#Ink lost his leg so now it's

[fumiliar]

toji has a secret tattoo, in a place hidden from the rest of the world. and you wanted to find out what exactly this man was hiding.

"where?" you asked one more time.

"nuh uh, no telling," toji shaking his head once more.

"let me find it then!" you got closer to him as you inspected him. you decided to make a plan, you'd ask him to take off a piece of clothing, if he hesitated, that's the spot.

"take your shirt off," you slowly observed the man.

"if you wanted my clothes off, could've just said so," toji taking off his shirt easily with one arm. "do-"

"your pants," you continued, as the man raised his eyebrows.

"do you want to fuck me or something?" he took off his pants, leaving him with just his boxers in the middle of the living room. "quit staring won'cha, my eyes are up here."

you were lost, no hesitation in any of his movements. his skin was clean, in all the places you'd expect a patch of ink, there was nothing.

"give up?" toji taunted as a smirk slowly came to his lips.

you had an epiphany, his lips. you walked closer to the man, looking pitifully as if you were a kid who got their lollipop stolen. as you got closer, you leaned for a kiss. slowly, your hands reached for his face, landing on his bottom lip. you pulled his bottom lip down finding the tattoo, "kiss me" right on his inner lip. jackpot!

"YES!" you jumped in happiness, releasing his bottom lip. before you do your third jump, you felt large hands grabbing your waist, immobilising you. he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist making you see him eye to eye.

"don't be too excited, now this is a secret between me and you, no one else doll, no one," toji emphasising the last 2 words glaring at your smile.

"ok, kiss me," before toji could respond, you smashed your lips to hip making him shut up, giggling in between kisses.

note: firm believer toji is a man who got a tattoo bcs of a silly dare.

[pynkfairyheart]

pairings: ony x reader

warnings: violence...kinda (reader throws a phone at ony), smut 18+, mentions of infidelity,

a/n: did i proof read this? no. so squint if you see imperfections

Accusations & Apologies

“Onyyy, slow down” You cried, your hand behind your back in an attempt to slow his relentless thrusts.

“Nah, cause a minute ago it was ‘fuck you’ right? Now you wanna be a fuckin cry baby” He hissed.

You knew better. Ony was the love of your life, the one who stood beside you no matter the circumstance, even when times were rocky. You knew he'd never do anything to hurt you, yet all rational thinking left the building the moment you saw the notification.

“Who the fuck is Ayesha, Onyankopon?” His phone clattering to the floor as it bounced off his chest, the moment he stepped foot into the room. 

“Ow, did you just throw my fuckin phone?” Inked hand rubbing the area as he bent down, examining the device before tossing it back on the bed.

“You picked the shit up didn't you?” You huffed in annoyance.

Confused about your unusual behavior and attitude he walked over to you. His calloused hands gripping your jaw softly as he forced you to look at him. “The fuck going on, ma? Talk to me. We don't do this acting out shit"

A part of you knew your behavior was unnecessary, and irrational, but the other half was too afraid of being hurt to stop and truly think about the situation.

“What's going on is you got some bitch blowing up your phone talking bout she misses you. Are you cheating on me, Ony?" Voice raising to hide the growing anxiety in your chest as you pushed his hand away

“Are you serious? After everything we've been through, you gon accuse me of cheating?” His voice gradually raising to meet yours

“Then explain yourself. Who is she and why is she on your phone?” You shouted

He was trying his best to stay calm, aware that you were afraid, but he was getting frustrated. Anyone who knew you and Ony could easily tell he'd rather die than think of another woman the way he thought of you. So why couldn't you just stop for a second and think?

“Some girl from high school, we used to be cool but I cut her off when I met you.” The annoyance etched on his features was evident as he ran his hands over his face. 

“Then why is she texting you? How'd she get your number? You think I'm stupid or something?” You narrowed your eyes.

“Right now? Yeah. Cause clearly you done lost all your goddamn brain cells if you think I'm cheating.” He shrugged, tired of your accusations.

The nonchalant tone of his voice irritated the fuck out of you and made what he said ten times worse.

“Man, fuck you” You stood, hands pressed against his chest in an attempt to push him out of your way, anger wavering when he didn't move an inch, and instead, his large hands gripped your wrist, dark eyes glaring down into yours as he clenched his jaw.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Please, Ony” You whined, legs trembling as he tightened his grip on your hips, forcing you back onto him as he pounded into you.

“Why you like being mean to me, huh? What daddy do to deserve this?” He spat, thumbs kneading into the flesh of your lower back before delivering a heavy slap to your ass, groan emitting from his lips at the squeeze your pussy gave him.

“I don't mean to, daddy, I'm sorry, just- fuck slow down” You cried. Teary eyes looking back at him as you pleaded.

With a hand wrapped around your throat, he leaned down, pressing a sloppy kiss to your glossy lips, string of your mixed saliva connecting you two as he pulled away.

“You the only girl I want, ma. You ain't never gotta worry about that shit. I love you and only you, rather die than think about some other girl” He whispered in your ear, emphasizing each word with deep thrust as he made you look back at him, your big eyes staring into his as he kissed all over your face, pink muscle licking up the tears that raced down your cheeks.

“You hear me?” His teeth grazing your earlobe as his free hand rubbed figure eights on your throbbing clit.

“Mhmmm, y-yes, Ony” Your head bobbing up and down rapidly as a response.

“Yeah? Then tell me whose dick this is, mama?” Both hands back on your hips as he let you fall back onto the bed.

“I-It's mine, Ony” Nails gripping the sheets as his hips ricocheted off your ass at a rapid pace

“Mhm- fuck say that shit again” Quickly pulling out before he flipped you onto your back, giving you .5 seconds to recover before he was ramming back into you. The sticky white ring around his thick base and pelvis contributing to the pornographic sounds bouncing off the walls. 

“What I say, ma?” Pearly whites on display as he bit his lip.

“You're mine, baby. Fuck right there.” Legs closing around his waist as your hands searched for anything to grip on to.

“Y-yeah only yours, ma.” Shaky breath indicating he was close as his fingers interlocked with yours.

“Come on, nut on your dick, baby” He whispered, rocking his hips into yours as the tip of his tongue ran over the small purple marks along your neck from your earlier endeavors.

Low moans escaped you as you gushed around him, freshly done acrylics leaving welts along his chocolate skin.

“Shit, baby” He groaned, teeth sinking into your shoulder as he came, the twitching of his dick mimicking a heartbeat as he pumped out ropes of milky white cum into your walls.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“I'm sorry, you know. For hitting you with your phone and accusing you.” Your whisper, breaking the silence of the room as you laid in each other's embrace under a thin blanket.

“Yeah?” The vibration of his deep voice contrasting yours as he repositioned your bodies so you were now straddling him.

“Mhm” Bottom lip trapped in between your teeth as you felt him growing against the soft flesh of your ass

“Prove it”

[thestarsarebrightertonight]

i love you , its ruining my life!! // lorenzo berkshire x fem hufflepuff reader

playlist : fortnight - taylor swift

summary : lorenzo berkshire is so completely infatuated with a girl in hufflepuff , its ruining his life!!

y/n used , hufflepuff reader , ttpd was amazing, fluff

a/n : im the queen of slytherin boys x hufflepuff reader lets be honest ,also fortnight is a sad song but i did a different take on it bc fluff is just better !! LMAO

masterlist tppd series masterlist

its been three months since the very first time lorenzo berkshire saw you in class. he had never seen you before despite your presence being a constant since 1st year, and to say you hadnt gone unseen since was an understatement.

lorenzo berkshire has found himself in nothing but trouble since his little crush on you first blossomed , the very first time he saw you , that fateful day in potions - he had lost 20 points for slytherin in one lesson. and the reasons for his points deduction was simple , he just couldnt focus.

you pushed your hair behind your ear , he dropped his ink pot onto the floor , the loud smash interrupting snapes monotone first lesson back speech.

five points.

you laughed at something your male seat partner said , lorenzo clenched his fist so hard that he snapped his quill as the ink and snapped up feather made a mess of his desk.

five points.

you spoke to lorenzos best friend , theodore , making him misplace an ingredient into his cauldron that caused it to explode back into draco -his seat partner and friends- face.

ten points.

to say his friends and whole house were infruriated with him after that ,was an understatment - enzo had gotten them into points debt on the very first day. thats never even been done before!

but they were even angrier with him a few weeks ago.

it was the day of the highly anticipated , very first, gryffindor vs slytherin match of the year - and enzo bottled it because he was looking at you in the stands.

who could blame him! you were stood in the stands wearing a slytherin scarf with the number 13 on your cheek in green face paint , his number!!

the amount of quaffles he failed to catch and goals he missed completely because of his focus being elsewhere , became too much to count by the end of the match. that slytherin lost by the way.

but even when draco screamed in his face and theodore pushed him into the changing rooms , his mind couldnt leave your happy face as you watched him - and only him.

the most recent incident was when he sat in an exam , not writing a single word because he couldnt stop thinking about how you smiled at him and said hello to him earlier that day. he tried to play it off as hufflepuff friendliness but the red tint in your cheeks and beaming smile blocked out any thought of doubt - and charms knowledge.

that charms test was the first fail he has ever gotten at hogwarts.

all because of you and your pretty stupid smile!

as he stared down at his paper a week later with a horified expression and a sympathetic pansy rubbing his back , he decided enough was enough , he needed to get this off his chest.

so later that day he now found himself sat in the great hall , staring at where you usually sit , except the spot was empty.

his leg bounced under the table as he played with his hands and tie , loosening and re-loosening it every two seconds.

"lorenzo please stop." pansy begged with her head in her hands , trying to will the sound of lorenzos tapping foot to become white noise.

snapping out of it he stopped all movement and looked down with a somber sigh , maybe something happened to you? maybe youre avoiding him? maybe you hate him? maybe youre not hungry?

"enzo chill mate shes just walked in." theodore said looking at something - or someone - by the enterance to the great hall.

without sparing a seond enzo stormed over to you , grabbing your hand softly and stopping your walk to the hufflepuff table.

"please come with me," enzo said as more of a command as you nodded with concern and followed him out the hall and to an empty corridor.

he stopped you so you were stood against the wall and began to pace.

after many seconds of silence you began to question why you were there ,"lorenz-"

"i love you, and its ruining my life!!" he said loudly , stopping in his tracks staring at you , not with anger but instead despiration.

he now stepped forward as you stepped back and hit the wall , "ive lost points , matches , i failed my test for the first time ever!.....please. please say no and let me move on."

you stared up at him in complete shock , "lorenzo you dont know me-"

"i do. oh trust me i do , i know you prefer cats and like muggle classics as well as poetry. your favourite colour is yellow but you dont really tell anyone as to not be called a stereotypical hufflepuff. and...i know theres things i dont know but there is nothing else on this planet i want to learn more about, than you."

you began to beam your signature smile up at him , bringing your arms to wrap around his neck as he melted under your touch, "i failed charms too."

it was his turned to now be confused , "but charms is your favourite?-"

"there was this really handsome guy sat in front of me who i just couldnt stop looking at. he was distracting me."

lorenzo expression fell as his heart broke slowly , "w-who?..."

you looked at him teasingly , "seriously? you enzo!"

he let out a gasp of realisation as you pulled him down towards you for a kiss.

lets just say since that day you both got straight As! but thats not to say enzo doesnt still like to admire in lesson.

[youryanderedaddy]

War Prize

pt. 1, pt. 2

Tw: female reader, dub-con, somnophilia, stockholm syndrome, possessive behavior, hinted kidnapping, threats, commissioned piece

It had been so long since Raven captured you - five or six years in total, although you couldn't be quite sure of the exact amount as you had no access to books, calenders or even ink to write with.

Nowadays it was mostly calm around the occupied territories - almost domestic in a sense. You let yourself be pampered more often than not - you drunk the silky, bitter coffee Raven's slaves left out for you, and bathed in the sweet oils he picked for you. Long gone were the days when you fought him over the slightest injustice, long gone were the days when you stopped to think about every miserable soul who had to suffer so you could live in luxury. 

It was easier this way really. The barbarian was good to you, even if it wasn't in his nature initially. The hands that once bruised and hit and wrapped around your hair were now caressing your skin softly, the lips once sealed tight with furrowed hairy brows were leaving hot, wet kisses down your throat, feverish to the touch. You could wear the finest furs and dresses, your body covered in stolen gold and plundered diamonds from head to toe. Raven had made it clear - he loved you, and that meant that the whole world belonged to you the way you belonged to him.

Your life was simple, you had one purpose now - to please your master. You didn't have to work long hours on the field or take care of  a big, starving family ever again. All you had to do was spread your legs at any given moment, and stay soft and pliant in his rough, muscular hands. 

***

You'd usually wake up early in the morning from the slow, deep thrusts inside your hot wet cunt - stars dancing in your eyes as his length brushes against your cervix, filling you up to the brim. Your wrists are pinned above your head with little opportunity for movement, keeping you tightly into place. 

Raven starts slowly and keeps turning up the pace until he is practically shoving himself sloppily against your overflowing hole, his nails digging into the meat of your thighs so he can have more leverage over your quivering body.

“I love to see you fall apart beneath me.” He'd growl in your ear, his forehead resting against yours as his nostrils flare - eyes filled with sick, animalistic need to possess you fully. You moan, closing your eyes - too overwhelmed with pleasure to form a proper response. “Ah, ah, ah - no hiding from me. Let me see you, pretty girl.” Raven hisses, spreading your legs even wider, bouncing your hips up and down on his throbbing cock. 

Your lower lip trembles, desperate to stop another wave of wanton moans - but to no avail. Your sweet voice fills the tent, echoing beyond the thick walls.

“Look at you, all cute and teary for me. Aren't you just precious, slave?” The barbarian chuckles condescendingly, all while groping and slapping your ass lightly - playing with the hot doughy skin. “I want everyone to hear you.” His gaze darkens as his fist wraps around your neck possessively. “I want every single one of my men to hear you sing for me. I want their robes to strain with greed and jealousy with the knowledge that they'll never have my most prized possession.” 

