traroronoa

[traroronoa]

Self shipping isn't enough i need him to rip a hole between dimensions to get to me

[traroronoa]

positivity post 😁😁!!!!

[traroronoa]

[traroronoa]

dilf!zoro doesn’t realize how badly he affects other single parents or others until your son, an energetic and observant two year old, points at a woman who walked into a pole. And then a man who tripped over his own feet after giving his muscular arms one look.

“Daddy! She hit her head hard! Should we call the hospital?”

“Nah, she’s fine kid. Just admiring something she can’t have.”

dilf!zoro hates wearing shirts with sleeves. So you hired a tailor to alter sleeved tops just for his comfort and your sanity when he wants to wear a black tank top to your friend’s wedding.

dilf!zoro takes quickies seriously.

“Ten minutes until he wakes up? Give me three and I’ll have you moaning my name.”

dilf!zoro is the spectacle when he picks up your child. Most of the time, seeing him are the teachers’ and assistants’ favorite part of the day. His physique and voice are two attractions, but the icing on the cake? Seeing his soft side: helping your son in his jacket, ruffling his hair, or showing him how to tie his shoes balanced his title as a dilf perfectly.

dilf!zoro rewards you after daycare pick up or a rough work day.

“Is my girl ready for her prize?” He rasps in your ear.

You nod, whimpering a yes.

“Good. Now bend over the damn counter for me while I fuck you senseless.”

dilf!zoro can be clueless, but knows what matters. He asks about your son’s nap, if he behaved during the playtime, or if he ate his lunch, Zoro knows. Forget about signing off his mini me after daycare.

“Did he have a good day? Yeah? He did? Good.”

dilf!zoro does his domestic dad duties shirtless. He effortlessly makes washing dishes and putting them away the sexiest chore a man could ever do. Or better yet—folding laundry and putting it away in the correct dresser drawer.

dilf!zoro doesn’t get jealous. He trusts you knowing for a fact you’ll always pick him because no other man could ever compare.

dilf!zoro doesn’t have a dad voice. It’s more of a dad growl which has two interpretations: you’re either in trouble because you misbehaved in public (this mainly goes for your son) or you’re in trouble because he said so.

“C’mere.” He growled after leaving the grocery store, “we’re going home, all because you wore that and made that cashier gawk.”

And you were just wearing joggers and a cropped hoodie.

[traroronoa]

dilf!zoro doesn’t realize how badly he affects other single parents or others until your son, an energetic and observant two year old, points at a woman who walked into a pole. And then a man who tripped over his own feet after giving his muscular arms one look.

“Daddy! She hit her head hard! Should we call the hospital?”

“Nah, she’s fine kid. Just admiring something she can’t have.”

dilf!zoro hates wearing shirts with sleeves. So you hired a tailor to alter sleeved tops just for his comfort and your sanity when he wants to wear a black tank top to your friend’s wedding.

dilf!zoro takes quickies seriously.

“Ten minutes until he wakes up? Give me three and I’ll have you moaning my name.”

dilf!zoro is the spectacle when he picks up your child. Most of the time, seeing him are the teachers’ and assistants’ favorite part of the day. His physique and voice are two attractions, but the icing on the cake? Seeing his soft side: helping your son in his jacket, ruffling his hair, or showing him how to tie his shoes balanced his title as a dilf perfectly.

dilf!zoro rewards you after daycare pick up or a rough work day.

“Is my girl ready for her prize?” He rasps in your ear.

You nod, whimpering a yes.

“Good. Now bend over the damn counter for me while I fuck you senseless.”

dilf!zoro can be clueless, but knows what matters. He asks about your son’s nap, if he behaved during the playtime, or if he ate his lunch, Zoro knows. Forget about signing off his mini me after daycare.

“Did he have a good day? Yeah? He did? Good.”

dilf!zoro does his domestic dad duties shirtless. He effortlessly makes washing dishes and putting them away the sexiest chore a man could ever do. Or better yet—folding laundry and putting it away in the correct dresser drawer.

dilf!zoro doesn’t get jealous. He trusts you knowing for a fact you’ll always pick him because no other man could ever compare.

dilf!zoro doesn’t have a dad voice. It’s more of a dad growl which has two interpretations: you’re either in trouble because you misbehaved in public (this mainly goes for your son) or you’re in trouble because he said so.

