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queserasora · 17 days ago

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BAILE INoLVIDABLE

LADS RAFAYEL X NON-MC FEM READER / NSFW (ish) WC: 10.08k CW: (in no particular order) kissing, fingering, death, violence, blood, mentions of guns, crime and poverty, smut with a plot, angst AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first entry for Hola, Verano! A Caribbean Summer themed collaboration hosted by me and @soleilnomoon . It is open to everyone who wants to participate. Please see the main post here on rules and theme information. That being said, this is a Caribbean inspired story, meaning reader is Caribbean, brown, and described with a vague curl pattern. The rest is up to your imagination.

A warm current wraps around his torso, propelling him forward towards a new destination. The golden sunlight filtering through the turquoise waters paints his skin amber. It feels like a nostalgic welcoming. As if it was a performance put on just for his eyes, to guide him to a destined place he had only dreamed of. The sheer beauty of it made him want to wax poetic as he flicked his fin through the water. In reality, he was on a rather over dramatic quest for some very special seashells—his latest hyper fixation. Some may call his tendency to stress over the minute details in colors, shades, tones…obsessive, but Rafayel preferred to label it as passion.

It was that same passion that led him to that tropical island: the Island of Enchantment. He had traveled through warm waters in search of the rumored beach covered in hundreds of broken seashells of corals and pinks. It was said that at sunset, as the rays of light spilled over the sand on their way to fade beneath the horizon, the beach shore looked as if it had been set on fire. At the time of his travel, he couldn’t conjure up a sight more beautiful than what those words evoked in his imagination.

At the time, he had never met you, never felt you; never understood you.

At the time he hardly knew anything at all.

Under the surface, the light that surrounds him begins fading in its brightness. Rafayel swims faster, chasing the sun. A dark fuchsia ripples besides him, streams of navy bubbles are at every turn of his body. In the distance he can see the hot pink sun, and as his head breaks the surface of the water the sight of the shore line seizes the breath in his chest. Rafayel is slack jawed at the sparkling rose colored fire that runs across the shore, behind it are spindly palm trees swaying in the breeze.

He blows air through his nose, bubbles forming as he barely contains his excitement and he swims the rest of the way to the shore. As the depth of the water changes, he transforms—legs that almost feel foreign, trudge through the waves. The sand squeezing in between his toes causes the smallest crease to form between his brows but before Rafayel can worry about a crab friend scuttling across the top of one foot—he has to worry about the figure standing on the shore looking at him.

Tangerine kisses of light slide down your brown arms. They circle like halos around your bare feet before they bloom upwards and unfurl like pink ferns wrapped around your calves. As you stand on fire, wind plays in your curls. There’s a curious look in your sparkling dark eyes; one that threatens to inspire Rafayel’s own curiosity. He is struck by your presence, your silhouette in front of a faintly bustling coastal town. Something ignites within him, leaving the aftertaste of ashes on his tongue.

The large pink hibiscus tucked in your hair hangs perilously by your ear. Rafayel’s finger twitch at the sight of it.

“You came out of the water,” you say past rounded berry colored lips. Your voice carries easily in the wind, a clipped melody that tickles the back of his neck. Rafayel rolls his shoulders as if he could get you off of him—but you’re suddenly all around him. He smells the shea and cocoa butter on your skin as he steps closer, the wind tossing your curls the other way and loosening your natural accessory. The hibiscus flies through the air, petals swishing like a helpless butterfly. Rafayel raises one hand and catches it effortlessly.

“Weeeell,” Rafayel starts, frowning down at the flower as he turns it to and fro, observing the light and dark shades of pink on each petal. “We’re at the beach.” Rafayel looks up and observes you quietly, before reaching out his hand to tuck the hibiscus back in your hair. “A lot of things come out of the water, cutie.”

The expression on your round face is amusing enough that he’s tempted to laugh but he reminds himself why he was on the island in the first place. Laughing at a local would probably do very little in his favor.