You inhale sharply, lost in a cloudy headspace of dreams and red - hot pleasure. You feel your master's hand squeeze your throat tighter, and your pussy flutters around his length, slick running down your thighs and towards your asshole. It doesn't make sense - he is using you for his own satisfaction with little care for your personal comfort, but his touch makes you feel so warm and floaty, fuzzy butterflies tearing at your stomach - proud to belong to such a strong, powerful man. 

“I want you completely broken. I want to fill you up with my love and ruin you for any other man out there.” He'd groan, sinking his teeth into your neck and aiming for your sweet, sweet blood. “I want everyone to know that I tamed your pretty little brain and made you all mine, now and forever.” Raven kisses you, stealing the breath out of your mouth, sucking in all the panicked little sounds coming out of it. “Say it.” He orders, both threatening and desperate like a lovesick child. 

You can't stand it anymore - you throw your arms around his shoulders. You need to feel him against you, skin on skin. “I'm yours, all yours.” You cry out, holding on for dear life. There is no point denying it now - you can't imagine life without your master, no matter how cruel or difficult he may be. Who else would warm your bed? Who would give you purpose? Where else could you even go now that he has claimed you - and everybody knows?

“Say you love me.” His voice breaks, hands shivering as he holds you painfully close to him - as if the moment he lets go, he'd wake up and you'd be gone just like before. “Say you love me like I love you. Say you'll never leave me - or I swear to the Gods I'll chain you up here to never see the sun again.” He blubbers on and on, thrusts getting fast and frantic, pushing in and out of you with the ferocity of a lover and the fear of a man possessed. 

“I love you.” You whisper, laying back like a good little doll - letting yourself move and twist just the way he wants you to. He pulls you up into a standing position and all but swallows your sobs and wails, his tongue fighting yours for dominance. He lowly commands you to keep repeating it over and over again - until he gets sick of it (if ever), and paints your velvet walls all white and sticky with his seed. 

You take a couple of short shallow breaths, trying to resume your normal breathing. His hand rests on your neck - his eyes finally lose the furious, jealous spark, and he reaches out to stroke your hair gently.

“Good girl.”

[thehighladywrites]

— “pink + ink = cute tattoos”

☀︎ — pairing: nerd azriel x bimbo/ditzy/popular reader

☀︎ — summary: you miss azriel and are delighted when he comes back with a permanent reminder of you

☀︎ — warnings: light nsfw, making out, ink, talk about needles, horny reader, horny az, sad bc she misses az, fluff and some crack

☀︎ — amara’s note: i’d let az prone bone me if he did this for me🥰

series masterlist

Six days.

It has been six whole days since you last saw Azriel. To say it’s horrible is an understatement. Countless of times, you thought about going over and telling him how much you miss him, but he has exams, and you know you will be a distraction.

Even though he insisted he was fine with you around, you wanted him to focus, so you sent him off. Now, you had no one to blame but yourself, and the regret was palpable.

With a dramatic sigh, you skipped over to your comically large, pink, frilly bed— almost sinking in the marshmallow like mattress before you pulled out your even pinker phone. Dialing the number of the love of your life, you hoped to hear his voice and feel a bit closer to him.

After the last ring, the line goes straight to voicemail. “Hello. It is I, Azriel. Be so kind and leave a message after the beep.”

Your eyes roll playfully at your boyfriend’s formal way of talking. “Hi, honey! Can you call me back? I miss you soooo much. It’s, like, so lonely here, and I don’t even know why I sent you away in the first place.” Tears start to well up as you sniffle dramatically. “I think m’gonna die without you. Um, anyway, call me back, okay? Love ya lots..”

Your miserable pout only grows as you slowly put down your phone. For over two hours, you check it repeatedly, hoping for any new messages from him only to be met with radio silence. After two and a half hours, a knock echoes through your apartment.

Your eyes widen comically, heart beating twice as fast as you rush to the door. When you open it and see Azriel standing there with a soft smile, dimples on display, you can't believe your eyes.

“Baby! I missed you!” you squeal, leaping into his arms with such force that he almost topples over. He catches you as he hugs you warmly

Azriel’s rich, deep laughter is soothing you immediately. You nuzzle into his neck before jumping up and locking your legs around his waist.

You plant soft kisses all over his face and neck as he walks over to your massive bed and plops down on it. You pull back slightly, your hands gently brushing his hair out of his face so you can fully appreciate him.

His cheeks are flushed, his lips are slightly swollen, and his hair is adorably ruffled. “You look so handsome, Azriel,” you murmur, your eyes sparkling with affection.

“You’re a sweetheart,” he murmurs against your swollen, tinted lips before diving in for more kisses.

You find yourselves on the bed, entangled in a mess of limbs, legs intertwined, hands exploring under clothes, completely lost in each other.

Your soft hands weave into his hair, nails lightly scraping against his scalp as you swing your legs over lap, sitting on top of his lying body.

“I’m never, ever telling you to focus on school instead of me. God, i missed you.”

“I missed you even more, and i saw that you called me. I had to let it ring unfortunately.”

“Aw, why? Didnt wanna talk to me or something?” you lightly joke as the idea of him ignoring you spark tears in your eyes.

Azriel notices this and smiles softly. “It was not because i didn’t want to talk to you, it was because I was getting tattoed.”

Had this been a cartoon, your tears would have reversed and your eyes would have popped outta your skull. The idea of Azriel getting more tattoos made you all giggly and fluttery.

“You got even more?! Where? How many? What did ya get? Please let me see!” you beg sweetly, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

Azriel smiles, reaching down to pull off his oversized hoodie, revealing his newest tattoos.

Your eyes widen, hands flying to your mouth as you gasp loudly. Right above his heart is your name in delicate script, and just below his hip, ln his v-line, is a spider.

“No freakin’ way, my name? All for me? Awww, Azzie baby, that's so cute, I think i’ll cry!” you giggle with tears in your eyes, throwing your arms around his neck before planting a kiss on his lips.

“I think you deserve some head and a good fuck,” you mumble against his lips, fingers going over the inked skin.

“You don’t have to do that, please don’t feel like you owe it to me,” he tells you in a gentle tone.

“But i really wanna. You got my named inked on you and it makes me hot on the inside so i want to fuck you, is that cool?”

Azriel nods as he kisses you deeply, blushing as you put your hand down his pants, slowly stroking his growing cock.

—

It drives you mad knowing he permanently altered himself for you. He put a reminder on his heart no less, for the rest of his life. Your hips rocked against his as you rode him, doe eyes glued to his tattoos. “Say my name— please Az, say my name,” you whine, eyes closing as he repeats your name in a forbidden tone.

Azriel suddenly flips you over on your back before he pounds into you, secretly smiling at your moaning self. He pulls out just to watch his cock go inside of you very slowly. Azriel does this a few times, eyes locking in on where his dick bulges your stomach.

His hand rests on your stomach as he watches your stomach bulge with every thrust. “Do you feel me in here? Feel how deep inside I am, baby?”

One look at him is all it takes for you to finally cum with a sob. “Y-yes, fuck— feels so good, azzie,” you cry out as you hold his hand.

After cumming inside, he carefully pulls out and lies next to you. “I think I have an unhealthy obsession with you. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, you know? Fuck, I really love you,” he murmurs while smoothing out your hair and kissing your jaw and neck.

“You’re too sweet, baby. I love you too,” you quip, kissing him back.

—

“Az, I'm really nervous. Do you think it's gonna hurt?” you ask, standing outside Azriel’s usual tattoo studio, the neon sign flashing a welcome at you.

“I’m going to be honest, sweetness. It will not tickle; it’s a needle,” he says gently. “But you don’t have to do this. We can go back if you’re afraid or uncomfortable,” he adds, sensing your nerves.

You look up at him, squeezing his hand tighter. “No thank you, I think i’m good but could you please hold my hand during?” you ask sweetly.

Azriel kisses your hairline, inhaling the familiar scent of your strawberry shampoo. “Of course, beautiful. Feel free to crush it if you need to,” he jokes.

You nod determinedly, taking a deep breath before strutting into the tattoo shop with Azriel by your side, heels clicking against the concrete floor.

—

After two excruciating hours of sniffling and crushing Azriel’s hand, you leave the tattoo shop with Azriel's name inked on your lower back next to a heart. You also have a small Hello Kitty tattoo on your left pointer, dedicated to your kitten, all in pink ink. You can't stop smiling as you show him the delicate designs, feeling a mix of pride and excitement.

Azriel's face seems to soften impossibly. “It looks amazing, baby. You’re so brave,” he says, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You giggle, leaning into him. “I did it, Azzie. Now we match!” You turn to give him a wink. “Plus, pink is so cute, right? Oh! Also imagine how cute this will look during backshots!”

Azriel chuckles, kissing your forehead. “Cute indeed. It suits you perfectly.” He admires the tattoo again with darkened eyes. “I think we should really head back home, right? I’d really like to appreciate up close. I’ll buy you ice cream too,” he suggests.

“Yes! That sounds perfect,” you beam, feeling a rush of happiness as you walk hand in hand, ready to celebrate your new ink together.

You also feel a rush of excitement, knowing that Azriel is going to fuck you into oblivion. With the way he is staring at you, there’s just no way you’re not getting some.

🏷️: @vbbaby-girl @whatdoyxumean @honeybeeboobaa @thescooby-gang @linoisqt @mischiefmanagers @tortured-artists @to-be-written @sidthedollface2 @stasiereads @amara-moonlight @scoobies @caroline-books @kalulakunundrum @meshelleexplosionmurder @danikamariewrites @claireswritingcorner @redbleedingrose @jeannineee @nocasdatsgay @v3lv3t-f0x @liati2000 @teenageeggscissorslawyer @impossibelle @stonerpersona @dreamlandreader @djaaaa @cadiawrites @thelov3lybookworm @polli05927 @ahitsalyssa @evergreenlark @thegirlintheshadows101 @saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofladydeath @acourtofwhatthefuck @readychilledwine @daycourtofficial @azriels-shadowsinger @sapphicmsmarvel @hungryforbatboys @justasillylittlegoofyguy @luvmoo @emryb @meritxellao @mochibabycakes @artists-ally @azzieslittlebunny @berryzxx @sweetshifter @lilah-asteria @hannzoaks @throneofsmut @taterslaters

[foreingersgod]

hi bb!! im glad you’re backkk

could you do reader coloring in emilys tattooos??🥰🥰

Coloring Book . EE

pairing: emily engstler x reader

A/N: this was such a cute idea! i hope i did it justice :)

my masterlist → here

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

soft music hummed in the background from your phone. a random playlist shuffling songs as you and your girlfriend, emily, sat atop your shared bed. the sheets were tucked neatly, pillows haphazardly pushed back as emily laid against them. she wasn’t wearing a top, just her sports bra paired with her shorts to display her array of tattoos. you were sat on her lap, your legs straddling her waist.

there was a variety of different markers scattered across the bed. the scent of xylene wafted throughout the room, filling your nose. you had one marker in your hand, its cap lost somewhere beside you as you got to work.

after quite some convincing, emily was finally letting you color in her tattoos. you had seen the trend on social media a while ago and thought it was so cute. for days you begged her, eager to pull out the markers that had been forgotten in your desk, to let you do it. she wasn’t amused by the idea at first, she thought it was silly if she were to be honest. but when you gave her that look, pouted lips and bright beautiful eyes, she knew she couldn’t resist you. so here you were, on a sunday afternoon, finally getting your wish.

the sun poured in through the window with a calming 5 o’clock glow. it illuminated her skin perfectly, allowing the thick lines of ink on her body to stand out. you were leaning forward slightly, neck craning downwards to get a better view of the tattoos on emily’s arm. she propped her arm up for you to give you better access.

“ok ok, i’m done with the blue, what color should i do next?” you asked, blowing away the strand of hair that had fallen in front of your face. you put the cap back on the royal blue marker and placed it neatly back in the box.

“whatever you want, baby” emily smiled at you. she had to admit she was actually enjoying this, seeing you so enthusiastic made her heart flutter “you’re the artist here”

“well in that case” you rummaged through the markers for a moment, trying to find the color you were looking for. as you leaned across the bed, emily’s hands found their way to your hips, gripping them to hold you in place “i think i’m gonna go with red”

“perfect choice”

you grinned, glancing up at her briefly before turning your attention back to her arm. you began to color in the lines with the bright shade of red. emily watched as you colored her skin. she couldn’t seem to get enough of the sight. how your hair kept falling in front of your face, and how you would brush it back behind your ear. how you stuck your tongue out ever so slightly as you tried to concentrate on coloring. even how the ends of your lips pulled into the cutest smile when you were pleased with the work you’d done. she could stare at you all day if she could.

although she loved looking a your gorgeous face, she couldn’t help but feel inclined to take a look at your progress. with one of your hands wrapped around her bicep, the other clutching the marker that ran across her skin, she managed to take a peek. you had already filled in parts of her tattoos with pinks and blues and the occasional yellow. in some spots, you had colored outside the lines, but to emily that just gave it more personality. as she admired the bursts of color you let out a satisfied laugh, catching her attention and causing her to look back up at you.

“all done!” you clasped your hands together “what do you think?”

you seemed so proud of your artwork, biting down on your lip in excitement as you awaited her response.

“it looks so good, babe” she looked at the scribbles on her arm once more “you did such a good job! i love it”

“thank you for letting me do this,” you had now completely disregarded the markers, leaving them as a mess for future you. you had adjusted yourself on emily’s lap and scooted closer to her, placing your hands on either side of her face “you’re such a softie”

she shook her head and chuckled under her breath. god you were gonna be the death of her “only for you”

you let your body lean into her, face inching closer to hers as you pulled her into you. with eyes gently closing, you pressed your lips to hers ever so sweetly. you felt her relax into the kiss as she sighed into you. her lip’s curling into a smile as she kissed you once more.