“C’mere.” He growled after leaving the grocery store, “we’re going home, all because you wore that and made that cashier gawk.”

And you were just wearing joggers and a cropped hoodie.

[traroronoa]

my dream as a fanfic writer is for one day, one of my fics to be someones comfort fic. like the fic that they reread when they don't feel good and want to be happy. i want my words to comfort someone one day

[traroronoa]

Punk Hazard in a nut shell

[traroronoa]

walk away now: part two

part one

law x f!pirate captain, kid x f!pirate captain

sfw

summary: this time, you are the one who walks away—like the badass bitch you are.

“Playtime’s over, Captain Trafalgar.” You smirked. “If you can’t handle fighting me properly without using your devil fruit then walk away.”

Law stiffened. “Walking away isn’t something I’m known for.”

You laughed, effortlessly sliding your swords in their sheaths with a sharp schwinn, the blades slicing air.

“I suppose you are good at running away, depending on the situation.”

“Don’t judge—” Law growled.

“Ah. I touched a nerve.” You smiled. “I’d rather spar against a more seasoned swordsman. Roronoa is a good fit. We’ve both trained under Mihawk and he doesn’t hold back.”

“You think I’m holding back?” He asked darkly.

You tilted your head. “Your fluidity stops when your sword is close to my skin. I don’t want to be babied, Trafalgar.” You walked closer, a smirk on your face. “I want a challenge.”

Law frowned. Was I really holding back?

“I don’t know what I did to make you soft, but I’d like to take it back.” You continued. “Otherwise this alliance between you three men,” you gestured lazily toward the others, “and me is pointless. Eustass is trouble enough. Straw Hat is tolerable.”

“I’m not soft.”

“Then don’t stop. Stab me. I can take it.” You challenged. “I’m a big girl. Treat me like one.”

Law rolled his eyes.

You dramatically sighed as you put your hands on your hips. “If you manage to tear my shirt, that means I’m losing my touch.”

“Again with your shirt…” Law grumbled.

“…and you, my dear captain, haven’t done that.” Then you leaned forward and whispered. “There are only two reasons for that. It’s either you’ve gone soft…or…” you grinned mischievously, “you’re a shitty swordsman.”

This time, you walked away.

And Law liked it.

“Let me tell you something.” You told Kid as you circled him like a vulture, “I’m sure Straw Hat told you this, but I am a part of the Clan of D.”

Kid let out a hearty laugh as he threw his head back. “You’re lying.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “You think so?”

“Girls aren’t a part of that.” Kid continued, meeting your eyes. “Especially you. You’re too—”

“Beautiful? Skilled? Breathtaking?” You finished, flicking your hair. “Yes, maybe I am overqualified to be a D.” You smiled. “Maybe I should start my own clan.”

“Tch. You are such a pain.” Kid grumbled as he rolled his eyes. You stopped circling and stood in front of him, a knowing smile on your face.

“But Straw Hat still wants me here to fight with you.” You grinned.

Kid clenched his fists. Why is she so damn annoying? Why am I letting her get under my skin?

The fiery captain didn’t know why he was letting you push him around.

Bully him.

Call him weak.

Tell him that without you he would be nothing. He’d be trapped with a control freak and an energetic puppy as allies. You were a refined cat: elegant, deadly, and somehow could get away with almost anything.

“Yeah? And that makes you special?”

You nodded. “Of course it does. Trafalgar is the brains, you and Straw Hat are the brawn and I,” you pointed to yourself confidently, “am a combination of both. Plus I’m the only one who doesn’t wear ridiculous coats.”

“That mouth of yours is going to get you killed you know.”

“Not going to happen.” You extended your arms up in the air, stretching. Then you cracked your knuckles as you gave Kid one last look before you walked away. “My mouth is perfect. It gets me what I want every time. The only way I’ll die is by protecting what I care about. And, unfortunately, you aren’t the death of me.”

tags: @lunafrisk303999 @that-b-word-lol

[traroronoa]

walk away now

law x f!pirate captain, kid x f!pirate captain

sfw

summary: Law and Kid aren’t the most chivalrous pirates, but their first mates insisted them to let you borrow their fluffy coats. The reaction they got was unexpected.

“Y’know, it’s very windy outside.”

Law looked up at Bepo and responded without care. “So?” He bit his lip as he applied pressure to a wound on his arm. Then, he side eyed the mink, who gestured at you with his chin. You were standing next to Luffy in deep conversation, you two swords swaying when you moved your hips.

