does pass by, it’s warm, full of sea salt, further annoying you. everyone else seems to be tolerating the heat just fine, since they’re all sitting close to the fire — whereas you’re sitting a little further away.

you’re not sure how they can stand the heat, but you’re not built for it, so you abandon your empty glass and head off to the sunny in search of more ice. sweat glides down the side of your face and drips onto your neck, sticking to your skin, making you that much more eager to cool off. you pull your curls into a makeshift updo, the bun messy but passable; as much as you love your hair, the thickness somehow makes the heat even more unbearable. the music from the beach carries all the way to the ship and you smile to yourself. you like the brief moments of respite, where you don’t have to worry about incoming enemies, where everyone can take it easy, momentarily forgetting about the stressors of their everyday lives.

maybe it’s the alcohol making you feel more sensitive tonight, but you can’t help it.

it’s eerie when you make it to the kitchen, the silence loud enough to give you pause — although, you swear you hear footsteps somewhere on the deck. but it’s probably your imagination; it’s midnight, after all, and you’re tired from partying for hours.

you grab a large glass and fill it with ice, hanging out for a while longer to enjoy the solitude and slightly cooler temperature. you eventually sit on top of the counter, fingers hastily grabbing another piece of ice and placing it into your mouth. it melts slowly, your body finally feeling a little less hot, until the door to the kitchen opens, startling you out of your thoughts.

blinking quickly, you focus your vision in the dim light, only to realize that it was luffy at the door.

sweat trickles down the back of his neck, his chest bare as his shirt is draped messily over his shoulder. it seems that you’re not the only that the heat is punishing. loud as ever, he declares that he’s come in search of something tasty — sweet too, if he can help it. you think for a moment before popping another ice cube into your mouth, eyes watching as he makes his way to the refrigerator; mesmerized by his broad shoulders and firmly toned muscles, you don’t hear him when he calls out to you.

“wh-what?” you shake those thoughts away before you say something you regret.

“i said,” he closes the door to the refrigerator before looking over at you, the corners of his mouth tugging upward into a sly smirk, “you look hot.”

choking — because, how else could you process the way luffy just says that to you out of the blue — you place the glass down, face burning you alive, his words digging into your skin. merciless and alluring. you open and close your mouth several times, eyes widening as you panic over whether or not he noticed the way you pressed your thighs together, or whether he noticed the change in your breathing. the thoughts you previously tried to bury come flooding through your mind, making it impossible to focus on his next statement.

“you’re eating ice,” he says lightly, eyes dropping to the glass and detouring to your legs, taking in the shape of them, the thickness of your thighs, how smooth and soft your skin looks. he thinks the shorts you have on are practical given how humid it is now. head tilted, he glances back at your face, an impish grin taking hold of his lips. “which means… you’re trying to cool off.” 

you grip the edge of the counter so tightly you think you might break a nail. “um,” you start, your voice so quiet he has to move closer to hear you properly. “i, um… yes, cooling off.” you inhale deeply, hoping to calm yourself down before you have a heart attack; you blame the heat for your lapse in judgment, for making you jump to conclusions like that. luffy moves to stand in front of you, his hands gripping the counter as he leans closer.

“you’ll never get the job done like that,” he points out cryptically. you’re used to his odd way of saying things, but you sink your teeth in your bottom lip, drawing luffy’s gaze again. “let me help you.” 

again, you find yourself staring at your captain stupidly, his words rippling down your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. “how?” the question flies out of your mouth faster than you realize; you have the decency to feel a bit of shame, but you try to play it off and reach for the glass again.

luffy grabs onto your wrist, fingers pressing into your skin, reminding you of the real reason you were feeling hot all night. it’s why you sat so far away from the group outside, why you avoided him all night, why you kept drinking. you desperately needed the distraction, to stop yourself from acting out on your desires. there’s nothing messier than mixing romance on a pirate ship; you know better and want to do better, but he grabs an ice cube from the glass and traces it along the curve of your lips. you know to expect a small chill, but when his fingertips graze your lips, your mouth opens on instinct — wide enough for luffy to thrust his fingers along with the ice cube into your mouth.

eyes widening at him, he looks back at you mischievously and entirely unapologetic. “i wanted to make sure it went inside properly.”

he’s full of shit, you both know that, but that doesn’t stop you from inadvertently sucking on his fingers. he plucks them out of your mouth, much to your disappointment, but the look in his eyes tells you that he has other things in mind. ice mostly melted on your tongue, you lean forward to ask him what he has planned next, not wanting him to leave anytime soon.

luffy catches you off guard by brushing his lips against yours, mumbling something unintelligible before kissing you. his hand grabs the back of your neck, firm enough to hold you still, but gentle enough that you won’t be in too much pain. something compels you to move your legs apart and luffy takes that as an invitation to stand between them, his chest pressing against yours, making you lightheaded.

you should worry about getting caught by one of your crew mates, but that worry gets buried deeply in the back of your mind, the only thoughts bouncing around are centered around luffy and the way his tongue strokes yours. the dueling temperatures from the ice cube and his mouth make it hard to breathe, mostly because you want to keep on kissing him. when you eventually do pull away, your breath comes out in shallow pants, eyelids lowered as you look at him.

without thinking too much about it, you grab another piece of ice, but place it in his mouth this time. his tongue licks at your fingertips lightly, prompting you to giggle. amusement flashes over his dark eyes, the ice melting steadily in his mouth by the time his lips make contact with the length of his neck.

and, like he previously theorized, your skin is smooth and very, very soft. he drags the ice cube down your throat, and you press your lips together, forcing yourself to keep quiet, despite how much you don’t want to. luffy is impressed by your restraint, his hands drifting lower and gripping your plush hips. you’re sure that your captain is trying to kill you somehow — or, maybe this is all a very long, detailed dream. you try to convince yourself of that when he nips at your skin, sucking recklessly, tongue familiarizing itself with that spot in particular, thoroughly enjoying the shiver that passes through you with every swipe of his tongue.

he pulls back to admire his work and you want to slap the smug look off of his face. he laughs at your expression and before he can ask you for another ice cube, you tug your tank top off, the shirt landing somewhere on the floor, near luffy’s abandoned one. he watches you in a daze, a hunger that doesn’t quite make sense to him boiling over, making his skin itch, bringing forth an impatience that surprises him.

“see, the thing is, luffy,” you say slowly, as if you’re measuring your words carefully, “i’m kind of hot all over, so…” as you speak, your fingers work to swiftly unhook your bra — you toss it over his shoulder, not caring, more concerned with how much you’re enjoying the heated look in his eyes. your words ignite a fire inside of him, blood shooting lower, his cock hardening and straining against the front of his pants. he doubts you even realize how much you arouse him, but there’s no need to make mention of it now, is there? 

luffy flashes you a cheeky grin — one that means he has something up his sleeve — stepping away momentarily to rummage through the nearby drawers. he finds one of sanji’s prized aprons and before you can tell him off, he rips a long, thick strip of fabric from it. “luffy,” you whisper loudly, “he’s gonna kill you.” you meant this genuinely; sanji is very particular about his things, especially when it involves the kitchen. luffy, unfortunately, isn’t convinced. he laughs off your worries, that mischief coursing through him completely.

“i’m not worried about him,” he says resolutely, amused that you’re concerned for his safety. “close your eyes.” you stare at him for a beat too long before complying, mind racing, heart pounding stupidly in your chest, giving away your excitement. he presses a kiss on your jaw and then another on your eyelid before wrapping the piece of fabric around your eyes. he doesn’t know what possessed him to kiss you like that, but he doesn’t want to think about it; the intimacy is much too much for him. and, for you too.

you can’t see him, but you can feel his insufferable smirk even with the makeshift blindfold on. luffy’s hands tug on your shorts, pulling them down your legs, keeping them in one piece surprisingly. the same can’t be said for your panties; in his haste to remove them, he overestimated his strength and rips through the fabric without even trying.

“whoops,” he says before laughing, your face burning as you chastise him over it. 

“it’s not funny, luffy, damn it.” you really liked that pair. pouting as if you’re actually mad at him, luffy pays you no mind, instead taking another ice cube and circling it around your hardened nipples, alternating smoothly between the two, prompting you to squirm on the counter, hips jutting forward, the ache growing exponentially in between your legs. his lips latch onto your neck again, biting and kissing, enjoying the way you refuse to make any noise, although he’s sure you won’t last much longer with how hard you’re pressing your lips together. 

it’s only when his teeth graze against the curve of your breast, tongue gliding along your skin until it flicks against your nipple, that you let out a small whimper in surprise. triumphant, luffy keeps at it, sucking and licking, as if he’s found a new addiction. every time he leaves another mark on your skin, you find it harder and harder to keep your noises quiet; which is more than fine with him, he actively wants to hear your voice.

although, as he looks down at your skin, maybe he went a little too far. the dark, reddish marks littered along the curve of your breasts, along your neck, right below your clavicle. still, you want more. chest heaving you spread your legs further apart, your arousal clinging to the inside of your thighs; if you didn’t have the blindfold, it would’ve been too embarrassing for you to act like this. but since you can’t see his face, can’t see the looks he gives you, can’t see the way he drinks in the sight of your body, slowly falling under the hypnosis of your curves. 

letting out a shallow breath, luffy runs the tips of his fingers along the folds of your pussy, your wetness clinging to his skin once he dips them inside. you lift your hips, a heat passing through you as anticipation takes control of your common sense. luffy’s lips graze the curve of your ear, his words haunting you when he says, “did you cool off, enough?” his voice is warm, gruff, igniting an inescapable desire that consumes you entirely.

so when you respond, your throat dries, but you manage to tell him, “no. i’m still too hot.” luffy’s fingers plunge into your pussy deeply, and you grab onto his shoulders to keep you steady, the wanton noises leaving your mouth makes you dizzy and embarrassed. but, you don’t have time to feed into your shame. he pumps his fingers in and out of you lazily, scissoring them, pleased with how soft and tight your walls are. you moan into his mouth when he gives you heated, open-mouthed kisses, tongue swirling around yours artfully, his fingers ripping more moans out of you than necessary. your hips move forward, matching the timing of his thrusts, fingers curling, touching a spot that has you whimpering pathetically against his lips. 

“w-wait, fuck, luffy slow down,” you cry out, hips shaking, the pressure pooling in the bottom of your abdomen, a loud, thunderous noise thumping in your ears, pussy clenching around his fingers tightly, which only makes him thrust his fingers faster.

and when he presses his thumb against your clit, a jolt shoots through you, the orgasm much stronger than you thought it would be. your hips buck against his hand, but luffy keeps fucking you with his fingers as you ride out the waves from the orgasm. your heart beats so fast you’re sure that you won’t last another minute under whatever spell he cast on you. when he pulls his fingers out of you suddenly, a bit of clarity hits you, the fog clearing, allowing for a few coherent thoughts to enter your mind. the moment is short-lived, however; luffy licks his fingers, enjoying your taste and you hear it all. you also fully expect him to take the blindfold off, but, to your surprise, he doesn’t. instead, luffy drops to his knees and pulls you closer to the edge of the counter, draping your legs over his shoulders, lips skimming along the inside of your thigh, close to your knee.

if there’s one thing that luffy’s retained from anything sanji’s told him over the years, it’s to savor each meal and to thank the person who feeds you. 

this is more or less the same, in his book. you don’t bother asking him what he’s doing, but you do take the blindfold off, nearly ripping some strands of hair out of your scalp in the process. his cock sits heavily in his shorts, painfully reminding him to pay attention to it; he ignores it, wanting instead to hear you make more interesting sounds. you bite down on your lip when he bites the fleshier part of your calf, making you yelp, his dark chuckles simultaneously pissing you off and arousing you.

you hate it. so, so much.

the lie stays with you even when his tongue runs flat against your pussy, causing you to cry out again, your fingers slipping into his hair, grabbing on the black strands roughly. luffy’s amusement never leaves him, he watches as you moan his name loudly, the sounds erotic as they bounce around the walls of the kitchen, the echo making him want to devour you in more ways than one.

his tongue maps a sinful path along your pussy, mouth slurping, tongue stroking down the length, enjoying the way you press your hips closely, riding his mouth shamelessly. you want to have better control over yourself, but luffy is making it damn near impossible; you’ve long given up on keeping quiet, the defeat was inevitable, given the way your body reacts to his touch. he flicks his tongue against your clit, the guttural moan you let out is encouraging enough, so he does it again and again and again. he’ll make sure to remember the sounds you made for later.

you grip his hair tightly, panting wildly as he thrusts his tongue inside of you, the sensation that his tongue brings only pushes you to the edge, another orgasm building within you. trying to hold out for as long as you can, you moan his name so many times, it’s all you hear even when your voice fails you. when he sucks on your clit, you buck your hips against hip and he uses his hands to hold you still as he continues devouring your pussy the only way he knows how. 

with tears in your eyes, the overstimulation making it difficult for you to think straight, you pull on his hair one last time. “luffy, please, i c-can’t,” you hiccup, your energy more or less depleted. 

he pauses for a few seconds, voice low and firm when he says, “i’m not done with my dessert yet.” with broad strokes of his tongue, luffy laps up your wetness, wanting to take as much as he can. it’s almost like your orgasm never subsides with the way he continues antagonizing you like that, your pussy puffy and throbbing, the pain dull and obnoxious. he pulls away, lips glistening, your wetness coating his lips in a way that makes you blush and turn your face.

“oh, god,” you place your hands over your face, the shame finally pouring into you in huge waves, making it impossible to keep eye contact with him. it’s then that you hear it, multiple voices on the deck, stomping around, laughing loudly. 

“uh oh,” he says innocently, finally standing up and licking his lips, “looks like our time’s up.” 

you slap his chest weakly, your irritation blurring your common sense. “you’re not even sorry at all,” you say as you attempt to climb down from the counter. your legs almost give out, but he hooks an arm around your waist, steadying you as his hand dips lower to grab your ass. “luffy,” you say harshly, voice dropping to a whisper when you smack him again. he laughs loudly, as if your annoyance is a trivial matter for him. “i can’t stand you.” you stomp around the kitchen, quickly putting on your clothes; your torn panties are nowhere to be found, but you can’t waste time. luffy looks over at you, smirking devilishly at your plight. 

this is mostly his fault, although you will accept some blame — you should’ve held your ground, but you were weakened by the heat. it’s what you tell yourself when you quickly clean off the counter top, it’s what you keep telling yourself when you toss the ruined apron at luffy and tell him to dispose of the evidence while you try to sneak out of the kitchen undetected, and it’s what you tell yourself when you can’t sleep that night. you can still feel his hands on your body, the way he couldn’t keep his mouth and tongue off of you; it all comes back to you, and you groan, the realization that you can’t just end things there with him hitting you over the head with such clarity that makes you want to smack him again. 

at breakfast, the following morning, when sanji asks luffy if he found something to satisfy his craving last night, you glance up from your coffee, eyes narrowing at luffy as you wordlessly tell him to not say anything. he nods in understanding, leans back in his chair, and blurts out, “mhm… y/n helped me out with that.” it was as close to the truth he was willing to go. you knock your coffee mug over in shock, robin grabbing paper towels to help you clean it up.

sanji frowns, not quite understanding but looking your way curiously. “oh? did you end up making something? i didn’t know you baked, y/n.” before sanji prattles on, you quickly clarify.

“i didn’t make anything for him.” your statement hangs heavily in the air, the rest of your crew mates looking at you in confusion. there you fucking go again; foolish behavior. “i mean, i just helped him find something.”

unfortunately for you, sanji’s curiosity continues to get the best of him. “which was?” 

this time, luffy also watches you, but because he’s in good spirits, he spares you from scrutiny. “oh, sanji, i accidentally ripped your apron. y’know the one nami got you? that one.” this sparks a one-sided argument between them, where sanji yells and tries to fight, while luffy jumps out of his reach, laughing hysterically. before running out of the dining area, he catches your gaze and winks at you, his hand reaching into his pocket and that’s when you notice the lace poking out. you give him an incredulous look which only makes him laugh harder, which makes sanji think he’s laughing at him, and their argument continues. you excuse yourself from the table and scurry away from everyone, retreating back into your room so you can recover from that mortifying ordeal, vowing to make luffy suffer double the next time you get him alone.

🌙 credit to leafsea for the cute crescent moon divider 🌙

[queserasora]

one piece masterlist

Ace

wind & fire | ace x chubby fem reader | NSFW | 9k wc | slow burn | soft smut | bittersweet romance

Doffy

make no mistake | doflamingo x fem reader | NSFW | 3-parter | dark romance

Izou

pretty little mouth | izou x fem reader | NSFW | 3.9k wc | soft!dom izou

what that mouth can do | izou x fem reader | NSFW | soft!dom izou

Law

you don't love me | law x fem reader | NSFW | dark romance | 5.7k wc

Luffy

chupamelo | luffy x fem reader | NSFW | 3.5k wc | established relationship | public(ish) sex trope

Sanji

mango juice | sanji x fem reader | NSFW | 1.3k wc

your name | sanji x fem reader | NSFW | 3.4k wc | one night stand trope | implied age gap

Zoro

the pull, the moon, and a wish upon a star | zoro x fem reader | NSFW | 7.9k wc | slowburn | soft smut

[queserasora]

obey me masterlist

Beel

for a long time; he hoped | beel x fem reader | SFW | fluff | 2.4k wc | friends to lovers | one shot

Levi

close to you | levi x fem reader | SFW | fluff | tiny bit of angst | 2.2k wc | friends to lovers | one shot

[queserasora]

jjk masterlist

Fushiguro, toji

attention! this ride is closed | toji x assassin fem reader | NSFW | 5.1k wc | two-parter

Nanami, kento

stay up | nanami x fem reader | NSFW | 4.6k wc | two-parter

[queserasora]

bleach masterlist

Renji, abarai

tit for tat | renji x fem reader | NSFW | 5k wc | one night stand trope

heads up | renji x fem reader | NSFW | 3.6k wc | established relationship; voyeurism

[queserasora]

attack on titan masterlist

Kirschtein, jean

a messy inconvenience | jean x fem reader | NSFW | 4.5K wc | arranged marriage trope | one shot

[queserasora]

This is a PSA, lol. Yes, these were previously posted on strawhatsoraya but I wanted to keep my fics more organized and away from my shit posting. So this is my sideblog and will be strictly for fics. so if you only wanna read my fics and not my ramblings, follow this one instead.

[queserasora]

LAW X FEM READER / NSFW (minors dni, don't make me say it twice) word count: 5.7k content warning: toxic relationship, situationship, law is kind of an ass in this but what's new, lot's of suggestive talk, vaginal penetration, oral (female receiving and male receiving), reader is obsessed with law and I do mean obsessed so read at your own risk, choking, several mentions of ejaculation (and what comes after so you know what I mean), biting, jealousy, knife play, drug use.

all you give me is a heart beat

Law feels your eyes on him not for the first time that day, and makes a pointed effort not to look at you. Surrounded by the rest of his crew, the last thing he wants to do is to cause misunderstandings. He knew later he’d find you in some corner of the submarine, marking check boxes on some form he had deemed necessary; anything to keep you busy enough from demanding answers from him.

It is true that perhaps he had made a mistake when he first kissed you in his office. You had melted under his attention, become pliable under his expert hands as he brought you to ecstasy right there on his work desk. Law hadn’t predicted your eyes to be shiny with expectation the following morning at the mess hall. It should have made him reconsider, instead, he asks you into his office again. And again. He continues to do this until there’s not a corner you’re unfamiliar with, until every book and wall knows the way you sound at orgasm, the faces you make when he buries his cock inside you.

Where he is difficult to hold, you are easy. You make no demands. You’re earnest as you wrap your warmth around him, when you breathe his name in a raspy tone against his ear. Goosebumps skitter down his back and away from him. It’s cowardice, he knows, that he continues to allow this but he is selfish, and your pussy is just way too good for him to give up.

There’s also a strange ‘something’ about you. 

He catches glimpses of it at a certain slant of light. He sees it in the thin line your plush mouth draws when Ikkaku settles close to him; the way you purse your lips and force a smile, a dimple hanging perilously from one cheek. It entices him, spurs him on to place a large hand on Ikkaku’s shoulder. Law leans forward. He smells Ikkaku’s shampoo as he whispers into her ear. His golden eyes are honed in  on your face, on your hand that picks up the silver steak knife. The glint of the blade as you bring it down on the table sparks a fire inside him.

That night he laughs at your fury as you ride him on his desk, your frigid fingers wrapped around his throat. His own inked fingers curl around your wrists and he squeezes until you flinch and let go. There’s laughter in his voice as he murmurs your name. You huff, hips moving, desperate for release while his thick cocks twitches inside your gummy walls. 

“That’s no way to treat your captain,” he says as he pries your hands away from his neck. His thumbs rub circles on the inside of your wrists. Your blood pulses underneath his touch, heartbeat tethered to the pads of his thumbs. He tries to control the smirk that stretches his bruised lips but it’s futile; a wasted effort. He kisses your fingertips, the center of your palms. He relishes in how this is all it takes to make your shoulders relax, how it was enough to bring your guard down.

He flips you over, your hot back hitting the wooden desk, and finds you immediately submissive. You spread your legs for him, inviting him to your dripping pussy. It is an offer he could never refuse; and how could he when you were practically begging him? It would be a disservice to your kindness. The least he could do was get on his knees. His hands are warm as he pushes your legs apart, shouldering his way towards your heated core. His breath is hot against your swollen nub as he leans closer. He takes in your scent as he opens his mouth to drag his large tongue over your slit. His licks are careful, measured; an inappropriate form of an apology.  The way your fingers grasp his hair is reminiscent of the way he sees you grasp at straws, at the invisible seams that hold whatever this is together. As he hears you moan even through the loud slurping noises he forgets all apprehensions. 

you’re hard to hug, tough to talk to

There was a sickness inside you, of this you were sure.

It was the only thing that could explain your senseless attachment to the one man who refused to be kept. At worst he was cold, a chill in the night, the kind that would make your limbs go numb and keep you up, sleepless and deranged. At best he held onto you with detached interest, a contradiction you tried to ignore by seeking his tongue past his treacherous lips.

There was a sickness inside of you, sure, but if that was true then perhaps there was one within him too.

When it was just the two of you alone, the world melted away. He’d let you find refuge in his lap as he sat at his desk, reading up on recent medical literature. You’d curl into him, bury your face in his neck seeking the slippery scent of intimacy. No matter how quick, or how deep your breath was, the taste never lingered on your tongue.

You tried to find it woven in the threads of Law’s bed sheets. You’d plaster your nose against his pillow, mouth open in desperation. You’d spread your fingers against the fabric of the pillowcase, feeling for any of his secrets you could keep.

He falls asleep with his arms around you, and you break free gently to watch the stillness of his face. You take in his brown skin, and run your fingertips over his exposed arms. Electricity seeps into your fingers, lighting up your being. 

Law seemed so vulnerable there, laying on his side, inky hair partially covering his tired face. He was completely unguarded, defenseless, absolutely at your mercy.

You could kill him if you wanted to. If you really wanted to.

You swoop in towards his bicep, run the tip of your nose from one forearm to his shoulder. The breath you take in is ragged, rattling in your chest as your mouth floods with saliva. Sea salt and ink takes over your senses. You feel him stir inside you, his essence burying itself within your cells. 

A need possesses you. You gently push against his shoulder to force him on his back. Stealthily you slither over his body to press your hands over his abdomen. You feel his hardened muscles under your palms as you slide them up and over his chest. His heart thumps underneath your hands. It beckons you closer. You press your ear to his chest, eyes fluttering close. 

At the sound of his heart beating you picture the blood that gives it life. You can see its journey red hued and electric in perfect detail in your mind. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and your toes curl, picturing the blood in Law’s veins, how it makes his body warm.

You feel it now, that warmth of his body that lulled you into a false sense of security. How could someone so beautiful be the source of both your anguish and content delirium? How could he sleep next to you, as innocent as a child, and tear your heart in two the next morning when he’d refuse to meet your gaze in front of others?

Heartless. He was heartless; he could be. 

You see yourself sinking your hands into the cavity of his flesh, parting sinew and bone with ease. You hear the crackling of ribs prickle your ears. You can almost taste iron in the air as you pluck it out, bring it up to Law’s horror. His mouth drops open and he screams and screams, unable to move, unable to do anything. 

His heart beats in your bloodied hands, his hot blood oozes down your forearms, souvenirs of the fight you claimed from him; of the things he stole from you a long time ago.

You blink to bring yourself to the present, to still see him slumbering beside you, unaware of the storm birthing inside of you.

It takes a moment to quiet your breathing, to match it to his. You drape his arms over you once more, cocoon yourself into the shape of him with one hand over his chest.

when we get undressed

He slots his lips against yours, hating his own timidness. It wasn’t inexperience that made his fingers tremble; the ones he buries in your hair in hopes of keeping this one secret from you. It was his own vulnerability that he fought against–the sudden and desperate need to kiss you past your breath. There’s a warmth that blooms treacherously in his chest; an invasive species of the trailing vine kind. He tears at it with his fingers, dirt burying itself under his nails in the form of your whimpering.

He silences you with kisses, forceful and clumsy. You gasp against his sudden hunger, and he consumes even that from you, leaving nothing to waste.

His tongue is slippery as he strokes your own, his hips rutting against your heated core at a slow pace. It’s torturous, the way he feels your wetness against his erection. Law has half a mind casting gentleness aside to slip inside you in one stroke but he perseveres, and captures your tongue for a slow and noisy suck. He waits for you to bury your fingers in his hair, to scrape his scalp with your long acrylics. He even waits for your plush thighs to wrap around his bony hips, to hear you mewl and beg for him before he succumbs.

It’s so easy to bury himself inside you. You’re soaking, slippery and hot, more than eager to receive him. The tightness of your pussy still surprises him no matter how many times he thrusts inside it. It’s a heaven on earth he feels almost undeserving of. Almost.

There’s a small smile that tugs on a corner of his lips, one that is languid and full of secrets. He slithers one hand up between your jiggling breasts, still slapping his hips against yours. His balls are loud against the wetness of your skin, the sound making you blush all over. Law continues to move his hand upwards at a slow pace, until his fingers stroke up your neck. He lifts it slightly, brushes the back of his knuckles against it before he sighs.