“this isn’t going to wash off easily, will it?” she murmured against your lips.

“nope”

you both burst into laughter, imagining how long it was going to take for her to scrub the vivid colors off her arm. emily could already see it, her teammates teasing her, reminding her just how whipped she was for you. but she didn’t mind, not one bit, just as long as she got to she her girl happy.

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Three- Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Thèos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, PURE SMUT, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Oral Sex (M Rec), Throat Fucking, Toxic Behaviour, Blackmail, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Humiliation, Manipulation, Gagging, Spitting, DubCon, CNC.

**here’s: one, two, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen & twenty.

As you approached the door of the familiar private classroom, a subtle sense of unease gnawed at the edges of your confidence.

Admittedly you got lost in the depths of your homework after dinner, becoming absorbed in the swirls of ink on your parchment, diligently crafting your Astronomy essay due in a mere three weeks from now. The minutes seemingly slipped away, and you realized you were running late for today's tutoring session, the devastating consequence of your intense focus on your academic obligations.

However, considering Mattheo's habitual tardiness--one of which he has mastered as well as any given art form--you assumed your delay wouldn't be at all consequential, and would most likely even go unnoticed. So without really thinking twice about it, you gently pushed open the door, expecting the room to be empty, the usual silence welcoming you as you stepped inside.

But then, to your astonishment, the room was not vacant. There he was, Mattheo Riddle, perched on the chair with an air of casual authority. His long legs were stretched out before him, feet confidently resting on the desk's edge, displaying a newfound confidence that sent a shiver down your spine. His arms were folded, his posture exuding an almost predatory assurance. His eyes, dark as the night and twice as intense, followed your every move as you stepped inside. The atmosphere crackled with tension, the weight of his gaze pressing upon you.

You closed the door with a deliberate slowness, the soft click echoing through the room like a gunshot in the silence, and his eyes locked onto yours, silently challenging you.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up." He taunted, his voice laced with a poisonous charm. The room seemed to shrink in the wake of his suffocating arrogance. "Guess Ravenclaws little good girl isn't so perfect after all...who would have guessed."

You rolled your eyes, a flush of embarrassment staining your cheeks as you awkwardly dropped your gaze to the floor. The weight of being late for the first time in your life was almost palpable, but you made an effort to play it off, attempting to regain your composure despite the lingering discomfort.

"Save the mind games for someone who's willing to play, Riddle," you said, slowly making your way toward him. "You have no right to talk, you're late every single week."

"Yeah but I'm not the one who turns into a sobbing mess over a less-than-perfect grade," Mattheo sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "I don't have mental breakdowns just because I'm not the class's golden child in everything, and I'm definitely not the one who's about to graduate in merely a few months while still a fucking virgin-"

Your jaw dropped in astonishment at his audacity, a surge of indignation propelling you to slam your bag down on the desk in front of him. The force of your action knocked his feet off the desk, abruptly interrupting whatever sentence he had intended to finish, leaving him silenced in disbelief.

"At least I'm going to fucking graduate without needing someone to hold my hand like a child." You hissed, the words slipping past your teeth before you even had a chance to process them. "For someone who needs me so much, you sure don't act like you appreciate my help."

Mattheo's eyes darkened, a storm of arrogance and anger swirling in their depths, transforming his usual stoic demeanor into a deep scowl etched across his face. He rose from his seat, his tall frame looming over you, casting a shadow that seemed to stretch across the room.

"You think I need you, Raven?" He purred, wetting his lips. "You really think that?"

You steeled your jaw, strengthening your stance, ignoring the fact that your fingers were trembling like leaves in the autumn wind.

"Where would you be without me, Riddle?" You whispered, kinking your neck back to catch his dark, hungry eyes. "How many tutors did you have before me? How many other students tried to help you but couldn't stand your arrogant, no-fucks-given attitude, hm?"

Your words draped the air with a palpable gravity, silencing Mattheo completely--an unprecedented reaction, given his usual quick retorts. The revelation ignited a fierce ember within you, fueling your resolve and lending a sharp edge to your words, as if each syllable carried the weight of your determination.

"That's what I thought..." your voice was low, reverberating as a mere whisper in the air, something flickering behind Mattheo's eyes that made your lips curl into a devilish smirk. "You know that without me, you'd be here forever...maybe you've managed to manipulate me into being your little toy, but that doesn't change the truth about this whole thing...you need me, Riddle, you fucking need me..."

Mattheo blinked, the ensuing silence lingering for what felt like a painful fucking eternity--time seemed to come to a standstill, everything around you fading into insignificance, leaving just you and the cunning, arrogant boy with tousled hair in your presence.

When he finally spoke, You couldn't shake the sinking feeling in your stomach, understanding all too well that his words were laced with an arrogant twist, a prelude to something manipulative and cunning yet to unfold.

"You're right," he finally said, stepping closer. "I do need you,"

His voice dipped into a low, sinister register, and the corners of his lips curled into a sadistic smile, sending a chill down your spine.

"I need you to watch your fucking mouth," the touch of his fingers on your arm nearly made you jump, his hand grazing up and over your shoulder. "I need you on your knees begging for my forgiveness," the pads of his fingers grazed your collarbone, and before you could even comprehend it, his large hand clasped around your throat, the other finding the small of your back as he pushed you up against the desk. "And then, I need you swallowing my fucking cum like the good little whore I know you are."

Without wasting a single second of time his plush lips attacked yours, his tongue delving past your teeth with a passionate urgency. You were painfully aware of Mattheo's manipulative tactics, understanding that he was using your vulnerability to his advantage, and the rational part of your mind screamed warnings at you, reminding you of the toxicity in his actions.

Yet, beneath the surface; as his hands roamed your curves, his tongue explored your mouth; an unsettling, exhilarating feeling lingered, a strange sort of affection for the very dominance that should have repelled you.

The awareness of his exploitation only intensified the rush, a twisted form of affection blossoming amidst the wrongness of it all. It was as if the knowledge of being used had become entangled with your desires, forming a paradoxical bond that you couldn't sever. In the midst of the moral turmoil, a dark, irresistible thrill coursed through your veins, leaving you helplessly drawn to the very thing you should have despised.

"You've been a very naughty girl, Raven..." his lips fell to your jawline, hands groping your curves, bunching the fabric of your uniform within his battered fists. "You've been swearing far too much...you were late...and now you want to act like you have power over me?" When he sunk his teeth into your earlobe, you yelped, flinching as he tightened his grip on your hips. "Don't get it twisted, princess...I hold the fucking power here...look at what I do to you..."

Your entire body was tingling, your fingers latching onto the fabric of his white button up dress shirt for dear fucking life.

"Mattheo-"

His lips fell lower, rough hands gripping your hips and shoving your ass back onto the desk behind you, parting your legs on either side of his strong body as he pulled you against him.

"This is what I do to good girls like you...I turn them into naughty little whores..." he purred, licking a flat line up the side of your throat, your lids involuntary fluttering shut at the breathtaking sensation. "...naughty little whores who take my cock and swallow my fucking cum."

His hands slid up your sides, taking the fabric of your skirt along with them, and you gasped as you felt it hike dangerously high up your thighs, trembling fingers tugging it back down to keep yourself covered.

Mattheo huffed, releasing the fabric. "You're not used to being bad though, are you, princess?"

His teeth sank into your collarbone, creating a tantalizing blend of pleasure and pain that sent shivers down your spine. Strands of his tousled hair caressed your cheek, the faintest whisper of a touch sending tingles across your skin. Your lips parted involuntarily, releasing a soft whimper, while Mattheo's response echoed in a deep, guttural groan that reverberated through the air, intensifying the charged atmosphere between you.

One hand gripped your jaw as he pulled back, meeting your eyes. "Answer me when I ask you a question."

Your breath hitched, flames roaring in your veins. "No, Mattheo...I'm not..."

"Mm," he purred, wetting his lips as he stared. "Do you know what happens to bad girls, Raven?"

Your stomach twisted as he tugged you closer by the hold on your jaw, his eyes darkening with desire as they darted across your face, seemingly examining your features as though they were precarious and new.

Your voice trembled. "No..."

"They get fucking punished."

Before you could respond, Mattheo shifted his hand, shoving two rough fingers between your teeth, reaching for the back of your throat and forcing a gag. Your eyes watered, beads of salty fluid threatening to spill down your cheeks, but he was unyielding, gripping the back of your neck with his other hand to force himself further down your throat--holding you in place while he did.

Your entire body was in flames, your thighs begging, fucking screaming in a need so disgustingly dirty you'd never experienced anything remotely close to it before.

Mattheo groaned, low in his chest, his dark eyes watching every single ministration of your face as you gagged on his fingers. The hand behind your head relented as he brought it to his crotch, palming the insistent bulge in his trousers as he watched you; seemingly not having blinked once.

"Unbutton your shirt," his voice was a hoarse whisper, laced with primal desire. He pushed his fingers deeper, clearing his throat. "Seal those filthy lips around my fingers, and unbutton your fucking shirt, princess..."

You cursed the fact that his body was separating your legs because all you wanted, more than anything on the face of the planet, was to squeeze your fucking thighs together--to give your cunt any sort of friction possible. Every word from his lips was doing inexplicable things to your body, and the need between your thighs was growing so insistent it was almost painful.

Following his commands, you sealed your lips around his fingers, swirling your tongue and bobbing your head painfully slowly as you teased him, trembling fingers moving to the buttons on your blouse and undoing them one by one until your chest was entirely exposed to him--your lungs stalled, pussy clenching as you watched his eyes darken with desire while they scanned your chest covered only by your navy laced bra, the hand on his crotch moving more insistently now.

"My fucking God, Raven," he breathed, jaw tensing so tight it looked painful. "I can't believe you've been keeping all of that hidden this whole time..."

You mewled involuntarily as he grazed your chest with his free hand, pushing his fingers deeper down your throat with enough intensity to make you cough as his demeanour switched and he palmed your breast with enough force to illicit an exasperated groan. He was possessed now, something swarming his pupils that made your entire body convulse with unfamiliar and unabashed need; you were almost certain there'd be a pool of your desire on the desk between your thighs at this point.

Without warning, he abruptly removed his hands from you. Your lips, parted in anticipation of a breath, yearned for air before his mouth enveloped yours once more. In a frenzy, his hands hurriedly reached for his belt, driven by an almost desperate urgency as you both inhaled sharply through your nostrils. Your lips meshed together in a way that seemed to consume each other, as if you could breathe in one another during the kiss.

Once he'd successfully freed himself, he pulled back, shoving his fingers back into your mouth and yanking you off the desk, his throbbing length pressing against your belly as he shoved himself against you; fingers forcing another gag from your chest, watching you with a primal fervour in his eyes so intense it was intoxicating.

Pulling his fingers from your mouth again, he cupped his hand out in front of you. "Spit."

Your brows furrowed in confusion, your brain buffering in attempt to process his words until his free hand shot into your hair, tilting your head until your lips were parallel to his palm.

"Spit, Raven," he repeated. "Spit into my fucking hand."

Your stomach contorted with a mix of disbelief and unfamiliar desire, your entire being thrown off balance. Each word that fell from his lips felt like a jolt, causing your heart to stutter in your chest. His eyes bored into you, searing your skin into flames, and without another moment's hesitation, you gathered the saliva he had coerced from you and spat it into his hand.

"Mm, that's it...good little whore..." He purred, bringing it down to his cock, rubbing it into his shaft as he stroked himself, eyes never once leaving yours. "Now, get on your knees for me, pretty girl."

Your breath caught in your throat. He, of all people, had just called you "pretty," and you were certain your ears were playing some sort of trick on you. It was a compliment you never expected from him, someone you had never imagined would see you in such a way. Pulling your lip between your teeth, you did as he said, squeezing your thighs together as you situated yourself in front of his feet.

Mattheo's hand remained in your hair, firmly gripping a fistful as he stroked himself. "Hands behind your back, Raven..." he muttered. "Let me see those delicious fucking tits of yours."

Your entire body shuddered, immediately clasping your hands together behind you without a second thought.

"That's it...fuck-" he was stroking himself faster, the veins in his hands tensing with every movement. You weren't sure who was enjoying this more, him or you. "You want this, princess? You want this cock in your dirty little mouth?"

Your throat was drier than the desert, each swallow a struggle against the arid emptiness within. Fingernails dug into your own flesh with a fierce intensity, the pressure threatening to break through the skin, mirroring the internal turmoil that gripped you. Holy fucking shit.

"Yes..." your voice was a pathetic whisper.

"Don't be so modest, Raven," he sneered, slowing his pace, twisting his wrist as he stroked his shaft, eyes never once leaving yours. "Beg for it."

Your stomach was in your throat. You'd never done anything like that before, you weren’t even really sure how. "I...um-please, Mattheo..."

His eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment, a flicker of amusement dancing across his features before he locked eyes with you once more, his arrogance wrapping around the room like a suffocating cloak.

"Bloody hell, I said beg for it...does the prissy little princess not know how to fucking beg?" his voice was a hoarse growl, his vocal cords strained with lust. "Tell me how bad you want my cock, Raven, tell me how much you need it."

You couldn't believe your ears; the turn of events in your life felt utterly surreal. Never in your entire existence could you have imagined that this is where you'd find yourself right now--merely a few months away from graduation, on your knees for the most suffocatingly arrogant delinquent in the school who was making you beg to suck his fucking dick. A man who only last year wouldn't have paid you an ounce of mind, who probably didn’t even know you existed.

Your cheeks burned, but you fought through it, the arousal in your lungs fuelling your words. "Please, Mattheo...I want your cock so bad, I want you in my mouth, I want to choke on it, I want you to fuck my throat until you cum-"

His grip on your hair tightened, simultaneous with the grip on his cock as he cranked your head back, leaning down to meet your eyes; his lips hovering mere inches above yours.

"My God, you're a dirty fucking slut, aren't you?" He purred, smirking so wide it reached his eyes, his fingers bruising your scalp. "A dirty fucking slut whose sole purpose is to let me use her mouth whenever I want, yeah?"