“Well, if you’re not a sea God, and you’re not here to help. Then you should probably go back in the water,” you mutter, a frown settling heavy between your brows. He realizes, at last, that you’re holding an assortment of seashells in your arms. As you feel his gaze on your little mound of treasure, you hold them close to you protectively. “Because the other option is, you’re here to take something.” You pause to frown at the beautiful man before you. The pink sunset dances in his eyes. An unsettling sense of familiarity makes a home at the pit of your stomach. You feel saliva flood your mouth as you resist it. “Just like the rest of them. You’re not welcome here.”

Rafayel raises his hands, quickly taking a step back from you. You try not to be fooled by his mock surrender. A man with a face like his was never as innocent as their smile made them seem. Many had come with smooth words caught in their tongues, eager to act the friend and all they had done in the end was take advantage of what the island and it’s people had to offer.

Annoyance, and a simmering anger replaces the light in your eyes. It didn’t stop it from being any less captivating. It didn’t help he kept getting distracted by the flower in your hair.

“Wow!” he exclaims playfully, a lopsided grin pulling at his plush pout. “I didn’t know there was a feistier friend on this island than the crab I met earlier.” You don’t react. Instead you stare at him impassively, even as some of the seashells gathered in your arms make their escape back to the sand. Rafayel smiles, after blowing a small laugh through his nose. “Does this friend have a name? Or do I have to call you Shelly?” Rafayel grabs his chin inquisitively, brows furrowing together as he pretends to ponder deeply about this nickname. “Although, I gotta say…” he drags his words as he turns his face to smile at you—a smile so bright he threatens to make the sun rise again. “The name is nowhere near as cute as you.”

Rafayel has to bite on his bottom lip next. The magenta that is born on the apple of your round cheeks makes him want to draw flower after flower on the largest canvas he could find.

A breeze blows between you, and your hair dances in front of your face briefly before you speak your name. Rafayel smiles.

“I was right. Shelly wasn’t cute enough.”

“I really doubt you popped out of the water just to flirt with me,” you say in an unwavering tone, sticking your chin out as you square your shoulders. You sway slightly in your spot, your feet unstable in the sand. More seashells abandon your arms. Rafayel quickly reaches out and catches a few of them on the palm of his hand. You look down and try not to be impressed by his reflexes. “Sea God or not, I have very little tolerance for thieves.”

“Hey now!” Rafayel says, playing with the seashells in his hand. “I don’t like your tone! I haven’t stolen a thing, and besides.” Rafayel tosses a seashell in the air, and catches it. “Seashells come from the sea.” There’s a brief pause between you. Rafayel can almost hear the cogs spinning in your head. He chuckles. “That means, technically, they’re mine to take.”

“The beach belongs to everyone,” you mumble, fixing him with a dark look as you turn your back to him. Rafayel watches you make a short trip to a line of buckets. You drop the seashells into one of them. “And so does everything in it. Not that you care.” You words come out fast and sharp. It feels as if Rafayel should dodge them quickly. “You derelict God.”

Rafayel flinches and near simultaneously stands up straight, as if suddenly he was before a court of judges. There’s nothing to feel guilty over, but your tone implied he should at least look the part.

“I never said I was a God!” Rafayel defends himself. Your piercing gaze falls on his face, and chest, and back up to his head. The way you drag your dark gaze from his abdomen and up to his chest makes his heart race. “So throwing out insults it’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Well, in that case,” you interject, hands on your hips as you tilt your chin upwards, doing your best to meet his gaze despite your height differences. He wasn’t very tall, but it was enough to put you on edge. You sorely disliked being disadvantaged. “Someone stole your likeness and made a statue that looks just like you, and put it in the town square.”

“You have a strange way of apologizing.”

Rafayel frowns, as memories he’s not even sure are his come back like a foamy wave. He had been here before—or a version of him at least, a long long time ago. He’s so distracted by them, and how uneasy it made him feel, that he forgets he was trying to get you to apologize.

“Maybe an ex lover?” you mention conversationally, as if it was a real question up for debate. Your tone gives nothing away but it isn’t until Rafayel sees a small lilt of a corner of your lips that he senses you’re trying to mess with him.