In a swift move, he squeezes your delicate neck between his fingers. You gasp and moan as he applies pressures to the sides of your neck. Your cunt twitches around his cock as he continues to thrust in and out of you. Your brown eyes, blown wide and unfocused, roll to the back of your head when he picks up the pace. Law can’t help but laugh, even as he represses a moan of his own.

“I’m close,” he tells you breathlessly, mouth hanging open. There’s a flush on his cheeks he ignores. He blames the horrible ventilation system on the submarine. Law makes a note to have someone fix that immediately. “I’m so close, doll,” he says, not letting go of your neck. “Tell me,” he commands. You hum, and he frowns down at you, unsure if you heard him. He squeezes your neck tighter for good measure. When you gasp and choke, gagging on a moan when he viciously slaps his hips against yours, he grits his teeth. “Where do you want me to cum on you?”

You don’t answer him. Law thinks perhaps you’re just not able to. His chuckles are dark, and gritty, sandpaper against your sensitive skin. He continues his vicious thrusts, touching the deepest part of you with the tip of his cock. He feels you tightening around him, and he knows before you cry out that you’re at the precipice. Your orgasm pulls out his own from within him, and he quickly slips out of you.

His hand grasps his slippery cock, to pump furiously. White cum spurts out of his tip, and lands on the heated skin of your belly.

Law sees your chest rise and fall, sees your swollen lips parted as you try to catch your breath. Your neck and breasts are littered with blooming bruises in the shape of his teeth. He tuts, almost ashamed. There’s a strange pull in his chest that he wishes to bury. He moves away from you slowly.

“Stay there,” he tells you, voice clipped. You blink up at the ceiling, arms spread wide on his bed as you lay on his back. The sight of your tits is too tempting, and while he is spent, he still leans forward to drop a few more kisses over the slope of each one. “Don’t move,” he mumbles against your skin, and nips at the skin before retreating into the bathroom.

When he returns, there’s a wet wash rag in his hand. His golden eyes take in the mess he made himself on your soft belly. There is precision in his work, he manages to clean you up quickly and efficiently, before he discards the wash rag in the waste bin. He’d take care of it later, for now, he wants to forget everything and hold you. He slides behind you as you curl on your side, and kisses your shoulders.

“Law,” you start, trying to look at him over your shoulder. Law tightens his arms around your waist. “I want to ask you–”

He shushes you quickly, and kisses the spot behind one ear. “Let’s talk in the morning. You should sleep now.” He ignores the way your body tenses at his tone. He ignores the way he feels your fingers tap nervously over his hands, fingers locked over your belly. He ignores the way your nails dig into his forearm when he doesn’t give you more attention.

He ignores this conversation you have tried to start several times before. Law continues to ignore you, and everything else, until he falls asleep.

That morning, Ikkaku is in the mess hall, chastising Penguin over the massive plate of stacked pancakes he was carrying. Law smiles at her expression, unable to ignore the scene. He walks over, long legs making breaching the distance a very easy task. 

“What’s the problem?” Law asks, reaching over Ikkaku’s shoulder for a plate. He watches with barely restrained humor, as she shrinks under his body. Her cheeks color. Law’s eyes light up at their brightness. “There should be enough pancakes for everyone.”

“Those are all the pancakes I made!” she argues back, as she tries to take a step backwards. Law immediately steps forward, reaching around her for prepackaged units of grape jam. “I’m not making more. It’s not like Penguin was on kitchen duty. He should show some consideration.”

“No more fighting,” he says offhandedly. While Law’s tone is flat, his eyes sparkle with hidden mirth. He glances sidelong at Ikkaku who hovers to the left of his elbow. Law grabs a piece of toast for his plate, and steals two pancakes from Penguin’s. He places them on Ikkaku’s plate and leans forward to whisper: “I stole these for you. Now smile. Smiling uses less muscles. Don’t you know?”

He reaches up as he pulls away, to flick Ikkaku’s forehead with nimble fingers. As Ikkaku rubs her forehead, cheeks turning a bright shade of pink, Law feels a pair of eyes on him. He knows, without even turning around, that it’s your presence he feels; suffocating, and interrogative.

He raises a brow in your direction, and smiles politely. You don’t return his gesture, instead you drop your breakfast, plate and cutlery and all into the wastebasket. Law watches you quietly as you leave without a word, a cold thrill shooting up his spine. He knows he should do better. He knows that he is far too old for games but he can’t help it. You bring the worst out of him. It was a poor excuse, but he clung to it as he seeks you out at random throughout the day. 

You don’t play along this time. Your look is impassive at best. Your responses are clipped, and you’re very good at making excuses–anything to keep yourself away from him. 

His ego tells him it’s jealousy. His ego, and his arrogance tell him that you’re doing it to yourself. It tells him he has done nothing wrong, that there is no need for him to seek you out as if he was apologizing, as if he was one to beg for scraps of your attention. Whatever power you think you are clutching in your little hands, he ignores. He tries to snatch it back by pretending there is nothing bothering him; that he doesn’t care when you refuse to touch him back when he slides his hand over the small of your back.

Law thinks he has you beat in the lab, when he leans down to brush his lips against yours, but you turn away from him. You tell him he’s interrupting your work, and that it is very dangerous to distract a woman who was working with volatile chemicals.

you don’t love me, big fucking deal

There’s only so much a girl can take. After all, even girls are still made of flesh and blood.

You’re not ignorant to his attempts at dark seduction. His words are honeyed and practiced. You’re slow to respond but you muddle through it, dragging your legs through the heaviness of it, clinging desperately to your convictions. 

There was no turning back now.

There was no point in regretting it.

You tell yourself this as you work quietly in the operating room, placing pairs of mosquito forceps, and tweezers into sterilization bags. You’re in the midst of labeling, when you hear feet dragging in your direction. It sickens you the way you identify the owner almost immediately. The bags are sealed, and you run your fingers over the edges of them repeatedly, anything to keep you busy. Your frown deepens when you feel Law move right behind you. His hands find the curves of your hips too easily. They rest there, as if they belonged nowhere else. There’s a tug at the pit of your stomach, one that shames you and makes you hot all at once.

You’re sick of the way you are weak against him. It’s almost painful the way you crave him–need him, desperately. It has only been a day but you feel yourself falling apart without him, his touch, his kisses, the feel of his cock moving inside you. When his breath tickles your ear, you shut your eyes briefly, seizing an unsanitized scalpel in one hand.

Your body leans back, finding his hardened body comforting. You’d do anything to make him yours. Anything at all. You’d do anything to keep him there, tethered to your skin, almost as if one single body.

“What are you doing?” he asks against your ear. Law’s large hands travel the length of your arms, down your forearms. He grasps your wrists, but you don’t let go of the scalpel. Your hand shakes, as your knuckles whiten. “That can wait, can’t it?”

You blink, trying to sort your thoughts. Before you can help yourself, you wiggle your hips, rubbing your round ass against his crotch. Law doesn’t move away from you. In fact, he folds over you even closer, trapping you within his tall and lanky frame.

“Now, now,” he whispers before nipping at the top of one ear. You shudder against him, eyes fluttering close. He lets go of one wrist to bring it up to your neck. He squeezes gently, before slipping his hand further up to grasp your chin. Law tilts your face up to look at him. At the sudden press of his hips against your backside, your eyes fly open. You watch the image of him, upside down–his moistened lips, the dark lidded gaze to his eyes. “You shouldn’t be moving like that with a knife in your hand. It’s dangerous. This is an operating room. You’re supposed to be a professional.”

You laugh, thrilled at the prospect of charming him. It was always like this–a push and pull of dark tides, a barely moonlit ocean where the perils of the depth were too obscure and distant to predict. Still, you rise up among the waves, challenge him by spinning in his arms. His head jerks immediately at the glint of the light on the blade. Law’s breathing is erratic. There is a pink tint to his cheeks, as you bring the scalpel closer to his neck.

“I am always a professional, Captain” you tell him with pursed lips. Law’s adam’s apple bobbles as he swallows. His gaze is trained on your face. His dark lashes fan over his cheekbones, full of promises if only you could get him to commit. “Now, why don’t you be a good patient and get on that table for me, hmm?” 

Law hesitates. His eyes are cast down over his long nose, as if he was weighing his options. You press your lips together, and the scalpel against his skin. A tiny bead of red blooms over the skin of his neck. You almost miss the wrinkle of his nose–the tiny tell-tale sign of his discomfort, but as you press your body against his, you feel his erection against your belly. The hardness of it pressed against the soft rolls of your belly is enough incentive to throw away all doubts.

“Are you going to get on the table, or do I have to strap you down to it? What’s it gonna take?”

Your full lips pull into a crooked grin. Law swallows saliva. His mouth waters at the sight of you, your brown skin glowing under the fluorescent lights, the way the halo of the light bulbs lingers on your dark irises. They’re sirens pulling him towards the sea. He feels his body react to you. Desires touch their fiery fingers to every nerve, singing away his common sense. Finally, he obeys, as he walks backwards away from you and towards the table.

You follow him, his eyes never leaving you, as he slowly undoes the remaining buttons of his shirt. You chuckle softly, and tilt your head, scalpel still in one hand as you continue to approach him. Law stops when his ass collides with the edge of the operating table. You advance towards him without giving him room to think or breathe. Your free hand slides over his exposed belly, long acrylics scratching his skin lightly as you drag your nails up to his chest. Law hisses, goosebumps scattering across his skin.

Law knows it’s a dangerous gamble–to push you the way he wants to while you hold a blade, but he finds his hand reaching out for you. He buries his fingers in your curls, and pulls you forward towards his mouth. His lips collide with yours roughly, a bit too much teeth and spit, but you swallow it up, drink it all as if starving. His facial hair is ticklish against your jaw as he kisses up to your ear. His teeth tug at your earlobe, and you almost drop the scalpel. His free hand–the one not keeping you close to him by your hair–roughly grabs a breast.

A part of you threatens to fall apart. You want to slice at your own clothes, to perforate your own skin, and make room for him to slip inside–to stay there forever, as a part of you. You moan against his mouth, his tongue stroking the roof of your mouth before it swirls around your tongue. As you break away from the kiss, you gasp, your free hand pushing his chest so he can lay down on the table. You straddle him quickly, blade still in one hand. Carefully, you drag the blade over his skin, lightly so as not to cut him.

Law breathes harshly, and shudders as the cold metal runs its course down the middle of his chest. You stop the point at the edge of his jeans, carefully stroking the dark hairs of his happy trail with the point of the scalpel.

“What are you planning on?” he asks you, as you lose interest in the thick dark hairs. You hum contemplatively, and drag the scalpel further down. You follow the path of the zipper of his jeans, and trace the shape of the imprint of his hardened cock as you straddle his thighs. Law swallows, enjoying the weight of you over his legs, trapping him underneath you. He is ashamed at how the danger of the blade over his denim covered erection makes him feel as his cock is twitching for more.

“I’m not planning anything,” you say quietly, giving in to the way your mouth waters. You undo the button expertly with one hand, and pull down the zipper, slowly pulling out his cock through the hole of his boxer briefs. “As long as you behave.”

Law laughs, even as you grip the tip of his cock with one hand. You stroke the glistening drop of precum on his tip, and smear it down with one thumb. Law swallows a moan, as his back arches slightly off the table. 

“You make it sound like you’re in charge. Aren’t you getting the wrong idea?” he asks you, reaching for one of your breasts. There is a look that you toss his way that he isn’t sure if he imagined; equal parts impassive and murderous. Law ignores it, as he tends to do, and slips a hand under your shirt, seeking the softness of your skin. His calloused thumb against your erect nipple, makes the coil under your belly tighten. You move your hips slowly, feeling your panties moisten with your arousal.

“I think I have the right idea,” you tell him, before biting your lip. When he pinches your nipple between index finger and thumb,  you try to swallow the moan that follows. “I have the perfect idea, really.”

In an effort to gain control, you lean down, and swirl your fleshy tongue around the mushroom head of his cock. Law groans, and throws his head back on the operating table with a thud. You hollow your cheeks, and take him into your mouth, allowing the thickness of him to take up space inside. You bob your head up and down, eyes closing at the salty taste of his skin, at the slight musky scent of his pubic hair. 

You slurp around his length noisily, your own drool sliding slowly down your chin. Law’s fingers find your curls again, and he tugs at them roughly. It doesn’t take long before he’s snapping his hips, fucking up into your mouth. Your eyes water when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. You fight your own gag reflex by digging your nails into one of his bony hips. When he ignores your warning, and grips your hair harder, you nip at his other hip with the tip of the blade.

You hear him cuss under his breath as you pull away from his cock, gasping for air. The image of him sprawled under you is blurry as tears spill out of your eyes. You wipe at them haphazardly, trying to clear your vision. There’s a small drop of blood that loses its way down the sharp angles of his hip. 

“You could have just used your words,” he reprimands you breathlessly. You laugh sardonically, grabbing his still erect penis with your free hand. You grip the base and slowly squeeze your way up, taking in the way his jaw tenses, how his mouth drops open a second after you squeeze the tip.

“Kinda hard to do when you’re trying to shove your dick down my throat,”  you respond. He laughs and watches you adjust yourself above him, how you lean on your knees on the table, to move your lab coat aside. Your hand snakes into your skirt, and you push your panties aside. Law grits his teeth as you grip his cock to guide him to your entrance. “You should try putting it in here instead,” you murmur, as you lower yourself on his cock. It takes  a brief moment to adjust to his girth. You move your hips slowly at first, testing the waters, absorbing every expression on Law’s face.

You slide one hand over his belly and stop in the middle of his chest. You use it to keep balance, and to steady yourself as you increase your pace. The pressure builds inside you with every snap of your hips, you follow it towards the edge as your mouth drops open, small moans echoing in the stillness of the operating room. Your slick coats his lower pelvis, making it a slippery effort to stay on rhythm. You drop the scalpel. Law flinches as he hears it clatter on the ground. Your hands go to his chest for support, as you bring yourself up to your haunches and bounce on his dick.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you think you should be ashamed at the sounds you are making. Your cries sound impossibly loud to your own ears. You had spent days ignoring him, trying to act like you didn’t need him, and here you were, willing to ride him until your knees gave out. Law moans softly as he palms your ass. He grabs fistfuls as he plants his feet on the operating table. Law grunts as he lifts his hips, toppling your forward over him. You cry out, feeling him push deeper in your throbbing pussy. 

“What?” he laughs against your cheek. He brushes his lips against the burning flush on them. “Not there? You told me to put it in,” as he finishes his words, he thrusts his hips upwards, repeatedly fucking up into you. His balls slap against your dimpled ass, slightly coated by your own arousal. The wet smacking sounds somehow makes your arousal all the more intense. He fucks you without an ounce of affection, as if he didn’t care if you broke. You cry out as your orgasm nears, and wrap both your hands around his neck.

His hand is in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck, as pleasure ripples throughout your body. The fluorescent lights blind you, filling your vision with white as you cum. Law loses his hold to wrap his long arms around your waist. He pulls you close as he mumbles confessions against the column of your neck. You’re squeezing around his cock so tight he thinks he might die. He tries to tell you this–how close he is to his own undoing when he feels a pinch on his neck.

Panic seizes him, he tries to push you off of him as his vision blurs. He clamps a hand over his neck, cursing under his breath.

“What–have you…done?” he slurs, as he watches you sit above him, a blurred image of some kind of syringe in your hand. His vision doubles–triples, and he grows nauseous at the sight of multiple of you. 

“Calm down,” he hears you say in an impatient tone. “It’s not like I hurt you or anything.”

Anger threatens to choke him. He feels it bubble up, feels its origins start at the base of his stomach. Law tries to cry out, to curse your name once, ten times, thousands of times, but the weight of his body is too big for him to fight against. 

Darkness comes, as it does for everyone.

And in the darkness, he wakes up again. Law feels his eyes open, he senses his hearing returning. He can smell the seawater, and hear it dripping gently on metal. He blinks in hopes of shaking off the film over his eyes–but he still can’t see anything. He tries to move and hears the clanking of chains, he doesn’t get far as it drags him back to the wall it is attached to. He fumbles in the dark, seizing whatever is wrapped around his neck, the cold metal around his fingers tells him there’s nowhere to go; made of sea stone he is held prisoner. There are cuffs around his ankles and wrists; one around his neck.

A chill touches his exposed skin, as his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, Law realizes he is in nothing but his underwear. Shame and anger makes his mouth water. He screams out, but it sounds garbled to his ears. As he tries again, his body sore and sluggish, he hears your footsteps.

“Y/N!” he groans, trying to lunge for you. The chains pull him back to the wall, and the metal cuff around his neck gags him. 

You squat in front of him, a knife in your hand. His vision blurs, even as he fights the drugs.

“Stop this,” he whines, unable to feel embarrassment at the weakness in his voice. “Just let me go.”

“Let you go?” you ask him, eyes wide. Your brows arch high over your forehead. Your lips, the ones that had always tempted him to kiss you, are like knives he’s cut himself open on by mistake. They stretch into a smile so sinister Law swears his insides have been torn apart. “Never!” you hiss quietly, as you swoop towards his face. Law flinches as you grasp his face with one hand. You bring up the knife, and trace the sharp line of his jaw with the tip of it. “I’ll never set you free. You’re mine now, always, until forever, and then after.”

[queserasora]

IZOU X FEM READER / NSFW WC: 4.7k CW: soft dom!izou, sub!reader

PART ONE

Why don’t I show you what my mouth can do?

Although he recognizes it as his own voice, although he knows the words jumped off his own tongue and past his own lips, Izou still struggles with believing that he is here like this–with you.

He had dreamt of this for so long, wondering when you’d give in to his honeyed words, his gentle manners, the calculated moments of attention. From the moment he had seen you he had wanted you; you in your blinding glory, curls around your face like a halo–a crown of untamed wilderness. Under the sun you were incomparable. Its rays fell upon your bronze skin like they knew nowhere else to go; like they had no other home but the curves of your cheeks, the wide bridge of your nose. Sunshine would go to rest on the hollow of your cupid’s bow. 

Izou wondered if he could taste it there–its warmth; the light that gave life.

There’s an amused snort that blows through his nose. He was behaving like a lovesick teenager. How could he waste time drowning in his melodramatic emotions when he had your lovely leg in his possession? Izou drags the pads of his fingers along the width of your calves. He grips the meaty flesh there, enjoying the sensation of his fingers sinking into your heat and muscle. When he looks up at you through his lashes, his own lids heavy with desire, your relaxed expression melts away any remaining apprehensions. 

There had been shadowy doubts, touching their frigid fingers to the back of his mind. Izou never had any qualms about how he presented himself. He was who he was, and he loved every part of himself. What others thought of him, did very little to undo his confidence. Yet, there were moments of his life, where he’d meet someone whose acceptance he’d unknowingly long for.

Like you.

You had always made him feel comfortable. He could always be himself with you. Just one more thing he adored about you.

His large hands massage your calves slowly. He works the tense muscles, doing away any knots that have the misfortune to find themselves underneath his fingers. In the back of your throat, a soft moan dies out, muffled by the warm sweet tea that gently coats your throat. It was doing wonders for your soreness, soothing any rawness Izou’s roughness had caused before. Now, as you nearly consume half the contents of the teacup, he was setting other fires on your skin. You try not to be devoured by the flames, focusing instead on the velvety feeling around your tongue, the sweetness of it, the light herbal scent that wafted from the cup in between your hands. The pads of his fingers are calloused, and rough. They scratch pleasantly down your skin as he moves his attention to your feet.

“I like your nail color,” he tells you in a velvety voice, using his thumbs to massage deep into the arch of your foot. You bite back a whimper, nose wrinkling. “Sorry, darling. Am I too rough?” he asks, one of your feet on his lap. Izou leans down with parted lips, taking your breath away. He firmly kisses the arch of your foot as he brings it up to his face, and the inside of your ankle, leaving red lipstick marks on your skin. “Forgive me. I guess I don’t know my own strength.”

There’s a shiver that runs along your spine. It dies on the ends of your curled toes. Your skin feels bumpy under your yukata as you watch Izou poke his tongue out. He drags the flat of his tongue from your ankle all the way up to the inside of your calf. You gasp when he hikes your leg higher as he slides closer to you, angling your limb on his shoulder.

“You’re sensitive,” he murmurs against the back of your knee. You smell divine even there. The rich and full scent of cocoa butter floods his mouth, inspiring him to dream of devouring you, piece by piece. Starving, his tongue runs along the crease behind your knee and you gasp, a hand shooting out to grab his hair to steady yourself. You nearly spill the tea as the cup shakes in your free hand. Izou’s hand is warm on top of yours as he frees your fingers from his hair. 

“These hands,” he says, voice growing even deeper. “They’re being so naughty right now. Finish your tea, don’t leave a drop.”

He looks up into the warmth of your eyes, and is lost for a moment. He finds his way back when you blink, when your pretty lashes make lewd promises with every flutter. Izou finds himself temporarily embarrassed at how quickly he has reached this point of desire. Just how could you bewitch him with one heated look down your nose?

“Make sure you keep drinking,” he tells you, a newfound determination brewing in the darkness of his eyes. You sense the incoming storm in the way he lowers himself slowly between your legs. There’s a change in the air–electricity sizzles between the two of you. When Izou presses his cherry colored lips against the inside of your thigh, your senses fray. You feel a jolt go through your leg. Heat pools at the center of you, as your own arousal starts to once again slip from between your folds. 

“Spread your legs, darling,” he asks you, gently pushing your knees apart with his hands.

There’s a little noise you try to muffle with the remaining tea, something between surprise and arousal as he continues his streamlined assault on your thighs. When you look down, cheeks bulging, Izou has covered your skin with lipstick marks. He looks up as he drags his tongue along your thigh, making eye contact as you watch him with your heart hammering in your chest. Izou licks his lips, thrilled to have your taste all over his mouth. 

“Did you finish?” he asks you, nipping at your flesh. You almost spit out your tea, and swallow with a shake of your head. “No? Very well, I’ll try to be patient.” 

Izou licks up the spot he had nibbled before he opens his mouth. He sucks with force, persistence causing his brows to furrow. You watch with slightly trembling hands, making the tea in your cup spill slightly on your yukata. When Izou finally relents, there’s a dark red bloom taking residence on your skin. Now that he’s tasted your skin, now that your scent seems to be filling up inside him he can’t get enough of you. 

His mouth is hungry, leaving open mouth kisses as he works his way higher between your legs. You pant, leaning against the bed where you sat on the floor. You tilt your head up to stare at the ceiling, mouth falling apart as Izou digs his teeth into the tender flesh between your thighs. He bites down and you cry out, clutching the teacup for dear life. He is painfully close to your sensitive core. You can feel his heavy breathing against the crease of your thigh and hip. 

His nose grazes your underwear as he shifts to take in the smell of your arousal with an open mouth. He breathes in noisily, then breathes out, his hot breath clashing against your clothed pussy. Your breathing is irregular, barely controlled as you feel yourself dying from anticipation.

Izou drags his hands up your thighs, his palms warm against your skin. You hum, and try to remind yourself to drink the tea, to finish it before you spill it all over yourself; and you almost do when Izou gives your fabric covered cunt an open mouthed kiss.

“Oh, Izou!” you cry out, your tummy contracting from pleasure, as he moves slightly higher to suck at  your clit through your panties. His tongue presses against your sensitive nub, teasing the bundle of nerves with precise quick licks. His touch is firm, and rhythmic–at a toe curling pace that has you whimpering against the edge of the ceramic tea cup. “Nng, I can’t take it,” you whine, your whole body shivering from stimulation. “I need–”

Izou cuts you off by nipping at your erect clit through your underwear. You give a yelp. Tea spills again, this time on your chest. You feel it ooze between your breasts as it soaks through the yukata; warm and slightly sticky.

“Did you finish your tea like a good girl?” he mumbles against your pussy, rubbing his face against it as he takes in your scent. He uses his tongue to trace the shape of your slit. “Well?” he asks again.

“No,” you reply reluctantly with a defeated whimper. The inside of your thighs are shaking, and they spread wider before you can even stop yourself. You feel Izou laugh against you, his breath hot and tantalizing against your sensitive puffy pussy. 

“No?” he sings back at you, humor coloring his words in bright seduction. “Then you don’t get to make demands, darling.” Izou pokes at your entrance with his tongue, pushing the panties into you slightly. He continues to thrust into you, giving you pleasure that took you just to the edge. It just wasn’t enough. You curl your toes, determined to finish your tea even if it scalds your throat. You chug as best as you can, fighting your own moans to avoid choking. 

Izou ignores your plight. Instead, he goes back to sucking on your pussy fully, opening his mouth as wide as he can. Your panties are so soaked. You’re not sure what’s the reason for it; whether it is Izou’s spit or your own arousal from wanting him so much.

“I-I’m done!” you stammer quickly, desperately. “I’m done. Please,” you plead breathlessly as Izou drags his tongue along the elastic of your underwear that is biting into a part of your ass cheek. “Please take them off.”

Izou finally pulls away. He emerges from between your legs, his head poking away from under the yukata. You shudder at the sight of him. His eyes clouded with lust, lids so heavy you can barely see the beautiful dark brown of his eyes. His lipstick smeared against both cheeks, lips tinted red, including part of his pale chin. There’s a glistening wetness all over his mouth, on his chin. You can even see a trail oozing down his neck. Izou wipes at that with the back of one hand.

He brings it to  his mouth slowly. Izou opens his mouth to lick it up: “Show me,” he murmurs, sucking the back of his hand clean. There’s a wicked smile that follows after, one that hooks a corner of his lips high until a dimple forms. You start to shove the cup at him but Izou raises a finger. 

“No,” he interrupts. You bring the cup back towards you, as if you had just been chastised. Shame floods your cheeks, feeling your face heat up. “Over your head,” Izou instructs. “Turn it out. If even so much a drop falls,” he pauses to raise a perfectly groomed brow at you. “You’re in trouble my darling. Is that clear?”