You swallowed, wincing as he jerked your head back further, fucking into his fist faster, harder. "Yes, Mattheo..."

He sneered, clearly loving every fucking minute of this. "Imagine if anyone saw you like this...fuck-you're fucking filthy..." his voice was breathless, if you didn't know any better you'd think he was about to make himself cum before you had the chance to suck him off. "Apologize for being such a nasty little slut and I'll let you swallow my cum."

Your thighs clenched in need, your wetness seeping through your panties at this point. Gods, you wanted him so fucking bad you thought you were going to die.

"I'm sorry," you pleaded, eyes wide as you peered up at him, nearly-speechless. "I'm sorry for being a nasty little slut."

"That's right..." he purred, directing the head of his cock toward your mouth, groaning as your pressed your lips to it. "Good girl...fuck-so good for me..."

Your entire body was in flame, hands still clasped together behind your back as both of his thrust tightly through your hair, absentmindedly sealing your lips around his shaft, revelling in his skin's heat, dragging your tongue along the throbbing, pulsing underside. Riddle growled, bucking his hips, and you took him further into your mouth, gagging as his tip slammed the back of your throat.

"You take me so well, Raven..." he breathed, head falling back on his shoulders, eyes fluttering shut as his hands urged your head along his length. "Can't believe a mouth that annoying can feel this fucking good."

You groaned in assent, sucking hard at his cock as he slowly started to fuck your throat. You were both struggling to breathe, both losing control, both lost in an ocean of primal, urgent carnality. Pleasure was straining your seams, ready to explode inside of you, drool dribbling in globs from your chin, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you tried to hold the boundaries of your sanity together.

"Mm, fuck..." Riddle's grip was crushing your skull. "I changed my mind…I'm gonna' cum on those perfect tits, princess..."

Your bones almost liquefied at this--but you steadied your knees, gagging as he started fucking into your throat faster, thrusting deep, your eyes disappearing into the back of your head as you allowed him to use your mouth as a helpless hole for him to fuck--singlehandedly loving every fucking second of it.

"Shit-" he groaned, eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck."

Your thighs clenched, brain fogged by a hurricane of lust, but when he pulled out, abruptly, your cognition returned--your vision clearing to an image of Riddle, red-faced, fucking his fist. Snarling, he jerked your hair, and choked on his moan, the sound stuttering while he shot the hot loads of his cum onto your chest and neck. He sucked down air in long, heavy breaths, waiting until the end of his release had dissipated, and then dropped you, stepping back to marvel at his masterpiece. You swore steam was wafting off your skin.

"Beautiful," he murmured. He pieced himself back together, buckling his belt. "Tell me how I taste."

Every inch of you tingled, chest heaving, jaw slack in an open pant. Keeping his stare, you brought a trembling hand to your chest, swiping his sticky cum off your tits and trailing it past your lips, slowly sucking it off your first two fingers. The taste melding with the mere prospect of what was happening elicited a low moan from your chest, and you shuddered, trapped in his gaze until you were finished.

"Salty." You teased, smirking up at him.

"Salty, huh?” He huffed, a devious grin on his face as he helped you up to your feet, rough palm grasping your forearm. "Important mineral for a balanced meal, yeah?"

You chuckled, heat swarming your skin as you stammered up to your feet, meeting his darkened eyes as you began buttoning up your shirt, taking in his newly flushed features--curly brown hair slightly sticking to his forehead before he ran a battered hand through it, brushing it back.

“Smartass,” you grumbled, turning toward the desk. “Next week we have an exam, so there won’t be a tutor session, you know that right?”

He released a breath, throwing himself into the usual creaky wooden chair beside yours. “Guess that just means you’ll have to do that again before the nights’ over,” he said. “You know, to compensate for next week.”

You rolled your eyes, failing to hide your smirk. “In your dreams, Riddle.”

“Oh, definitely not, princess.” He breathed, glimpsing you briefly. “In my dreams you do a hell of a lot more than that.”

——————

Chapter four->

[adamsrcnan]

pre-pynch adam being unsurprised that ronan would be at his door in the middle of the night just gets me every damn time. like i need to know how that first time went.

the surprise of ronan standing there sullen and looking a little lost. the awkwardness of the cramped space and these two boys trying to fit in it.

ronan saying or doing something that would make adam sigh or roll his eyes. the falling into comfortable silence. ronan throwing himself onto adam's mattress, kicking off his boots and flipping open a text book as if he intended to read it.

adam side eyeing this action. their eyes locking. adam, eye brow raised. ronan, giving back a dead stare (because in that moment he wants to scream at the intimacy of everything so instead he has to pretend he feels NOTHING)

adam shaking his head and carrying on with his studies. ronan dozing off to adam's pen scratching on his notebook. adam kicking his leg later telling him to move he needs to sleep. ronan ungracefully rolling off the mattress onto the floor beside it. adam's scoff as he says "nice lynch" before laying down. (doesn't escape adam's notice that it's warm now and smells like feathers and leather. smells like ronan).

ronan snatching up a hoodie of adam's and balling it up under his head. adam throwing his arm over his eyes and losing himself in sleep immediately. ronan staring up at the ceiling listening to adam's breathing (he's so quiet he could be dead) and then turning his gaze to adam's face and his hand just shy of the edge of the mattress. (he can see the callouses in the moonlight, the faint stains of oil adam couldn't get out, the little pen ink marks) ronan sighing deeply before turning away and muttering "night parrish"

and then the second, third, and fourth times it happens. ronan dreaming up a better set of pillows for adam bc "your hoodies suck ass parrish" and "you have your own bed lynch" and ronan snarling in response and not saying anything back.

like i'm sorry i can't believe maggie just dropped that casual fact into the story TWICE. once from ronan and once from adam and then just never let us see it happen ever and expected me to not lose my mind over it

[lunarw0rks]

Angst Drabble where task 141 thinks reader was KIA but they just being held captive and was probably tortured until reader escaped?

☾𓂃❛🍰❜┊ we buried you

warning(s): platonic!141, canon-typical violence, torture mention, blood/injury, medical procedures, hurt/comfort, gn!reader ♡ masterlist // requests // ask box

you already looked dead and felt it even more. bloodied, beaten, and deprived of proper food and water for weeks. but you had your chance to escape; one chance, a slim one.

your captors' facility had been raided — before they could restrict you to a chair again. the man who was in charge had been dropped through one of the windows, and the commotion in the prison's corridors was too chaotic for anyone to hear the faint gunshot.

the ringing, and feeling of water trapped in your ears — it was a blessing given all the overstimulating chaos. no one was looking for you, not while they were defending their compound.

you lifted your head from your blank stare in your lap once you heard the heavy thump of his body. you crawled to the warden's corpse, fingering the speak button on his radio, but your vision was too doubled to focus. on top of it, you weren't sure you could speak. you gave up on that the second day into imprisonment. no words resulted in punishment, but so did the use of them. it was a double-edged sword of anguish.

it was now or never; any longer and you would catch an infection or bleed out from your injuries.

to find his gun, you would have to roll the weight of a grown man onto his stomach. maybe last week, before you sustained a broken rib you would've. but now? you could do nothing except stagger through the empty corridors with his keycard, deadened eyes doing little to observe a threat.

the luminance of the afternoon sun nearly knocked you down, an achy forearm raised to block the sheer brightness of the star. your best course of action was to keep moving towards the sounds of friendlies; now was not the time to be the hero you were trained to be.

it was a desert area, only adding to the dryness in your throat and eyes. the distant voices of soldiers, British ones grew louder as you advanced down the valley, eventually seeing a tank in view. what sounded like an officer or general, his shouts were interrupted by the downright grisly sight you were. a military undershirt matching his and your undergarments — crimson stains in the fabric, your skin, the cuts and gashes, bruises big and tiny, sunken and hopeless features.

❝don't move an inch!❞ he bellows despite you already stopped in your tracks, bare feet blistering against the torrid sand. it was only fair in a land full of terrorism — assuming anyone could be an enemy. his men raised their rifles as the officer approached steadily, the force of his squad as backup.

the keycard smears with your bloody fingertips fell to the sand before you turned your arm to him, flashing your only chance at getting back to your men; an insignia for the 141 across that traveled down your forearm.

his gaze softened as he gripped the tender flesh of your arm, inspecting the ink tattered by injury. he gives it a harsh rub with a wetted finger — but the tattoo is very real.

your legs buckled beneath you once you knew you were safe as if your broken body could only stay upright for minutes under the sizzling sun. you crumpled against the sand, eyes droopy and about to clench shut.

the last of the commotion you heard was the officer speaking frantically into his comms — and most notable, a familiar name. captain price.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

❝bleeding christ...❞ price muttered as you wheeled past him limp on a gurney. you were supposed to be KIA, buried and dead for months now. your comms had been lost, and everyone else in that transport didn't make it. but you were here, and barely breathing.

how you managed to stand, let alone remain lucid enough to identify yourself to British forces, he couldn't comprehend it. however, your captain wasn't surprised — you were tough as nails.

the medics worked tirelessly; wrapping you in cooling blankets, inserting a central line, IVs pumping fluid, and a feeding tube to slow feed you until your gut could handle nutrients again.

for hours; they induced your slumber, some much-needed shuteye as the lines and medications did their work on you. though you hadn't been moving much, your attempts at speaking and panicked looks around the medbay were inhibiting your ability to rest. but right now, your shallow breaths were like a living miracle.

you survived and made your escape out of sheer willpower — no one would forget this.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

soap was the first to sit with you, reading from a sports magazine. his logic? if you're up and bickering with him again, that means you're alright. your eyes would flutter open for seconds at a time, a small frown pointed at your chatty visitor, then they would shut again for hours. anything was better than nothing.

gaz and ghost only visited through the window into the medbay, a few minutes of observing your bruised body before they forced themselves to move along. or the captain did. the world couldn't stop for you, as much as he wanted them all to be there for you when you were lucid.

it was captain price that was. he gave the other three a light assignment, something that would keep the trio occupied for a few hours.

after what seemed like two days of medicated slumber, your eyes finally opened fully. you stared down at the stitches all over you, the soft cast around your wrist. most of all, the achy feeling is still ever-persistent despite the sedatives.

❝captain?❞ you croaked in a weak and emotional tone. you weren't in that prison, you were in the 'comfort' of a medbay. perhaps it was the drugs or the hell you had been through, but you were near tears.

his hand outstretched, a palm resting on one of the few uninjured bits of flesh on your arms. ❝you did it, kid. you... made it.❞ price's tone was soothing and low, like that of a parent consoling their maimed child.

what you had been through, he didn't need to know. he didn't ever want to picture it. what mattered most was that you were here and that you had proved yourself in the most heartbreaking sense.

he finds his pocket, pulling out his cell. ❝i have make a call to laswell. i can ask the others to visit if you'd like?❞ price asks softly, eyes remaining on you as he dials the number.

whether you wanted to see the rest of them right now or not, that was your decision. you earned it.

[infi8ity]

nsfw. | MDI.

∞

THE ORIGINAL PLAN FOR YOUR ONE-HOUR LUNCH BREAK WAS AS FOLLOWS— surprise toji at his tattoo parlor with chinese takeout, spend and enjoy time with your husband as you both eat said takeout and make it back to work before 2 pm.

you hadn’t even made it to step two when the plan quickly became— toji making you cum as many times as you could bear before 2 pm. it was 1:25 now. by this time, you had orgasmed twice.

but toji was ever determined to make it a third.

that's how you ended up in his back office at “cursed ink tattoo shop” on his peeling black leather sofa spread ass up; face down over the arm of the couch getting fucked stupid.

clothing and undergarments lay strewn haphazardly across the room, a testament to the fervor of the past few rounds. toji’s dominating presence was accentuated by the sheen of sweat glistening on his powerful form, each drop reflecting the dim light.

he held your hands firmly behind your back, his grip unyielding as he pressed them down, deepening the curve of your arch. with his free hand, he braced himself against the back of the sofa, his muscles tensed to maintain his balance and control.

with every thrust into you, you could feel your abused walls tightening around him. the pain was intense but the pleasure was far fucking greater.

“i can't quite--," your husband tenses in between his powerful strokes. "hear you, woman. speak up."

he knew what he was doing. when he fucked you like this— like a madman— you were always lost for words. the way he rammed his thickness into you at such a force, your only response was the loud lewd moans escaping your lips.

this doesn't suffice for toji.

with a deliberate, firm release of your wrists, his hand slides around to grasp your chin, his grip intense as he forces you to meet his gaze. he leans in, his breath mingling with yours, drawing your face closer to his until you’re mere breaths apart, a deep hunger in his navy eyes.

"should i stop? is that what you want? for me to stop fucking you?"

though his words are threatening, his pacing does not falter. he continues to pound his thick length into your soaking cunt.

"huh?" he growls, awaiting your response.

you choke on your moans. you felt unable to form a coherent sentence, thus furiously shaking your head in protest. "n-no. fuck- augh,"

"then let me fucking hear you, baby," he whispers in your ear. his hypnotizing tone sends shivers down your spine down to the pool between your legs. "wanna hear you scream my name mrs. fushiguro."

he loosens his grip on your chin and guides your forearms to rest on the arm of the sofa. pressing his body against your back, you can feel the slickness of sweat causing your bodies to cling together.

he leans in and plants a soft kiss on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

toji drastically slows his pace; allowing you to catch your breath and regain your composure. albeit further delaying your orgasm. you whine in complaint.

he gently shushes you, wrapping his muscular bicep around your barred throat. his touch is firm yet tender, applying just enough pressure to hold you in place while eliciting a soft, controlled choke.

he teasingly pulls out, thrusting himself agonizing slowly— back in. bottoming out, he asks, "whose dick is this?"

"mine." you sputter.

"thats right.” he drags his tip along the folds of your cunt. “whose pussy is this?"

"yours. all yours."

his hips connect with your ass. the force rocking you forward, a moan catching in your throat.