“I can see why you’d draw that conclusion,” Rafayel answers playfully, following closely behind you as you gather a bucket in each hand. There’s a third, and Rafayel silently volunteers himself as he picks it up. His free hand digs in the bucket, feeling the broken sea shells between his fingers, sand quickly gathering on his pads. “Being so charming and good looking can be quite a curse, you know?” He places one sandy hand on his forehead for emphasis but despite him holding his pose you don’t turn around to look at him. His frown deepens as he picks up his pace, legs kicking up sand to the back of his thighs.

You turn around, and Rafayel’s lips stretch into a broad smile. His mouth opens but he is rendered speechless in his confusion as you point at the bucket in his hand.

“You can’t have those yet.”

“Oh, come on!” Rafayel whines sweetly, he tilts his head, his soft hair swaying in the wind with his movements. You’re almost compelled to give in. “I even carried it all the way up here for you. Look!” He lifts one foot then the other. “I even got sand all over me. Surely, you can part with a little seashell or ten or twenty?”

“Just bring it with you,” you mumble suddenly flustered by your unwarranted full body blush. You step still barefoot off the shore and onto broken sidewalk. Rafayel follows you closely, surprised by the amount of heat concrete can hold. He shifts his feet quickly in an impromptu dance. You look over one sun kissed shoulder and look down at his moving feet before smirking up at him. “Baby feet. ”

“Baby feet?” Rafayel repeated aghast, making his way down the sidewalk in a wobbly rendition of a game of hopscotch. “You’re walking on a 100 degree heated bed of concrete and you’re saying I have baby feet?”

You don’t respond, instead you stop briefly. Rafayel feels and hears the thumping of a rhythmic bass sound. He feels it even in his chest. He’s both moved and discomforted all at once by the sensation around his heart. He finally sees the car flying by and as soon as it was past them, you cross the street.

“Sounds like something a baby would say,” you tell him. He sees a smile flutter briefly on your mouth before your eyes are captivated by the food stalls lined across the beach. The smell of fried food, and the ocean breeze mingle together and fill up Rafayel’s lungs leaving him with a sense of borrowed nostalgia. He doesn’t know exactly what he seems to be missing but he seems inexplicably drawn to you.

“You have to admit,” Rafayel continues as you stop in front of one of the stalls. He lifts a foot briefly to eye the bottom of it with a frown. It was a bright pink, and stinging slightly. “It’s hot. It’s very hot.”

You ignore him again and focus your attention on the lady running the stall. He watches your mouth form syllables that when strung together he’s not sure he understands but it does sound slightly familiar. Unable to tell what was being said, Rafayel got distracted by the smells and sights. In a glass display, under a heat lamp, were large discs of what looked like fried dough peppered with little bright pieces of green and spices. The scent was rich, savory, and fishy all at once.

You’re laughing when you catch him staring at the food and he’s only slightly miffed that he is missing out on the inside joke. Only slightly. So much that he refuses to answer the unasked question in your eyes. The stall owner reaches into the glass display with tongs and pulls out one of the dough discs. She grabs the bottom with a bundle of napkins and hands it over to Rafayel. He graciously takes it although his eyes flutter to you briefly, as if seeking validation.

“It’s a cod fish fritter,” you tell him, with a tilt of your head so similar to his, Rafayel thought for a moment you were mocking him. “You like seafood, right?”

The smile that stretches your lips is brighter than the lights in the stall, brighter than the street lamp posts slowly flickering on one by one, and much brighter than the orange-pink sun sliding behind the horizon. Silence was his best weapon at the moment so he chooses to focus on chewing rather than to wrestle his emotions into submission.

Rafayel looks up, and sees garlands of seashells decorating the stall. He looks down just in time to catch you slipping seashells from his bucket and unto the stall owner’s hand. You cover her hand with both of yours and lean close to whisper something. He takes another bite of the fritter, enjoying the well balanced seasoning, salty and herbaceous; an addicting combination.

As you both leave the stall, you walk side by side. Your height difference more apparent to him now, as he looks down at the top of your head, curious curls growing out of it. He playfully bumps his hip against yours.