Panic seizes you. There was a dangerous sparkle behind Izou’s eyes that you’d normally challenge; however, you had taken enough of his teasing. If he planned on depriving you from orgasm some more you wouldn’t know if you could survive it. You were desperate to feel his mouth closer to you, you wanted to feel his tongue slip inside your entrance, for him to stretch you open with his fingers, until he was satisfied; until he couldn’t wait to fill you up with his cock.

You’d do anything to fulfill that fantasy playing in your head in a loop.

You throw pride away. You cast inhibitions to the ground as you bring the cup to your mouth. Your tongue swirls around the inside of the teacup, licking up every bit of liquid you can find. 

Izou watches you with dark satisfaction. Your tongue, berry colored and adorable, swirls inside the ceramic tea cup. His eyes take in the hungry glint in your eyes. You are determined. Your brows furrowed together as you turned the cup around and around, licking up the walls. Izou’s own tongue dips out to lick the corners of his lips. His cock is stiff between his legs as he watches you. He grunts as he palms himself, his fingers curling beneath his shaft to grasp his balls. He squeezes them tentatively, biting down on his lower lip.

It isn’t until you’re satisfied you’ve cleaned the teacup with your tongue enough for it to look as if it never held any liquid in the first place that you bring it up over your head. Izou watches as you hold it there, upside down over your messy hair. Not a single drop falls. Izou smiles.

“Very good,” he tells you with a voice so sticky and sweet you feel him cling all over you. He moves towards you. Izou’s hands slip under your yukata as he slides his palms up your thighs. He stops to kiss the corner of your mouth, and whispers against it: “I’ll take them off for you, but still, I have something I want you to do.”

Your heart picks up a neck breaking pace. You bite down on your lip to keep from saying something embarrassing. The scent of Izou’s cologne is making you dizzy. His mouth is so close to yours you feel like dying. If he doesn’t kiss you. If he kisses you. Either way you think it would end in your death. 

Izou moves away, and he squeezes your hands. He pulls you up as he stands. 

“On the bed darling,” he instructs, and helps you sit on it. You watch him from the edge of the mattress as he fiddles with his obijime. He unties the string at last, and slides it through his fingers repeatedly. His dark gaze is on you, his smile crooked once more. “Lay down. We’re not using our hands again.”

You do as you're told, and lay down on the bed. Your pillow is slightly uncomfortable underneath your hair but you don’t dare complain. After all, the bed dips when Izou joins you. He throws a leg over you, straddling you. 

“Arms up,” he orders, and starts tying the obijime around wrist. “You’re being such a good girl. I never knew you were this obedient.” His tone is teasing, if not mocking. You feel embarrassed and aroused. You rub your own legs together, feeling slick make the inside of your thighs slippery. He loops the obijime around a metal bar of the headboard before he ties the other end around your other wrist. “That should hold,” he says quietly, touching the knots tentatively. “Why don’t we test it out?”

He looks down at you and can’t help but smile. Your chest is heaving, your lips parted with want are red and puffy. He would love nothing more than to kiss you, once, twice, a thousand times tonight. He’d kiss you like he had imagined countless times before but that would be too easy.

Izou kisses your cheeks instead, slow and tender. He kisses up the line of your jaw, and your ear. He follows the shell of your ear with his tongue, his breath hot against your sensitive cartilage. His soft little pants floods you with desire, a pleasurable pull at the pit of your belly makes you delirious.  Izou goes back to your face. He kisses you all over. You move your head, trying to catch his mouth with yours but he continues to evade you, a light grin on his lips. 

The tip of his tongue touches your bottom lip. You gasp, thinking this is your chance, but he runs it along the outline of your lips instead, tracing the shape of your mouth. Izou licks your bottom lip. His breath comes out in puffs, dying in the back of your open mouth.

“Touch me,” he pleads breathlessly. You move to touch his face, to run your hands down his broad back but they go nowhere. The string tightens around your wrists. You try one more time, groaning in frustration. The headboard rattles, the metallic noise blending in with Izou’s laughter.

“Sorry, dear,” he murmurs as he kisses your cheek. “I couldn’t help but tease you a little bit. You’re just too cute to resist.”

Izou kisses your jaw, your neck. He leaves sloppy kisses there, his saliva cool against your heated skin. His hands fondle your breast over your yukata, squeezing without much gentleness. There’s a wrinkle on your nose he misses, when you hold back from crying out. Izou moves down lower, ignoring your yukata. You try pulling at the string agains, increasingly frustrated at the barriers between your skin and his. You want nothing more than to be naked; nothing more than for Izou to explore every inch of your body but he was determined to edge you into insanity.

He is between your legs again, pushing your yukata up slowly over your thighs. Izou brings his face closer to your entrance, takes another loud sniff. You wiggle your hips testily. Izou grips one with a rough hand. 

“Behave,” he growls before he grips the elastic of your panties with his teeth. Izou starts pulling, and you help him by lifting your hips. He drags them down over your plush thighs, and all the way down to your ankles. Izou hooks them off your feet. He holds it one hand, his thumb brushing over the half soaked underwear. “You were practically drowning, darling,” he tells you with a grin, tucking the wet panties into the inside of his yukata as a keepsake. “You poor thing. Let me make up for it.”

You watch him with burning lungs, barely able to breathe. Your vision is cloudy, but you still see him slip his arms out of his yukata. He makes a grand show of it, slow movements that accentuate every ripple and stretch of his shoulder and chest muscles. His large pecs captivate you as the yukata spills away to pool around his waist. His shoulders are so wide, your legs immediately spread open, as if your body wanted to make room for him immediately.

Izou laughs softly.

“Greedy girl, I’m going now,” he lowers himself in between your legs. Your mouth drops open when you finally feel his tongue lap at your folds. You look down, little moans dying in your throat as you catch sight of his muscular back. The large tattoo that reminds you of what crew he belongs to looks back at you–a silent witness to your undoing. 

“Nng, Izou!” you cry out, your back arching, as he sucks on your clit with force. “Yes, yes. Just like that. Yes, finally!” 

Izou laughs against your puffy pussy. Your voice sounds so thin, needy and desperate he can’t help it. He teases your entrance with one fingertip, circling around it repeatedly, while he licks at your sensitive bud. Your hips jolt as you try to guide him to enter you.

“Please,” you whine, the metal headboard rattling with every involuntary jerk of your body. “Please. No more. Please.”

“Such a needy little thing,” he growls against your hip, biting down until you cry. “Beg more. I want to hear you beg even more.”

Izou slips a finger inside you, groaning as he feels you tighten around him. He pumps his fingers lazily, slurping a lip into his mouth. Your moans entice him, remind him of his hard earned reward. You were finally here, underneath him, at his mercy. He had wanted this for so long and never knew how to approach the matter without scaring you away. Had he known it would be this easy he would have acted sooner.

The more you cry, and whimper, the more he wants to hear you. He covers your pussy with his saliva, sloppy wet kisses that never stop. Your clit is so sensitive, it is almost painful when he sucks, when he flicks his tongue over it again and again. You feel a familiar hot tightening sensation inside you, one that becomes even more intense when he starts sucking and pumping two fingers inside you at the same time. He curls his long fingers, searching for that spot that will make you cry.

He brings you dangerously close to the precipice, the rattling of the headboard is drowned out by your own cries, by you shouting his name.

“I’m so close, Izou!” you beg, your hips pushing up against his flicking tongue. “I’m so close, please. Yes, right there, ah!” You shut your eyes tight as your legs kick out, as you feel the muscles in your thighs contract, and just when you think you’ll finally get there, that you’ll finally feel that relief you’ve been chasing this whole time, Izou pulls his mouth away.

There’s a sob you weren’t ready for that strains your throat. You cry, tears falling down the sides of your face, as you pull at your restraints. 

“Goddammit, Izou!” you cry, shaking your tied arms, and kicking your legs. Izou kisses your cheeks, then licks up your tears, one by one.

“There, there,” he whispers, shushing you like he would a child. “I’ve really gone too far, haven’t I?” His voice is soft, gentle, and just the right amount of remorseful. You forget your anger, and try to regulate your breathing.

“Izou, please,” you beg one more time, turning your face towards him. He kisses you at last, pressing his lips firmly against yours. You taste yourself on his lips, musky and a little bit sweet. His tongue brushes against yours softly. He strokes the roof of your mouth, and the insides of your cheeks, moaning, as his hips push against yours. You feel the bulge under the yukata, and feel a slight sense of vindication.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs softly against your swollen lips, his hand tenderly cupping one cheek. Izou brushes his mouth against yours. “I just really wanted you to cum on my cock instead.”

You blink, taken aback by his honest admittance. Before irritation can settle in at his sheer audacity, you feel Izou fiddling between your legs. There’s a rustling of cloth that fills your ears, and you feel something hot and hard pushing against your entrance.

You gasp and clutch your fingers tightly, your nails biting into your palms.

“Mmm!” you moan, lips pressed tightly together. The tip of his cock pushes into you, stretching you out. He is girthier than you thought. Izou’s mouth drops open as he pushes into you slowly, feeling you stretch around him.

“Nngh” he groans, brows knitted together. His hands are on the bed, caging you in his frame. Izou looks at you, a frown still in place. “How are you still so tight? Come on baby, spread open for me.”

You cry out, spreading your legs wider as if that would let him go in deeper. Your body shudders as he bottoms out with a groan. Izou begins moving his hips slowly at first, feeling your heat wrap around him. You were so wet, he could feel you coating him all the way down to the base of his shaft. He continues to push into you, feeling you adjust to his size. He increases the pace of his thrusts, his hips slapping against your own. The wet sound of his balls against your ass spurred him to go in deeper, rougher.

You cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. You were so sensitive everything felt like too much. Every time he’d groan and push in deep, hold himself inside you to feel you flutter around him, you’d thought you’d die. The dark hairs around his cock would brush against your sensitive clit, making your toes curl repeatedly. It is madness, you’re sure, that makes you wrap your legs around Izou’s snapping hips. 

It is also madness that leads you to say your next words: “Fuck me harder, Izou,” you pant out, as he bites and sucks up the column of your neck. His hands gripping the soft flesh of your hips. “I want you to do it harder. I want you deep inside. I want you to make me lose reason.”

Izou pulls away from your neck, he observes the bruises blooming there, the crescent shape of his teeth, all with a smile. He watches you for a moment, slowing down the movement of his hips. Then, he laughs.

“You really are a greedy girl,” he coos, shifting his hands from his hips to your thighs. Izou moves your legs, he holds them by the back of the knees as he folds you over. “You just don’t know what’s good for you, do you?”

You were so beautiful underneath him. Your exposed brown skin glistening with sweat. You’d shimmer under the dim lighting of the room. The bright colors of the yukata were stunning on you, even with your lipstick smeared, even with your hairstyle in disarray. 

You were so gorgeous as you were now, and he’d love to ruin you even further.

No noise comes out of you when he slams his hips against you, so hard it takes your breath away. You shut your eyes so tight, you think you see stars. The noise of the bed creaking, the headrest slapping against the wall is jarring compared to before. You think it’ll break under the weight of Izou’s determination.  Finally, you find your voice, as he picks up the pace at a brutal speed. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes in the room, only outshined by your intense cries of pleasure.

“Is this what you wanted?” Izou enthuses with grunts between his words. “Is this what you wanted, love? You wanted me to pound into this pretty pussy until you’re a sobbing weeping mess? Oh,” he breathes out with a wide smile and a hoarse chuckle. “You naughty girl.”

He loved it. He loved the sight of your eyes rolling to the back of your head. He loved the sight of your mouth not closing, how you were unable to barely catch your breath between every moan and every scream and every cry. He loved feeling you around his thick cock, how wet you were, how tight your gummy walls were milking him as if you were desperate to get every last drop of him.

He pounds into you, his grip on the back of your knees bruising. You can’t bring yourself to care, or care about how you feel your legs falling asleep, your arms tingling and numb. You just want him to keep thrusting into you, you’re so close again, you scream as the coil tightens deep inside you. 

“Izou!” you cry out, spit dripping down your chin. “I’m so close!”

He nods, hips never stopping.

“You want to cum, don’t you?” he asks you. He smiles against the inside of your knee, and he kisses the spot softly. “Alright, cum then. Show me how beautiful you can look.”

You fall apart around him. It’s the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. You hear yourself scream, feel your body twitching as pleasure courses throughout your body, relaxing every tense muscle. It doesn’t take Izou long to join you. He cums quickly after you, spilling all of himself in your pussy. He slows down his movements, thrusting into you gently as he looks down proudly at the ring of milky cum around his shaft.

Satisfied, he leans over to kiss you, gently lowering your legs. They feel weak and shaky as they drop to the bed. Izou peppers kisses all over your face as he works the knots on the restraints with his fingers. Once your wrists are free he brings them to his mouth, and he kisses the marks left behind by the strings with tender kisses. “You did such a beautiful job, my good girl,” he murmurs against your wrist. Izou kisses the palm. “I can’t wait to see what else you can do.”

[queserasora]

IZOU X FEM READER / NSFW WC: 3.9k CW: soft dom!izou, sub!reader, mouth fucking, izou puts lipstick on you and then ruins the look, he also drops the lipstick at one point so oops, hopefully it isn’t expensive. *washes hands* A SUMMARY: You and Izou have always danced around the unspoken sexual attraction between the two of you. Now that you have him in your room, with a little confidence, you try to cross the line between friendship and more.

PART TWO

Izou floods your senses the moment he walks into your bedroom. The heady scent of his cologne; seductive, and simultaneously ambiguous. Its detailed description eluded you every time, the same way the meaning behind his smiles and lingering looks did. You could never make heads or tails of what Izo meant to you; of what you meant to him. The uncertainty of the ‘something’ that was shared between you would haunt you even in your sleep. You’d wake up from dreams you couldn’t remember, with your heart in your throat and the taste of doom in the back of your mouth. 

You feel that acrid taste on your tongue even now, as you observe him touch your belongings. His tapered fingers lightly tap the cosmetics you left littered on your vanity. It felt strangely intimate to watch him pick them up, one by one, his hawkish gaze inspecting every item with intense curiosity. The sharpness of his jaw, and the tapered end of his nose, his long straight lashes–it all was so beautiful you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

Izou’s curiosity finally settles on one of your lipsticks. He picks it up and uncaps it, slowly turning the mechanism at the bottom to reveal the treasure hiding inside the tube. It’s a vivid rouge red, brand new. You hadn’t used it yet. You were saving it for a special occasion; but as with things left on your court to do–the initiative was never there. Cowardice makes your tongue feel heavy, so your next words tumble out clumsily: 

“Do you like it?” He turns his face slightly to observe you, a thin well groomed eyebrow rising with his unspoken questions. They were always there. You could sense them hanging off the planes of his face, the knuckles of his beautiful fingers. There were always questions you felt he wanted to ask, answers he sought but neither you or him ever addressed the elephant in the room.

Two blind idiots, performing an uncoordinated dance to an audience of no one.

“It’s pretty,” he finally answers. Izou swallows, and you watch his Adam's apple bob up and down. You take in a sharp breath as the desire to press your lips against his neck clouds your thoughts. The long shape of his neck is elegant, and his broad shoulders look muscular even under his loose yukata. The silhouette was a refined tease. It showed just enough to whet your appetite but the hidden secrets underneath its silkiness was a temptation you wished to know more of.

“You can try it on if you want,” you push on. Today Izou has agreed to help you get ready for the local summer festival. You were unsure how to wear your yukata, how to put up your hair or do your makeup. It was your first time, but everyone’s excitement about it infected you. Izou so kindly offering to help you only served to motivate you more. You fiddle nervously with the waist strap keeping your obi in place, trying not to pay too much attention to how Izou applied the lipstick on his lips.

It is a failed effort. Your dark eyes are honed in on the creamy slipstick; how it covers his bottom lip in color. He traces his top lip, the contrast between the red and the fairness of his skin makes his cupid bow all the more evident. He was a talking, walking piece of art. You had thought so even before. The cruel reminder makes you feel inadequate to be in his presence but when he turns to you with a small smile you feel it flitter away into nothingness.

The warmth of his playful grin soothes your ruffled feathers.

“Your turn,” he declares, and before you can decline him, he reaches out with a free hand to clasp your chin between thumb and index finger. “Open your mouth.” You stare up at him, heart hammering away between your ribs. There’s a darkness in his eyes you can’t look away from; and you fall into the abyss. He lets go of your chin only to press his thumb against the soft flesh of your bottom lip. “I said open.” He presses down with some force and your lips part as you breathe in a sharp gasp. His lips stretch into a cheshire grin. His dark eyes shimmer even in the dim lighting of the room. “That’s a good girl. It’s easier if you just listen to me.”

You nod subtly, afraid to move too much and damage his work. Izou drags the lipstick across your bottom lip. You watch him with his eyes downcast, his black eyelashes look so beautiful against his pale cheeks, you wish you could touch them. You both envied and desired his beauty. In more ways than one. He uses his knuckles under your chin to make you look higher up. 

“Look up, darling,” he says sweetly, carefully painting your top lip. “The shape of your mouth is so pretty. You should wear color on it more often.” Gently, he holds your chin to tilt your face from side to side. There’s a small frown settling between his brows as he purses his lips. Silent laughter shakes his shoulder. “Although it’s a shame it’s so small. No wonder you eat in such small bites.”

His smile turns crooked, and heavy. You feel his gaze on your lips, and your mouth runs dry. There it was again–that certain something that was never addressed. You had always toyed with crossing the line, with taking his bait but always feared having interpreted it all wrong.

But now he was in your room, and surely, this was flirting, wasn’t it? You lick your lips nervously, tasting the chemicals of the lipstick immediately on your tongue. Izou sucks his teeth noisily. You know he’s about to chastise you, perhaps apply more lipstick now that you’ve partially ruined his careful work. You know this and yet you can’t keep the heat away. You can’t stop from insane thoughts taking away your common sense. What if you crossed the line now? What if he crossed it with you?

“It’s small,” you tell him at last, reaching out for his wrist. He is still holding your chin in one hand, the lipstick in the other. You curl your fingers around his cold skin. “But there’s a lot I can do with it.”

Izou seems to be frozen. At least that’s the impression you get. You know he isn’t from the way his lashes flutter when he blinks, how his chest now rises a little bit quicker. 

“Is that so?” he replies slowly, his thumb now drawing circles on the corner of your mouth. “As usual, you think very highly of yourself. It truly is so little,” he insists, squishing your face with his hand. Your cheeks push against each other, and your lips purse with his strength. It is uncomfortable to be in this hold like this, especially as he brings you a little bit closer to his face. You falter in your position, getting on your tippy-toes to keep from falling over. “What’s the best you can do?”

Your heart threatens to explode on you. You feel a painful surge of adrenaline taking over your chest before it turns into searing heat. It traverses through your veins, filling your extremities with tingling pleasure. You pull at  his wrist, and he releases your face. Slowly, you lower yourself as best as you can in your yukata, until you are kneeling on the ground in front of him.

“I-i can show you,” you stammer quietly, your own voice barely registering in your ears. Izou looks down at you, some of his ebony hair softly framing his face. Your lungs feel empty, so you take a deep breath; noisy and desperate. Izou tilts his head as he watches you. “If there’s anything you don’t like,” you turn your gaze away from him, as a flush takes over your face. It feels hot, and your eyes fill up with tears. You’re so embarrassed at yourself but now that you have taken it this far, it would be a shame to give up halfway. “You can always instruct me. I do well with guidance.”

There’s a moment of silence. It’s probably shorter than it feels, but it makes you think it’s eternal. You clutch your hands into fists, so tightly it becomes painful as your clipped nails start biting into your skin. You clutch them even tighter when Izou laughs. You look up sharply, eyes narrowed, and filled with unshed tears. The shame slowly turns to anger, and you begin to retract everything spoken until Izo reaches down with one hand, still standing before you.

His fingers ghost over your cheeks, cold and fleeting. His icy touch soothes the heat of your cheeks.

“You’re so sweet,” he says gently. His voice is melodic, and soft. “Do you promise?” he asks as he brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face. You nod once. Izo taps your nose with one finger. “Good. Well?” He asks you next. You look up at him perplexed. He tilts his head again, his brows knitted together in anticipation.

You blink up at him, unsure of what he was expecting of you. He looks down at himself, where his crotch would be under the clothing, and your mouth parts in acknowledgement. 

“R-right,” you stammer again, and reach out with trembling hands. You barely touch the fabric in front of him before Izou is sucking on his teeth again.

“Aht aht,” he chides, with a small shake of his head. “No, my darling. You can’t use your hands.” You look up at him, at a loss for words. He smiles down at you encouragingly. “You’ll only be using your mouth today. Do you think you can do that for me?” You nod again, and bring down your hands. You shuffle on the floor slightly, your knees painful against the hard floor. You know there will be bruises on them later, but it would all be worth it for as long as you can keep up your bravado.

The closer you move your face towards Izou’s crotch, the harder your breathing gets. You can hear yourself panting, feel the moisture of your own breath bouncing back against your face. You inhale the scent of his yukata, and detect his unique scent, mixed with soap. You hum lightly as you press your face deeper.

“Let me help you,” Izou declares. His voice is lower than before, and you can detect a slight tone of impatience. His hand is still gentle when he cups the back of your head. “It seems you’re having a hard time finding me.” He chuckles lightly, when you yelp as his hips jut out towards you. Somewhere pressed against your cheek is a softness that begins to harden. You hungrily turn your mouth towards it. You kiss him through the cloth, feeling him harden slightly. “Don’t worry about the lipstick,” he tells you, noticing how you seem to hesitate on adding pressure. “I don’t mind being dirty.”

Desire sits perilously at the pit of your stomach. You consider pushing it off the cliff, along with the rules of your arrangement–anything if it meant you could hold the weight of his cock in your hands. The fear of him walking away, and losing any and all opportunities to get closer to him was far greater than your perverse fantasy. You use your nose to push your way inside between the fabrics. You gasp at the sight of his exposed cock, half hard as it decides which way to lay. His balls look heavy already as they hang from his frame between his legs.

He must have heard your shock because he laughs even as he pushes on your head again, egging you on.

“Aren’t you lucky?” his voice finds its way to you, even with your blood pounding in your ears. “I’m not wearing any underwear today.” Izou side steps, giving you more space between his legs. You angle yourself enough to drop a kiss on the inside of each thigh; a red lip mark left behind each time. There’s a faint scent of sweat that isn’t entirely unpleasant as you drag your tongue along his shaft. You bring it back down to toy with his balls. It quickly gets messy as you slurp him into your mouth, his soft grunts encouraging you even more. “Don’t tease me, beloved,” he hisses, his hand still on the back of your head. You hear something small drop to the floor, as his other hand joins you. “Put them in your mouth already.” You open your mouth and ever so slowly scoop his sack into your mouth. “Nngh,” he grunts. You feel him stiffen slightly as you close your mouth slightly around him. “Yes, now suck. Hurry.”

Izou’s head snaps  back when you actually listen to him, when you finally give him the pleasure he wanted. The more you curl your tongue around his balls, the more his hips move, the more he just wants to hammer into that pretty little mouth of yours and ruin you forever. The idea of your lipstick smearing around your mouth and all over his cock is making him even hornier. He grabs your hair and pulls away suddenly.

“Move,” he orders you and you look up at him in a daze. Already your lipstick is smudged in one corner. Your cheeks are bright, and there is a hazy shine to your eyes that fill the pit of his stomach with heat. You had just started, and you were already halfway gone. He chuckles softly, and brushes the back of his fingers against one of your cheeks. “Move over there,” he points at the bed. “Stay on the floor. Your back against it.”

You follow his instructions without a single word of disagreement. You scoot back until your back is against the mattress, leaving you nowhere to retreat. Izou lowers himself in front of you until he’s standing on his knees. Your heart runs faster as he pushes fabric aside to grab his own cock. His large hand pumps up and down, using his thumb to catch the bead of precum sitting at the tip.

“Open,” Izou commands as he moves his hand towards your mouth. You listen, of course. Izou pushes his thumb inside your mouth, and drags the precum across your tongue, and against the inside of one of your cheeks. “Now suck. Make sure you don’t miss a drop.” You suck on his thumb as if you had been starved for days. Moaning even as you curl your tongue around his digit. Izou watches you with parted lips, his own breathing becoming heavier as he watches you. “Look at you,” he whispers, his free hand around your throat. “I always knew you and I were the same.”

He pulls out his thumb from your mouth, and cups your cheek. He leans down to brush his nose against yours. His hand is surprisingly rough against your skin, as he brushes the side of your face with his palm. His breath smells sweet as he speaks against your mouth.

“So full of dirty desires, aren’t you?”

He kisses you next, forceful with closed lips at first. It isn’t long before his gentleness gives away. It splinters off as his tongue pushes past your lips. You moan into the kiss, your hands pressed against the floor. It’s sloppy, messy, wet and imprecise. It lacked all the elegance and refinement with which Izou usually carried himself. When he pulls away, you feel the coolness of the air on your drool covered chin. 

“I want you to open your mouth again,” he tells you, his cock once again in his hand. You swallow as you look at it, and take in its girth. Perhaps you had overestimated yourself. You curl. your fingers into fists and press them against the cold ground. As your mouth parts, Izou adjusts himself on his standing kneeling position, moving closer towards you. He taps your bottom lip with the tip of his cock. “Come on, darling. I’ve been waiting long enough.”

You open your mouth as wide as it goes, and flatten your tongue. Izou slides into your mouth slowly. You focus on breathing through your nose as you feel him fill  up your mouth. 

“That’s a good girl,” he groans, pushing his hands on the mattress on either side of your head. Izou snaps his hips slowly at first, making sure not to push too deep or too fast. You watch his face carefully, deeply focusing on breathing through your nose and not gagging as he fucks your mouth. Your head bounces slightly against the  mattress with every thrust he gives into your mouth. It pushes you against him, helping him inadvertently reach deeper into your mouth each time. His lashes flutter slightly every time he pushes into your mouth. There’s a slight wrinkle of his noise every now and again you can’t decipher the reason behind until he speaks. “Careful,” he hisses with a curl of his lip. Your heart seizes with temporary fear. “Your teeth.” He pulls out of your mouth, and you wipe the drool of your mouth with the back of your hand. Red smears against your cheek and against your arm as you do so. Izo smiles.  “Curl your lips, and relax. You have to relax, love.”