In fact, Bepo was right because you were not dressed for windy weather—you wore a cotton bishop-sleeved shirt and tucked it into your dark jeans. The coat you normally wore was shredded and you insisted on getting a new one at the next destination.

“I don’t think she’s dressed for the weather.” Bepo added with mild concern.

“She’s not cold.” Law replied flatly. “She would’ve said so.” He then brought his attention back to the wound.

Unsatisfied with his answer, Bepo decided to take manners in his own paws.

He looked at you and innocently sang, “oh, friend!”

You turned, arched an eyebrow and walked toward them.

“Bepo what the—” Law snapped.

“Yes?” You asked, uninterested in the conversation about to unfold. Law immediately straightened as you crossed your arms over your chest and rested your weight on one foot.

“Cold?” Law grumbled, motioning between you and him, ignoring the blood from his wound, he added, “you can borrow my—”

“No.” You response was direct. Simple. Straight into the point.

Then you turned and walked back to Luffy, your footsteps crunching on the grass. And, for some reason, you rejecting Law made him want you more.

“I know you’re shit at it, but you should do something nice for her.” Killer said, elbowing Kid’s ribs.

“Now why the fuck would I do that?” Kid asked.

“Because it’s nice.”

“When the hell did I ever want to be nice?” He spat.

Both men looked at you, perched on a rock twirling a dagger you kept hidden under the sole of your boots. A light breeze came and stirred your hair and sleeves, but you didn’t notice. Or seemed to care.

You sighed, bored. A dangerous type of boredom.

Your first mate, Shoto, wandered off with Bepo while Luffy was bribed with meat to go to his ship for a couple hours. Law was busy talking to Zoro about his poor sense of direction, leaving you alone.

“Well? Go!” Killer insisted, pushing Kid towards you. “It’s windy and she’s wearing that dumb top that definitely doesn’t look warm.”

“Fuck, fine! I’ll go.”

You turned when you heard Kid stomp towards you.

“What.” Your tone was flat and face remained unimpressed as you mindlessly balanced the hilt of your dagger on your wrist.

Kid rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Your shirt—”

“—looks fabulous on me.” You smirked.

Kid rolled his eyes and huffed.

“Look. I don’t like your damn attitude.” He started.

“Then walk away.”

“But if you’re chilly or whatever you can wear my coat.”

“Thank you, Eustass,” you blinked, slipping the dagger back in its hiding spot, “but I’d rather not smell like failure and sweat.”

Killer snorted as Kid turned red. “Whatever. This is what I get for being nice?”

“You being nice,” you said, slowly rising to your feet and stepped closer, “is leaving me alone to my blades or you can find Shoto for me.”

Kid paused, eyes lingering on you more than expected.

“Now. Walk away.” You added sternly, leaving no room to negotiate.

And he did, but not without making a fist and thinking of reasons how he could wipe that smirk off your damn face.

[traroronoa]

jet lagged but back safe and sound!

[traroronoa]

ever since i read that brook and sanji get up at 5 am, there's been two possibilities in my mind:

1. Brook gets up naturally at that hour and then Sanji starts to do it too because he's not gonna leave one of his crewmates without breakfast longer than necessary

2. Sanji already had the habit of waking up at 5 to start prepping breakfast and Brook gets up too to keep him company

[traroronoa]

Every unhinged fic writer needs an equally unhinged friend who "yes ands" their ideas and encourages them to write all their most far fetched and insane stories.

[traroronoa]

law x gn!medical historian

when you and law are fighting, it’s not explosive. No one yelled at the other, but harsh words were shared.

when you and law are fighting, he’s the one who walks away from it first. Law is aware of his limitations and yours, so once you said your peace, he gently tells you, “I’ll check on you in ten minutes”, kisses your head, and leaves.

when you and law are fighting, he never degrades, belittles, or makes fun of you. He never interrupts and when you pause he lets the silence carry on until you’ve finalized your thoughts.

after you and law fight, he comforts you in small ways. He brushes his fingers against your hand, links his pinky with yours in passing, or silently gives you your favorite drink. Sometimes he’d slip you a medical themed joke he knows only you understand.

after you and law fight, if you still need more than ten minutes to cool off, he gives you space until you are ready to talk to him—he’ll wait for you. Always.

after you and law fight, you two either find common ground or compromise.

after you and law fight, you feel closer because you found someone who matches you. And he feels the same way. Both of you empathize, understand, and know when the other needs space. You two get each other on a level none of you expected.

after you and law fight, you two are still known as the medically unhinged, in-sync couple that will always love each other—he’s never said it but you know—and will be there for the other no matter what.