"good girl." he praises. he thumbs his fingers between your nipples. pinching and twisting softly. "who fucks you like this?"

"just you toji. only you baby. please, feels so good i'm gonna cum. was having a bad day, i need it.”

your responses seem to please him, as he speeds up his pace. he abandons his assault on your nipples and finds purchase on your clit. tracing circles against your bud.

"aww, my poor wife was having a bad day at work? maybe after i let you cum this third time, it'll get better." he drawls.

he wasn’t lying; work had built up a pent-up tension deep within you. If there was any way to release the stress weighing on your shoulders, toji was the perfect remedy.

as if reading your thoughts, he quickens his movements. your walls suck him in deeper, tightening well around him. his groans like music to your ears. "you feel so good y/n. you're so beautiful like this. 'm gonna nut from the sight of you. "

the praise gives you a boost of confidence as you were unable to differentiate what felt better? the pressure of him pinching and massaging your clit or the feeling of him massaging your guts and hitting all the right spots.

you rotate your hips around him, almost as if you were fucking him right back, and toji moans with you. you chant his name like a broken record. you can't help yourself. It's the only thing you can think of. him. him. him.

his arm tightens against your throat in response to you clenching around his length. your pussy pulsates, your orgasm nearing its release as he hits that one spot- over and over and—

in sync, you cry out as you cream around his dick; feeling toji’s hot loads shooting inside of you. your juices flowing together, coating your walls and spilling out of you as toji removes himself.

the room was filled with the sounds of panting as the two of you fought to catch your breath.

toji is the first to move. he presses soft kisses against your lips before he opts a glance at his wristwatch and stands.

“well then mrs fushiguro, it's one thirty-seven." he remarks, casually sauntering around the room in search of your scattered clothing. "i’d say we have fifteen minutes to fix you up, get some food in your stomach— Lords knows you’ve had enough of me in there,” you snort. “and on the way to work before two.”

he pads in front of you, in all his six foot two perfectly muscled glory. he was no longer erect, but that hadn't diminished his length in the slightest. he motions for you to take your clothing.

“wait,” you begin. he quirks a brow. “you made me cum three times. least i can do is give you one more so that we’re even. yeah?”

“you sure? ain't you hungry?” he asks, cupping your hands against his face. his thumb swiping across your parted lips. you captured his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue against his finger. looking up at him beneath your lashes, you suck softly.

he pulls his thumb out of your mouth with a soft pop and groans. "hungry for something else that's for sure." you reply, eyeing his growing erection.

you grin lustfully as he runs his fingers through your hair, eventually grasping a fistful.

"fucking hell," he says under his breath; tossing your clothes to the side. "do your worst woman."

∞

© infi8ity. do not repost, translate, or modify my work.

[iwanty0uu]

Your pussy ached at the pounding that sent shivers up your spine. Legs curled gracefully around his bucking hips that moved at the speed of light. You felt as if his thick cock would have deepened your delicate hole, because of the way he stretched you out, you couldn’t cling on to anything but his thick but short hair. You felt the natural oils he begged you to put in to make it grow a little.

(but you both know its because he is fascinated by your hair routine)

But it soothed you. The smooth feeling lingering on your finger tips and the ethereal wave pleasure that was gifted by the strong, muscular man that you promised your hatred to, who was hunched above you, head lowered to yours to avoid the roof of his mercedes.Your braids fell out of your bun, curls becoming knotted, you would later regret getting the goddess braids he begged you for, after all, he did say he would fuck your hair up because of how fine you looked. The windows of the car now a deep misty white, the mix of heat, sweat, and warm air which eased through the car filling the space in the cold winter made every glass foggy.

“Oh shiiiitttt I’m close papa”

You gasped, you lost count of your orgasms but you knew it was at least your third one, you clutched his sides, feeling the slight bumps of ink on his tatted but soft skin, he fucked you rough, and you confused his hatred with pleasure.

“So cum then, the fuck-”

he breathed, catching the moan that fell out of his pink plush lips, and substituting it for a deep but quiet grunt.

“you telling me that for”

And that was it, that was what drove you off the edge, your orgasm flooded your senses, making your legs shake, while you lost control of your whole body, questioning your whole essence as you shut your eyes, and clung onto dear life to the one thing you hated.

Him.

You hated how deeply he looked at you when you argued with him during lectures, you hated how sensible he was, how his skin glistened at every angle in every lighting, how his smile brightened when he looked at her, how you filled with envy and rage which consumed you.

You loved how he hated you and loved how you hated him, your confusion got the best of you and you gave into your temptations, you ate the forbidden fruit, as a matter of fact he ate yours.

There was no Adam to protect you from the serpent in the garden, your misty eyes blinded you from seeing the truth, from stopping yourself. And it made no sense to you..

“I fuckin hate youuu” you moaned in his ear, clawing his back as he winced in pain.

“But you love dis dick..so take it”

he grunted, cock twitching as his muscles spasmed, thrusts slowing down with every breathe he took. He finally gained the courage to look you in your eyes, and as your eyes met his, you sat up, shifting under his gaze.

“You hungry?…”

did i eat?😝 el oh el BYEE!! ~𝓵𝓮𝓵𝓮

[bits-and-babs]

✰ 𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “You can take more than that." & "We might get caught. Does that turn you on?" -- Your ridiculous innuendoes in the gym with Soap go too far for Ghost's liking.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content:18+ MDNI. ft. Soap, Gym & Exercising, ridiculous innuendoes, angry sex, rough handling, spanking, p in v sex, unprotected sex, mild degradation, possessiveness, jealous Ghost.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

"That all you can do?"

You exhale sharply as you drop the barbell onto the gym floor. The heavy cast iron plates clang against the floor, the crash reverberating across the open gym as you glower up at the masked man.  

Ghost stands above you, his black tank top clinging to his sweaty torso and accentuating his muscular physique. He's tucked it into the waistband of his grey sweatpants. It's so odd to see him outside of his kit- almost scandalous. His skull mask still sits over his face, covering down to where his clavicles meet at the base of his throat, but his biceps are on full display, black ink sharp against his pale skin. 

Heaving pants escape your lips as you wipe perspiration from your brow with the back of your forearm. Yes, you're working up a sweat, but something about seeing so much of Ghost's skin has you as hot on the inside as you're showing on the outside. 

"L.t," you huff, still struggling for your breath, "I'm doing the best I ca-"

"C'mon, love," he grumbles, eyes settled firmly on the barbell resting across your lap, "You can take more than that."

You're about to dispute that claim, to tell a commanding officer to go fuck himself, but thankfully Johnny 'Soap' McTavish has a habit of running his mouth. His obnoxious laugh bounces off the mirrored walls of the gym, and you can't help but smirk when Ghost's eyes roll back in his head. 

"Johnny-"

"That's a bit crude, ain't it, L.t.?" You can hear the grin on his face before you can see him. 

"Might need to wash your mind out with Soap, Johnny," Simon grumbles, but his joke is lost to the one currently swirling in Johnny's head. The particularly heavy Scottish lilt to his voice tells you he feels pretty proud of whatever gag he's come up with. "Suppose ye could say-"

"Don't you dare, Sargeant." Ghost means it; you can hear it in his voice. He's not playing around. But, sadly for Simon, every day is a play day for Soap, and he advances with his ridiculous comment regardless. 

"That's what she said."

Simon looks ready to kill Soap with his bare hands, grumbling something about dropping a dumbbell on the Scotsman's, quote, 'stupid skull'. 

"Add more weight, Delta," Simon orders you through gritted teeth. 

"It's gonna be harder," you point out, a grin splitting your lips at the double-edged sentence. Soap catches on to your childish innuendo, smirking as he watches Ghost's eye twitch. 

"Focus on me," he insists, trying to get you to ignore Johnny's jibes and concentrate on the task at hand. 

"Naw, L.t., yer suppose'ta grab her chin and make her look in yer eyes as you fuc-"

"Sargeant." He doesn't yell. Ghost's strained voice mumbles Soap's name, but his eyes are like bayonets piercing the resolve of the cheeky Scotsman. Soap looks down to the foam mats beneath his feet, mumbling a quiet 'sorry, L.t.' 

Next, Ghost's livid gaze turns to you. A chill runs down your spine as he leans down and picks up the ridiculously heavy barbell with one hand before dumping it beside you. 

"Leave it. In the changin' room. Now." 

Simon doesn't even need to pull rank. You're up on your shaky legs and scurrying to the changing rooms without a word. Despite his signature silent footsteps, you're almost positive he's hot on your heels. You're only sure when the door slams behind you, the mirrors inside the changing rooms rattling against their fixtures drilled into the wall. 

"Fuckin' come'ere," Simon's hand grabs ar your shoulder, steering you towards the sink. You're tripping over your own feet as he shoves you against it, your chest pressed to the cold shared basin. 

"You're gonna learn to take your Commanding Officer seriously, Delta," he growls in your ear, his chest pressed heavily against your spine as his paw rips down your gym leggings and underwear in one fell swoop. "Insubordination will not be tolerated." 

Your naked lower half is exposed to the door, only shielded by Simon's ginormous hips as he pushes them against your ass. His clothed cock grinds up perfectly against your soaked folds, and you wail at the idea that there will be a wet patch when he steps away. 

"We might get caught. Does that turn you on?" Simon scoffs, the harsh sound coming from him. He punctuates his query with a sudden snap of his wrist, connecting with the soft flesh of your ass in a stinging slap. "Filthy slut."

Despite the apparent punishment, you're rewarded for taking the spank with only a whimper. Simon pushes the waistband of his sweats down, pulling out his ridiculously huge cock and pumping it slowly. Fuck~

"C'mere," Ghost barks again, his hand grasping an almost bruising hold of your hip as he pushes the blunt head of his cock into your slick cunt. You sob out suddenly, nails digging into the ceramic basin of the sink as he splits you open brutally. 

Simon's never rushed you like this. He always takes his time, easing your fluttering pussy open with his fingers. Not this time; he's disciplining you. 

"Fuck- sofuckingtight", he spits out, eyes settled between where your hips meet, "You can take more than that, love. Can see you creamin' 'round my cock already." 

The filthy words pouring from Ghost's mouth make your eyelids quiver, irises glazed over as arousal sweeps your core. He rocks forward again, dick punching into you as your walls finally give way to the intrusion. 

"Hah-HaaFuck-" Ghost groans out, palm slapping at the flesh of your hip as he suddenly fucks hard and sharp into your brutalised cunt. "Thas it- C'mon. Gonna teach you a fuckin' lesson-"

"I'm sorry, Simon!" You choke out, each word coming out in a pathetic wail that already has his cock twitching inside you. The head of his dick bumps your cervix, and each solid thrust has your body jolting up the counter. 

"You fuckin' scream it, love. Let 'im know who you belong to." Let Johnny know he can't have you because you're mine. That's an order. 

"You, Lieutenant-" you cry out, tears slipping down your cheeks as you watch him fuck you from behind in the mirror that rattles on the wall with each sharp punch of his hips, "I belong to you!" 

join the taglist here:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @Malici0uspuff1n @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 42

part 1 | part 41 | ao3

cw: irreverent religious imagery, general fucknastiness, minors look away (informal D/s dynamics, fingering, cum play, take me to church)

—

“Ohhhhh, fuck, oh fuck oh fuckohfuckoh—”

Eddie yanks his hips up higher. He’s got him hoisted up in bridge pose: weight up on his shoulders, cock aimed at his own mouth and threatening to blow, legs squeezing Eddie’s hips as Eddie pulls him apart. One hand spears three slick fingers inside him while the other delivers pleasure and penance, stroking him off so sweetly one second then striking tender flesh the next, and hysterically Steve thinks of the girl he lost his virginity to; how she kept making all these breathy, whiny cries in the back seat of his car — so big so full oh fuck Steve oh my god. Steve had always assumed she was embellishing a bit for his benefit, y’know? Like

Reality: Ribbed for His Pleasure.

But now Eddie crooks his fingers up while his free hand slaps down mean and sharp on the top of Steve’s thigh, and Steve fucking shouts. Apologizes to Mallory in his mind and lets out a hideous noise, all pitchy and strangled, his throat full of spit, his eyes filled with tears.

Eddie digs his nails into the skin he just slapped. “You wanted this,” he reminds him with a gorgeous, rasping grunt. Feral, filthy noises that shouldn't sound so beautiful but echo through Steve's mind like a pipe organ in a stone chapel.

Eddie twists his buried fingers; makes Steve's whole body clench. “Said you could take it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Steve pants, head rocking against the floor with the force of Eddie’s thrusts. Fucking him without fucking him; hips working in tandem with his fingers, pretty pink dick smearing precum on Steve’s thigh.

“Say it,” Eddie commands.

“I can take it.”

“Yeah, you can.” He drapes himself over Steve, bucking against him still, fingers moving faster, breaths speeding up. "My pretty baby," he coos with his mouth hovering inches away. "Can take anything I give you."

Steve licks his lips and wishes, grotesquely, that he had numbers on his wrist. Wants to bend the universe's will so he can stay in this moment forever.

He settles for chasing Eddie's lips with a wet kiss, straining his neck to wriggle his tongue past smiling teeth. "I can take it," he confesses against the slick drag of Eddie's mouth. Repeats the mantra, call and response like he's in church.

Eddie's hand recites the homily, jerking faster, willing release, and he pulls back to aim Steve's aching dick toward his mouth; gives him a serious look. One last chance to bow out.

"Even this?" he asks, readying Steve to pour communion down his own throat.

Steve sticks out his tongue. Looks up at Eddie with wide, reverent eyes — this Hellfire boy with demons inked into his chest — and he thinks this is the closest he's ever felt to God. Something about this feels sacred. Ritualistic renewal; rebirth and covenant.

He nods feverishly.

"Jesus Christ," Eddie groans, and he crooks his fingers in again and squeezes his other hand harder at the base of Steve’s cock. He’s leaking all over him, twitching and flexing as he thrusts; getting Steve all messy and wet between his legs. Steve wants to be fucked so badly he might cry; wants to feel it for real, the head of Eddie’s cock popping past the ring of quivering muscle.