You nod repeatedly, feeling at the moment as if that was all you were good at. Izou taps his cock against your mouth again, and  you open your mouth, taking his instructions and applying them. Izou seems satisfied with your efforts this time as he picks up the pace. His hips now brutally snapping in rhythm as he shoves his cock to the back of your throat. You gag repeatedly, and your eyes water as you fight your gag reflex. You fear the worst when you taste something in the back of your throat, so you shut your eyes tightly, curling your tongue and sucking as hard as you can.

Izou cries out, and he pushes even deeper. Your eyes fly open as you swear you feel him trying to shove himself down your throat. 

“That’s it,” he breathes out harshly between pants. There’s a soft moan in the back of his throat he tries to smother. “That’s it. Look at me.” The head of his cock keeps hitting the back of your throat. There’s a burning soreness there that  you know will make it painful to talk tomorrow but you don’t care. You don’t care about your achy knees, or how tears slide down your cheeks. You don’t care that you can barely see Izou’s silhouette through your wet lashes. All you care is that he’s kneeling there, using your mouth, his fingers now buried in your hair. All you care about is that  you can hear him moaning softly, saying your name so quietly you think it’s a dream.

Although he’s fucking your mouth at a brutalizing pace, it doesn’t stop you from fantasizing. It doesn’t keep the thoughts of him pounding in your pussy just like this away. You wish he would; desperately. Your panties are soaked, and you try to rub your legs together, the sensation silky and pleasurable against your folds and inner thighs. You try to bring your hands to the front of your yukata, to feel any part of yourself–breasts or the center between your thighs but Izou grabs your hair and shakes it in his hold.

“I said no hands,” he growl, still fucking into your mouth as he frowns down at you. “Hnng. Not even to touch yourself.” His own thoughts and speech are interrupted by pleasure. He groans gently before he can proceed again. “Is that understood?” You nod and relax your jaw once again.

You moan as he continues fucking your mouth, moans that almost sound like sobbing. It’s just when you think you won’t be able to speak for days that Izou’s hips start faltering.

“I’m close,” he mutters, his hold on your hair tightening. Izou looks down at your mouth. He takes in the way he fills you up, how your mouth can barely take him in. He bets your cheeks feel sore from being stretched, that your jaw might even lock up later. There’s a perverse joy that comes with this knowledge. The same way that ring of red around the very base of his shaft brings. Just knowing he had been deep in that little mouth of yours, so deep that you have shed tears brings him closer to his orgasm. It’s not your mouth, or your smeared lipstick, your dirty cheeks stained with mascara and tears that does him in; but it’s your wet eyes, your curled lashes tapered with tears. It’s that look of reverence even as you sob on his cock that snaps the core deep in his belly. His breath is ragged, as he cries out gently when he cums inside your mouth.

You make no intention to move, and he grips your hair tightly. “Don’t swallow,” he tells you sternly even as his hips stutter. As he slowly comes with his high, he pulls out of your mouth slowly. “Don’t spit it out either.” You nod quietly, bulging cheeks and pursed lips make you seem innocent and adorable. Izou laughs. He caresses your cheek gently with one hand, his other goes to cup your chin. “Open. Show me first.”

You open your mouth, curling your tongue to hold on to his semen. He looks at it, milky white as it pools on the center of your pink tongue. Izou smiles and nods once. “You can swallow now.” He watches you push it down, and notes the wrinkle of your nose as you do so. He takes no offense to it, and instead pats your head gently. “You did such a wonderful job.” Izou kisses your forehead gently, and then your cheek. “Don’t move.”

You don’t follow with your eyes as he leaves. You’re still delirious from lust, and slightly unsatisfied. Something you could easily blame Izou for but decide to just concede this time. Besides,  your  legs were tingling as they had fallen asleep. You untuck them from under you with a small cry, and beat them gently with your fists as you try to get some blood circulating back into them again. Izou returns in the middle of your efforts with a cup of tea in his hands. “Oh dear,” he says with raised brows. His voice sounds heavy with concern. He lowers himself to your level, and presses the cup of tea against your hands. “Here, drink this first. It has plenty of honey,” he helps you bring it to your mouth. Izou watches you with a frown, and doesn’t let go until he is satisfied that you’d do as he says. As you start drinking on your own, Izou starts massaging your legs. “Let me take care of you this time.” He looks up from where he is exposing one leg from under your yukata. Despite what had transpired, you somehow find it in you to be embarrassed at the feel of his cold fingers sliding against the back of your calf. He brushes the tip of his index finger right across behind your knee. You shudder under his touch. His eyes take life, and you see the smile begin to curl itself upwards. “Since you already will be without voice come tomorrow. Why don’t I show you what my mouth can do?”

[queserasora]

SANJI X READER | FEM! READER, SHE/HER, 3.4k wc CW: Profanity, unprotected sex, groping, oral male receiving female giving, oral female receiving male giving, dry humping A BADLY WRITTEN SUMMARY:The one where Sanji meets someone at the saloon, he is bad at climbing stairs, shirts get ripped, and you don’t know my name’.mp3

You had your eye on him for a while now. 

They had been staying on your sunny and humid island for a few weeks; patching up something on their ship and seemingly enjoying their time on the sandy beaches. Him and his crew frequented the saloon you worked at, devouring and drinking everything in sight as if bounties for their heads didn’t exist. You were impressed at their bottomless pits and their audacity, but you were more impressed by the cook’s ability to stay sober under duress.

He had a soft but commanding presence that drowned out the din of the establishment the moment he walked in. You were helpless. You had no choice but to stare. You would watch him with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth as he moved towards the table, making sure to steer the ladies of his crew in the right direction. It was unreasonable how jealous it made you every time. You could tell there was no genuine interest there between them and it baffled you how they were able to keep their hands to themselves for so long.

You hadn’t said more than a few words to each other. He probably didn’t even know your name. A sinking feeling dragged below your navel, filling you with anxiety. He could leave any day, and you still wouldn’t know the sound of your name rolling off his lips, the taste of his mouth, the scent of his skin.

Desire fills you with little burning pockmarks; tiny little fires erupting everywhere. It becomes increasingly difficult to tear your eyes away from him. You are hypnotized by the way the cigarette hangs perilously on the corner of his lips; how smoke oozes and floats away from it towards the ceiling, rivulets of breath and promises. You wish to take it in–the scent of tobacco and alcohol in his mouth. You furiously clean the glasses behind the bar, anything to keep yourself from walking over right now and slamming your hand on the table.

Heart hammering in your chest, you blink rapidly, hoping it would cast out the impure thoughts running through your mind. You could picture yourself, slowly lowering yourself over him, picture yourself digging your nails into the softness of his hips. You could almost taste his precum on your tongue–if you focused enough.

If you left tonight without speaking your truth, if you went to sleep tonight without feeling him move against you–you would simply perish. No fuss. No complications. Just death.

You were a woman with a high sense of self preservation. That was your excuse, as you took pitchers of beer to their table unprompted. You valued your life above all else. That was your resolve as you took the opportunity his arguing crewmates provided you and leaned forward, breasts spilling over your top. You wanted what you wanted, and always grabbed it with unwavering hands. That was your call to war as your fingers ghosted over his forearm; lingering a bit too long, a bit too hot.

“I wonder,” you murmur close to his ear. You smell smoke in his hair, feel heat kissing your skin. “Are you getting bored yet?”

His eyes meet yours and you are blown asunder; pieces of you fall from the sky–the fire and brimstone of his gaze. Bright embers splash against his cheeks, a tempting pink beckoning sweetly. His lips part and you breathe in deep, wanting to trap his sweet scent in your lungs. 

He says nothing, and you feel like dying. So you grip his arm tightly, long fingernails leaving half moon marks on his skin. 

“Do you need me…” he asks timidly, breath hitching in his throat. “For anything, my lady?” You hum, stalling, swallowing the dirty dialogue prompts bursting in your mind. You needed him, yes. You need him,  badly, in so many ways. You nod in lieu of speaking, and release your hold on his arm. As you pull away, he is standing up, jaw tense. His heat is dizzying. Entrapped, you struggle for control, so you lead him by the wrist, fingers sizzling with frayed nerves at the touch of his skin.

He follows you like a puppy; eager and clueless. You resist the urge to laugh. You had waited this long and it had been this easy. Why had you hesitated? Fear of rejection? Fear of the unknown? You needed to know. Perhaps you’d find the answers on the inside of his cheek, or the curve of his dick.

Fortune was finicky but tonight she must have been feeling indifferent. As indecent turns of events would have it, the room you rented was just up the stairs of the building next door. 

Fate accompanies you up the steps, spotting Sanji’s back, as he wobbles and falters; you reach down to grab his ass before he’s even through the door. Crimson bloomed over his pale cheeks like bushels of roses on snow; but every rose has its thorns so you resist, this time keeping your hands to yourself. There was no need to stain your hands with your own blood. After all, you were a woman with a heightened sense of self preservation. You valued your life more than anything else. At least, so you thought.

Is that why you pressed your hands at the bottom of his firm stomach, hips quickly flushing against his? Is that why your lips brushed against his chin, his jawline until they found a particularly lonesome earlobe?

Your benevolence was unparalleled. The lonely, the downtrodden needed to be saved, you thought, so you take his earlobe with every ounce of tenderness you possess and suck. He is pliable, easy, soft. His breath is yeasty and he fidgets in your embrace. You are reminded of kneading dough, shaping it against the protests of its elasticity.  He moans as your tongue continues its ministrations. 

His vagabond hands grasp your ass with hesitation. It feels almost impossible; a hallucination of sorts. He is aware that this is his body, dealing with the blows of your hot mouth on his neck. He is aware that this is him, his hands now moving to your breasts, where they squeeze and grip, unable to memorize just yet the softness of them.

He is aware of this, and the rest of your heat swallowing him whole, yet couldn’t bring himself to truly believe it.

So he tries to lead; a clumsy spectacle of a waltz. One step, two steps, three steps. His hands seek your face, holding it like water. His mouth collides into yours, tongue darting between lips to devour your own. He tastes your soul in your breath, your convictions against the front of your teeth; that which makes you soft on the inside of your cheek.

One step, two steps, three.

The waltz was private and intimate; a step box of a dance that ensnared you. You pushed against its walls in rebellion. Your hands are on his chest, and you summon the rest of your force to drive him backwards. He falls on the mattress with a light oomph. You are on him, a tidal wave of desire and liberation. There’s a meek sound of protest trying to move past his lips but you smother it down with your tongue, running it flat against his bottom lip. Your fingers are devious things, undoing buttons as his muscles flex and contract from stimulation under the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Please,” he says, his voice dark and hoarse. He clenches his teeth–a feeble attempt at holding back a hiss when you drag your long nails down his naked chest. “I want to–” You silence him again, taking his tongue for your own. One of your hands finds his throat and you apply enough pressure to warn him. His gaze is on your mouth before he drags it to meet your eyes.

Your breath hitches; wings flutter like pests in your chest. It repulses you, so you do the only thing you can think of: grind down on his hardened cock. He moans, fingers digging into your hips. You lean forward, press kisses against his collarbone and neck. Your hips are vicious, moving against him, chasing down all his sighs and moans.

“Your name?” he asks breathlessly. “Please. I want to know your name.”

You laugh at the absolute ridiculousness of the situation–at your hypocrisy. Minutes ago you had been drowning in your angst spurred by the idea that he may never grow to know your name and now here he was; a beggar–your name the only scraps he wanted.

So why couldn’t you just fucking give it?

You lower yourself to lay between his legs and pull down his trousers. You palm his erection through his underwear, bringing your mouth to give kisses over the cloth. He feels thick and satisfying. You are mystified. Part of you couldn’t wait to get him in your mouth.  His hips buck as you move down the length of his shaft, one hand massaging his balls. You feel the precum wet through the fabric, and you squeeze at his tip gently, loving the way he whimpers and bites his lip. 

He looked vulnerable, frail. It tugged at your heartstrings but you didn’t have many to begin with. You pull at his underwear, and his cock bounces out–erect and alert. You curl your tongue around the tip of it, taking in the last of his precum with a moan. You hollow your cheeks and put his full length in your mouth, slow at first, then faster. His fingers are in your hair, twitching and pulling. You feel his hips thrust against you, slamming his cock against the back of your throat. Tears collect on the corner of your eyes but you do not resist, you don’t run. You fight him head on, pulling him out with a cough and a gag to suck on his balls and take them into your mouth sloppily and noisily. He grunts, and bucks, almost as if trying to get away from you. You follow him, mouth hungry and persistent.

The throbbing between your legs is starting to become unbearable  so you ease yourself back on his crotch, to grind yourself against him. You’re soaked and can’t wait to have him inside you, but you don’t want to beg; not you, but him. He moans, grips your hips. “Name,” he grunts with his jaw clenched. “Please.”

“I know yours,” you tell him instead; breath hot against your swollen and tender lips. Your hips move slowly. You enjoy the look on his face, equal parts pleasure and pain. His face is flushed, his neck and chest matching colors. He looks mortified, but unable to do anything. Is that why he held you so tightly? You lean forward to run your tongue along the shell of his ear. “My name doesn’t matter. You’re going to leave anyway.”

You swallow the bitterness, and hum at the friction of his cock against your swollen clit; a lewd prayer. You press your mouth against his ear. “Do you want to fuck me, Black Leg Sanji?” You reach down to your hip, unclasp his hand from where he was digging into your skin. You ease it forward under your skirt, push it between your heated cunt and his crotch. You move your hands, rubbing his palm against you, ensuring he feels the moisture seeping through your underwear, enough to coat his fingertips. “You see how wet you’ve made me?” Your voice is tattered; crumpling against his cheek. “Don’t you want to know what I’m like before you leave?”

His brain misfires; he’s sure. Static noise overpowers his thinking. Thoughts come flying like projectiles and his body responds before he can form a sentence. He flips you over, eager to prove himself. You consider giving in, giving up. A flash of white–a flag to surrender– crosses your mind’s eye as he rips your shirt in half. You whimper at a loss. His mouth is on the swell of your breasts, leaving wet sloppy kisses. He mumbles against your skin, sweet promises that will never stick; ones he will soon forget. You close your eyes and arch your chest as he runs his tongue over the edge of your bra.

“Your name,” he says gently looking up at you through his dark blond lashes. From where you can see his tongue is everywhere–tasting, and he pulls on the bra to expose your erect nipple. You don’t answer him so he runs his tongue around the edge of it; sending goosebumps running for their lives. “Your name,” he commands again, just as gently, and he takes your nipple into his mouth for a long and noisy suck.

Your back takes off the mattress. You are embarrassed at your reaction. He was not your first–far from it. You had worked many years at the saloon. You served more pirates than you could count, and bedded more than you should have wasted your time doing so. 

Then why was he so compelling? Your moan turns into a whimper as he uses his teeth to torture you deliciously; tugging and nipping at your nipple. His free hand flicked and twirled the other one between soft fingers. For a pirate his hands were dangerously delicate. 

He tries to hide his nerves so his hands never stay still; never long enough to show the way they shake. He can tell from the way you kissed him, from the way your eyes burn his skin wherever they gaze–that you are a woman he may never have the chance of pleasing. Your laugh earlier had wounded his pride but he tried to swallow it; ignored it for the sake of lust. Now, more than ever, he wanted to learn your name; earn it–and he wanted you to give it willingly, along with the rest of you.

So he takes action by slipping his fingers under the elastic of your underwear. He pulls them down in one swift move before you can protest. He adjusts himself between your legs, pushing your skirt up, and placing soft thick thighs over his lean shoulders. His breath is erratic so he takes a deep breath, a weak attempt at control. He takes in your musky scent, pressing his mouth flush against your entrance. His nose presses against your clit, as he drags his tongue ever so slowly up your dripping slit. His eyes roll back at your taste, his stomach twists in pleasurable knots. 

He takes sickening pleasure at the way your thighs twitch; at how you try to squeeze your legs together when he picks up the pace, tongue moving up and down. “Your name,” he says against the inside of your thigh, where he bites, and sucks hard enough to leave marks behind. He kisses over them to ask for forgiveness. “Will you tell me now?” He laps at your folds, drinking up every drop of you. He suckles on your nub, and chuckles softly when you grip his head with your thighs again. He doesn’t push your legs apart but sucks harder instead.

You find yourself letting out a yell when he inserts two fingers, quickly scissoring them inside you.

“Love,” he breathes out harshly against your puffy and sensitive cunt. “Beautiful girl, won’t you tell me your name?”

A sea of stars  swim behind your eyelids. You think it impossible that he can bring you so close so quickly. Your hands claw at his hair, you grip it trying to rip him off of your clit. You scream as the orgasm hits you, and a moan continues floating in a song. He doesn’t let up, flicking his tongue against your sensitive clit. 

“Tell me,” this time it’s a growl against the softness of your belly. He kisses up, all tongue and teeth until he meets the underside of one breast. He grips the other with some roughness. “Tell me your name.” He bites on the underside of your breasts. Your legs quiver, and they part to allow him in between.. He pumps his cock, hard and sensitive, tip angry and red. He slaps your cunt with it eliciting a yelp from you.  Surprise makes way for arousal and you feel yourself get wetter.  “I need to know your name.” You feel his tip against your entrance. He slides it in, just enough to tease you before pulling it out. You bite down on your lip, your nails are on his back, leaving marks where you squeeze him.

He rubs the tip against your folds, rubs it in circles against your clit. You whimper, and pull him in for a kiss. You give in and melt into him. You are soft in his embrace, soft against his tongue. His fingers tangle into your curls, and he hears your mumbling against his lips. He breaks the kiss enough to catch your name tumbling out of your mouth. 

He repeats it against your cheek, against your temple. He says it a few more times, each time with a little more faith; like he had found a new religion. 

His fingers grasp a bundle of your hair and he tugs on it, forces you to look up at his flushed face, his bruised and moistened lips, the darkness of his cravings trapped behind two eyes. He says your name like a summons; a call to arms. He presses his forehead against yours and announces: “I’m going to fuck you now.” He helps you fold your arms around his neck with one hand, the other positions his tip smeared with precum against your entrance. 

He gives you a  kiss so tender it provokes you to dream–tricks you into believing in impossibilities, before he slams into you; hip to hip. You cry out at the suddenness. He is kind, you think, a damn gentleman as he stills inside you for a breath or two, waiting for you to adjust.

This moment of consideration is short lived. His hips begin to move against yours at a quicker pace, wanton noises collapsing from his mouth. He is awestruck at the feel of you; you are so hot and wet he can barely function. All he can think of is getting more and more of you. He says your name against your hair as he fucks you harder, holding you tightly against him. He tilts his head as he moans, before pulling away to look down at his masterpiece in the work. He bites his lip at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your wet pussy; he loves the slickness of you, the way it coats him, and runs down your thighs. 

You watch him with the last dredges of your consciousness. His flushed face, and the noises he makes affect you more than you would like to admit. He is so eager to please, so eager to taste and learn. You run your hands over his chest, flick his nipples with your fingernails and smirk at the sounds he emits. 

“Do you like it?” you gasp, words paused. It becomes increasingly difficult to think the more he pounds against you.  He looks at you with a hazy expression, trying to process your words. He nods slowly, two beats behind. “Aren’t you glad?”

He laughs and collapses on top of you. His face is buried on the crook of your neck, he digs his fingers into your ass and lifts your hips up at an angle. He increases his pace, slamming his hips against you. You moan, as you feel his pelvis grind against your clit, feel the tip of his cock hit that spot that makes your toes curl. Your legs kick out slightly, as you feel your orgasm coming again.

“I’m gonna cum,” you cry out, and he holds you tighter. He is dismayed at how quickly he becomes undone when you clench around him. His eyes roll back and he moans your name, pushing and thrusting inside you still as he cums, ribbons of hot white cum painting your insides. The squelching noises are embarrassing and you toss your head on the pillow even as he kisses your cheeks, still inside you, still moving slowly–so slowly. 

“You gave me your name,” he says, looking away from where he could see his cum slipping out from your cunt. “So I thought I should give you something in return.” He kisses you again, slow and tender. “It’s only polite.”

[queserasora]

SANJI X READER | FEM! READER, NSFW, SHE/HER, WORD COUNT: 2.3k CW:  oral male giving female receiving, fingering, squirting A BADLY WRITTEN SUMMARY: Part 2 of Mango Juice… The one where Sanji is true to his promise and visits Y/N’s room at night when she’s thirsty…

PART ONE

He was a man of his word.

He didn’t forget the alluded promise he spoke to you earlier that day, when the heat was sweltering and he could still taste you on his tongue. You had lingered on his senses, like sun poisoning; skin prickly hot, head in the clouds, thirst insatiable.

Sanji was sick, and you were both the illness and the cure.

Luffy had remained in his orbit throughout the day, chattering away about the damn mango juice. It had taken all of his pathetic excuse for patience just to keep from snapping. No, there was no actual mango juice–at least not for him, and no–he would not go out and buy more mangos. After all, Nami had taken care of stocking up the pantry for him.

It would be rude of him; downright disrespectful, plus he had no intentions of letting Nami catch wind of his afternoon shenanigans for multiple reasons. His business with you was your business, nobody else’s. Secondly, he couldn’t bear to see the smirk on Nami’s face should she find out. It wouldn’t be long before everyone else would know once Nami had enough information.

Sanji was not embarrassed, per se, but he didn’t know what your flirtatious moments even meant aside from an attempt at stealing his senses, his pride, his honor. 

Doubt stiffened his muscles as he cleaned up the kitchen close to midnight. He was thankful for the quiet now that everyone had gone off to bed, which allowed him a moment to his thoughts; something that was both agony and ecstasy. 

He could see your glistening skin behind his eyelids, and smell the scent of cocoa in his nostrils. In a daze, he found the secret mangoes he had stashed away. The juice was almost overflowing in the glass as he knocked on your door, careful not to spill a single drop.

“My dear,” he loudly whispered, shoulder against your bedroom door. “I don’t suppose you’re still thirsty?”

He hears movement behind the door then silence.

You are contemplating your life choices as you hurriedly throw items off your mattress, stashing them under your bed, out of view. You kick an abandoned towel into a corner, move a large Monstera plant enough for the pot to cover a pile of wrappers you keep meaning to get rid of.

The truth was, you were hoping Sanji didn’t show up. It was one thing to tease him, to pass him by in tight spaces and relish in the power you  had over him. It was another different matter to have him at the threshold of your bedroom, intentions evident in the fire behind his eyes.

You hadn’t seen his eyes yet, but you could only imagine.

Your heart picks up, as you brush possible imaginary crumbs off your bedsheets, fluff your curls–at least three times–and push up your breasts.

“I’ll be right there!” you call out, another loud whisper. You didn’t want to wake the others. That would be terribly inconvenient. He is standing with a glass of juice in his hand when you open the door. Your cheeks color, remembering his words–and everything before them.

Pink lips stretch into a small smile as he greets you; almost shy. You chew on the inside of your cheek, fingers wiggling at the realization. He was just too cute for words sometimes. It’s why you enjoyed teasing him so much.

“Come in,” you tell him, backing into the room. As he walks past you, you spot a rogue sock, and you lift it with your toes and flick it under the bed in one swift move. Sanji seems to stop in front of the potted plant, and you start to panic. You’re stammering, trying to find a topic of conversation to distract him from what’s hiding behind it.

“You’re into plants?” he asks you, turning to offer the glass of juice to you. You grasp the glass a little too desperately, practically snatching it from him. Juice spills from the glass, sloshing around your hand. You think nothing of it as you bring the top of your hand for a quick cleanup with your tongue.

“Not really,” you say, licking your lips now. The mango was tart, with a small hint of sweetness. It was perfect. “It was a gift from Robin.” Robin liked to give you things–little trinkets, and she’d always accompany them with a long monologue of information you quickly struggled to retain.

You look up from your hand, now sticky from juice to catch Sanji’s eyes on you. His stare is almost unblinking. It unnerves you, but you’re determined to fake your bravery. After all, it was part of your persona. Appearances were important, Nami would say, it makes or breaks a lady.

Or a con artist. It depended on what your beliefs were.

Sanji wholeheartedly believed that you were a good girl. Sure, you adored nothing more than to press your chest against his back at the most inconvenient times, and perhaps your hands had a mind of their own while others were present–but you had a good heart. That’s what mattered. It was what mattered to him.

So, this decision of being in your room, with the intent to follow through on a loaded promise was starting to wear on his conscience. Was what he was doing gentlemanly? A promise was a promise. You had welcomed him into your bedroom, without needed explanations. Surely, that meant you expected him to keep it?

It would be ungentlemanly of him to disappoint you. Wouldn’t it? 

He breathes out through his nose, a heavy sigh. It wasn’t like he could hold back anymore, even if he wanted to. At the sight of your tongue lapping at the spilled juice he had felt himself stiffen, a growing awkwardness in his pants.

Sanji wanted nothing more than to devour your mouth with his, taste the fruit juice off your tongue but you were not done; glass half empty or half full. He hadn’t decided yet.

“You can change your mind,” he says, a hand gently gesturing towards you. You detect a hint of nerves in his voice, and your eyes find his crotch. You watch with a growing heat at the bottom of your belly over your glass. Your vision was not perfect, but it worked well enough to notice the bump under the cloth.

“No, thank you,” you hear yourself saying, and you wonder if that version of yourself knows no shame? The answer should have been evident, but you liked to play the oblivious fool. It made life easier. 

He watches you tilt your head back and chug the rest of the juice. It was a sight he had seen before when you’d challenge Zoro. It always ended the same way: both of you drunk out of your minds, taking turns picking on him.

The memories are enough to color his cheeks, and he takes the glass from your hands, eager to push past them. 

“Don’t be in a hurry, Sanji,” you tell him, wearing a crooked grin. Your voice is light, teasing, but your hands are clammy and sweaty. You wipe them on the back of  your pajama shorts.  “It’s not like I’m going anywhere. ”

He grunt as a response, trying to find a spot where to lay down your glass. He picks the nightstand; just as well, it was closest to you. 

“Come here,” he says softly, standing by your bed. You move towards him, anticipation causing little tremors all over your body. His hands are warm on the small of your back as he pulls you close. “Let’s finish what we started.”