[traroronoa]

someone has probably done this before me, but wano zoro has one of my favorite designs in OP at the moment, and i just wanted to see pookie with his pre time skip colors again

[traroronoa]

how to sin

— catholic au

— spotify playlist

priest!law x f!innkeeper

rating: nsfw

summary: after arriving to town to manage your uncle’s inn, you are informed that despite his lack of presence, you are required to go to church every Sunday. But, who knew that behind the cold, God fearing priest was a man starved for affection and want?

word count: 2.2k

“Make sure to go to church. I arranged for you to help out after services or during your free time from the inn with Father Law.” Your uncle said before he left. “Now. I’ll see you in a month, alright?”

“See you then.” You smiled.

After a bit more conversation, he mounted his horse, gave you a final wave, and rode out of town. You watched until he disappeared down the road, sighed, and turned back toward the inn—your home until his return. He trusted you to watch over it, knowing you’d do an excellent job. You were reliable and liked to keep busy.

The Dove Inn.

The name fit it well. Doves were a symbol of peace and purity, and your uncle was deeply religious—a little too much for your liking. But, being the dutiful niece you are, you obeyed and went to St. Flevance Church every Sunday.

After you entered the church on your first Sunday, you marveled at the church’s architecture. It had tall, vaulted ceilings, the floor was made of stone, the steps leading to the altar were smooth marble, and the tapestries that hung on the walls were painstakingly detailed and depicted Jesus’s birth to death, and resurrection.

Upon sitting down, you admired the wall to ceiling stained glass window behind the altar and podium. A lot of love and effort was put into the church, and it showed.

“You’re the new innkeeper, right?” An older woman next to you asked.

“Yes. I’ll be here for a month until my uncle comes back—”

“Church. Every Sunday.” She interrupted.

You blinked.

“Oh, I planned to—”

“Good. Father Law would be displeased. And when was your last confession? Was it—”

A wave of silence spread throughout the church as the ministers came in, followed by Father Trafalgar Law, a man in his late twenties to early thirties, dressed in black robes, a white collar around his neck, and wore a cross necklace. Sunlight from the stained glass poured through, and glinted off his gold earrings.

He was a handsome man, dark hair, had mysterious, gold eyes, and held the invisible baggage of sin and blood over his shoulders.

“Poor man’s been through so much.” The woman commented.

“The Lord be with you,” Law greeted at the podium. His voice was low, smooth, and mesmerizing.

“And with your spirit.” The congregation, including you, responded.

Law’s eyes scanned the people, and, given you were a new face, his gaze was on you a little bit longer than others. He knew who you were, of course. Small towns made it easy to know such things.

What he hadn’t expected was the quiet flicker of want that stirred within him at the sight of you.

It was your eyes.

Your damn eyes.

And the way your mouth said those words that got his attention.

Clearing his throat, he carried on with the liturgy of the Word, the Eucharist, and then Communion. Afterwards, he gave the people the final blessing and ended the service.

“Go forth, the Mass has ended,” he commanded.

The congregation spilled out of the church and once it was empty, you approached Father Law hesitantly.

“Father,” you began, “my uncle, the innkeeper, said I was to assist here during his absence.”

He turned and looked at you. Once. Twice. Then he nodded.

“Yes,” he dragged, “you can start by sweeping the altar.”

You nodded, and turned—only for his voice to stop you.

“You’re new here.” His gaze settled heavier on you. “If you need anything, do not hesitate to come to me.”

“Yes, Father,” you murmured.

And something about the way you said it was heavy in the air between you both.

A week passed.

Mornings you’d tend to the inn, afternoons you’d be at the church. Your days were easy, monotonous, and predictable.

However, what you didn’t anticipate was the way Father Law looked at you, and how you caught yourself looking back.

On most afternoons, he held confessionals and you watched different people from town enter the booth leaving with either smiles or tears. You wondered what sins they confessed, what regrets they carried. But, more than that, you found yourself preoccupied with his voice.

Husky. Resonant. Enigmatic.