He’s about to ask for it, beg for it — balls drawn tight against his body, tears streaming from his eyes — but then Eddie chants “Open wider, Stevie; you can do it, baby, come on” and Steve baptizes himself, spilling hot over chest and chin, reborn under the guidance of Eddie’s holy, healing hands.

—

part 43

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[revasserium]

butterfly lovers opla zoro screaming crying throwing up

butterfly lovers

opla!zoro; 7,106 words; fluff, kind of childhood friends to lovers, slowburn af, nsfw, pron with TOO MUCH plot, opla!canon divergence, ships doctor!reader, fem!reader, riding, "good girl", emotional sex

summary: yours and zoro's story, from two different perspectives.

a/n: @halfvalid this is ur fault. take responsibility pls. also the smut is literally just one part of a larger story, but it does actually get explicit so. do with that info what u will u__u.

false start.

most good stories, scholars and storytellers would both agree, have a beginning, a middle, and an end. though, famously, not necessarily in that order. and this particular story — well, it has several places one might call the beginning. and one of them is here — in shimotsuki village, in a patch of rich green forest that always smelled of cedar and moss and earth.

it would be a lie to say that the story begins here, at a doujou where eight year old boys and nine year old girls swing wooden swords hundreds of thousands of times each day. where you’d seen zoro for the very first time.

the story could have started here, but alas, it did not.

because you see, you’d never been great, or even particularly good at swordsmanship. and zoro — zoro was one of the best. even from the beginning, his raw, unfettered talent was a force to be reckoned with. but the reckoning came in the form of the doujou sensei’s blue-haired daughter, and you were no more part of zoro’s story then than a drop of ink in a midnight ocean — lost to the tumultuous waves of childhood tedium, of sword practice and sparring, of warm up laps and cool down stretches.

but you’d known him then, watched him as he grew, as he got better and better and better. bigger, stronger, quicker, sharper. and beside him was kuina, steady as the shifting tides, relentless in her efficacy, tireless in her craft. he was good, but she was better.

until one day, when very suddenly, she wasn’t.

the story, as it is, does not start here, because you’d made the solemn walk to kuina’s funeral altar with the rest of the students at the doujou in complete silence, had knelt there in equal silence and watched as sensei had bestowed the wadou ichimonji upon zoro, watched as he had gripped the sword with both hands, his knuckles going white as the sword’s moon-washed sheath, and bowed his head in acceptance.

it does not start here because later, instead of following the same, silent procession of kids back to the doujou’s main compound, you’d slipped away, silent as a shadow, and sprinted through the wide, cedar forest to a secret, open patch of grass where the sun bled from a stretch of endless sky blue enough to sting, and tiny little white-petaled flowers had sprung from the still-damp earth, turning their faces towards the coming spring.

you’d run, screaming through the field till you’d run out of breath to scream with, and collapsed among the tiny white flowers, panting and staring up at the endless blue sky, feeling the helplessness pulse through your veins. because even though kuina hadn’t been your friend — you’d exchanged perhaps a handful of words in all the years you’d spent here — she’d been a constant presence in your life. and now, she was gone. and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

you laid there for longer than you can remember, and then, as the sun finally dipped beyond the far horizon and the darkness grew longer than the sea was wide, you got up and trudged towards the clearing’s edge. only to find a small creature huddled against the trunk of a thin sapling tree — it looked like nothing more than a bundle of white-spotted fur, and it took you a long moment to realize that it was a fawn, curled into a pile of gnarled roots, shivering, eye wet and wide and terrified.

you blinked, staring at it for a few seconds before you’d noticed the gash on it’s hind leg, jutting out at an uncomfortable angle. your heart had stuttered inside your chest, and you’d dropped down to your hands and knees, cooing softly as you slowly approached the creature, trying to look as unmenacing as possible.

“hey there… are you hurt?” you’d said, crawling towards it, trying very hard to make your movements as slow and smooth as possible.

the fawn shivered as it stares at you, apparently caught between sheer terror and curiosity. you tried to smile, before digging into your pockets and pulling out a handful of peanuts, offering them to the fawn on an open palm.

“c’mon, i’m not gonna hurt you… i just wanna take a look… at that leg of yours, can i do that?” you’d asked, inching in closer and closer until the fawn’s warm, wet nose dug into your palm, it’s smooth-edged teeth grazing your skin as it crunched through the peanuts. you took the chance to glance down at it’s injured leg — it wasn’t a deep wound, but judging by the angle, it was a bit dislocated and would need to be set back right if the fawn was ever going to walk again.

slowly, you reached out a free hand to gently stroke at the fawns haunches, feeling it’s muscles tense up beneath you, even as it continues to snuffle against your palm, eager for any remnants of the peanut shells. you ran your hand along it’s leg and quick as a flash, you pressed against the odd jutting of bone, even as it snapped back into place with a satisfying crack.

the fawn made a shrill, screeching noise, jerking to its feet, but a moment later, it seemed to realize that it’s leg was no longer hurting. you held up both your hands in what you hoped was a calming gesture before tugging out a few more peanuts holding it out as an offering.

the fawn blinks it’s dark, watery eyes at you a few times before limping forward to dig its nose once more into your palm. you allowed yourself a smile then, and a soft relieved laugh as the fawn limped forward a few more steps, testing the weight of it’s body on its newly repaired leg. it looked more confident now, seemingly realizing that the wound was somewhat fixed, and it gave you one last, lingering look before it bounded off back into the sunset forest, leaving you with nothing more than a handful of peanut shells and a tightness in your chest you can’t quite seem to put your finger on.

you’d snuck back into the doujou that evening, smelling of mud and moss and cedar, and you’d lain in your futon, staring up at the high slatted ceilings, streaked with moonlight, wondering where on earth you truly belonged.

the next morning, everyone woke to neatly a folded futon and a wooden training katana, the hilt carved with your name, laid across your pillow.

so you see, the story could have started here. but it didn’t. and perhaps we should be thankful for that.

the cost of ambition.

the story, as we know it, starts then at the baratie, on the morning after a meal was eaten and not properly paid for, after an ill-fated duel between a boy with a mouthful of ambitions and a man who’d forgotten what it felt like to be truly surprised. well, he was surprised that morning, watching the boy fall back with a gash the size of the world spurting blood across the docks.

“grow strong,” he’d said, “and come find me.”

and it starts, when a pirate in a straw hat comes crashing into the baratie’s kitchen, shouting about a dying friend.

“help! help! zoro… zoro needs a doctor!”

“whoa, whoa, slow down, chore boy — i can’t understand a word you’re saying,” zeff holds up a hand to stem luffy’s panicked rambling.

“my friend is dying…”

“the nearest doctor’s on the conomi islands —”

“wait, no —” sanji frowns, cutting zeff off, “lemme look at the reservations from last night —” he hurries off to the front desk and returns with a thick leather bound volume, flipping it open to scan through the seating chart for the night before.

“i knew it!” he says, pointing at a name written in deep, ocean blue ink, “there — her! i’ve heard of her — she’s the best ship’s doctor in the east blue, and if i’m not much mistaken, her ride’s not due to leave till this afternoon.”

“great! c’mon — we haven’t got time to lose!” luffy says as he rushes out of the kitchens, leaving sanji and zeff to exchange an exasperated look before following after.

they find you on the loading docks, your nose buried in a notebook, your hand flying across the page, ink smudging your unrolling sleeve.

“please! we need a doctor! my friend — zoro — he’s dying!”

you jerk up from your notes, the name ringing in your ears like an alarm bell, rocking through your body like the base boom of a signal flare. zoro? here?

you look around even as luffy makes his way to you, pressing in too close, a hand on top of his head to keep his hat from flying away, the other curling around your upper arm.

“w-wait — what’s going on? did you say someone was dying?”

“yes! my friend! he got into a fight with this warlord guy and now he’s bleeding from everywhere —”

“show me,” you say, lurching to your feet and shouldering your leather knapsack, pursing your lips as your vision threatens to tunnel ahead of you. zoro. it’s been such a long time since you’d heard that name. sure, you’d heard of his exploits in the east blue. how could you not have?

demon, bounty, pirate hunter. hunter, hunter, hunter —

you take a deep breath as luffy leads you onto the deck of the going merry and ducks below, motioning for you to follow.

when you step into the room, you don’t notice the orange-haired girl or the long-nosed boy, instead, your eyes are drawn to the body on the kitchen table as a magnet would a compass rose. his shirt torn into barely more than ribbons, a large red gash oozing blood, bisecting his torso like some unbridgeable canyon in miniature, his skin paler than you’d ever remembered it being, sweat beading his flickering brow —

oh, zoro…

you resist the urge to press your hand to your mouth. so instead, you swallow back your heart and try to assess the damage. massive blood loss, possible head trauma, and who knows what else?

“you said a warlord with a giant sword did this?” you ask, hurrying to the table and frowning down at the gaping wound.

“y-yeah — he — he had a big hat with a white feather on it —” luffy starts.

“mihawk. his name was dracule mihawk,” the orange-haired girl cuts in, her voice sharp and a bit too forced to be steady, “he told zoro to get stronger, and that… it wasn’t his time to die yet.”

you grimace, chewing on your bottom lip as you dump your supplies unceremoniously onto the countertop next to him, digging out the necessities.

“well, he wasn’t lying — the cut’s clean and judging by the size… he could’ve cut much deeper. but he didn’t,” you sigh, absently rolling up your sleeves as you pull out a hooked suture needle and a length of thread.

they watch you work in silence, first cleaning the wound, and then slowly, painstakingly pinching and stitching him back together. by the end of it, you’re nearly dizzy with exhaustion, and the sky outside has already turned a deep, bruising purple.

you sigh, wiping down your hands.

“can someone go and ask the waiter for a fish? any fish’ll do, but the fresher, the better. oh, and a bottle of scotch.”

“got it!” the boy with the long nose bolts up and is gone in a flash.

you slump down into a nearby chair and let your head loll back. a moment later, you feel someone pressing a glass into your hand and open your eyes to find the orange-haired girl holding a glass of water.

“here… you looked like you could use it.”

“thanks,” you say, taking a grateful gulp.

“i’m nami, by the way… thanks for —” she waves at the shape of zoro still on the kitchen table, “and that one over there is luffy. the guy that just left is usopp and —” her breath catches as her eyes fall back onto zoro’s form.

“i know who he is,” you say, your voice quiet as you look down at the glass clutched in your hands.

“you know zoro?” luffy’s voice is loud, but not unpleasantly so.

you glance up and feel the truth pulsing against the back of your throat like a heartbeat. then, you shake your head with a soft smile.

“i mean, he’s got quite the reputation.”

luffy lets out a laugh, “yeah! he sure does — he’s a great fighter! probably one of the best i’ve ever seen!”

you nod, staring at the sloshing liquid in the bottom of your glass.

a few moments later, usopp returns with sanji in tow, holding a bottle of scotch in one hand and a dead fish in the other.

“you’d better have a good reason for this,” he says, his expression grim, “zeff’s not gonna be happy when he finds these gone.”

you force a smile, “well, i can promise that at least one of those things’ll be put to good use — can you just skin the fish for me, please?”

sanji frowns, “and the scotch?”

you glance around before shrugging, “i don’t know about you guys but… i think we could all use a drink.”

the cliche of the morning after.

when zoro wakes up the first time, it’s to a world-muffling quiet. he coughs, uncertain of where he is, his head throbbing, his chest feeling too light and too heavy all at once.

“oh! you’re awake — here… have some water. you’ll need it.”

he hears the voice, both familiar and foreign, and then, he feels the cool press of a glass against his lips.

he gulps down the water greedily before pain rockets through him and he lets out a loud groan.

“i… i had a dream…” he says, his head spinning, the words slurring from him, and for a second, he wonders if he’d just been fed alcohol instead of water, but the pain seizes him again and he can’t stop talking.

“yeah? what did you dream about?” the familiar, foreign voice asks, soothing, as a cold palm presses against his forehead.

“shimotsuki village… i — i made a promise. i told her — i’d be the greatest… swordsman…”

his voice is fading, and the world is fading with it.

“yeah… you did, huh? and i’m sure you’ll fulfill it, one day…”

zoro sighs, sinking gratefully into the warm, welcoming arms of darkness once more.

“but not today,” you say, reaching out to wipe the sweat from zoro’s brow, your voice so soft that you’re sure no one else can hear, “today… you just need to keep on living. and that’s the greatest promise you could ever make to me.”

smooth sailing.

when he wakes up proper, you aren’t there to greet him. but he doesn’t miss the shape of you as they all pile onto the merry to go looking for nami. he doesn’t miss sanji’s too-wide grin or the unpleasant, burning itch that shoots through his healing wound as he watches the cook ask you about your favorite foods.

he keeps quiet for the most part, but you find him still, and you ask him how he’s doing with a ship’s doctor’s professionalism and efficiency.

“how’re you healing?”

“fine.”

“any tenderness?” you ask, your brows knitting as he tugs open his shirt and lets you peel the bandages away.

“not really,” he lies, because the the tenderness is not skin deep. he feels it in the labyrinthine galleys of his soul and he can’t quite figure out why you, of all people, might make him feel this way.

you run a surgical hand along the stretch of puckered skin and he sucks in a long breath, feeling his cheeks flood with inexplicable heat.

you smell of cedar and moss and freshly turned earth and for the life of him, he can’t remember why it makes his entire body go soft with memory. it reminds him of… something.

something, something, something.

“i hear you, y’know,” you say, and he jerks back to the present, with you absently rolling up your shirtsleeves before tugging at a fresh piece of gauze to wrap him back up.

“don’t know what you mean.” he looks away, willing himself to stay still as you daub a pungent cream against his chest before applying the layers of bandage. he lifts his arm to give you more room even as you shoot him a disbelieving look.