It starts with a light kiss; mouths brushing against each other as a test. He wants to take his time, rushing is so not like him but your plush mouth is soft against his. Your bottom lip beckons him, so he follows it to the abyss, taking it in his mouth for a slow suck. His hands move across your body, taking in the softness of your skin underneath your camisole. 

What was a gentle exploration of mouth, and body, soon becomes heated. His hands grip your ass as he moans into your mouth, hungrily seeking out your tongue. The smell of mango lingers on his mouth, in your breath that consumes what little is left of his senses. It feels like delirium, the way he cannot stop himself from exploring your mouth further, the way he bites at your lips with abandon.

You gasp when one particular bite becomes painful, your nails digging into his bicep. It does little to stop him–it just deviates his course. He moves to your neck, where his teeth continue a streamlined assault. He comes up for air to admire the pink-purple marks on your skin.

“My sweet, I’m sorry,” he mumbles against your skin, hands in your hair, lips gently brushing against your marred neck. “I guess I’m not myself right now.”

You don’t have time to question him further. He picks you up, and tosses you on the bed. You yelp as you bounce on the mattress. Your hands go out to stop him–to question him, but Sanji is on top of you, slipping his fingers under the elastic of your sleeping shorts.

“Wait,” you breathe out, but he does not. He slips them down in one swift move, helps you loop them off your ankles. His mouth is on your belly, dragging his teeth across your skin. “Are you listening?”

He looks up at you through his lashes, lids heavy with lust. His tongue drags along the elastic. You feel his hands move up your thighs. He pushes them apart, angling his shoulders so that he can fit between you–keep you spread open.

You think about being embarrassed and remember yourself. You’re supposed to be in control. This is Sanji Vinsmoke. He was at your mercy, not the other way around. At least, that was the usual way of things.

Your fingers find tufts of blond hair. You pull roughly, only feeling a tiny bit of guilt at the sound of his pained cry.

“Beautiful,” he says, his thumbs massaging circles on the inside of your thighs. “This is not necessary.” He lets go of one thigh to reach up for your wrist. His long fingers wrap around it, and he pulls at it gently. “I just want to taste you. That’s all.” You have no idea why, but you are compelled to let go. 

Trembling thighs threaten to reveal your secrets. You stare at the ceiling for a moment, and close your eyes at the feel of his hot open mouth over the fabric of your panties. His breath is hot against your cunt as you feel him panting, tasting you over the barrier.  You can feel his shoulder shake, so you urge him on, one hand on the back of his head, hips rolling against his tongue.

The panties are a nuisance. He considers tearing them apart but it seems unhinged, unreasonable, so unlike him so he frowns instead, and pulls them down despite the painful erection in his pants demanding quicker action.

You whimper as he softly pushes your legs apart. He spreads you wide–enough to have a good look. His gaze lingers on your puffy cunt, already sticky wet. He looks for a long time without touching you, enough to make you feel embarrassed. You feel your cheeks color, a shudder runs its course.

“What are you doing?” You ask in a whispered hiss, craning your neck to look.

He looks up at you, eyes wide, mouth parted. “You’re so beautiful,” he tells you, as he moves forward. Sanji licks his lips. “Did you know that?”

Your back arches when he finally kisses your center. A moan, barely contained, rumbles in your chest. His tongue is wet, soft against your folds. The heat of his mouth forces you to gasp as he hums while he sucks. His eyes are closed but he looks content, as if there was nothing else he’d rather eat than the salty sweetness of your pussy.

There was nothing else he desired in all of the seas right now, except to taste every last drop from your dripping pussy. His fingers almost seemed like a disturbance as he pushed two inside of you. He frowns at them, even as he moves them in and out of you–letting his pace be dictated by your whines. Your hips move on their own, and he pushes a shoulder against one, trying to keep you near.

You are slick around his fingers, hot and mesmerizing. Your swollen nub feels the best when he curls his tongue around it, when you arch your back and cry out his name.

The way his name rolls off your tongue; it is almost as delicious as the taste of your cunt, juicy and sweet. He was a connoisseur, a man of refined taste. At every island he made sure to taste new fruit, new combinations, but nothing could beat the taste of mango, and you all at once.

His fingers pick up the space, scissoring inside you. He feels blinded by your sweetness. He would think himself deaf as the world dissolves around him, if your moans weren’t the ones grounding him to you. A fiery coil twists inside you, threatening to obliterate everything in its past. You cry out, fingers scratching his scalp as you desperately grab at whatever you can.

Your hips move faster, trying to keep up with him–his greedy fingers and even greedier tongue rubbing merciless circles against your clit. Your body tenses up as you feel your orgasm take over. A flash of white clouds your vision, your voice sounds other–a disembodied voice, as you gush on his face. 

You can’t even be embarrassed as your body jerks; the after effects of your orgasm. Sanji stills between your legs, his face covered in your cum, slickness dripping off his chin. He blinks a few times, removes his fingers from your vagina. You watch him as he sits up, looking down amazed at his soaked fingers. He brings them up, licks the back of them, swirls his tongue around them.

“How soon can you do that again?” he asks you, his fingers still in his mouth. “I didn’t get a good taste the first time around.”

[queserasora]

SANJI X READER | FEM! READER, SHE/HER WORD COUNT: 1,301 words CW: Sanji is sick and tired of y/n shit, brown curly haired y/n doing the most on a sunny day, mangoes are juicy and salacious, a little bit NSFW, mostly teasing nothing serious A BADLY WRITTEN SUMMARY: The one where Sanji decides he’s going to fix the y/n problem he has but he feeds her instead, he is a gentleman! Most of the time, and Luffy tries to invite himself over for a midnight snack

PART TWO

You had been teasing him for days on end, trying to meet the last line of his patience. Sanji thought there was nothing he couldn’t handle in all the seas but he never accounted for your tenacity.

He was tired of the looks you launched at him when he was least expecting it. You often found an excuse to pass him by–to squeeze where you didn’t fit, just enough to graze your breasts against his back or chest. You relished the way he would hold his breath, anything to avoid hissing within earshot. You’d giggle at his reddening face and walk away, not before letting your fingers brush his chest on your way out.

He was tired of feeling your presence in every room; like a heavy heat weighing his shoulders down. His brown eyes would seek out yours and find your plush lips stretched into a smile. He was tired of the growing warmth at the bottom of his belly when he watched you rub cocoa butter on your legs. He tired of smelling it on you at dinner time, or when you’d sneak into the kitchen while he cooked to ‘just have a taste’ of what he was preparing.

He grew tired of the way he wanted to give  you a taste, alright, and how shameful it made him feel.

He quickly grew tired of that too; tired of waiting.

The sun was docked on an island and the crew had all gone shopping. Sanji had given Nami a list of groceries, as she requested. Everything was taken care of–everything except the annoying itch he couldn’t scratch. Sanji didn’t know or understand the reason for you to stay behind; something about being too hot to walk around. If it was too hot, then why were you sprawled out on the lawn chair, ass up in nothing but a bikini bottom.

Where had your top gone? Disappeared along with your common sense?

He swallows and approaches you despite the possibility of a nosebleed. Saliva thick, he pushes it down with sheer determination. You had called his name. It would be rude to ignore you.

“Yes, my dear?” he asks slowly. You hum upon hearing his voice and turn your head to look at him. Your face is partially covered by your tight curls but he can still see the smile on your lips; the tiniest twinkle in your eye. He feels his face heat up. He knows you’re up to no good again but can’t bring himself to leave you alone.

“I’m feeling a little thirsty,” you say with a pout and reach towards him, fingers grazing a knee. He pulls away sharply and clears his throat. 

“I’ll bring you something,” he says and leaves just as quickly. Once inside the kitchen, there were no witnesses, so he allowed himself to scream silently–at least this once. Having regained his composure, he prepares a quick drink–something sparkly, and grabs some mango from the fridge that he had already prepared earlier this morning.

He meets you on the deck again, his eyes following the path of the sweat dripping down your brown back; he is mesmerized by the slickness of your oil coated legs, the way they shine under the sun. You turn slightly to meet him, one arm draped across your breasts. He breathes out harshly, fighting for control.

Your arm is barely enough to contain them. They spill over the top, teasing him. 

He places the drink down on the small table next to you, and grabs a piece of mango from the plate with dextrous fingers. “Here, open up,” he commands gently and places the juicy slice of mango against your lips. You watch his gaze, how his heavy lids barely contain the heat in his eyes, the way his cheeks are rosy pink. You can’t help but notice how his lips remain parted, anticipating your next move. You smile against the fruit, watch the juice drip down his fingers before giving it a careful lick. 

He is in trouble, and he knows it. A jolt of electricity travels from where you grab his wrist, up his arm and throughout his body. He watches you with a mixture of horror and delight as you ignore the fruit pinched between fingers, to lick the side of his palm instead, where juice had made you sticky. 

He was tired of this game. 

In a swift move, he grabs your wrist instead and is on you, the lawn chair creaking underneath the weight of both of you. His mouth is hot and moist against yours. He invades your mouth despite your muffled protests, and sucks on your tongue eliciting a soft moan from you. 

You think, for the first time, perhaps your teasing had gone a little bit too far.

You try to distract him, mention that he is being wasteful now that the piece of mango laid forgotten where it fell; trapped somewhere between your chests. Sanji smiles.

“Waste not, want not,” he declares with a grin. He lowers himself enough to suck the piece of mango with his open mouth. You are unsure why but it makes you shiver. “Mm, there’s more,” he says almost in a pur, and he is licking the slick juice left behind. He follows the path that dripped sideways under one breast. He continues to lick and suck, despite your fingers in his hair, doing a poor job at pushing him away. 

He is relentless. He ignores you.

His mouth continues to lick, suck and bite his way down your soft belly. His fingers press against the dips and rolls on your sides, taking pleasure in your softness, how good it felt to grip you; all of you.

Your back stiffens as he gets near the top of your bikini bottom where his tongue runs along the seam, back and forth. He is watching you, as if looking for the merest sign of weakness.

“Don’t,” you breathed out in a hiss. Your eyes glance sideways, thinking perhaps you heard someone coming back; perhaps it was your imagination.

“Why?” he asks, slipping an index finger under the elastic. You bite back a whimper. Sanji pulls on it just enough to slip his tongue under it. He pushes a little further, feels the soft tickle of your hair and hums to keep himself from moaning. “I thought this is what you wanted?” The heel of his palm is on your cunt, and he rubs at your clit gently, in circles. “I just want to please you. I live to please.”

Your body shudders, and you moan. As you toss your head, you are blinded by the bright sun. Spots dance in your vision. You drape a hand over your face to shield yourself from further punishment, and to hide your embarrassment.

His hands were on your thighs, and you almost cast caution into the wind when this time you definitely heard footsteps. Sanji hears them too and brings his hands up as you sit up with a jolt, holding them there as if to admit retreat. 

“I meant what I said,” he says, tilting his head and smiling wide. You are floored at his feigned innocence. Sanji reaches for the abandoned fruit. It was warm now as it sat cooking under the sun. He brings another slice of mango to your mouth. This time, you open up for him. He slides it in, leaving his index and middle finger a second too long in your mouth. “If you’re thirsty still later tonight. I’ll bring some mango juice to your bedroom.”

He gets up as Luffy approaches.

“I want mango juice too!” Luffy declares, fists on his hips, chest sticking out. Sanji drops a heavy hand on his shoulder as he walks past him.

“No. Not for you.”

[queserasora]

ZORO X FEM READER | NSFW / Soft Smut ™  WORD COUNT: 7.9k CONTENT WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, nudity (duh), unprotected sexual intercourse (just don’t do it folks, only works in fiction), biting, scratching, kissing, lots of angst and sexual tension, if you’re looking for light and fluffy this isn’t it, excessive mentions of the moon (so if you’re anti moon gtfo), groping, nipple play, zoro talking too damn much and being a little nasty, for ZORO this is pretty TAME because he is like….enamored, so just let him be, allow this moment of softness because it doesn’t come often, so, SOFT ZORO, and like this is zoro being soft so if you don’t think it’s soft enough…idk what to tell you, it’s zoro, i proof read it twice so if you find a typo ignore it, if you tell me there is a typo you need to suck my dick first, thx

NEW MOON 

A dreamer has no home in Mock Town. 

Dreams were for children. Quaint little stories made of glittering sand sprinkled into their eyes, blinding them to the harsh truth of the world. The sting would force their eyelids shut, and they’d drift off into lands made of fantasy and fluffy clouds, carrying them off to somewhere peaceful; somewhere they would never be hurt, a haven safe from pain. 

They’d lay in their bed woven from lies while the moon spills its light through the window.

It had been a long time since there was any moon watching over you. You slept in darkness, holding the lies you told close to your chest. A romantic heart held prisoner in a chest constructed by cynical chains. You spoke like a realist, even when it split your tongue in half. The taste of copper grounded you to your reality, and you swallowed it down, finding it a fitting exchange.

Your blood for the chance to avoid their scorn. It was the price you paid to live in anonymity.

Loneliness went down easily when you drank it with whiskey. You had learned this years ago, so you consume it daily; a necessary evil. It is smooth on your tongue as you watch them from your corner of the establishment. The back of their heads are unfamiliar as they sit at the bar. You think you imagine it, the way your heart seizes at the sound of his voice. A gruffness so rugged it cuts into your skin, spilling everything you held inside. You scoop it up immediately as you throw the rest of your drink back into your throat. The burn in your chest is antiseptic. 

Dreams had nowhere to run in Mock Town. This is where dreams came to die.

It is a mantra you repeat, with every blow they deal on the loud captain and his swordsman. It is a mantra you clamp down on with aching teeth, when their navigator begs them to fight. Your fingers twitch around the etched glass in your hand. You grip it so tightly it cracks, like fault lines across the illusion you had been hiding behind. When they leave the bar, everything shatters.

You wake up, at last, from the nightmare you had built yourself only to plunge into a different colored one. 

They’ll never come back. It is a lie you feed yourself, cram it into your mouth and down into your stomach, until everything overflows. Until you believe it. You pick up the fallen pieces left in their wake and start gluing them back together, before your heart can escape again. But he does come back, and a hammer swings into you when his fist flies into Bellamy’s face.

You chase after him as he takes his prize, your oversized kusarigama attached to your back. The chain links clink as you run, its sound chasing your steps. His name is stiff on your tongue but you cast it out, a coin entering a fountain–one last desperate wish. Luffy finds your proposal comical, and so is the weapon on your back. He smiles until the corner of his eyes crinkle, a smile so radiant you swear you’ve only felt the same warmth under the sun. 

“Please!” your voice pleads, hands grasping at invisible strings. “I want to see the sky island too!”

His hum is contemplative. You feel time stop. You don’t breathe, you can’t, until he answers you at last: “Sure!” His laugh is infectious and odd. “You seem pretty strong, Kusari.” It isn’t your name. It never has been, but it sounds right when he says it.

It still sounds right when he introduces you to everyone; feels right in your bones. The swordsman’s eyes connect with yours–his gravity too large for you to avoid its pull. Inside you, the ocean’s tide begins to change. A smile graces your lips, congenial and friendly. One that was practiced and rehearsed, like every lie you told. Pretending was a curse you had been tasked with. It was easy and it was necessary. The method that always kept you safe.

Zoro shakes his head at everyone’s enthusiasm. Luffy’s impulsiveness was something he was used to, but disagreed with, time and time again. You were a risk he would have never taken. There were too many dubious variables, your background as a bounty hunter made you skilled and dangerous. His doubts on your genuineness are cast aside by excitement of a new adventure. Zoro lived on the edge of his swords, betting his life at every hurdle, his destiny always held firmly by his own capable hands. Sky island or you, it didn’t matter what the peril was. If it was in his way, he’d cut it down without mercy. 

It would be a shame, he thinks–an afterthought polluting his resolve–if he would have to make you his enemy. Your weapon intrigues him, at least that’s his reasoning. There would be no other behind his curiosity. You had a face he could forget, if he really wanted to try. 

He’d just have to want it badly enough.

WAXING CRESCENT

A persistent irritation, like a rash from a poisonous leaf, plagued him. You were too familiar, too quickly ingrained in his routine. Your sense of humor reminded him of Robin. Your mouth was always twisted, in a cynical kind of smile–but only with him. It annoyed him. You had no riddles for Sanji or Luffy or Usopp, but when you’d speak to Zoro–he was constantly baffled. 

What was your insistence on befuddling him? He figures ignoring you would do the trick but your presence is unforgivable; a sin, like a nick on his blades, a scar on his back, a sake poured on dirt. He wanted to obfuscate your existence, like a dark cloud in a night sky, hiding the moon from sight.

Robin and you quickly become a pair, synchronized jokes, and synchronized looks. You team up and prepare riddle after riddle that Zoro can’t seem to solve. He contemplates leaving you two with Nami to your devices but there are so many unknowns in the jungle his conscience doesn’t allow it. His worries become unfounded when he watches you wield your weapon with ease. There was no sign of hesitation when you acted on Chopper and Nami’s behalf–placing their safety as a priority. His shoulders relax, but doubt still circles–a fin in the water–reminding him that it was still too early to tell if you were friend or foe.

Friend or foe, he can’t deny it.

Your face was one he could forget, if he really wanted to. The problem was, he was starting to believe he didn’t want to. In the brief free moments, his eyes would search for it–like a dry tongue seeking water. The softness of your cheeks beguiled him, made him wonder, like a fool, if they were soft as they looked. But your smile was a blade whose sharpness he knew too well. He couldn’t allow himself to be cut. It was a shame he could never live down.

FIRST QUARTER

An adventure on Sky Island had been one you never even had dreamed of. An island in the sky was something only children thought of. It had been a long time since you basked in innocence. 

The thrill of surviving by the skin of your teeth still thrummed through your body. You giggled, a drink in your hand as you enjoyed the kitchen to yourself. The crew had gone to explore Water 7 and while you were happy to be part of the team–it was still something you were getting used to. Working by yourself, for yourself, had been something you’d done for years and were good at. Now, there were others; people you had started caring about.

He finds you in the kitchen, and immediately is envious of the glass in your hand. Not because the dark amber contents swirling around two blocks of ice is alluring. Not because of the way condensation clings to the glass, a sign of deliciously cold temperature enough to soothe most kinds of thirsts. He is envious of the glass, how you cradle it possessively when Zoro steps closer. He is envious of the rim, how your tongue flicks out to lap at a stray drop, sliding down–how it is graced by your lips when you bring it up for a drink.

“Looks good,” he says with strain. Tension pulls at his neck, making it difficult to talk. “Is there more of that?” 

You gesture at the table, where you had left the bottle of whiskey. He intends to move, truly, as he is mere steps away from your body but your eyes are bright and mystifying. They jumble his thoughts and it takes a quirk of your brow to kickstart his brain once more. 

As the moon commands, the tides obey, and a series of events unfolds that can’t be stopped. There’s so much to think of, you almost forget how much Zoro ails you. You forget how you think of him at night while you try to find a comfortable spot to sleep in. You forget the way his eyes pierce you during dinner, how they steal your breath. You forget the strange moments his hand brushes against yours when you pass him by, and the strange way he says your name as if it was a kiss given in secret.

You forget until Sanji is irate, top lip curled in anger. His words bounce off you, and you frown with a small shake of your head. You shake it, not because you find the accusation incredulous–you and Zoro had fought the best you could to protect the money–but because it feels as if you should care more. Zoro–usually calm, composed, quick to avoid drama–always flies at the handle at Sanji’s provocation. This time it’s no different. He comes, not to his own defense, but yours. The cloud over your mind lifts, and there’s a light beaming into your chest. Your mouth twists into a grimace.

You try to keep the light out by bringing a hand to your chest. Beams slip right through the cracks of your fingers. 

Your hand is still over your chest when Robin goes missing. You seek her out, desperate for an ally to make you forget–to remind you of the dangers of letting others in. There was an unspoken understanding between you two; a darkness shared and understood. You understand this even when you find out about Robin’s possible betrayal. In your heart, you try to reason, in your mind you find enough to doubt. When Zoro speaks up, like the devil on your shoulder, and makes it clear he isn't holding his breath when it comes to Robin, coldness sets in. People were complicated. You had learned that lesson with blood in your mouth. You wonder if Zoro has learned this as well–or was he the darkness too? Did he find it hard to trust? Had he been forced to cement walls around himself?

You begin to sink in, hiding behind your usual facade. Lies slip out of your mouth, one after the other, snakes with two and three heads. It was better this way, fabricating a self so different from your true source that nobody could ever hurt you. Desire could only lead to disappointment. Whatever embers he had left behind on the back of your hand, you try to smother it out, covering it with your free hand.

WAXING GIBBOUS

Raucous laughter meets shadows and light.

Luffy could never pass up a party, and after saving Robin there was so much to celebrate. The taste of sake on his tongue was familiar; a pleasant burning whose limits he knew all too well. This was something he could control, a phenomenon that did not incite fear or anxiety. 

He could not say the same about the phenomenon of your skin under the light of the moon. A throat so dry he feels choking seizes his words, so he drinks and drinks and drinks. Relief never comes, sentences he repeats in his head as he circles around you fester in the pit of his stomach. You are so happy–elated even, that Robin is back. You haven’t left her side, cracking joke after joke.

It’s sickening how much it irritates him that you refuse to be alone. If it’s not Robin, it’s Nami clinging to your hand, offering you another drink. If it’s not Nami, it’s Luffy trying to shove more food at you–food you gently refuse. If it’s not Luffy, it’s the stupid cook, hearts shooting out of his eyes as he touches your hand.

Your hand–the one he hasn’t touched.

He bites down so hard he thinks he’s cracked a tooth, so he spits at the ground, expecting blood. He sees nothing, and chooses to believe that this means nothing. The sake is rotten, and he is tired, so so tired. Zoro doesn’t pray, he has never prayed in his whole life but he considers it that night when he closes his eyes. So he hopes instead. He hopes he’ll be over it in the morning and you’ll be nothing–a long forgotten moonbeam in a distant night sky.

He wakes up, and realizes quickly that you are still not nothing.

He swings his swords repeatedly, motions that he is familiar with. He focuses on the strain of his muscles, the ache slowly setting in. He focuses on the sweat on the back of his neck, the one dripping down his rippling muscles. He focuses as much as he can, but your gaze on him is fastidious. 

He senses you watching him, a strange lecherous feeling that twists his stomach. He refuses to meet your gaze and bites down again. If his teeth cracked then so be it.

You are shameless, he thinks, as he swallows his drink. Your dark eyes are unwavering, focused on his neck. Zoro swallows, heart beating in his chest like a wild animal. His foot is under the table, tapping away as he tries to keep the rest of him still. Nami is arguing with Luffy, and Zoro shakes his head slightly, trying to wake up from the spell you have casted on him. He should laugh with the others, he should ignore Sanji’s pointed stare, he should ignore the cold sweat on his forehead and the sudden dip at the pit of his stomach when you lick your lips. 

When you finally drag your eyes away from his neck, in a way that looks like it pained you, Zoro takes a sharp breath. He thinks you have set him free from this twisted prison but you ensnare him again when you meet his eyes. Zoro brings his glass to his mouth once more, and swallows the remains of the whiskey.

It burns his chest on the way down, but there is a fire more heated and consuming at the bottom of his stomach. One that builds higher and higher when you smile at him.

Later that night, when he’s prowling the newly constructed Thousand Sunny like a restless large feline, Zoro has to remind himself why he even set out from his hometown. He reminds himself that he has to become the strongest swordsman, as he fights the urge to slide his hands down his stomach, to reach further down for the arousal that bothers him. His forehead pressed against the cold wood of the training room, he tries to reason with his breathing. He thinks about the new bounties announced, the thrill of new adventures. There is no room for deviation in his goals. He knows this. There is a set path to follow–the one the moon has been guiding him to all along.

Turning to you would just lead him to darkness. Zoro refused to be swallowed up by it, no matter how alluring the flash of its teeth were.

FULL MOON

A life for a life.

He thought nothing of it at first. He thought it necessary. At first he had lived selfishly, seeking to keep a promise given a long time ago. Somewhere along the way, his Captain’s dream had become as important as his. Somewhere along the way, he had friends he cared about, friends he wanted to protect. His strength alone had not been enough, and so for this sin: he offers his life.

If there was anyone who could protect the rest, it would be Luffy.

He tries to hold on to this hope as pain cuts into him. It rips at his skin, making tatters at what keeps him together. Blood splurts, hot and searing. A pain that burns so deep he thinks it’s in his soul. He clenches his teeth, willing for them to crack and splinter off, if it means keeping quiet. A man should not cry when his mind has been set up.  His eyes are open but he sees nothing–not in particular, except his own blood clouding his vision. 

He tries to focus on other things, when a pain so blinding and deep makes him want to drop to his knees. He thinks of Nami and Usopp, and hopes they’ll be okay. He wonders if Chopper will grow happier. He wants to believe Sanji will get stronger, enough to continue protecting everyone. That stupid, idiotic cook who had tried to offer his own life in his place. Zoro grimaces, a pained groan almost leaving his mouth so he bites down on his tongue–metal taking over his taste buds.

He had no regrets. He never had any but as his vision becomes blurry there’s a face that fills his eyes. A different kind of pain booms in his chest, until it fills everything, until it pushes out the air from his lungs. He takes a ragged breath, and feels fear for the first time in a long time. He fears regret. He fears never seeing her face again. He fears never knowing.

He should have held her. He should have kissed her. Just like he always wanted to.

He curses the sound of your voice, the same that cuts through the pain, and reminds him to hold on. He curses the softness of your skin–the back of your hand, the only sensation he knows of you. He curses how he craves to know more even in the face of this endless pain.

He curses you over and over again, until it is done, until all he knows is the pain you leave behind.

Sanji annoys him. Zoro tries to not lash out. His body feels heavy but he feigns it. He tries to keep it  together for as long as he can. He has to make sure they’re all okay. Once he is convinced that it was all worth it, once he sees your face wearing an expression he doesn’t want to think about, he allows himself to rest. It takes all the energy he has left to leave you–to walk away from you without touching you, to not run his fingers through your hair, to press your body against his. 