“What was that about?” he asks you. He takes another bite of the fritter, not willing to let it get cold in his presence. He didn’t think a lukewarm limp fritter would be as delectable.

“It’s for luck,” you respond after a moment. You nod at the passing stalls and business; the small balconies of homes that had been built decades before. “The seashells are gifts from the Sea. The Sea where all our ancestors go to rest. We cherish them as not only a blessing from the Gods but also as messages from our ancestors. It’s how we feel connected.”

Rafayel took in the sight of the seashell wind chimes, tinkling at almost every establishment with every breezy journey of the wind.

“Plus, they’re pretty.” You wear a lopsided smirk when he looks at you, one that tugs at the pit of his stomach. Rafayel clears his throat as little fires erupt throughout his body. He takes a finishing bite from the fritter hoping he could smother the flames with his appetite alone.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, swallowing the lump in his throat—food or otherwise. His eyes are on the side of your face, beautifully illuminated by amber light. It dances over the apples of your cheeks like tiny clouds of fireflies. “Really pretty.”

“Is that why?” you ask suddenly, spinning on him, brows furrowed. Rafayel is so taken aback he briefly chokes. He coughs repeatedly and brings up a hand to his chest. You watch him, trying to decide if he’s faking it or not, before you decide not to tempt fate and clap him on the back.

“What? Weeeell…” Rafayel weighed his options: to lie or not to lie. “Yes and no.” Honesty was a tricky beast. Rafayel was no animal wrangler despite his affinity for understanding what sea creatures were thinking or saying. “I’m an artist, you know, cutie. Beauty is kind of my thing.”

You don’t look convinced so Rafayel moves on as his ears turn red.

“Anyway,” he interjects as he continues to follow you. He moves the bucket to his other hand now that he had all but scarfed down the cod fritter you had gotten him. “Now that you have realized I’m a non-threatening tourist—“

“When did that happen?” You interrupt, turning to the right and further away from the beach. With his options limited, Rafayel reluctantly decides to follow you. “Did I say that?”

“Well, not in that many words,” Rafayel quipped, adding a small skip in his steps to catch up to you. You crossed the street leading to what looked like a park or a town center. “You’ve let me tag along and you fed me.” Rafayel counted on the fingers of his free hand. “If I have to guess, cutie. I’d say you like me.”

You scoff.

“I do have a thing for strays.”

Rafayel felt as he was going to be swallowed up by the heat wrapping around his head. He coughed, in an effort to sort his thoughts and catch his breath. You, on the other hand, moved effortless even with a bucket in each hand. Barefoot, you walked upon cobblestone and towards the center of the park; past tall leafy trees, and low laying bushes full of flowers—the same that adorned your hair. He watches you reach a clearing, where a large fountain was. You walk towards it and set the buckets of seashells down. Rafayel was busy staring at your calves when you gesture to the fountain and the large statue in the middle of it—a powerful, majestic figure was sculpted as if he was standing on waves. His long hair was etched in rivulets as they curved around a lean and muscular body.

Rafayel points but you cut him off before he can voice his opinion.

“Our Sea God!” you introduce with fake enthusiasm. You sweep towards it with one of your arms. “Our Guardian. Our…” You pause and Rafayel sees your shoulders rise and fall—but no sigh is audible from you. “Absent Deity.”

There’s a stain of shame that bleeds from his heart. Rafayel frowns as he tilts his head and places his weight on one leg. In the back of his mind, he’s offended he even felt it. Whether or not you’re trying to guilt him into action, or whether or not you genuinely believe he is the Sea God or someone who looks a lot like him—it is inconsequential. None of it has anything to do with him.

“I should sue,” Rafayel declares as he puts down his bucket by yours. His hands go to his slender hips. “I never agreed to this. I know it’s real easy to get obsessed with me,” he mused, a hand grasping his own chin thoughtfully. “But this is going a bit too far. Would this fall under defamation or identity theft?”