“sword practice, in the middle of the night. i told you that you need to rest — you’ll only prolong your own healing if you keep on pushing yourself like this. rest is it’s own brand of practice.”

zoro narrows his eyes. because he’d heard that from someone, somewhere before.

“your bodies need time to repair,” his sensei used to say as they all gathered after dinner at the doujou for evening meditation, “and a disciplined mind leads to a disciplined body. don’t forget that rest is it’s own brand of practice.”

zoro had never been good at it, but over the years, he’d managed to endure.

“there. all done.”

you lean back to admire your handiwork, unaware of zoro’s eyes as they scan over the shape of you, taking in the length of your hair, the bright of your eyes, the limber, spider-quick thinness of your hands and fingers.

“thanks,” he says, slipping off the kitchen table, pausing as he notices how still you’ve gone, your eyes wide as you blink at the planes of his chest, inches from your nose. a second later, you stumble back, clearing your throat, a sweet dawning pink dusts the high of your cheeks as he cocks his head to watch you, fascinated by your reaction.

he almost grins, letting his stomach flex as he takes his time in doing up the buttons of his shirt, before grabbing his swords and slipping from the room, leaving you to clean up your medical supplies, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

zoro wonders, just briefly, how it might feel to catch your lips between his own teeth instead.

ink, skin, and bullets.

it’s you who bandages nami’s self-inflicted wounds, you who spends four meticulous hours tattooing over the sawfish curl with a pinwheel spiral that curves into a tangerine’s plumpness. you, who soothes eucalyptus balm over nami’s arm before wrapping it up in a fresh roll of gauze, waving away her hiccupped thanks.

and it’s you, who gets a shotgun pressed into your palms by a stony-faced nojiko as you all prepare to march on arlong park.

“if i can’t go with you… then at least, i can give you the tools,” nojiko says as she wraps your fingers around the butt of the gun.

zoro narrows his eyes as he watches the way your fingers shake as you weigh the shotgun in your palms.

“i don’t like it,” he says.

“yeah, you shouldn’t come with us — we’ll need you to patch us up after,” sanji agrees with a wink, much to zoro’s displeasure.

but you shake your head, a steely light in your eyes as you clutch the shotgun to your chest, “no, i — i want to come. i mean — like luffy said… it’s our fight, after all.”

arlong park.

the flurry of battle is as it always has been. you use the shotgun more as a blunt instrument than as a projectile carrier, but it seems to work just as well. you’re small, and quick, and your knowledge of anatomy (yes, even fishman anatomy) allows you to maneuver the head of the shotgun into the softest, most venerable places on a fishman’s body as you all fight your way through arlong park.

but zoro is never far off, keeping close to you as he fends off the worst of the snarling fishmen, his sword flashing like fish scales in the midday sun.

there comes a moment when he slices an oncoming fishman right through the jugular that you let out a long breath, wincing as the fishman’s body hits the ground with a dull thud, and zoro sighs, turning towards you. but a second later, he freezes as you grab the hilt of his sword and shove it backwards.

he feels it resting against thick, bullet-proof flesh and he hears the loud panting of something next to his ear as he sees in the reflection of your eyes — a fishman standing behind him, frozen against the tip of his blade, the hilt clutched in your shaking, shivering hands.

“d-don’t — i’ll kill you —” you say, your voice a forceful, fractured thing.

zoro searches your eyes before clasping his hands over yours and slowly tugging the sword from your gasp.

“hey…” he says, deliberately drawing your gaze away from the fishman before he jerks his sword back and feels, with a satisfying shink, the weight of the blade sinking into unforgiving flesh. he feels your fingers trembling beneath his as he pulls the sword away, and the fishman behind him sinks to his knees before falling sideways with the dull thunk of a no longer animate body.

you try to tug away, but zoro holds you steady, running his thumb in soothing circles along the backs of your hands.

“s-sorry — i — i couldn’t —”

zoro shakes his head, pulling you up by your elbow.

“it’s okay — don’t apologize.” he whips his swords around and catches another fishman in the stomach, dropping him with a flicker of silver and a splash of red.

“you never have to apologize…” he says, as he reaches for your hands and curls them in the warmth of his own, callused palms.

finding neverland.

you kiss for the first time after a brutal battle. after the deck has been washed of blood and the railings have been hung with the remnants of the tattered sails.

repairs are much needed, but zoro had saved you yet again. you pull him to you in the darkness of the midnight deck, the crow’s nest empty because, well, he’s supposed to be up there, keeping watch. but you’d caught him instead, curling your fingers into the soft linen of his shirt, your mouth seeking out his in the relative dark.

“mnph —”

he grunts as his hands find purchase against your shoulders, pressing you back and back and back, till you’re pushed flush against the thick totem of the main mast, and your panting breaths are all he can taste against his desperate lips.

“s-sorry…” you let out a helpless laugh as he pushes forward, his teeth clacking against yours.

“quit that,” he says, his voice nothing more than a panting breath on the open sea air.

“hm?” you blink, lashes fluttering in the moonless night, your lips kiss-swollen and delectable even as zoro forces himself to pull back, studying you with an accusatory eye.

“you’re always saying sorry,” he says as he brushes a strand of hair from your cheek. above you, the main sail whoomps, catching an evening wind.

“i’m not… i don’t…” you look away, embarrassed to be caught. zoro reaches down to grab your chin, forcing your head back towards him.

“yeah, you do,” he says, his voice gentle, even as he cups your cheek.

“you don’t ever, ever, have to apologize for just... being you. got it?” and there’s a burning ember in the spark of his voice as he twists your face up towards him, his lips hot and hungry as he brands you with this promise, and you’re powerless to do else but accept it.

you find your fingers in the short hairs at the nape of his neck, his breath cascading over your lips even as you press in close, close, closer. a helpless whine twists its way up the back of your throat as zoro hoists you up, his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs.

“z-zoro… please,” there’s something broken in the tenor of your voice that breaks him more completely than he has the words to describe, so he settles for holding you tighter over his hips and carrying you to his room. it takes a bit of finagling to get you comfortably situated in his hanging bed, but once he does, he can’t help the soft sigh that escapes him as he looks over the length of your body.

from your pink-flushed cheeks to the loose, crumpled material of your button up shirt, all the way down to the hem of your skirt as it brushes up along the skin of your thighs. he leans own to press an indulgent kiss into the dip of your collarbone.

“'please' though… i like a little bit more,” he says, reaching down to pop the top button of your shirt, to revel in the way you hiccup as he teases a line down your chest, his lips following his fingers as he undoes your buttons one by one.

“i — ah —” your fingers curl into the soft moss of his hair and he groans, long and lush into the creamy expanse of skin above the waist of your miniskirt.

“again…” zoro says, whispering the word against you, tugging on the elastic of your skirt, pulling them down the length of your legs.

“z-zoro, please!”

your head tips back as you feel his tongue flick over the hot button of your clit, his fingers digging into your hips, the pads of his forefingers tracing gentle circles around your hip bones as he holds you to his mouth and moans.

there’s a fumbling of fingers and a clashing of teeth as he wrenches himself up from between your legs to mouth at your lips. you taste yourself on his tongue and shiver at the indecency. still, the coals of desire burn in the pit of your stomach as his fingers press into your spit-slicked folds and you feel your whole body arch up in response.

he has always been quiet, but none more so than when he’s working three digits into your fluttering core, his eyes dark and fixed as they watch his own fingers pull out of you and push back in, slick and shiny with the evidence of your arousal.

“fuck…” he whispers the word like a prayer, slipping passed his lips like some holy thing. you can hear the near reverence in his voice as he slowly removes his hand and presses them to his lips for a taste. the lewdness of it makes the hot coil in the pit of your stomach twist all the tighter. and this time, when he drags himself up the length of your body to kiss you, you whine against his mouth, tasting your own tang on the heat of his tongue.

“ngh — fuck —!” you echo, as he flips onto his back and tugs you over his hips in one, fluid moment, his palms helping you grind your sodden folds over the length of his cock, the friction all-consuming and dizzying. a thin string of arousal connecting the tip of his cock to the seam of your cunt and zoro is helpless to do much else but moan thickly at the sight.

“shit.”

you whimper softly as he teases at your entrance, your palms splayed against his chest for support, your thighs shaking on either side of his hips as he eases you down inch by slow, excruciating inch, ontohis thick, throbbing cock. you toss your head back as he pushes into you, the fit of him fiery-tight and stretching you in ways you’d never thought was possible.

you feel him pulsing against your walls, and you wish briefly that you could’ve tasted him as he’d tasted you, before he sheathed himself inside you. how would he taste, you wondered, and you feel your mouth water at the thought of his heavy, salty weight on your tongue.

“n-ngh!” your voice cracks as he rocks his hips experimentally against yours, the drag of him inside you driving you to near incoherence.

“good girl,” he whispers, the words falling from him like second nature. you keen beneath his praise, bracing yourself as he plants his feet on the bed and jack hammers up into you, his stomach tensing in deep breaths of tight, sinewy muscle, his arms flexing as he helps you rock down above him.

“pretty… fucking… girl…” he intersperses his heavy groans of pleasure with soft exclamations, fucking you now to the light, rhythmic rocking of the ship, even though there’s nothing light about the way his cock bullies it’s way into your cunt again and again, forcing you to clamp down around him on each and every thrust.

there’s nothing gentle about the way he digs his nails into the flushed skin of your hips, how he leans up to latch his greedy mouth onto one of your pert nipples, moaning as he savors in the way you arch against him, pushing your chest more fully into his mouth.

“r-right — right there —”

“yeah?” he asks, half-smirking as he looks up at you, his warm gaze betraying the hard, teasing edge behind his voice, “where do you want me?”

you keen, whining as you drag your hands down your own body to press against your stomach, grabbing his hand to push it against you as well, his palm hot and flat as it lays along your tummy.

“r-right here —”

“fuck — that’s right —” he jerks up into you, burying his face in your chest with a clipped moan as he quickens his pace, his one hand pressing against your stomach as you feel him pushing up farther into you than you’d ever imagined possible.

the pleasure is intense, an other-worldly feeling as he finally pushes you over the edge, his hips stuttering as he feels you clench around him, your arms winding around his torso, to act as both tether and tide as he holds you to him, grounding you to this feeling while simultaneously casting you against the rough edges of this most selfless and selfish pleasure.

“h-holy… fuck me…” you breathe out, clutching at zoro’s back, digging ruddy red grooves into his shoulder blades as he rolls over to fucks down into you, relentless in his chase of his own climax, groaning deep and throaty as he finally spills into you.

you hiss as you feel the heat of him pooling inside. and it’s not till a few minutes later that he picks his head up from where his face had been buried in your neck to shoot you a wide, lopsided grin.

“yeah, pretty sure that’s what i just did,” he says, rolling onto his side and letting out a deep, soul-steadying breath.

you roll your eyes before turning to look at him, only to find him watching you with a gentle, anchoring softness. and like this, it’s hard to see him as the battle-hardened warrior. like this, it’s hard to imagine that he’d ever made such a promise as to become the greatest swordsman in the whole, entire world.

like this, he just looks like a lovestruck boy, forced to grow up much too soon, searching for any remnants of pleasure he might have left to hold on to.

an irony of hands.

it’s never easy, the night after enemy raids, the deck pooling with bodies and blood, the sea the color of a scabbing wound, flotsam and jetsam like bloated body parts floating on the dark, inky waves.

you’re helping usopp push some of the dead bodies overboard, but then you find one man with three deep gashes on his torso and blood bubbling on his lips.

“… gonna… gonna report — never… escape…”

you nearly yell as you see the tiny den den mushi in his hands, his fingers quivering as he tries to dial the emergency line. you smack it from his hand and press your tiny, surgeon’s scalpel to his throat. it’s sweet, polished silver gleams wicked beneath the moonless night.

“don’t you fucking dare,” you say, even though your voice shakes, and there are perhaps a million other ways of taking care of him more easily. but you know that if you throw him overboard now, he’d bob, half-drowning and helpless, for a few hours, or maybe even days before he’d finally succumb to the terrible, patient drag of the ocean (and most likely, dehydration).

“no,” a voice says, steady and firm, as a long, rough-fingered hands enter your vision and carefully tug your hands way from the man’s throat.

you look up to find zoro, his hand still clutched around yours, an unspoken sweetness flickering behind his eyes.

“i — if we toss him over — he'll just —” you swallow thickly, tearing your gaze away from zoro’s face as his expression shifts into something of the unreadable and soft. you hate to let him see you like this, so hesitant, so incompetent.

“let me do it,” zoro says, giving your hands a light shove before, with one swift arc of his blade, he severs the man’s carotid, leaving him slumped and bleeding on the blood-stained deck.

“oh… oh god…” you press your shaking fingers to your lips, the silver scalpel falling with a loud clatter.

“c’mere,” zoro says, tugging you up and leading you down to the hallway below decks. he slows as the pair of you enter the darkest part of the hallway, and he turns to hold you at arms length, his fingers tight on your arms as you feel his eyes scanning you over, and over, and over.

“you’re not hurt?” he asks, voice quiet and clipped.

“no,” you shake your head.

“not even a little?”

you shake your head again, pursing your lips this time to keep the sob from pouring through.

still, he sees it, and he pulls you to him, cradling your head in his large, warm palm, the other arm wrapping around your middle.

“stupid girl,” he murmurs, light, into your cheek even as you let out a bitten off sob against his chest.

you hiccup, curling your fingers into the material of his shirt, "i — i couldn’t do it,” you say, squeezing your eyes as he holds you to him and lets you cry.

“i — i couldn’t kill him.”

zoro sighs, pulling back to smooth a hand over your hair, bringing it down to cup your now tear-stained cheek.

“yeah, i know. but that’s not what your hands are made for,” he says, letting his own hands trail down and down and down, till he’s got both of your palms cupped in his like a wishbone.

“don’t you get it?” he asks, staring down at your palms, upturned against his, “these hands were never made for taking lives…” he looks up, his eyes too bright in this borrowed darkness. and then, he smiles.