As consciousness fades, he wonders how much longer he can hold back. Would he regret it later? If he died? Would he regret never telling you? His inner voice becomes slurred, incoherent, distant until darkness takes him under.

Robin tries to tell you, even though Sanji tried to stop her. She tries to tell you the truth about Zoro but you dismiss her. You insist it is none of your business. Your voice is calm, flat even, as you fold laundry in an attempt to hide your trembling hands. In your mind, you’re screaming. In your mind, you want to run and grab him by the neck. In your mind, you want to understand what possessed him.

But in your heart you know why. In your heart, you know that Zoro wouldn’t have had it any other way, so you try to pretend you don’t know. It was the least you could do to pay him back for what he had given you all.

You know he will be fine. You know he will recover. He just needs time. You want to give it to him, and you do, as you try to stay busy. Still, your feet are treacherous. They keep taking you back to him. You watch him sleeping, a sickness weighing you down. Your eyes feel full, a heart so heavy you think you might collapse under its weight. Heavy feet root you to the spot by his bed. Trembling fingers reach out, so hesitant they can only touch lightly. You softly brush fingertips across his forehead; your silent prayer for him to wake up soon. The sight of his battered body makes you sigh, and your tear filled eyes rest on his hand. Those hands that had protected everyone time and time again. They seemed so strong every time he wielded his swords. Not once did you think they could look this frail. You reach out to touch the bandages, and gently squeeze his wrapped index finger.

Just as gently, you reach down and kiss his temple. 

“Wake up, idiot,” you whisper, lips brushing against his clammy skin. “I miss you.”

Your confession feels like a knife you pushed into your own chest. You move quickly, almost run out of the room. Blood gushes, and you hold up a hand, trying to push it back in; the feelings, the words, that kiss.

When he wakes, it takes a moment to feel like he is awake at all. It isn’t until the straw hats leave Thriller Bark that he feels more like himself. Per Luffy, there’s a celebratory dinner. Brooks–someone Zoro was still getting used to–had taken it upon himself to be the night’s entertainment. Fish-Man Island was the next destination and Zoro’s excitement was slowly overtaken by hazy thoughts of you. The more he drank, the more he thought he should finally tell you. The more he watched everyone laugh, eat, sing, drink—the more he thought he should just accept it.

He should accept the pull you had on him. He should accept the command, the order of things; like the moon and tide.

He follows this pull up to the crow’s nest, newly remodeled by Franky. There’s little time for Zoro to admire the modifications. He is too busy trying to find a way to breathe again after the sight of you left him breathless. You’re bent over the telescope, gazing at the sky–he figures maybe the moon, maybe the stars. He’s not sure. All he’s sure of is that his heart might burst if it beats any faster. All he is sure of is that if he doesn’t find a way to silence it, you might hear it past the bones, and flesh entrapping it. 

A fluttering of anxiety fills him with dread. A strange feeling he isn’t familiar with. It feels as if it was imperative he touches you; as if he didn’t, only death would follow, as if he didn’t hold you, the world–his or everyone’s–would end. It was such a dramatic, sickening feeling he wanted to rip his own heart out. If that was the solution, he’d do it but he had a feeling at the pit of his stomach that even that wouldn’t work.

He tries to quiet his breathing, not wanting to disturb you, too mesmerized by the sight of your round and plump ass. There’s fire over his skin, blistering and searing the hairs on his arms. He clears his throat, alerting you to his presence.

You turn around, embarrassed that you didn’t feel him entering the room. It’s a fleeting emotion, quickly overtaken by something much more complicated; heavier, infinitely more deadly. It is sickening, really, how insanely attractive he is. You swallow with difficulty, suddenly annoyed that you didn’t bring a drink with you; anything to whet your appetite if it meant keeping your hands off Zoro.

“Hey,” you say softly, trying to buy time for your mind to kick into gear. The cogs in your brain are sluggish. You blame the alcohol, and not the fire in your belly. You want to tell him you’re glad that he’s awake. You want to tell him how scary it was, but you know he wouldn’t want to hear that. “I’m sorry I drank all your sake while you slept,” you tell him instead, your mouth stretching into a crooked smile. “I figured someone should.”

He scoffs, matching your grin.

“That’s a poor excuse. You’re such a liar,” he tells you, and you take a sharp breath. You’re not sure if he meant it–that you were a liar–or if he just said it in passing. You blame the alcohol for your confusing thoughts, and you blame it again when you don’t notice the way he has quickly breached the distance between you two.

The moon is full and bright, hanging high in the inky night sky. Its light is bright and it shoots through the window, spilling over the floor. Zoro is mesmerized by the way it glistens on your brown skin. You look so small against the window, with your back to the moon, it makes him want to crush you against his chest. His mind is hazy, his tongue heavy. He blames the sake. He blames the sake and the moon. He blames them as his hand reaches out to brush a curl out of your face. He tucks it behind an ear, his eyes memorizing the roundness of your cheek, the shell of your ear. He blames the moonlight on your skin, when he cups your cheek to see if he can trap it there, between your skin and his calluses.

He blames the night sky, the smell of the sea when he reaches down to softly brush his lips against yours.

You can’t breathe when his nose brushes against yours. You still can’t breathe when he pulls back, enough to look down at you. His eyes stare into yours and you still can’t find your breath. You think you’ll die now, by Zoro’s mouth, by his hand on your cheek. Your heart pounding against your frail ribs reminds you that you’re still alive. It is a resounding call to arms. You think you should pick up your weapons, but the fire in his eyes burns your resolve to ash.

His heart is on fire. Zoro knows that is a ridiculous thought. He knows that’s not even correct or possible, but the longer he looks at you, the more he feels it to be true. He hears it in the distance; the sound of war—drums, and screaming, blades scratching against each other, sinew tearing, blood gushing; throbbing in his ears and in his veins. 

The sound echoes in his body, a rush of adrenaline lighting small fires throughout his being. This moment feels infinite, as if he is frozen in time. A want so desperate pools inside him until it ignites. 

He comes tumbling down when he kisses you again. A ravenous mouth open and seeking against yours. His large hands hold your face, as he brushes his tongue against yours with the sole purpose of consuming; conquering. Your tongue is warm and soft, slippery, a sensation he can’t get enough of. He hums when you give in, when you let him suck on it without inhibitions. His breathing is harsh through his nose, and it becomes quicker when you place your hands over his, when you move them down his arms onto his chest.

You grasp on to his shirt, as you return his kisses. His teeth are unforgiving. They bite down on your bottom lip, on the corners of your mouth. He is insistent on discovering everything about it. He runs his tongue against your bottom lip, his forehead pressed against yours. He wonders as he sucks on it, how many times have you bitten down on it, how many words have you swallowed in place to offer lies instead. He’s never told you how often he sees right through you. He sees it even now, as you struggle for control.

“Don’t fight it,” he breathes against your cheek, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Not now. Not tonight.” He kisses your closed eyes; one at a time. He kisses your cheeks, lips blistering hot. You feel him brush his mouth against your jawline. “Don’t think. Not until tomorrow,” he asks you against your neck, trailing kisses down the column of it. You think about this offer, consider rejecting, but when his teeth snags against the soft flesh on the hollow of your neck you forget everything. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he follows your collarbone to one shoulder. He bites down with enough force to make you cry–one that turns into a soft moan.

It is enough. That is the sound that snaps his resolve. He wanted to be gentle. He wanted to make this moment last, as if he would never have it again, but you are something he was never prepared to fight against. When you moaned, with your nails digging into his back he was left with no choice. He had to have you, tonight, at all costs.

His hands are as unforgiving as his mouth. They rip into your clothes, ignoring your protests. The sound of tearing fabric is accompanied by the sound of your gasps. His breathing is harsh against your ears, causing a wetness between your legs you try to take no responsibility over. It is the sight of his chest, wide and thick when he rips his own shirt that makes your mouth water. Your hands reach out immediately, just as you always dreamed of. You run your palms over his muscles, memorizing every dip and sharp angle, as you press your open mouth to his neck. You suck on a spot, determined to leave a mark–any. It was desperation. One that was fed by fear. You feared this moment not lasting. You feared never again touching his skin, kissing him, holding him.

His own desperation was evident by his greedy hands. They way he seized your hips, to press his erection against you. His hands slide over your hips to your ass, and he digs his fingers into the supple flesh. He’s kissing you again, a clash of tongue of teeth; sloppy, and messy, a wetness on your chin he licks up before sucking on the spot. Zoro’s eyes take in the sight of the floor, as you kiss his chest. He moans when you bite down over a nipple, and he pulls on your hair.

“Stop that,” he hisses, pushing you back towards the benches. “Or I’ll fuck you on the floor.” It doesn’t sound unappealing to your ears, so you try to bite his other nipple but he is faster than you. He picks you up by the ass, forcing you to shout in surprise.  Zoro carries you to the bench, and he sits down after placing you back on the ground.

You look down at him, and his naked chest. His pants are still on and you feel extremely exposed. Zoro had, in his efficacy, ripped every single article of clothing you had on. Leaving you naked, and heated. You scoff.

“So you get to keep your pants on?” you ask him, pointing with a frown. Zoro laughs at you, as he reaches into his trousers with one hand. He pulls out his hardened cock, and strokes it gently. There’s a lump in your throat, one with no name, so you swallow it quickly. The sight of his pink tip is enticing. He smears the precum over his slit with his thumb. You think it a shame, and almost tell him so but he’s speaking trying to get your attention. 

“Pay attention,” he tells you with a raised brow, his hand settled now at the base of his cock. You raise a brow to match his. Zoro smiles, and pats his lap with his free hand. “Come here,” he commands you to move towards him, heart hammering away at the prospect. You had thought of this moment before. You had no shame admitting it now. You had thought often of how it would feel to have Zoro inside you, so deep you could feel like dying. It seems Zoro had other plans when you approach him as he spins you around by the hips. “This way. Your back to me.”

You swallow and sit on his lap, feeling his cock pressed against your ass. He kisses your shoulder, your neck as his hands roam over your thighs. There’s a slick coating your folds. You’re more aware of it the more he touches your skin. His breath is hot against your ear when he speaks again: “I’m going to spread your legs,” he tells you, and follows through quickly on his statement, spreading them by grabbing your thighs. You gasp, cool air touching your heated core. Zoro runs his tongue along the shell of your ear. He nips the top of it, teeth sharp and digging hard enough to leave an imprint. You feel yourself getting wetter. 

“You’re wet,” he breathes out–a heated whisper, almost trembling. His fingers rifle through your folds, slickness covering his fingertips. Zoro presses his mouth against your ear, his eyes closing at the pleasure. It feels so silky and soft in his fingers. He craves more. “I’m going to make you cum,” he tells you, slipping one finger in slowly, one knuckle at a time. “I’m going to make you cum over and over again. I want to touch you everywhere, deep inside.” He slips in another finger when you moan, curving them in search of that spongy spot. His desire builds the wetter you get, the more you moan and whimper in his hold. His cock is hard, and it leaks again against your back. You feel it there sticking to your skin. “I want you,” he growls against your shoulder, as he picks up the pace, scissoring his fingers inside your squelching pussy. “I want you so badly. This isn’t enough.” His teeth sink into the soft flesh of your shoulder. You cry out, as he clamps down harder, leaving a mark on your skin. He kisses the blooming bruise, hand moving desperately as you clench around his fingers. The soft pad of his palm beats against your clit, his calluses eliciting a pleasure you never knew could be possible every time they brush over your sensitive nub.

He leans over you, his broad chest making you feel vulnerable and small. Your thighs are aching as he continues to push his fingers in and out of you. “Maybe another one,” he grunts in between pants, peering over your shoulder. He watches himself insert a third finger into your soaking pussy. You cry out, at the sensation of being stretched. He is watching himself work, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Sweat clings to his temple, and runs down his cheek. You’re doing your best to hold back, the fear of being heard keeps you from giving in entirely but the sight of him so enthralled with the way he’s beating into your pussy makes you want to fold. “Do you like it?” he asks you, panting against your ear. You whimper and bite down on your lip, almost drawing blood. “You’re so wet and so tight. I think you do,” he insists, licking your ear, and sucking on your earlobe quickly after. “But why are you holding back?” His mouth is flushed against your ear, his breath humid. “Are you scared they’ll hear you?” 

Zoro chuckles lightly against your ear, picking up speed until it becomes a brutalizing pace. The sounds in crow’s nests are lewd enough to make you blush. You hear the wet sound of your pussy, the way you keep whimpering and gasping. Your body is shaking. 

“Come on, babe,” he asks you in almost a whine. You gasp, and moan, surprised at the visceral reaction your body had to the sound of his soft voice. “Let me hear you. The real you. Or do I have to fuck you harder?”

The moon continues to hang high in the sky as he works his fingers inside you. Its beams scatter in the room, casting shadows over the side of your face, and over your breasts. He wishes he could see more than he does. He wishes he could memorize the sight of you, falling apart to his touch, and never forget it. The scent of your shampoo haunts him, so he scissors his fingers inside you in a desperate attempt to even the odds. 

He kneads one breast with his free hand, squeezing its nipple between index and thumb. When you cry out, he gasps loudly against your ear, surprised at how much that turned him on. He wants to hear it again, again, and again; so he repeats the motion, twisting and pulling until you’re moaning and whimpering in his embrace. Your skin looks so soft under the moonlight. He brushes his lips over your neck and shoulders trying to taste you. It isn’t enough so he tries again, chasing the essence that makes you who you are. He nips at the flesh of your back as you bend over, a particular strong jolt of pleasure forcing your tummy to contract. No matter how many times he digs his teeth into your skin, until you’re covered in crescent shaped marks, he can’t seem to get his fill of you. You feel so good around his fingers, your arousal dripping down his wrist and his forearm.

Your orgasm catches him unaware, and he slows down his fingers, surprised at the loudness of your voice. He finds himself laughing against the hair above your ear, pleasure making him shiver. His fingers slow down slightly before he pulls them out entirely. “About time,” he whispers before he has you flip over to face him. He adjusts you on his lap, until you’re grinding your soaked pussy on his cock. “But we’re not done. I need more.” He brings your face to him, a hand on the back of your neck. The kiss is forced, mouth pressed tightly against yours. You whimper softly under its weight. Whatever tenderness that kiss held evaporates when his attention moves downwards to your breasts. 

He sucks on your breasts, as he grips your hips. His fingers hold you so tightly you’re compelled to move them against his length. He leaves bites over the swell of your breasts, and the fire inside you continues to burn. You had stopped trying to hold it in, your moans cast into the shield of darkness like stars on the inky sky. Zoro seizes them with his mouth, teeth bearing down on them. He pins them to his body like decoration and seizes to find more, conquer another every time he nips at your sensitive nipples. You hold on to Zoro, desperation forcing you to dig your nails into his back. Every time he kisses your breasts you feel like melting, disappearing into the heat of his mouth. 

Your hands reach out to his face, trembling. Your hips move still, the heat of Zoro’s hands keeping them steady. His eyes on your face send a shiver down your spine. Your breath feels so out of reach, as if you’ll never catch up to it, to place it back in your lungs. You trace over the angle of his cheekbones, try to memorize the sharpness of his jawline by going over it with one index finger. Although pleasure continues to build, you’re distracted by the sight of his ears. His earrings trap the light of the moon, and they blink repeatedly, little stars hanging from his earlobe; a mesmerizing sight that makes you want to make a wish. If you wished with all your heart, would it come true? If you wished for a dream, would it be fulfilled?

Your breath hitches, eyes glued to his swinging earrings. Their beautiful golden color is made all the more striking against his tanned skin. You touch them, fingers playing with them. Zoro takes your hand and kisses the inside of your wrist, the pool of your palm. He moves your hand to his chest, and presses it there. The feel of his heartbeat steals your breath. You gulp, trying to shake the dizziness, but Zoro is kissing you, taking your bottom lip into his mouth gently. You hold his face between your hands when he pulls away, feeling like you’re holding on to water. His hands are back on your hips. He lifts you up, as the fingers of one hand drifts to his earrings again. You brush your fingers against them, and they make a soft tinkling sound–a quick little song–as he buries his cock inside you.

It is better than you could have ever imagined. He fills you in an instant, provoking moan after moan to flood your mouth. Soft, and steady, you tell yourself, pressing your forehead against his. He lets you lead at first, his fingers tapping repeatedly against your hips. He’s counting, for who knows what, timing an entrance. 

Zoro thinks he's finally lost his damn mind. He was determined to savor this moment—like an expensive whiskey, consumed in small sips, swirled around the tongue before swallowing, but you’re so wet, your arousal coats his belly, and sinks into his pants. You’re hot inside, fiery, and smooth. Every swirl of your hips reminds him of how desperately he wants to ram into you, again and again. He thinks about you clenching around his fingers as you moan against his mouth. He sets his jaw, trying to tighten his grip around his willpower but your pussy is even tighter. His breathing is ragged, he shakes his head, trying to cast off the sudden heat in his eyes making him see red. 

But he can’t help it. He can’t fight it any longer.

“Okay,” he says against your neck as you continue to bounce on his cock at a slow pace. His hands are on your hips, they grip tighter. It should have been your warning but you’re so caught up in the feel of him, eyes shut as your face is turned to the ceiling, that you don’t realize what’s happening. “I’m sorry but I need to do it my way now.” He holds you still, and starts thrusting up into your pussy at a maddening speed. You cry out at the sudden change of pace, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. He hisses, but he doesn’t let up, selfishly chasing the high of your tight pussy. 

“Oh my God,” you cry out, eyes shut tightly, as pleasure courses through your body. 

Zoro laughs against your pulse. He sucks on it even as laughter rumbles in his chest. When he comes up for air he asks you: “Who’s that? Don’t know him.”

You laugh but it turns shrill, morphing into a cry of pleasure. Zoro feels you clench around him, faster and faster. He moans, and bites your chin. He picks up the speed, angles his hips with his eyes on your face, determined not to miss a single thing. When you cum, fall apart around him, he watches you with his mouth open–barely staving off his own orgasm. You fall into him, and he holds you, your body twitching in his embrace.

“No,” he says, pushing your back on the bench. You look up, eyes fluttering close, your body feeling heavy and sore. “A little bit more. I need just a bit more.” You shake your head, weakly pressing a hand to his chest. Zoro takes your hand, wraps the arm attached to it around his neck. “Don’t act weak with me. I know how strong you are. So just take it. You can take it.” He takes one of your legs and places it on top of the backrest of the benches, your ankle bumping into the wall. Zoro stares down at you, and you’re caught again–by the heat of his gaze. Dark green lashes fluttering under the moonlight, his swinging earrings blinking at you, his mouth parted, a flush on his cheeks. It all looks so divine, you think this a sight belonging to the gates of Heaven. You think you’re close to dying.

And death comes calling when he enters you again. You have nothing left inside you to fight it. You moan time and time again, with every brutish slam of his hips against yours. His balls sound loud and impossibly perverse every time they slap against your ass. There are bruises forming, you’re sure, but you don’t care. You hold on to him, wrap your arms tightly around him but he pushes you down, determined to watch your expression. You cling to his hips instead, the ones that keep pummeling into you, harshly, his cock ramming into your puffy and overstimulated pussy. He thinks the sight of your face, twisted in a mixture of pain and pleasure is the sharpest knife he has ever been cut open by.

Zoro staves off a cry of pleasure by diving in for a kiss, desperately sucking your tongue into his mouth. He kisses the corner of your mouth. From his mouth, he hears stupid promises but his mind can’t believe it even through the haze of lust. He tries to take them back but he whispers into your ear again, soft and sweet things he wouldn’t dare speak in the light of the sun. You know he’s only saying this because he is not thinking straight, because like you, he is consumed by this burning lust. You know when a new moon comes, when this has waxed and waned, that he would forget the words uttered in a moment of madness. 

He loves the way you feel, the way it’s so easy to kiss you. He loves the way your voice catches on his skin, slipping into the little cracks to stay forever. He hates it too. Hates how he thinks he’ll carry you always. Even in the light. Even in the dark. He thinks he should take it all back, the kisses, the words. He thinks this even buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around his length again. He thinks this even as he gasps and moans, cuming with you. 

His body shudders as he spills inside you. You feel it start to ooze out of you, but you ignore it, just like you ignore the sudden flush of your face. 

Zoro crumples over you, and covers you in kisses. Your hands are shaking as you seize his shoulders, trying to find the sense to speak about what just happened but he is gone the moment you grasp him. There are towels nearby, and he drapes one between your legs. He lowers himself over you, trapping your body between his arms. His mouth is still relentless, kissing your bruised lips over and over again. You see the moon caught in his earrings again, and you reach out for it.

Someone once told you, a dream was a wish you made on a star. Your fingers dance along his earrings. The gold blinks back at you–twinkling stars hanging from his ear. You wish, on all three, for the same dream. 

You wish that maybe when the new moon comes, the pull it had on you two would bring you together time and time again.

[queserasora]

ACE X CHUBBY FEM!READER | NSFW, Soft Smut ™, Slow Burn Babeyyy WORD COUNT: 9k CONTENT WARNING: alcohol consumption (because I am sora and I am a grown woman who likes to write about alcohol), profanity (not a lot but enough), angst galore, a sprinkle of fluff because it’s cute decorations, unprotected sex (when will they learn???), groping, sloppy kisses because ace is passionate and means well but he is also eager, that being said oral female receiving with some sloppy head, nipple play, plenty of ass grabbing, biting, ace talks way too much for his own good, he is silly and just says things, and it might be embarrassing but that’s just how he is, you know i love my repeating themes so if you hate that please stay away!!, is a hurricane/storm a warning? then yes, i guess dangerous time to be partying and having sex but these are pirates, handjob, what else?, oh jealous ace is amazing, also flirty marco because i love marco sue me A SUMMARY:Ace comes aboard the Moby Dick, fire in his fists, fire in his eyes. Y/N wants to know his reason for fighting, but curiosity is a beast of a burden, and when feelings get swept up in the heat of his storm, Ace has to make a choice between reason and his heart.

I -  A Disturbance  : Wind & Fire

You were born in summer heat. Your mother’s arms welcomed you into her world, sticky with sweat but full to the brim with love. Her plush lips against your temple, baptize you with a kiss. You grow, not like a palm tree all spindly trunk and leafy green top, but like a wild hibiscus tree; small and closely rooted to the ground with bushy branches covered in small leaves reaching out to the horizon. Like the Hibiscus, you dance in the wind, laughter trailing behind you. In your hair, its red flower entangles in curls. The sparkling water of the beach is always warm when you swim it. Your mother grows weary of warning you about the currents, and the treacherous waves. Eventually she gives up, names you her little mermaid, and braids beads into your hair that sparkle in the sun. Despite your mother’s warnings you always find yourself there, at the cliff by the sea.

He is born in secret. He’s born because there’s nothing left. A mother’s dying wish whispered into the soft spot on his head, to a dark curl who can’t remember the words. In time, he runs as fast as his legs can carry him, through forests, creeks and mud. On the creak of the branches under his feet he tries to find that elusive promise; words he had sworn he never heard but somehow left a gaping hole. Sometimes he thinks he hears them in the howling wind. Sometimes he only feels it on the heat of his skin, when the sun is blistering hot above him. Heart torn in two, he always finds himself there, on a cliff looking out at the sea.

Like a Siren, it calls to them. On the horizon, the sun blinks as it sinks under the water, a fading beacon. The wind whips around their shoulders, tussling their hair with heated fingers. In their ears it whispers: come find me, I’ve been waiting.

You leave to the sea, as your mother always feared. She’s inconsolable at the dock. You laugh to keep from crying, and wipe away her tears with the back of a small hand. She makes you promise to look out for yourself. Don’t dive into the sea, she warns you with furrowed brows. Don’t be impulsive. Don’t head straight into storms. They forgive no one. You brush her worries aside with a kiss on her temple, before you bolt aboard the ship.

Several adventures later, you’re aboard the Whitebeard Pirates ship. You offer your knowledge and skills in medicine; pair it with a big bright smile and hope for the best. Lady Luck favors you, beckons you with curling fingers. Another nurse is just what their ship needed—at least for now. Marco takes good care of you. He is patient, and kind. He is also easy on the eyes. It doesn’t take long before you’re being saddled with responsibilities.

You try your best, thinking your experience in wound care is your strongest skill among a ship of pirates. You did not share their strength, and undying courage but you did have wit, and you have a sharp tongue. You wielded them when necessary, the edge of your words a sharp scalpel. If you throw your words out fast enough, hard enough to kick up some dust they might not call you on your bluff. Compared to them, you couldn’t help but feel like a soothing passing wind; barely noticed before you were gone, no impact, no trace left behind.

His entrance is violent, and eruptive. His presence disturbs the way of things, sending invisible critters scattering to seek refuge. You think you feel suffocating heat when you first see him. Portgas D. Ace is a forest fire at full flame, determined to devour everything, before you even noticed a spark. His eyes incinerate everything he glares at, thick brows furrowed together for so long you fear they are glued that way. Where his crew seemed agreeable even, accepting of their fates, he grew more restless by the day. You had to admire his tenacity. The sheer force of destruction his willpower possessed was alluring; dangerously seductive.

When he tries to take Whitebeard down for the 11th time, Marco is sick of it, and delegates you to the task. You swallow thickly, avoiding his gaze. You think Ace must not be a man of many words, as conversation is clipped and forced. It was just as well. The task was distracting enough. You try to remind yourself to keep your fingers moving as they brush over his skin when you apply antiseptic to gashes on his chest. He hisses, forcing your eyes up and away from the freckles you had been counting. His eye are dark pools that pull you into their depths, so deep you think they’re bottomless. In your mind, your mother’s warning echoes.

Don’t dive into the sea.

You blink, and look away, feeling heat spread across your cheek; splotches of shame kept in secret. You try to focus instead, on the gauze on your hand, the warmth of his body under your fingers when you press it against his open wounds. You look up through your lashes when you apply pressure, wondering if a day would come when he didn’t seem so closed off—so intriguingly unavailable. His jaw is set, teeth clenched so tightly all the time, you had half a mind to inspect his molars for cracks. His eyes flicker towards you and you pretend to inspect the bruise on his temple. You press a tentative finger against it, wondering if you could dip your fingertips into his thoughts that way. When he flinches, you move back to the gauze, wrap his wounds with soft bandage.