“You can have aallll the seashells here,” you enthuse, sweeping an arm around the town center. There were small little altars spread throughout, candles and seashells—and things made with them such as necklaces, bracelets, and bowls of powdered seashells in varying shades of pink. “If you protect the island, for once, as you’re sworn to do! The people’s very own livelihood is at stake.”

Rafayel sighs in frustration.

“Listen!” he starts pointing an accusing finger, his bottom lip sticking out in a petulant expression. “I already told you, I’m not this God you claim I am!”

“He looks just like you!” you argue pointing up at the stony face of the Sea God’s statue. Rafayel looks up at it at the same time as you do. As if on cue, you both tilt your head.

“He does…” Rafayel says quietly but turns to face you just as quickly. “But that’s besides the point. Why do you insist I help you, so badly? Everyone seems happy to me.”

You suck your teeth.

“You think because you walked past a few stores you suddenly know everything there is to know about the island? Unless you forgot, you said it yourself, you’re just a tourist here,” you tell him harshly. Rafayel notices your nostrils flare as you try to gain control of your anger. “You only see what we want you to see.”

Rafayel couldn’t argue with that logic and the stain in his heart threatened to spread further like ink on water.

“Then show me,” he said, his jaw tensing. “Show me what it is you think I don’t see.” He should have known then, that that was the perfect time to walk away—that the seashells simply weren’t worth it, that being right wasn’t even important or necessary. He should have known, but hindsight is not only 20/20 but also painfully unhelpful.

He knew nothing, even as you took his hand and smiled.

“Follow me, Not-Sea-God,” you tell him in a voice full of secrets and mirth. “I’ll show you what the Island of Enchantment is all about.”

You lead him down a small street—an alleyway. A cat screams as he flies by. Rafayel nearly jumps into your arms, much bigger than you as he was. You push him off yourself gently, and quirk a questioning eyebrow at him. Rafayel stammers an excuse but you don’t wait for it. Instead you grab his hand again.

“I didn’t think your one weakness was another stray,” you joked; words formed by a crooked mouth that becomes more enticing the more words you spoke around him. Rafayel swallows with difficulty, a heat spreading on the back of his neck.

“Depends on the stray, cutie,” Rafayel quipped holding your gaze as he reaches up to tap your nose. You scoff and turn to pull him along the alleyway, apparently unfazed but he thinks he catches you rubbing the tip of your nose, gently, with the back of one hand.

There’s barely time to think it over, barely time for Rafayel to weigh the consequences of this encounter. He’s too busy wrapped up in the scents, and sights of where your feet take him. Your hand is warm in his, your brown fingers holding on to him tightly. He squeezes back every now and then, as you weave through a crowd observing performers with painted faces tell a story. He even squeezes your hand as you chat up an elderly man selling shaved ice. Apparently he is your neighbor, and apparently you don’t like getting free stuff from him.

“I mean, if he’s offering…” Rafayel tries to stall you, thinking a tamarind shaved ice sounded tempting but you had other plans and drag him away.

“No,” you say resolutely. You pull him close as you lower your voice. “He can barely afford to feed himself. Why would I take away what he has to sell for free? It’s like stealing a bite of food from his mouth with no shame or remorse. I can’t do that.”

Rafayel found that a tad dramatic but as he followed you, you led him towards a dimly lit street with homes that seemed either abandoned or in desperate needs of repair. Elderly sat on hammocks on their balconies, fanning themselves with fans as the inside of their homes sat in darkness behind them.

“Some people can’t even afford to pay their utilities,” you whisper, as if you didn’t want anyone else to hear. “They gather whatever they can to preserve what’s left of their dignity. There aren’t many jobs, and fishing isn’t as good as it used to be. They have no choice but to do what little they can, whether it’s selling shaved ice or those seashells you came all the way here for.”

You nod in a direction, and Rafayel follows your line of sight to see a pregnant lady on the sidewalk. She seems to be selling in jars what looked like crushed seashells. Rafayel stops before her, entranced by her work. She sat close to the ground, working on a makeshift table made with a beat up plank and two cinder blocks. On there, she ground seashells with a mortar and pestle, and combined it with petroleum jelly and other ingredients.