But it was also soft. He valued the human soul, and emphasized how frail it could be, how easily tainted it was without vigilance. You heard him say these words and many more to townsfolk that went to him for guidance.

While you admired his voice, Father Law drank yours like wine. Whenever you spoke with visitors at the church. Whenever he passed you in town, or heard you sing hymns with the congregation.

It was smooth as milk. Warm as a gentle flame. Captivating like a rainbow after a storm.

And he swore he could get drunk on it.

God have mercy on him he would, without fail.

And he feared that no prayer or sermon could save him.

On the third Sunday after Mass, he asked you to help him replace the altar candles. You obeyed, but not without brushing your fingers against his when you grabbed the same candlestick.

“Forgive me,” he said, quickly withdrawing his hand. His desire from your touch seeped into his thoughts. His eyes focused on your fingers, imagining them stroking his cock until he was ruined and begged for more.

“I—um, no, it’s my fault, Father.” You whispered. Both of you resumed your tasks, but your mind didn’t: images of his fingers curled and moving in and out you, his thumb gently pushing on your bottom lip to kiss you and them undressing you bit by bit, his lips kissing your skin.

It was filthy.

Your thoughts for each other.

After the candles were replaced, you hurried back to the inn, feeling his gaze on you as you opened the church door and left.

That night, alone in his rectory, Father Law sat hunched over a chair, fucking his fist to the thought of you. Of kissing him. Of you straddling his lap with your hands pressed against his chest. His hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady while you fucked yourself on him, panting his name and moaning prayers.

“Heavenly Father,” You whispered against his mouth, breathless, “I ask for your mercy and forgiveness.”

Thrust.

“For lusting for Law. A man of God.”

Not Father Law.

Not Father Trafalgar Law.

Just Law.

“Fuck—” Law bit out, stroking faster.

Maybe it was true.

He wasn’t Father anymore.

He’s now just Law.

It was Monday, the day after your fantasies. The inn was slow, and your usual routine ended early. As always, you headed toward the church. But not to help, but confess.

After seeing countless townsfolk enter and exit the church for confessionals, you decided it was your turn. Taking a deep breath, you slipped through the curtain and sat on the wood bench.

“Bless me, Father for I have sinned.”

Law sat on the other side of the booth, heart beating fast and hands clenched in tight fists. His fingernails dug deep into his palms, hard enough to leave bruising indents.

He was burning for you. Burning for you like a candle, and you were feeding the flame.

“It has been one month since my last confession.” You admitted.

“There is no judgement in the House of God,” he replied in an even tone.

You slowly nodded and curled your fingers together. “I’ve been lonely.”

“Loneliness isn’t a sin.”

“Yes,” you paused, “but there is someone…” then your voice trailed. “And I want to be with him. Not just as a friend, but something more. Father, I’m having impure thoughts about this man and I know I shouldn’t.”

He was silent.

“I’m worried that I’ll give into them.”

“What thoughts do you have about this man?” He asked quietly.

“I want to touch him. Kiss him.” You replied. Then you took a deep breath. “Father, I want to fuck him. And I’m not married. I have been lustful for a man I shouldn’t want, can’t have.”

He didn’t reply. Law had one hand was down his slacks and closed his eyes as he stroked himself. He leaned back against the booth wall and imagined you sprawled out under him and moaning his name, you bent over his desk and him taking you from behind…you kneeling in front of him, your perfect mouth around his aching cock.

I need you.

“Lust is an easy sin to give into,” he resumed, stroking himself faster. “Yes, it can make you feel complete, whole. But, sometimes, the temptation can be too strong…the want overpowering your conscience. And when that happens, I pray you will find the strength to not act upon them.”

As he pleasured himself, you clenched your thighs together, imagining him making sweet love to you. You inadvertently moved your hips as if he was fucking you in the booth.

“But Father,” you whispered, “I think I’ll give in.”

“Give in?” He clarified.

You nodded. “Yes. He’s worth it. And I think he feels the same way. For me.”

His strokes slowed. “Be careful around this man. He struggles with lust as well.”

Before you could respond, Law ended the confession. “I absolve you from your sins. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

“Amen.” You finished. Before you left the booth, he added:

“You should meet him at the altar tonight.”

You nodded, stood up, gathered your skirts of your dress, and hastily left the booth, leaving him alone with his release spilling over his fingers.