Your hands on his chest, you feel heat radiate from him, feel his heart beating steadily underneath. A heart never lied, each beat a tell tale sign. You try to listen closely to each secret told in a pulse against your palm.

Don’t be impulsive.

You were never good at listening to your mother. Your mouth was quicker than your mind; traitorous and vile.

“Why do you keep fighting, if you can’t win?” you ask him, slapping the bandages for good measure; assuring they stick, and assuring your message goes through. Ace flinches, and reaches for your wrist. His grip is strong, thick fingers wrapping around the width of your wrist. For a fleeting moment, you know you should fear him. You have seen what he’s capable of, but the heat from his hand melts away all preconceived notions.

“Sometimes,” he says blinking down at you. His brows are furrowed together—they always are. You see his adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows. His thumb brushes once against the inside of your wrist. You think you hear a call—someone shouting from the sea. “Sometimes, you fight anyway. If it means protecting people you care about.” He lets you go, and you instinctively pull back, bringing your arm to your chest. He watches you fuss over your wrist momentarily before closing his eyes. He looks pained, and before you can offer him painkillers he’s speaking again: “Maybe it’s all I know how to do.”

II –  The Depression  : A Flickering Flame

He didn’t mind at first, but now it felt like he shouldn’t be there.

He shouldn’t be sitting on the edge of the thin mattress of the nurses station. He shouldn’t stand still when your short fingers tentatively palpated his injuries. He shouldn’t watch you, like a seagull over water, searching—praying, as your teeth sank into the plushness of your bottom lip.

There was so much he should and shouldn’t do, he no longer could keep it together. Ignoring you seemed like the right decision. It should have been easy. You were the enemy, if he wanted to be fastidious about it. A member of the Whitebeards Pirate was just someone else standing in the way of his goal. Most of all, his pride couldn’t stand it. It couldn’t stand the disappointed look in your dark eyes, and the way your mouth would twist into a little smirk when he would walk in. It couldn’t stand the way you would immediately retract from him at the slightest hint of discomfort, how you would look at him like he was a wounded bird, wings teared at the joints, unable to fly again, sentenced to death.

It was pride that kept his mouth sealed shut. It was pride that stapled his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He wished pride would leave him blind instead. He wished to not notice how soft your hands are, how small and cute your hands were against his chest. He wished to not notice how he becomes disgustingly interested in your short chubby fingers, and wonders what kind of reaction he’d get if he could nibble on one or two. He wished to not notice how obsessive his thoughts are over the appearance of your skin; golden, and glowing on the apples of your cheek—how soft they looked. He wished he didn’t think about it at night, when darkness wrapped her arms around him tightly. He wished he didn’t think about your lashes, the look you give him through them that fills his mind with smoke.

Racing thoughts, and a racing mind. It took everything in him to keep them quiet. Your voice is soft when you speak, and his lips part, a beating heart trying to scream but no sound comes out. His cheeks feel hot, and he swallows awkward conversation prompts down. He chooses, instead, to fix his thoughts on something else, something more urgent: like how to defeat Whitebeard.

He simply couldn’t afford to dawdle with you. Ace never thought twice on taking on a challenge, but you were a chasm he couldn’t bring himself to jump across. If he missed, the fall could be deadly. He blinks when you speak again, your eyes fixated on his face. Ace quirks his left brow, and thinks he’s offended you. He wants to speak quickly, heart beating against the sinew and bone keeping it prisoner, but the words tangle in his throat.

The door creaks open, and Marco walks in. You look away from Ace and smile at Marco, before forcing two round white pills into the crook of Ace’s palm.

“Make sure you take those,” you tell him, as you force his fist closed. “You hit your head pretty good.” You reach up to rap your knuckles against the side of Ace’s head lightly. “Gotta try to save whatever brain cell’s are left fighting for their lives in there.”

Marco laughs as you stand up. Ace hears you chuckling lightly, as it grows into laughter. He takes a sharp breath through an open mouth, watches you as you turn to look at him over a shoulder.

He wishes pride would hurry the fuck up and blind him. He wishes it so bad, he crushes the pills in his fist into dust.

The sight of your ass stretching the nurse’s uniform fills him with a heat he’s not very familiar with. It settles at the pit of his stomach, and he stares at the door even after you leave. It isn’t until Marco speaks that he brings himself back to the present.

“Why don’t you join, Ace?” Marco asks, as he settles on the stool you were sitting on moments prior. Ace frowns down at it, annoyed at his thoughts—he wondered if it was still warm, and he hated that Marco would know the answer. “You know, it’s not a bad deal. He treats us like his sons. We’re all a little lost out here, kid. You don’t have to be alone.”

Ace scoffs, mouth twisted into a crooked smile. He tilts his head as he watches Marco, trying to swallow the bitterness in the back of his mouth. His heart lurches, and he shuts his eyes. If he closes them tightly enough, perhaps the hopeless dream will go away. He never had a father figure, and never needed one. It was a lie he recited at night; a prayer to a faceless God.

“I don’t need a father,” he mumbles at last, picking at a string on one leg of his shorts. Marco laughs. Ace looks up, frown back in place.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Marco agrees, reaching up to rub the back of his head. “But why don’t you try? What do you got to lose? It’s not like you have any manners.” Ace begins to protest but Marco’s laughter caught him off again. “And you might learn how to properly talk to a lady.”

Ace thinks his head might start catching fire. He pats his hair quickly.

“I don’t need any help with that!” he says loudly, an elbow digging into a thigh as he leans forward to scowl at Marco.

“Oh, yeah?” Marco says trying to keep his laughter at bay. His smile is crooked, and insufferable. “Is that why you looked like a fish gaping for air when I walked in? Very convincing.”

Just when Ace thinks there is no way he could be more embarrassed, he feels his blush deepening, freckles almost obfuscated. He promises Marco to think about it, and he does his best, but thoughts of you plague him afterward. Your laughter that carried in the wind to him, the way it felt like it sank into his scars, the way it burned and made new ones in return.

III –  A Simmering Storm

The needle on his back, sinks into his skin time and time again, embedding ink to stay forever. It is liberating, in a sense, marking himself with a brand of his own choosing. So much unlike the one stamped upon him at the time of his birth; the son of a monster, a nuisance, someone not worthy of the space they took up in the world. No longer did he have to search for reason, or an excuse. Ace could simply be, and he welcomed his newfound drop of happiness with a toothy grin.

A celebration at him joining the ranks, and being able to be commander of the second division seemed a bit over the top but he liked merriment—and the food and alcohol was too enticing. The darkening clouds in the distance threatened to dampen his mood, and the crowd on the deck of Moby Dick. Murmurs spread the word of an oncoming storm but nobody seems particularly worried. The only thing on their mind is how fast they could drink and eat before they got rained out.

The only thing on your mind was the blooming ache in your chest. You try to soothe it with a hand, smearing your palm against your voluminous chest. The crop top is soft under your skin. You try to memorize this, instead of the radiant smile on Ace’s face. He had never seemed so undoubtedly happy as he did now. A different feeling settled between your ribs, a pang so bitter it causes you to hiss. Jealousy was a monster you squashed down with angry fists every time you saw one of the nurses place a hand on Ace’s bicep. You never thought you would have to beat it down into submission while picturing the face of your own captain.

You’re happy for him, truly. You mutter to yourself, over and over, drink after drink. You’re elated, even, that he has finally come to accept the bright side of things. You’re happy that he has been given a position that you feel is well earned, one that you hope he can excel at.

You’re happy for him. You really are.

You’re so fucking happy it hurts to breathe. You force another deep breath into your lungs, the air is humid and the scent of rain floods your senses. You blink back the wetness in your eyes, and when Marco asks if you are okay you blame pollen. Marco tilts his head, but chooses not to pursue the subject. Instead, he swaps your empty cup with his. You barely notice. You’re too busy thinking about where the sea will take Ace next.

Something in your chest seizes—panic, or fear. It rises like heat from the ground, a crackling electricity flying up through the stale air that keeps you trapped on the ground. You try not to move too much, you fear jostling your thoughts, fear that if they move too much—touch a certain way, sparks would fly, singing you to a crisp; charred and useless.

He is happy, truly.

It wasn’t something he could have ever dreamed of or imagined. He smiles as people congratulate him. Alcohol tastes sweet on his heavy tongue. He barely tastes his food as he pummels it into his mouth. He pictures what it would be like, sailing away from this ship, to complete tasks he would be responsible for. He pictures what it would be like to tend to his own wounds, what it would be like to sit at whatever island he found, and not hear your laugh.

He is happy. He really is.

He’s so fucking happy, he thinks he feels sick. It’s not anxiety. Ace could never admit that. Anxiety over what? He did not fear death. He never had a good reason for living anyway. You could only fear death if you were bound to the living. Then what was binding him to this ship? It felt like a vortex, a cone ensnaring him and trapping him to his spot; a gust of wind that kept bringing him back to you, no matter how many times he moved around this damned ship.

He tries moving again, taking his mug of beer with him. You bump into him with your ass against his. He turns around, ready to pick a fight but sees your heated cheeks instead. You mumble an apology that he laughs off. His hand moves before he controls it, and he ruffles your hair—something he knows you loathe.

“I’m not a puppy,” you hiss, pursing your lips. Ace drinks quickly from his mug, to refrain from sighing.

“Then why do you look like one?” he asks you, and leaves through the crowd. You lose track of him quickly, and decide to stomp around on the spot. It was easier than to think about the way he had looked at you, and how it had set your face on fire.

You do your best to mingle. You notice he does the same, but you’re never far from each other. It feels comical in a strangely annoyingly tragic way. When you squeeze between Thatch and Izou to refill your cup, your hand brushes against something warm. You follow the hand to see Ace’s tattooed bicep. When your eyes meet, thunder splits the sky. You move quickly, wordlessly, determined not to see his face against for the rest of the night.

The sea has other plans. The ship begins to move more than usual, and your legs still not quite so strong, threaten to have you rolling over. You blame the alcohol of course, when you land on Izou’s back. He steadies you with a tight smile as you giggle, and spins you in place trying to send you in the opposite direction but your eyes meet Ace’s again. The ship lurches, and you stumble forward. His body is warm, and inviting, you giggle at the ridiculous situation—as people continue to bump into each other mid-party. You try to move again, but your legs betray you. His arms hold you up, and brings you closer to him. Your body is soft against his, plush and delightful. You look up at him with a tiny small, eyes hazy from the alcohol, and Ace swears he hears the sky split open.

You’re on your way again before he can say anything else. It was probably for the best. He loses track of how much he drinks. He could still feel his face, could still keep track of his thoughts—filled to the brim with you, and concludes he clearly hasn’t drunk enough. He holds on to this as he grips the railing so tight, it cracks under his fingers at the sight of you with Marco.

Marco was so kind, and so friendly. His hands were soft around your waist. You know it was shameful, to giggle at all his silly little jokes, but the alcohol has you feeling weightless—for once. You almost don’t feel the wind against your cheeks, you don’t feel it whipping your hair around. You let Marco pull you closer, his hand pressed against the small of your back. It was better this way. It was better Marco than a ship sailing to a destination unknown.

He drops the mug of beer. It splashes on the deck, and he feels liquid splash against his knee. Ace clenches a fist as he moves, fire erupting from his knuckles before it swallows his hand whole. Drops from the sky grow heavier. They sizzle as they reach his wrist, little wispy vapor rising from the flames like warning flags. Ace breathes through his nose and wills himself to smother the flames. They die out by the time he reaches you, but there’s a fire in his chest, flames behind his eyes he can’t control.

The sight of Marco’s hand very comfortable in the small of your back almost threatens to set him on fire again. Marco’s mouth is so close to your ear, Ace thinks he must smell the lotion off your skin the same way he smelled it off you so many times before; the one that always drove him mad, who forced him to imagine tropical islands, to dream of coconuts and beaches, of you and sandy dunes. Your smile takes his breath away, and when he sees it’s aimed at Marco it fills his lungs with lead instead. Your lashes flutter, and Ace sees a drop of water fall and cling to the apple of one your cheeks. He follows its path until it rolls off from your jaw.

As the last rays of light glints on the surface of it, a spark goes off.

His hand is around your wrist. Marco moves away slightly, only pulling away to look at Ace with a quizzical expression. His smile is frozen in place as he tries to assess the situation. He laughs, and naturally Ace feels like he should punch him in the mouth for it. Marco looks over to you, to pull a response from you when he begins to talk but your eyes are nowhere near on him. You are too focused on Ace’s face instead.

You zone in on the arch of his left eyebrow, the narrowing of his dark eyes, the slight curl of his top lip. Rain starts pouring down. You watch rivulets of water streak down the side of his face. You try to breathe as he watches you, try not to think about his fingers wrapped around your wrist but you can’t stop yourself from wanting to know. You want to know what it means. You want to decipher that look in his eyes, the dark clouds forming, the way you think you see lightning.

Your mother’s words ring one more time. Don’t head straight into storms.

A gust sweeps you off your feet, a dream so airy and full of promises you think you can fall forever if it meant he’d look at you this way for another breath, and another.

IV –  The Hurricane

It wasn’t enough.

He could consume every drop of alcohol aboard the Moby Dick, pour into his mouth ounce after ounce like his life depended on it, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

There’s nothing, not a sobering thought, not the lightning in the sky, not the dark clouds in the distance, that could free him from the hold you have on him. Your eyes are so big and round you remind him of the softness he hated in himself, the same he tried to strangle with his own hands. In you, it only made him want to kiss you. Right there. Right now. Ace swallows down the last of his apprehensions. He tightens his grip around your wrist, and thinks everyone and everything could go to hell and stay there. If he caused a scene by dragging you away, he simply did not care.

Nature had other plans. The wind picks up, the sea fights back. Waves rise, and rock the Moby Dick—a feat that’s not as easy as it sounds. Marco gives you one last look before he scrambles away, shouting orders to the crew. They desperately climb to close the sails, but you can’t finish watching them work. Ace drags you away from the deck, down a path you’re ashamed to be familiar with.

In his room, he finally lets you go and you stumble forward with momentum. You hear the door close, and a lock click. You spin around belatedly, trying to keep your arms from swinging too much and losing your balance to see Ace’s back pressed against the door.

He watches you from where he stood, hair soaked through. His raven curls are slicked against his forehead, so he runs a large hand through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face. He can’t be bothered to find his hair a nuisance. Not when you’re standing in front of him, wet from head to toe. You’re out of your nurses’ uniform, something he is not used to seeing. Your hair is lose and partially wet, wavy tendrils sticking to your cheeks and shoulders. Your round face looks precious, he swallows as he fights the urge to cradle it in his hands. Your wide eyed expression forces a chuckle out of him, one he tries to hide on the back of one hand.

He notices belatedly, and with a little remorse, the slight blue tint on your bottom lip and the redness on your cheeks. Your eyes are hazy, heavy lidded, and he tilts his head at you, dopey smile on his face.

“You were having fun,” he mentions, eyes trailing away from your cheeks to your torso, the dips on your sides that make your waist. The soft rolls that settle there make him want to touch you. He raps his knuckles on the door behind him instead, fingers tapping without rhythm; anything, and everything to keep himself controlled, especially at the sight of your wide hips, the thickness of your thighs.

“Yeah, I was actually,” you finally find your voice to speak. You swallow with difficulty, slapping a hand against a thigh, over your wet jeans. “Anyway,” you mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose. You should stay focused. You do your best, but the sight of Ace’s bare chest reminds you of how warm he is and how frigid your fingers currently are. You’d love to warm them up right now, skim them over his toned abs. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” he asks you quietly.

“Drag me here. Can’t you see?” you start, licking your lips, feeling very very parched when you follow the small trail of hair beginning at the bottom of Ace’s belly button, and disappearing underneath his shorts. “I have working legs!” You make a show of lifting each one, one at a time, and pointing obnoxiously. “See? Perfectly healthy.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, pushing away from the door. He walks slowly towards you, steps hesitant and careful. His eyes roam over your body. You watch him drag his gaze from the top of your head, to your feet, and back up again at an excruciatingly slow pace. Your heart accelerates, and it thunders in your ears. “You’re perfectly healthy,” his voices comes in softer now that he’s standing in front of you. “I can see that.” Ace hands wrap around the roundness of your shoulders. He slides them down slowly from the short sleeves of your crop top, thick callused fingers skimming along the back of your plush and soft biceps. Your skin is soft, tantalizing. It feels as if he shouldn’t touch you. It feels sinful, something he has no privilege to but he continues anyway, down to your wrists until his fingers grip yours gently. Ace tightens his hold on your hands and pulls you closer to him.

He wraps your arms around his waist. You don’t fight him. You move; a leaf carried in the wind. Your fingers grip around his belt loops, as he dips his face to the crook of your neck. His hot breath fans against your skin, when he drops the softest kiss—his lips, or the wind, you’re not sure. He nuzzles the exposed skin, using his nose to move the neckline of your crop top as much as he can to drop more soft kisses. You’re colder than he expected, so he holds you tighter, until your softness fills all his hard edges and gaps. Your curves are a pleasant surprise. He had expected some of it from the way you filled the skirt of your uniform but seeing you out of it had been a vision he shouldn’t be worthy of.

He shouldn’t be worthy of any of it. He shouldn’t enjoy the way your hips feel under his hands, but he still runs them over them up and down, over and over again. He shouldn’t enjoy their width, the way the flesh caves under his grip, how his fingers dig deep and it still isn’t enough to touch all of you. He shouldn’t enjoy the way your skin feels so impossibly soft against his lips, as if it melts under his heat; snow under a sunny sky. He shouldn’t enjoy the scent of your skin, the scent of your lotion that brings him to the brink of madness. He shouldn’t enjoy the way you sigh his name when he sucks on your pulse, and grabs your ass. He shouldn’t tell you the way he thinks no matter how much alcohol swims in his veins. He shouldn’t tell you the way he feels, but words bubble up his throat and out his mouth—a freshwater brook whose source he can’t define.

“You feel so good,” he moans against your ear, when he pushes his hips forward. Your eyes flutter at the feel of his erection against the softness of your belly. “I love touching you, Mermaid.” The nickname usually bothers you; given in passing because you loved swimming in the sea despite the dangers, but from his lips it feels like a spoken song; a poem only for you. “You smell so good,” he licks the shell of your ear, bites on the sensitive cartilage on top. You gasp, and dig your nails into his back, desperately holding on to whatever was left of your self preservation. “Do you know how sick I was?” He thinks he should punish you, and so he does, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck. You yelp, and slap his back but it doesn’t deter him. He smiles against your skin, licks the blooming bruise with a flat and sloppy tongue. “When Marco’s hands were all over you. I thought I was going to burn. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand a second of it.”

His words sound desperate. You try to stay present by drawings circles on his back with your fingertips. The storm screams outside the room. You hear the wind pick up its shrill song, tinny and distant. Water pelts against the small circular window on the door, a drumming sound that soon grows deafening.

“Ace,” you try to interrupt his rambling, but his hands are tangled in your hair. His lips brush against your temple, before he speaks against your head.

“I felt sick watching you. It felt like I was in pain,” he groans into your hair. His hips press against you again. You bite down on your lip hard enough to inflict pain. You rub circles on his back, and force yourself to focus once more. His words come in belatedly, sound traveling a long distance in the air. You press your small hands against his chest.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask him, brows furrowing together. Leave it to Ace, to be injured in a moment like this. You shake your head, not sure to trust yourself or his words. You should have drank less. You should have stayed away from Ace. You should have left with Marco instead. Ace presses his forehead against yours. His breath tickles your nose. He moves his hand over yours. His fingers clutches your hand, and warmth seeps from him to you. You feel it sink it, seep into the rest of your arm and down to your elbow leaving a tingling sensation.

“Here,” he breathes out in a whisper. He squeezes your hand, presses it closer to his chest. “In here.” He pats your hand once, and again, repeatedly in a rhythm that matches his heart beating under your palm. Ace moves slowly, and gently brushes his nose against yours. His heart beats faster under your hand. Your eyes are tethered to his mouth. You can’t look away from the sight of his lips parting, as if he couldn’t catch his breath. You feel your mouth do the same, feel the air in your lungs run out; breathing is not enough, nothing is enough. His head tilts, and you follow his lead; reflections on still water.

“Idiot,” you finally whisper, a breathy laugh bouncing away from your mouth. He feels it reach his lips, and he swallows it whole in his mouth. “You mean your heart?”

“Yeah,” he admits fighting a smile, his lips brushing against yours. “My heart.”

You should laugh it off. You shouldn’t take him seriously. A drunken confession would be forgotten the moment the sun rose again but there is a screaming in the back of her mind—distant and ancient like Sirens on rocky shores. The storm grows louder outside. You had always thought you were a serene passing wind, something to soothe and lick old wounds better; something to be forgotten once you left, but the heat of Ace’s breath against your mouth, spun around you in circles. It transformed you into something bigger than you thought you could be. You wanted to be bigger. You wanted to be something destructive, something that would tear him from limb to limb, leave him with the wreckage of your path so he could have something to remember you by when he was gone.

You reach out, hands seeking a target. You clasp his face as you smash your mouth against his. He hums into the kiss. It’s clumsy and forceful. You leave him no room to push back, no gap to slip his tongue past your defenses. It isn’t until he is grabbing fistfuls of your ass to pull you closer to him, to rub his bulge against your belly once more that you concede. You gasp, and it’s the only weakness he needs to exploit. His tongue strokes against yours, hunger forcing him to be overzealous. He is sloppy, and imprecise, kisses so wet saliva coats your lips, making them shiny under the yellow sconce’s lights of the room. Ace knows he should slow down, show a little finesse but your ass feels divine in his hands. He had been watching it the whole time during the party, watched you saunter back and forth, hips swaying; teasing him.

He moves against you, and you step backwards, the ship swaying enough to make you forget your route. You land against the wall with a thud, your plush ass making you bounce slightly in Ace’s embrace. He laughs against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. “Nice,” he mumbles before he takes your bottom lip for a long and noisy suck. “It’s like a safeguard.”

You groan, hands traveling down the wideness of his back, and over his shorts. They settle over his ass, and you return the favor, digging your fingers into the muscle. He groans loudly, pushes his hips immediately against yours and grinds against your lower belly. The smell of wine on your mouth threatens to intoxicate him further. He closes his eyes as he pushes against you, feeling precum starting to soak through his underwear. Your tongue feels perfect in his mouth. He sucks on it time and time again, taken in by the sheer softness of it. How it doesn’t feel unfamiliar at all, as if he had kissed you thousands of times before.

He wished he had kissed you that many times already. He wished he could tuck away those memories somewhere no one could take them away from him.

Every time he kisses you, it feels like dying, and it feels like coming back to life. You’ve died hundreds of times already, hundreds of little deaths by his hands and by every stroke of his tongue. You think you smell smoke in his hair when he holds you close, when he whispers sweet things in your ear before biting down your neck, leaving a trail of bruises in his wake. His hands are weapons he uses to tear your down. Their heat eviscerates all your defenses. It kills you how they feel so hot, even over your clothes. How when he drags his palms over your belly, you want to feel them lower, towards the center of your legs. Your belly is soft, and pliable, he squeezes and kneads until he memorizes it. His hands move to your sides, where he grips the soft flesh, the rolls that are tender in his hold.

Your cheeks color, and your heart flutters. Embarrassed, you swat his hands, and move them away from your waist.

“Don’t push my hands away,” he says annoyed, going back to grab your sides. “Before I–”

You cut him off with a kiss, pressing your mouth hotly against his. You wrap your arms around his neck. “Shut up,” you say breaking the kiss. You kiss the corner of his mouth, and up his jawline. “If you say it—I’ll leave.” You press your mouth against his pulse, and a soft spot behind his head. “I’ll walk out right now. Don’t even say it.”

He kisses you, and you crumple under the weight of it. It feels like a last desperate attempt at silencing you, at keeping you here with him. His heart is in tatters. He tries to ignore the debris of it, the way it splinters off into pieces. Ace deepens his kisses, crushes you against his chest, and traps you tightly between him and the wall. He knows the truth. He knows the more he kisses you, the more he’ll discover all the things he wondered about you, the more he’ll become familiar with your softness—the more he’ll miss you. A feeling of unworthiness crawls out of a well. He tries to smother it with another kiss, one you moan into. You bring a leg up and he holds on to it, hooks it around a hip and pushes against you, his cock feeling painfully hard. He thrusts his hips, and he tries to forget every touch of your fingers on his back, how your trail them along his muscles, leaving memories in them he could never forget, memories you shouldn’t give him so willingly.

He should be the one to walk out without a further word. If it hurt you, it would mean you’d never look at him again. That was the right thing to do. He should let you go immediately. He should stop craving the heat of your body. He should stop pushing against you, and moaning into the crook of your neck, giving into every desire and fantasy that had filled his body since he met you.

He should. But he couldn’t stop himself from being selfish. Just this once. For once, he wants to seize a semblance of happiness by his own hands without needing a reason for it—without needing a reason to simply exist.

Ace brings you to his bed, pushes you down until you’re seated on the edge of his mattress. He kneels before you. You blink, mouth surprisingly dry considering all the wet sloppy kisses Ace had been giving you. You lick your swollen lips, and think you taste beer in the corner of your mouth; residual of Ace’s conquest. Ace kisses your cheeks—one at a time. He reaches around you to the bow holding your crop top together. He unties it easily, and just as easily pulls it over your head. You don’t know where it lands, and it honestly doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is the way Ace’s eyes land on your breasts, the way he licks his lips as if he’s gearing up for a feast.

He wasn’t expecting you to not a have a bra, but he couldn’t complain either way. Once again, he is amazed at his sheer stupidity. How he had never noticed the size of your breasts, how large they were and how beautifully they hanged from your frame. He swallows thickly, wishing he had done this sooner. He presses his mouth against the middle of your chest, hands tentatively taking in the weight of your breasts. He palms them gently, cupping and lifting as he moves his fingers. His intentions are well meant. Ace would love to take his time with you, but you react so deliciously when he flicks his thumbs over your hardened nipples, mewling against the top of his head that he felt like he had no choice.