She smiled up at Rafayel and spread the mixture on the back of her hand to show him.

“A pretty color for your pretty girlfriend,” she said before spreading it on her own bottom lip as if to show its purpose. You nudge him gently and give him a pointed look. Rafayel returns your look.

“As pretty as she is, she’s not my—Ow!”

You punish him for his ignorance with an extra tight squeeze of his hand.

“Ow!” Rafayel cries out again, trying to snatch his hand back. “Are you trying to incapacitate me?”

You smile, all gritted teeth, with a slightly murderous sparkle in your eyes.

“Pay her,” you whisper through clenched teeth. Rafayel clears his throat and tries to ignore the heat assaulting his cheeks.

“I don’t have…your coin,” he murmurs, feeling a little unsure. “But I can barter.” He finally slips his hand out of your captivity to remove a golden bracelet. He squats down and places it on the lady’s makeshift table. “Do you like it? You can keep it and I—“ He gestures at the jars she has lined up. “I’ll take all of that.”

The lady is so thankful, her eyes brim with tears. Rafayel waves his hand in a slight panic, as if that would keep the tears at bay. You laugh, and push him gently aside, helping the pregnant lady pack what she can into a bag. She thanks you both profusely as you leave.

Somehow, your hand finds his again. Rafayel stiffens slightly before giving up and allowing your fingers to interlock with his.

“I didn’t expect you to be so generous,” you tell him. “For a stray Not-Sea-God you’re easily convinced.”

Rafayel shrugs.

“I’m only trying to prove my usefulness!” Rafayel insisted with a casual shrug. Despite his nonchalance, you notice the tips of his ears reddening. “Besides, someone like her should be home resting. I can’t imagine it’s easy to grow a baby.”

“Still,” you say as silence falls between the two of you. “Thank you. Things like that used to be popular among tourists. You could see booths like that lined up along the beach. The tourists would get their face painted with that but…there was an accident.”

“An accident?” Rafayel stiffens as something moves in a nearby trash can. A rat squeaks and runs out. He breathes a sigh of relief, a hand to his chest. He hears you chuckle but chooses to ignore it.

“Yeah, someone had a reaction once. Allergies maybe?” You guess, pulling him down another street back towards the beach. “Anyways, that’s all it took. It was all the news talked about and the police came down and banned it. That’s why you saw her there in that alley. The cops pretend that side of town doesn’t exist. Nobody wants to stare at poverty in the face.” You pause. “Then you’d have to realize they’re human.”

Rafayel is quiet as you cross a street, back towards the beach, feeling as if he got involved in something bigger than collecting seashells.

“And then!” You chime in, irritated. He could almost picture it—your feathers ruffled up, as you chirp and hoot like an angry owl. “Outsiders!” Rafayel follows your eyes to a construction site. There were several signs stating to keep out. There were people camping outside, some still awake, playing instruments, singing songs of protest. “They decided to capitalize on demand. It’s supposed to be a cosmetics factory. Using…”

“Let me guess, the seashells,” Rafayel interrupted. You nod, as you both silently stood across from it, only the sound of singing and instruments filling the air. “Still, about this…” Rafayel turns to you with a helpless shrug. “I know what you’re wishing, but this is beyond my control, cutie.”

“Just think about it,” you tell him, your eyes are full of dreams when you look up at him. He could see an infinite of possibilities. “If you were really our Sea God, you could wash everything away. Make it new.”

“But…”

“But, you’re not, right,” you mumble at last, and wave at the protesters as Rafayel feels the fight leave your body.

He didn’t know what he was expected to do, but he chose to put it to the back of his mind. After all, you hadn’t agreed to giving up any amount of seashells, and your hand was still in his. He felt like that fact took precedence at the moment; especially seeing as every time your intertwined hands swung too close to your exposed thigh, the back of his fingers brushed against your skin.

It made his whole body feel warm; almost over heated. Rafayel shook his head lightly, hoping he could sort his thoughts out. Had he spent too much time away from the water? Surely, it hadn’t even been that long but the fact that night had fallen without him even noticing spoke for itself. He was lost in thoughts as he walked with you away from the construction site, when the smell of the ocean grew stronger.