That night, he knelt on the steps in front of the altar in his traditional black robes, slacks, white collar propped in place, and his cross necklace hung down his chest.

His palms were pressed together as he looked up at the stained glass windows, candlesticks flickering and the moonlight shining through. The church was quiet, serene. Peaceful.

But his heart wasn’t.

Law knew it was wrong to invite you to the church, especially since both of you discovered you wanted more than just stolen glances.

When you opened the door and quietly closed it behind you, he remained in front of the altar. Silently praying. Trying to clear his head. Wondering if he should send you away or keep you close.

Your familiar footsteps echoed down the aisle as you approached and knelt next to him. Waiting.

For a moment, there was silence between you two.

“You asked me to come, Father.” You said softly.

Law exhaled. “I shouldn’t have.”

You didn’t respond, sensing more to his reply.

“I crave you.” He turned his head to look at you. He shifted his stance so he was no longer kneeling but standing on the cold, marble steps. He motioned for you copy him, and when you did, he gently slipped his fingers under your chin. “I hunger for you. I burn for you.” He paused. “And I can’t stop.”

His lips hovered over yours.

“You don’t have to stop, Father.”

“No.” He said. “Call me Law.”

“Law…” you echoed.

“I’m not supposed to want you.” He continued in a desperate whisper.

You slowly breathed in. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting someone.”

“You confessed you wanted to fuck me.” He recalled, “And I can’t stop thinking about it. About how you’d sound beneath me. How you’d feel.”

You swallowed. “Then take me. Here. Like this.”

He shuddered. “God forgive me.”

Law traced your cheek with a set of fingers, softly kissed your lips, ruched up your skirt, and traced your bare skin underneath. His warm fingers slowly ran up, his breath hitching when you deepened the kiss.

He gave in, the cold, reserved Father Trafalgar Law. The kiss became desperate when his fingers were in between your thighs. You bit his lower lip gently, asking for access and he complied, opening his mouth.

Tongues collided, hearts beat faster, and you gasped when he pushed you against the altar, your back against the cool stone. Still wearing his robes, he slipped his slacks off, turned you around, and you bent over it so you were facing the stained glass window. He hiked your skirts up, slipped your panties down, and ran his fingers down your clit.

Both of you shivered with desire—you from his touch and him from barely contained lust.

As you were bent, he aligned himself with your folds and teased you, rubbing his hard cock up and down your wet entrance.

“Is this what you wanted?” He whispered into your ear. “To be fucked by a priest? A man of God?”

“No.” You breathed out as he laced his fingers in between yours. “I want to be fucked by a man.”

“I’ll be that for you tonight.” He rasped in your ear. Then, he slowly entered, moaning quietly as he stretched you.

You sucked in a breath and bit your lip as he thrusted, slow, hesitant.

“Law.” You whispered. “I can take more than that.”

“God, forgive me for wanting what I shouldn’t…” he begged, looking up at the ceiling. “Forgive me for wanting this more than Heaven…” then he looked at the cross on the altar. “Forgive me for being weak.”

He pressed his forehead against the back of your head and went faster. You clenched the velvet table runner with each thrust.

“Law—” you quivered under his touch.

“You’re my weakness,” he said in your ear.

Thrust.

“My thirst.”

Thrust.

“My sickness.”

Bites your neck. Leaves a bruise.

“My ruin.”

Grabs your throat.

“My sin.”

Thrust.

“Mine.”

[traroronoa]

yearning!law’s hands were known for violence and bloodshed. It had always been that way. But, beneath that was a man who just wanted to be touched—softly.

yearning!law didn’t realize how badly he needed that touch until he saw you gently pat Bepo’s back, your fingers lightly massaging his fur after you felt a knot. He saw how relaxed he was, and wanted that.

yearning!law keeps you at an arm’s length, telling himself he doesn’t deserve it. But his brain couldn’t help but give him reasons why he does.

yearning!law ends up pissing himself off when he thinks that and inadvertently projects it on you—and you, taking no shit from anyone, call him out.

but…

yearning!law overhears you talking to Ikkaku in your shared cabin, and for once his grip loosened.

“He doesn’t have to keep thinking he doesn’t deserve it—relaxation. Gentleness. Kindness. Someone’s compassion.” You started, “he just needs to let someone in.”

yearning!law looked down and noticed his fingers dangling loosely from his hands. He lifted them and looked at his palms: no fingernail indents, no broken skin, no blood.

yearning!law decided that the next time he had a backache he’d ask you for a massage.