If his hand felt like furnaces, his mouth is incomparably vicious. The heat of his tongue is paralyzing. When he sucks on a nipple, his free hand twisting the other one between thumb and index finger, your toes curl. Your panties cling to your folds, covered in your slick since earlier. You whimper, embarrassed and aroused as Ace continues his streamlined assault. His teeth leave marks over the swell of your breasts. You respond to every lick and nibble he gives. Your soft moans leave goosebumps on his skin, reminding him that this is him making you moan, him who has you scraping your nails against his scalp.

He shouldn't—but he smiles—thinking Marco can go kick rocks. He bites down on a nipple, a bit too hard, at the thought. He should mark you more, lest anyone get any ideas.

And like that, his heart aches. Ace sighs against the side of your breast, licks over a bruise in apology. He shakes his head, trying to dislodge thoughts that had no business polluting his mind. He wonders what would happen if he leaves you for too long. Would you move on? His fingers stumble to unbutton your jeans so he tries again. Of course, you would. Who wouldn’t? Marco seems to like you, and what’s not to like about Marco?

Desperate, he finally unhooks the button. You fall back on the mattress with a surprised squeak when he pushes you. Ace tugs your jeans off. You see him standing between your legs, as he unbuckles his belt, and drops his shorts. You hear the thud on the ground, the creak of the mattress as he joins you.

He cages you in, and you immediately reach out. Your fingers splay against his broad chest. His shoulders are wide, and strong, muscles rippling with every movement he makes. The yellow lighting of the sconces compliment the golden tone of his skin. You bite your lip, and rub your legs together, deeply aroused when you brush your fingertips against his muscular abs. Lightning strikes, and bathes him in a flashing white light. You see for a moment, every freckle on his shoulder, and chest. You run your fingers over them, connecting the dots, making up little galaxies on his chest and shoulders and committing them to memory. You’d remember these later, on lonely nights, and hold your hand to the ceiling, pretending that if you trace over the memory of them you could bring Ace back to you like a spell; like a wish.

His kisses scatter your thoughts, little stars clouding your vision. His mouth is on your neck, and on your chest. Heated, and wet. He leaves hot wet trails of saliva wherever he goes, coating you with his smell. He kisses your belly, and nibbles on the soft flesh underneath your belly button. His fingers dancing over your thighs. Ace moves lower as you hum, parts your legs to drop kisses on the inside of your thighs. For a split second, you consider being embarrassed at the state of your arousal but you are past the point of caring. Soaked right through your panties, all you want is for Ace to keep kissing you.

He smells you before he sees it—before he sees the big wet spot in your underwear. Ace chuckles, and you reach out to swat at his head but he is faster than you—as usual. He grabs your wrist and kisses the inside of your palm.

“Don’t be like that, Mermaid,” he says in a good mood, smile wide and crooked. He looks up at you through black lashes, a faint flush over his cheeks. “I know how much you love being wet.”

You think about screaming, and beating him senseless for saying something so embarrassing but when he pulls your panties down in one quick move you are left speechless. Just as quickly, his mouth is on your pussy. He gives long, meticulous licks; ones he uses to slurp up every drop of your arousal. He uses his fingers to part your folds, and traces your slit with the flat of his tongue. Your back arches, and you moan loudly, hands flying to tangle in his black curls. He is noisy, but he does not miss a spot. He slurps up a lip, sucks on it gently. He flicks his tongue around your sensitive nub, making you shiver and tremble.

Just when you think you can’t take the heat of his mouth any longer, Ace pulls your lips apart again, and slips his tongue inside your aching pussy. He thrusts it in and out, upping the pace the more you moan. He slurps up, wet and noisy to suck on your clit. His fingers tease your entrance before he slips two inside you. He scissors his fingers inside, the squelching so loud and lewd, you’re forced to slap a hand to cover your mouth. It is sinful, and you wonder if you should worry when you grow hornier the louder the wet sounds get. He curves his fingers, seeking out that spot that makes your toes curl. His moans against your clit as he sucks vibrates against you, and you cry out as you cum. Your pussy flutters around his fingers as you reach your peak, little tremors running their course throughout your body.

The way you look so disheveled makes him want to stay down there longer. He’d love nothing more than to feast on your pussy all night long, but his throbbing cock is becoming increasingly harder to ignore. He moves to climb over you, but the ship tilts when a particularly large wave comes. Ace sways, but you reach out to grab him by the arm before he rolls off the bed. You pull him towards you, and laugh at Ace’s shocked expression. He laughs with you for a moment, before it dies out. Your eyes captivate him—their sparkle too bright to be dimmed by the yellow lighting of the room, or even by the darkness of the storm outside the room. Ace kisses your cheek, and licks your ear. He laughs into your hair when you yelp, and hit his shoulder with a tiny fist, your own laughter overtaking his.

“Your laughs always carries so easily,” he says quietly, a hand brushing hair away from your face. You wrinkle your nose up at him. “You know that? I always hear you wherever I go.”

There’s a breath that refuses to come back to you. It stays there behind Ace’s smile. You swallow, following the path of his trail of dark hair that starts at his belly button. You grip the tip of his cock gently, and watch his brows knit together, teeth clenching to keep from moaning. You brush a thumb against his slit. His lips part, eyes fluttering close, and as you squeeze your hand down his shaft, he lets go; a moan flying past the front of his teeth. He is thick in your hands. You move them gently at first, taking in the sight of him above you. His dark hair spilled around him like a curtain.

His eyes that he fights so hard to keep open but flutter close every time you squeeze his pink tip just right. He cusses under his breath, upset he can’t watch you jerk him off, how he can’t keep the sight of your white teeth sinking into your berry colored bottom lip in his vision.

You are mesmerized by the sight of him. You try your best to commit to memory the planes of his face, the sharpness of his jawline. You rub your legs together as you stroke, enjoying the way your slick slides down your thighs. You love how vulnerable he looks, how soft his expressions is as he gives in to you, his dark lashes that flutter open and close, the freckles on the bridge of his nose; everything leaves their residue behind like sticky fingers on glass.

You feel his hand swat yours away from his cock. “Stop,” he whines in a hiss, eyes opening partially. He frowns down at you, cheeks bright red, mouth hanging open. “I don’t want to cum like that. I want to cum inside you. With you.” There’s no time to think, you feel him shift your legs, and feel the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance. He pushes inside you, slowly, inch by inch. Your mouth drops open, a sound that refuses to leave your body. When he bottoms out, you moan gently, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

Your thighs are thick and plush as they tighten around his strong hips. Ace feels as he would be swallowed whole—like a small vessel in a raging sea. If you wanted to drown him, he’d let you, if that’s what you really wanted. He grunts with every slow thrust of his hips, wanting to feel you first, let you adjust around him. He’s only begun, but he feels you fluttering around his cock, senses the tightening of your grasp around his shoulders.

He picks up the pace, as the storm rages. You’re panting against his hear, so loud that even the thunder can’t drown you out when you moan. Lightning splits the sky, over and over, bathing your sweaty body underneath him in bright white. He tries to remember the pieces of you, the soft breasts pressed against his chest, the sight of his cock disappearing into your soaking pussy. He tries to remember the sound of the rain, how it compliments your voice when you sigh into his neck. He pushes against you faster, deeper, your moans grow closer and louder. The scent of rain and wet wood floods the room along with the scent of your arousal. Ace can almost taste it on his tongue all over again, as he breathes through his mouth, panting loudly—moaning when you clench around his cock again.

His cologne makes you delirious—mahogany, and sweet blossoms, or it’s the thickness of his cock or both. You bite his neck, scream into the crook of his neck when he picks you up slightly by the hips, when he angles his thrusts and slaps his hips against yours viciously enough to bruise. His cock pushes against your gummy walls, stretching you out until it’s almost painful. He is so hot and warm inside you, you feel like you’re melting, as if your body is built by nothing but pleasure and pleasure alone. You bite his shoulders, leaving marks behind. Your attack is as relentless as his thrusts. You continue to sink your teeth into his shoulders, and his neck, you nibble at his jawline.

He loves it. He loves the pain you leave behind. Ace digs his fingers into your hair, and he tilts his neck to give you more access—anything to keep you going. He groans with every thrust into your pussy, his heavy balls slapping against your thick and plush ass so noisily he worries for a second someone might hear.

“Go ahead,” he whispers to you when you nibble on his neck once more, groaning right after. “Make it hurt.” It is a fitting punishment, he thinks. Pain always left the deepest scars. If it was you, he’d take the scars with him.

The wind picks up more, the shrill tinny scream rises, banging against the round window on his door. It pounds at the glass, demanding tribute. Ace cries out when your pussy clenches around his cock, his body tensing before it relaxes at his climax. He releases, spilling into you, hot cum that oozes slightly out of your cunt. You stay tangled with him in his bed sheets, lightning coloring your bodies in bright white every now and then. Heat envelops the room, a humidity so thick it feels suffocating; muggy. Your bodies covered in sweat, are slippery, almost uncomfortable but you don’t care.

You don’t care about the incessant heat beaming off his body, you don’t care how his hair sticks to your skin when he nuzzles in your neck, you don’t care bout the storm outside the door, the angry sea. You bring your hand to Ace’s chest, feel his heart thumping against your palm. What you care about is there, under skin and bone, just out of reach.

You shut your eyes when he kisses your lips, when he holds your face in his hands.

Your mother’s words cut through the screams of the hurricane outside. Don’t head straight into storms. They forgive no one.

But who was the storm? Was it him? Was it you? Who’s to forgive if there’s no one left in the wake of the storm?

[queserasora]

LUFFY X FEM READER / NSFW WC: 3.5k of foolishness CW: luffy likes his lil pet names, also he likes popsicles, food play, messy messy, oral, there's a mouth, and there's a popsicle, and there's a cock, idk you do the math, luffy being a lil shit but we love him SUMMARY: Modern AU / Luffy stays at Sabo's for a week to help him study for his finals (he is a freshman in College/Uni), and when he comes back home Y/N wants to show him just badly she missed him.

Summer was eternal on the island.

The sun, unforgiving and tempestuous, hung high in the azure blue sky. At the moment the clouds were sparse but when you live in a tropical environment, it is only a matter of time before rain clouds make an impromptu appearance.

It doesn’t matter to you; however. Not today.

Whether it stormed, whether the wind blew violently, or not you weren’t moving from your spot. 

You hadn’t seen Luffy in a few weeks, and you were dying to hold him in your arms. It wasn’t something you wanted to admit out loud; however. You sit on the hammock you both set up together, in between two palm trees in the backyard of his house. It’s a hot summer day. Sweat already pills on your forehead, and on your nose. You wipe at it with the back of your hand. It was fortunate that the trees shielded you from most of the sun’s rays, otherwise it would be absolutely intolerable to wait for Luffy any longer.

You hear him before you see him. His laughter was bright and melodic. There’s a familiar slapping of sandals that is recognizable. Luffy had a bad habit of stomping as he walked. You turn your torso to look over your shoulder. He makes a grand appearance through the back door, no shirt–all big sunshine smiles and glistening brown skin. The wind picks up and brings over to you the scent of his favorite shampoo, behind it, you also get a very brief whiff of sunblock.

He never wore much on his pretty face, but you had nagged him enough to finally succumb.

“Hi,” you greet him, feeling inexplicably shy as he stomps towards you, his arms spread out wide. When he finally reaches your back on the hammock, he brings his arms around you and squeezes. Luffy giggles as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. You hum content, tilting your head to give him more room. 

“You smell so good,” he mumbles against your skin, dropping sloppy wet kisses up and down your neck. He kisses up to your ear, eliciting goosebumps throughout your body. You roll your eyes, determined to chastise him while pretending not to be enjoying his dramatic display of affection. Luffy leaves you no room. “Although a little sticky.” He nips at your earlobe and you cry out in surprise, shoving his face away by placing your hand on his cheek and pushing.

“That’s because it’s HOT,” you enthuse with a raise of your brows. Luffy smooches your cheek with a resounding smack before he lets you go at last. “I’ve been waiting for you. I’m a little sweaty.”

Luffy laughs quietly, and instead of making it around you and the hammock–he decides to climb over it, lifting one leg over the hammock then the other. He uses the hammock for support, so you shake and sway in your seat.

“Oh, come on!” you complain although you’re quick to laugh. Luffy drops on the space next to you, making you slide down the hammock until you’re pressed up right next to him. “Can’t you do things normally for once?”

“Nah,” he replies, curling one arm around your waist. It’s hot, insufferably so, but Luffy was always like this. Always needing you close, always needing you to touch. “What’s normal anyway?”

You glance up at him through your lashes, and not for the first time you can’t help but notice how pretty your boyfriend is. The sunlight is soft through the green leaves, casting dancing shadows over Luffy’s face. Today he’s not wearing his hat on his head, so the wind plays with his messy hair, brushing it off his forehead.

You reach up to trace one thick eyebrow with an index finger. Luffy closes his eyes briefly as you do so, his long thick lashes fluttering gently. It is so tempting to just kiss him on the hammock, to forget everything and give in to your raging hormones but there’s a paper bag on Luffy’s lap and curiosity bests your desire for once.

“What you got there?” you ask him, bringing your hand down to brush your knuckles down one of his exposed biceps. Luffy shivers but doesn’t look away from the bag. You smile secretly. He always liked to pretend you didn’t have an effect on him. He was a strange kind of masochist. He enjoyed holding out for as long as possible as if it was a challenge only he competed in.

“Popsicle,” he answers simply, pulling it out from the bag. He quickly tears the wrapper open and pops it into his mouth. Luffy holds it there, no hands, so he can crumple the bag and wrapper.

“I don’t get any?” you ask him playfully, knowing full well why he didn’t get you one.

“You don’t even like popsicles,” he answers unamused, rolling his eyes as he leans back on the hammock. You yelp when your weight shifts. Luffy uses one of his arms to spread out the hammock, so you can lay on your back with him. The other held on to the popsicle. “Come here, and stop complaining. I haven’t seen you in a week.”

You wiggle on the hammock until your head is resting on his arm. The sky above is peaceful, with the wind making the tree branches sway slightly. If it was cooler, you’d fall asleep quickly, there in Luffy’s warmth.

“Yeah, a whole week. How could you leave me like that? You’re heartless,” you declare dramatically, elbowing his side slightly. Luffy chuckles, next to you, the popsicle melting quicker than he can eat it. 

“I was studying with Sabo, you know this!” he groans, his thick brows drawing together. “You’re the one who told me if I didn’t pass my finals you were gonna break up with me. I almost died. My head was going to explode.”

“That was an empty threat and you know it,” you mumble, turning your face to look at him. 

Now that he was laying on his back, the length of  his lashes were even more noticeable. His lips, dark pink and pouty tempt you again. You swallow the lump in your throat, and ignore the desire gnawing at the pit of your stomach a little bit longer. Still, your hand reaches out, and you drag your finger softly against his cold bottom lip.

Luffy nips at your finger, trapping it between his teeth lightly. You wiggle it trying to release it. Luffy does so quickly when you squeal, tapping it gently with his popsicle.

“Stop that, unless you’re trying to make me kiss you.”

You choose silence. Luffy turns to look at you, popping his popsicle back in his mouth. He leaves it there as he watches you. He always had a hard time reading you. Luffy didn’t like to think. He liked simplicity, and spontaneity. He always had fun with you, but when you grew quiet it always scared him. It made him think he had done something wrong. This time; however, there’s a certain familiar look in your eyes. Luffy reaches out and pinches your cheek lightly, his popsicle melting slightly down his chin.

You grab his hand before he can pull it away, and hold it against your cheek. Luffy feels his heart seize when you close your eyes, when you tenderly press your face against the palm of his clammy hand and nuzzle it. There’s a tug at the pit of his belly, the one that tells him to devour you, to fill you with kisses, to touch every inch of your skin until you’re delirious in his hold.

“I missed you,” you whisper to him, and kiss his fingers one by one.

Fire was deadly in summer, especially when there was no rainy season; when there’s only been drought. It had been a week since he last kissed you, held you, he was parched–and you were just stoking the fire.

“Did you now?” he quips around his popsicle. You look up at him through your lashes, your own dark brows drawing together. Luffy tries not to laugh, truly, but you’re so cute when you’re mad he can’t help it. “You’re not acting like someone who missed me.”

You drop his hand unceremoniously, embarrassed that you even let yourself be this vulnerable with the pigheaded young man you called boyfriend. 

“How exactly am I supposed to act then?” you spit, scrunching up your nose in irritation. Luffy chortles, shoulders shaking in unison. It only serves to make you further annoyed. “Just forget it!”

You sit up, trying to put some distance between each other. You were embarrassed at having been the first one to say it, and now Luffy was behaving like a smug idiot. Your face feels hot as if it was on fire, and you slap your cheeks with both hands hoping to wake yourself up enough to have some kind of clever retort.

Luffy, once again, doesn’t give you a chance. He sits up too, and whines like a child as he places his chin on your shoulder.

“What are you getting mad for?” he mumbles playfully, looking up at you through his lashes. You glance down at your shoulder through your nose, trying your best haughty look on him but you are disarmed by the warmth of his big brown eyes. “I missed you too.”

His words relax your shoulders, and you breathe out noisily through your nose. It does nothing; however, to make you feel less embarrassed and it does nothing for your increasing sexual desire. 

Luffy is holding the popsicle on his hand, and you watch the trail of blue trickle down his wrist and forearm. It drips slightly on his shorts, not that Luffy seems to mind. 

“Hey,” he says, his voice taking in a deep hoarseness that turns your skin hot. “I want you to show me.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. Luffy leans back on the hammock, and holds the popsicle over his chest. It drips on his skin slowly, blue on brown. 

“Why don’t you show me how much you missed me?”

You’d be a liar if you said you loathed Luffy’s games. There was always something he was up to, there was always a gamble, and an ambiguous prize to win. It made it all the more satisfying when you did. 

“Okay,” you tell him, slithering yourself over him. You watch Luffy adjust his hips, and a sly smirk tugs at the corner of your plush lips. You know he’s already probably at half mast just at the idea of you over him, of what’s to come.

“Hurry,” he whispers to you urgently, so quietly, the blowing wind almost steals his voice away. “It’s melting.”

You open your mouth to taste the melted popsicle on his skin. You suck loudly on the spots they lay on, making sure to flatten your tongue as you do so. You can taste the saltiness of his skin, smell the vague scent of sweat. You take in a deep noise breath through your nose as you slide your tongue around his muscular chest, lapping up the dripping popsicle that slides over the curves of his muscles.

“That’s it, chula,” he tells you, his voice husky and sultry. Luffy lowers the popsicle, leaving a blue trail of cold liquid down his abs. You watch him shiver at the sensation, his eyes fluttering close, head snapping back. You smile, watching him tease himself, edge himself beyond reason. “Keep going.”

You lower yourself off the hammock and onto the ground. You’re wearing shorts, which had you known what would happen you would have worn something different instead; more accessible. The pebbles on the dirt bite into the skin of your knees but you pay it no mind. Instead you focus on cleaning up the sticky mess Luffy has made of himself. You slide your hands up the sides of his torso, enjoying the slippery warm sensation of his skin slick with sweat.

Luffy shudders underneath you, a soft grunt floating past his lips.

Your hunger grows at the sound of him. Your kisses become messy, desperate. You dig your teeth into his side, biting down. Luffy barely holds back a moan, but by the way his core tightens you know he’s loving it as much as you do. As you nip at the space under his belly button, his happy trail tickling your nose, his erection becomes all the more evident. It pokes out from under his shorts, pushing against your throat.

“Nnhg,” he grunts, his hips moving slightly as he starts to hump up at nothing. “Mm, you missed me that much?” You smile against his skin, your teeth catching on his side again. Luffy reaches out, and grabs a fitsful of your curls. “You’re so cute. I want to eat you up so bad.”

You giggle, wishing he would do that already if that’s what he wanted but it seemed Luffy had other things in mind. Just as you were reaching for the button of his shorts, Luffy sits up, half melted popsicle still in his hand.

“Wait,” he says breathless, pretty shiny eyes unfocused. You smile up at him, although your expression is quizzical. His dark berry lips are blue tinted, and his brown skin is adorned with faint blue freckles and spots. “Open your mouth first.”

You blink, unsure of what he was planning now, but you were in too deep to question him although part of you knows you should. You tilt your head and try to gather your curls away from your face. Luffy helps you with his free hand, and when you open your mouth he slides the popsicle in.

You frown down at it, and at him, but when he makes no move to remove it, you gently close your lips around it. Luffy chuckles softly–a perverse satisfaction that makes his nether regions stiffen even more. He knows you hate the 'blue flavor’ he insists on but he can’t help it. You look so pretty when you have something in your mouth. He couldn’t bring himself to stop. Luffy slowly pushes the popsicle in and out of your mouth.

“Come on, bebé,” he pouts. Luffy even throws in a petulant frown. “Play with me. Pretend it’s me.”

You cough as he pushes it all the way in, gagging slightly on the blue popsicle. In order to persuade him to stop, you grab his wrist, and curl your tongue around the popsicle. If it melted quickly, Luffy would end this silly game and give you what you really wanted. Luffy smiles at your eagerness, at the way you lap and suck on the popsicle. He watches with furious admiration the way the blue liquid oozes down your chin and neck. His tongue dips out to lick his chapped lips. He feels parched, thirsty, even though he had been sucking on that same popsicle just moments ago.

He lets go of your hair to wipe at your chin with his thumb. He keeps pushing the popsicle in and out of your mouth while you continue to suck on it noisily. Luffy watches you, lids heavy and eyes full of lust as he pops his thumb in his mouth.

“You’re all sticky,” he says, fidgeting in his seat on the hammock. You give him a seductive look over the popsicle, one that makes him want to tear your clothes off. You knew exactly what to do to make him crazy. Luffy, not one to give up so easily, uses the remainder of the popsicle to push against the inside of your cheek, stretching your mouth open.

You blink repeatedly, and frown, watching him fumble quickly and clumsily with his free hand. He unbuttons the top of his shorts, and you hear the zipper come down.

“What are you doing?” you ask, with your mouth stretched, your cheek turning icy cold as he keeps the popsicle there.

“I’m making room for me, mami,” he says as you watch him whip out his cock. “What else?”

Luffy squeezes the tip of his cock, and watches your mouth intently. His lips part as he watches the blue drip down the other side of your chin. Luffy shifts to the edge of the hammock, and aims the head of his cock towards your mouth. The moment he shoves the tip in alongside the popsicle in your mouth your eyes grow wide.

Luffy knows he shouldn’t laugh at you. That you never enjoyed it especially when you were both having sex, but you look so cute and funny there was no way he could hold back. You bring out your hands to slap his knees, but Luffy has a hold on the back of your head now. He lifts his hips from the hammock at a steady pace, fucking up into your mouth.

You hold on to his knees for dear life, feeling conflicted at the feel of his warm cock filling up your mouth. You do your best to suck him up, to slurp and curl around his erection. The popsicle starts melting faster, it’s sticky sweetness coating everything in your mouth. You cough, and your eyes tear up as you choke both on Luffy’s cock and the popsicle juice.

Luffy grunts as he watches you. He bites on his lower lip when your eyes fill with tears. He had never tried this before, but the sensation was far from unpleasant. There was something about the coldness of the popsicle, the way part of your mouth had turned frigid and how now slowly everything was starting to warm up–to heat up.

Suddenly, Luffy pulls you off of him and takes out the mostly melted popsicle. He pops it in his mouth. 

“Don’t stop now, mi amor,” popsicle still in his mouth, he tells you breathlessly, eagerly, as he grabs your head again. Luffy brings your head down suddenly over his cock before you can even form a sentence. “You have to finish before anyone sees.”

You’re reminded now how you’re the open, as he slams the head of his cock against your throat. You grip his knees tightly, as yours dig deeper into the ground of Luffy’s backyard. Yes, you were at his house, but it was still outdoors. Yes, there were sparse trees all around you, a chain fence and some shrubbery, but just behind those was one of the main roads of your little  neighborhood. 

If anyone was paying a modest amount of attention, they could see the entire show you were putting on for the birds, and the blade of grass in Luffy’s backyard.

It was better not to think about it. Instead you focused on the slickness seeping into your underwear. How sensitive you were now to the lining of the inside of your denim shorts. You wiggle as Luffy continues to fuck your mouth, trying to get some friction between your legs, anything to give you some relief. You hum and moan around him, your grip on his knees softening, as you slide your hands over his thighs. Luffy pants softly, his breathing becoming erratic.

“Y-y-your hands are soft, baby,” he murmurs in a daze, his face looking up at the sky. 

The sun peeks through the green leaves of the branches, and he closes his eyes to the view, wanting to only focus on the sensation of your mouth; the pleasure it was bringing him. You grip his thighs, and let your fingers slide towards the inside of his legs, under the legs of his shorts. You drag your nails down against the sensitive skin of his thighs, as you flatten your tongue against his shaft and give a particularly powerful suck.

Luffy cries out, almost dropping the popsicle stick from his mouth, and lifting his hips entirely. You shut your eyes tightly, as he slams against the back of your throat, taking away your air. Luffy holds the position there, biting down on the wooden popsicle stick to keep from moaning. Your mouth fills up with hot cum, and you swallow it quickly, not wanting it to linger on your tongue. It takes a moment for Luffy to let up, it isn’t until you slap his knees repeatedly, that he pulls out.

A breezy laugh taking up the heated space between you.

“Wow, mi bebé,” he says happily, pulling you up onto his lap. You let him cuddle you, allow him to dust the dirt and pebbles off your scratched up knees. “That was so good, maybe I should go away more often.”

You grab one of his ears and pull it. “No seas pendejo.”

 Luffy laughs and bends at the waist. He drops kisses on your injured knees.

“Okay, okay, I won’t go anywhere,” he mumbles against your knee, looking up at you through his lashes. You fold immediately, unable to deny him anything when he looks at you with those doe brown eyes of his; soulful and bottomless. “Sorry about your knees.”

You shake your head lighty, and card your fingers through his dark hair.

“It’s fine. It was worth it.” Luffy chortles, his shoulders shaking as he licks one of your knees playfully. 

“I thought so too!”