“they were made for saving lives instead.”

confessions, part i.

you stare at him for a full ten seconds before letting your body fall laxed into a soft, bubbling fit of champagne-colored laughter.

“i love you,” you say, the words tumbling from you, more truth than any story or poem or legend or myth either of you have ever heard.

“i love you, zoro,” you say again, tasting the words on your tongue like fireworks, like pop-rock candies, like the first, stinging breath of autumn after the hazy veil of summer has finally lifted. and slowly, in the clarity and truth of your declaration, you think you can see his lips as they lift up in an open-heart smile, as he too tastes the words you’ve just so recently mustered the courage to say.

confessions, part ii.

zoro stares back, and or a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. then, for too long. and you think you’d made a mistake, telling him how you feel. but then, he smiles — a true smile, a smile that lights up his face and erases all the grooves and lines that should’ve been worn there by the weathers and weights of hardship.

and still, listening to your words, he smiles — a smile that makes him nothing short of incandescent.

he nods, squeezing your hands in his.

“i love you too.”

false start (redux).

every story as a beginning, a middle, and an end. though not necessarily in that order. and, looking back, roronoa zoro knows that if he had to pick, his story probably begins here — at the ripe age of eight, in a doujou nestled next to a forest that always smelled of cedar and moss and freshly turned earth.

it probably starts with an endless parade of sword practice and sparring, of warm up laps and cool down stretches.

its true — it could be said that his story starts with kuina, the doujou sensei’s blue-haired daughter, who was better at swordcraft than zoro thought he ever might be. and to some, this is a good enough kind of beginning to latch on to.

but no, zoro knows, because he knows himself now, and he knows that stories, just like swordsmanship, is an art that requires a certain amount of tempering. a certain degree of trimming and tailoring. a certain kind of articulation.

so he’s certain that it starts here, when he’d seen you for the very first time. and it’s true, you’d seemed like nothing special then, just another quiet little girl who’d been forced into the doujou by some faceless set of rigid, expectant parents, and you’d worked just as hard as you could have, given your natural inclination for anything but sword play.

he’d known that you’d never be great shakes at swordsmanship, but still, he’d found himself drawn by and to you, as a magnet would a compass rose, as one might find their destiny, or their soulmate. he had found his eyes tracking you whenever you weren’t looking, found himself watching as you’d patter around after sparring practice to ask everyone how they were feeling, to dig your tiny fingers (strong and dexterous as they already were) into a knot here, an aching muscle there, a pinched nerve that might’ve been really bad if not found here, and left to fester in that vast, horrible elsewhere.

but he’d been a shy, quiet, kind of boy, absorbed by his sport. and kuina’s skill was more than enough for one growing, teenage boy to contend with without worrying about the strange attraction he had towards perhaps the least “swordsy” person in the entire class. and so, he’d never plucked up the courage to talk to you, never questioned when you’d kept away from his side of the classroom after sparring practice, when all the other girls would flutter around him like a flock of unwelcome pigeons, asking if he wanted to be their stretching partner.

then, the morning came when shimotsuki-sensei had informed him in not so many words that kuina was gone. and the funeral had slipped by in a hazy blur of bodies and incense, and the next thing he knew, he was holding the wadou ichimonji, and sensei was saying something about keeping kuina’s dream alive.

he’d seen you flit from the funeral march of black-clad children, shadow-dark and raven-quick, right off into the thicket of trees. and he’d followed you, because he couldn’t think of a place he’d like to be less than back in that suffocating practice room with all his fellow classmates, half of them casting him curious looks, the other half avoiding his gaze like the literal plague.

he’d followed you to the clearing, and watched as you’d sprinted, screaming around the field of tiny, white-petaled flowers until you slumped down, panting with your face upturned to a sea-breeze sky. he caught himself before he could burst out laughing (or crying, he wasn’t quite sure which he wanted to do more at that moment), and he’d forced himself to sit still behind the trunk of a large tree and watch as you pushed yourself up. the light of the dying sun washed your figure in a great, dream-like ream of orange and gold.

then, just as it seemed like you were going to head back, he spotted you spot the injured fawn, curled into the gnarled roots of a sapling cypress tree. and he’d watched still as you slowly approached the creature with a handful of peanuts before distracting it and crack — he’d heard it clear across the clearing — the sound of a bone being set back into place.

the fawn had screeched and bolted to it’s feet.

but you were just as fearless as you always were, holding out your palm with more peanuts, and zoro had watched, with a mounting fascination coiling in the base of his stomach, as the fawn dug its nose into the palm of your hand.

he’d seen the brilliance behind your eyes, heard the bell-toll sound of your soft, everlasting laughter.

and he vowed, then and there, to become the greatest swordsman he could be, the greatest swordsman in the world, if only to protect you from those who might hurt you. from those who might threaten to take away the light — the life — that thrummed, ever present, in the palms of your very own hands.

a/n: i know, i know, there was an authors note before. but i feel like i can explain this better now that you've read the fic -- to me, the story of "butterfly lovers" is and always has been as story of someone pretending to be someone they're not, right? so in that sense, you/reader was just trying to fit into a mold that wasn't quite made for her before discovering her true calling as a doctor. and the fluff and romance was that, unbeknownst to her, zoro's known that this entire fucking time. u__u anyways. i hope you enjoyed. bless up and simp zoro, fam.

opla!zoro requests are open!

[dfortrafalgar]

Special Delivery

(Sanji x Fem!Reader- Offscreen)

Sanji reaches out to Zeff for the first time in years.

I wrote this many, many months ago now, and it was the first fic i posted anonymously on AO3. I got a few requests after it was originally posted to write a second part, which I eventually did!

You can read Part 2 here! Original AO3 link

(I figured I should let my blog breathe a little in between the really heavy and emotional Law fic im writing, and what better way to cool down than some sanji fluff <3)

A sharp squawk awoke Red-Leg Zeff from his daze. With a grumpy expression and a low grunt, he peered towards the direction of the sound.

A messenger coo was seated on the railing of the Baratie's upper deck next to where Zeff stood slouched over with his forearms leaning against the wooden support. It cocked its head to the side as if it was deconstructing Zeff's appearance before reaching into its pouch and procuring a parchment envelope. Zeff found it strange. Messenger coos only usually delivered the newspapers or the latest bounty reports, very rarely were they put in charge of personalized letters. It must have been paid off by whoever wanted this delivered.

The gruff man took the parchment from the beak of the bird and watched as it took back off into the air, leaving a few molted white feathers behind in its wake. He looked at the envelope.

All it said on the front, in very elegant handwriting, was "Captain Zeff." He flipped the paper around, revealing a wax stamp holding the opening down, which he peeled off with a calloused thumb.

Tucked neatly inside the envelope was a white piece of paper, tri-folded over itself. Zeff slipped the paper out, unfolding it to reveal the written contents of the letter. The penmanship was impeccable, and the ink was very sleek. He knew immediately it was from Sanji, not many other pirates had handwriting as good as his. He had completely lost track of how many years it had been since the curly-browed boy left with that ragtag group of pirates to sail to the Grand Line, but Zeff had every single one of his bounty posters. He'd never admit it, but they were tacked up on the wall of his sleeping quarters. Every time Sanji's bounty increased, Zeff felt pride swell in his heart.

"How are you doing, you old geezer. It's been a little too long since we've had any contact, so I thought I'd write to you just to see how you've been. You're no slouch, I'm sure you've been keeping up with the world's events over the past however-many years. Do the Marines even bother to keep sending our bounty posters to the Baratie anymore? Well, regardless, I'm sure you can read right through me. I can't deny it, I miss you, old man. I'm happier than I've ever been in my life, and such a huge part of that is thanks to you and the guys back on that old cruiser. Every recipe I try to make, I imagine you screaming in my ear and telling me that it tastes like shit. Some days I really wish I could be back there, but most of the time I'm joyful. Life has been really, really good. A few years ago, I met someone. Last year, we got married, and soon after our lives changed so drastically. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, and she's as sweet as an angel. I mean it, too. I know you'd probably think something along the lines of me playing up my affections again just because she's a pretty woman, but I mean it. You'd love her, Zeff. Living as a pirate is the most stressful thing anyone could ever do, but she makes every day worth it. The crew was discussing the possibility of returning to the East Blue a bit ago, and when we do, I'm going to introduce you to her. I've spent the last years talking all about you, how you taught me everything I know about cooking, and I can tell she's just as excited as I am to finally see you. This letter's gone on long enough and I don't want to use up all of Nami's paper.

-- Sanji"

Zeff felt a lump in the back of his throat. Sanji had grown into such a fine young man, eloquent with his words and his feelings. He knew how big of a deal it was for the boy to be so honest and open. But one thing in the letter caught him off guard. What did he mean by, "Soon after our lives changed drastically."?

Zeff peered into the envelope, where another, smaller envelope was tucked inside. He almost didn't see it. Pulling it out, he held the letter and original envelope in between his fingers while he opened the second. Sanji was thorough with his packaging, that's for sure.

Inside, there were three photographs printed on thin, matted paper. The first was of Sanji and you, the wife he wrote about in his letter, taken by someone else holding the camera. Sanji had his arm around you, holding you against him, and you had your face nuzzled into his neck. His other hand held a cigarette away from the two of you, like he was in the middle of telling a story. The two of you were smiling brighter than the sun, Sanji's eyes completely closed with the motion of laughter, and yours creased, your irises looking up towards him.

The second photo made Zeff's eyes water. A photo of you and Sanji on the deck of the Sunny, exchanging rings. Sanji was wearing a sleek navy blue tuxedo, while you were wearing a gorgeous white ballgown. For pirates, you cleaned up phenomenally. He could just make out tears in Sanji's eyes as the photo displayed you sliding a band onto his finger. A skeleton with poofy hair stood between the two of you, which Zeff found a little odd, but he chuckled at the absurdity of it all.

Zeff flipped to the last photo.

The tears that were welling in his eyes from the previous image finally slid down his cheeks in heavy, salty droplets. His lip quivered.

Sanji sat in a chair, beaming down at a bundle of cloth held gently in his arm. He was crying in this photo as well, and was reaching a finger over the top of the bundle, where a smaller hand was reaching outwards to grab onto it. A small glimpse of blonde hair could be made out from under the cloth securing the baby tightly. On the back of the film, Sanji wrote the birth date and the name of the baby.

Zeff used a sleeve to wipe his blubbering eyes. His lips quivered, but he couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face.

Was he allowed to call himself a grandfather now? He figured it was only appropriate.

[pocket-watcher]

Everyone simply adored Daniel.

From his perfectly charming smile to his deep brown eyes to the way his hair seemed to always fall perfectly, even when he’d just spent the last hour out for a run.

Stupid Daniel with his gorgeous face.

How could they not see?!

The hatred started when you’d noticed he never actually said anything of use.

Once you’d listened (or tried to, through the door) for 40 minutes as he talked the downstairs neighbour around and around in circles about a noise complaint.

“I’m so deeply sorry.” He’d said. “It’s so difficult for me to think of how you must be feeling. You don’t want to be mad at me, do you? I just hate that sinking feeling I get when someone is mad at me. Just relax. I’m sure we can work something out…”

The conversation ultimately ending up with the neighbour apologising to Daniel.

Then there was the constant sex noises.

Stretched out moans, slowly ramping up and down and up and down, teasing his partner to the edge before bringing them right back again.

It was as if Daniel’s dick was a gift from God.

You found yourself wishing he was into BDSM so he’d gag whoever he had in there. No sex is that good, you thought.

It had been easy to avoid him and his infuriating-ness. Until now.

You stared down at your doormat at the tiny little note scrawled in thick black ink “LEFT WITH NEIGHBOUR”.

Of course it had.

It had been a long day at work. You were exhausted, and all you wanted was for you and your package to be left alone.

Away from the rhythmic thudding and moans from next door. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Away from Daniel.

You didn’t even wait for him and whoever he had in there to finish. In a huff you slammed your fist against his door.

The orgasmic moans echoed for a moment, and then shuffling was heard. The door opened.

Now, you’d expected the door to open just enough for a conversation. A tiny crack. After all, every tenant in the building knew what had just been happening, so you’d expected some shame.

But this was Daniel.

He swung the door full-force open, shirtless, bed head, and a very revealing half-askew boxers.

“…Yes?”

You cleared your throat and willed your face to turn back to its original, not flushed colour.

“You have a package for me.” You said, looking down at the floor.

He followed your gaze but looked between his legs instead.

“Do I?” He teased, before turning to retrieve the box.

“Y-You should keep it down, you know.” You found the courage to say.

“Sorry about that.” He laughed, handing you the package, your fingers touching his.

“Y-Yeah, well…”

“You’re welcome to join if you’re feeling left out.” He looked up at you through his eyelashes.

You angrily looked for signs of joking on his face. When you didn’t find any, you exploded.

“And what makes you think I’d want to do that?!”

“Oh… nothing.” Your eyes trail down his abs towards-

You shake the thought out of your head.

“I just have this thing about me, you know? I tend to draw people in.” He comments. “I don’t know if it’s my eyes that you could get lost in, or how you imagine my hands on your chest pushing you down onto the bed, or maybe it’s the way my words just push every rational thought out of that pretty head of yours…”

You realised your mouth was open slightly. You snapped your gaze away from his eyes, then his lips, and then his boxers.

Fuck.

It was like his body was magnetic. You felt your legs heavily moving towards him, the rational part of your brain sinking back for something else to take over.

What’s worse, you felt yourself drooling.

“There’s just something so alluring, isn’t there? The mystery of the unknown. That constant sound. Don’t you want to experience bliss like that?” He asked you.

Your anger had faded. Your mind, a puddle, melted by that look in his eyes.

He was growing taller. No. Your knees were buckling. Sinking. You were kneeling in front of him. Your mind a constant flow of his voice. Sink. Kneel. Obey. Drop.

Your eyes looked up at him. Glossy. Blank.

“Why don’t you come inside.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a command.