[traroronoa]

unforgettable

modern au

surgeon!law x f!reader

nsfw

summary: you and Law met under circumstances none of you expected.

Law needed a break.

After a grueling 12 hour surgery, he went to the Sunny Satellite, the nearest nightclub to his apartment. He didn’t dare go to one near the hospital—he has clean and respectful reputation to keep. After parking in a dimly lit corner of the parking lot, he swiftly put his black sweater over his scrubs and lifted the hoodie over his head. Then, he trudged with a heavy heart to the front of the nightclub and ventured into the loud crowd, a combination of drunk dancers or those looking for attention.

Law was neither of those. He wanted to escape.

By the time you entered the nightclub, he was already at the bar and on his third shot of alcohol. As he drank, you sat next to him exhausted from your move.

“Long Island Iced Tea,” you muttered to the bartender.

“Stressful day?” Law mumbled after you ordered.

“Yeah.” You nodded. Once you got your drink, you took a couple sips. “Looks like you had one too.” You pointed out at the three empty shots in front of him. Law nodded, finishing his fourth.

“I don’t normally drink.”

“Same.”

You took another long sip and started brief conversation that ended with both of you taking another drink. Another shot. Just enough to make you two feel the burn of your days and the fact that you both needed a release.

To forget.

Just for one night.

“My car is in the parking lot…”

“…oh?” You asked, leaning closer.

“No names. No numbers.” He said quietly.

Nodding your head, you extended your pinky out. “No names. No numbers.”

Acknowledging the promise, Law hooked his pinky with yours.

The faint taste of his drink along with yours swirled together in your mouths as Law pressed you against the door of the backseat, kissing you roughly as you ran your fingers through his hair.

When he finally unlocked it, he clumsily opened the door and broke contact with your lips as he pushed you inside.

Once your back hit the leather seat, you pulled him in, Law slamming the car door shut and moved his warm lips on your neck, biting the skin and cooling it down with kisses as you slipped your fingers at the waistband of his scrub buttons. He supported himself with one hand on the driver seat’s headrest while the other against the back window. You took your joggers and underwear off in one motion, leaving them hanging at your feet.

“God—fuck—” he whispered against your mouth as pressed his erection against your wet folds.

One hand slammed against the passenger window in front of him for balance while the other fingered you, eliciting a gasp.

“On birth control,” You moaned breathlessly.

That was all Law needed to hear before he slammed into you, biting his lip as your pussy welcomed him in.

Your head fell back as your body tensed. “F-fuck…” you gasped.

Law laced his fingers with yours and pinned them against the window.

You wrapped your legs around him—your joggers and underwear in a heap on the seat—as he pounded into you, the cramped space making each motion rougher and desperate.

His car rocked. The windows fogged up. The leather was slick from sweat and smelled of sex.

“Your pussy is made for me,” he hissed in your ear, biting the lobe. “She’s taking me well…you are…”

You shivered and motioned for him to switch positions. You climbed onto his lap, one leg on either side, and without breaking eye contact, lowered yourself onto him again while you took your shirt off.

Both of you were running off of stress, adrenaline, and alcohol as you pulled his sweater and scrub top off.

Eyeing your chest, Law slipped his fingers under the fabric of your bra, tracing your breasts. Then he slowly ran his fingers down your curves and kissed the palm of your hands with a gentleness you’d expect from two lovers, not a one night stand.

Then he gripped your hips and thrusted up, jaw clenched and eyes burning into yours with an intensity he saved for chastising residents who didn’t follow his instructions.

“I am taking you well.” You whispered, putting a hand on the car ceiling as you increased your pace.

You rode him hard, chasing the high you felt while he slammed into you.

“You fucking are,” he moaned.

You hummed in response as you leaned down to kiss him, his lips parting as your tongues collided. His fingernails dug into your skin as your hips rolled faster against him.

With your free hand fondled his sac, making Law’s breath hitch as he closed his eyes.

Both of you came at the same time, breathing heavily while your foreheads remained against each other’s.

You collapsed onto his chest, his dick still inside, your ear against his heart, and his hands wrapped around the small of your back.

“No names.” Law whispered, resting his head against the window.

“No numbers.” You breathed.