You drag him, instead of the beach, to a crowd gathering near another food stall. The smell of fire roasted meat floods his nostrils, making his mouth water. You seemed less interested in the food and more on the gathered crowd. Music fills the area with joy. The percussions are commanding, demanding the people nearby pay their tribute. Rafayel watches their hips sway, as couples spin around each other with smiles on their faces. He sees you, out of the corner of his eye, hand over the bag of goods he traded for to two elderly ladies. They seem excited as they dig through the bag.

You let go of his hand slightly, only to grasp his fingertips lightly. You’re smiling as you face him, walking backwards towards the crowd as you pull him along. Rafayel feels a sense of dread sink to the pit of his stomach.

“Oh, cutie,” he says breathlessly, suddenly victim to a brilliant blush on his cheeks. “You really will regret this. I don’t advise it.” You don’t listen as you smile and shake your head. You pull him closer to you. “I’m really talented. I am so talented,” Rafayel says quickly, voice quavering as you slide even closer to him, your fingers resting on his wrists as you guide his hands over your body. “I am…good…” You place one of his hands on your hip. You take the other one in yours. Rafayel stares down, mistyfied that his fingers seemed very comfortable there on the curve of your hip. Traitors. “This, however,” he continues finding his bravery now that he wasn’t looking at the width of your hips but at your bright eyes looking up at him. You grin, completely disarming him. “I’m no good but if you don’t mind me stepping on your feet…”

On the pretense of teaching him how to lead—you actually do all the leading yourself, happily ignoring every time Rafayel miscounted and stepped on your foot. You maneuver his arms to spin yourself, and laugh at the faces he made.

“Come on, Stray!” You tell him, reaching up with your joined hands to tap his cheek playfully. “Focus. Watch my feet. One, two, three. One, two, three. It’s easier than swimming.”

“I am!” he barks back, sweat dotting his brow like a beaded crown. You laugh, and reach down to pat his hand on your hip.

“Hips!” you shout over the music. Rafayel only raises both eyebrows as a question. You laugh again, and Rafayel wonders if he should hate your laugh or hate the way it makes his skin feel bathed in warmth. “Loosen your hips. You know? Just sway a little. Feel the music.”

“I’m too busy counting!” Rafayel counters which earns another one of your melodic laughs. You smile and shake your head, and if he was more prone to delusions he’d think he saw a certain kind of fondness in the warmth of your eyes. You suddenly let go of his hand, and place yours on the flat of his belly. Rafayel stiffens, holding out his arms straight out at your sides, unsure of where he’s supposed to put them at the moment. You slide them up, and move even closer until you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck.

Your arms around his neck, body pressed against his, you sway to the music. Rafayel is amazed at your ability to multi-task. Your smile is lopsided and predatory. He feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up as you lean closer. He knows this is probably a good time to leave. It would be the best course of action, and yet he wraps his arms around you, pulls you even closer until he’s sure there’s no space left to separate you from him.

“Then stop counting and just watch me,” you tell him, close enough he can smell vanilla from your lip gloss. There, he worried only about you; the way your body felt pressed against him, the way the percussions resonated in the cavity of his chest, how it felt like a call from the sea thrumming through his veins. The only thing more enchanting than the brass instruments passionate wail was the way your eyes looked at him. Your curls moved softly with each breeze, sometimes sticking to your glossy bottom lip. Rafayel cautiously, still stuck to your moving body—doing his best to keep rhythm with you—raised one hand to pull a curl off its sticky trap.

“How long do I watch you for?” He leans down close to your face. You blink rapidly, surprised at the quickening of your heartbeat. Almost immediately, there’s a heat rushing to your cheeks and all over your body. He’s so close you could count every eyelash, and every beauty mark on his face. “I’ve been watching enough to see your hair keep going to your lips. Three times now.” You say nothing, heart in your throat, and a sudden desire to do something stupid. “You should know, cutie.” His voice is husky, as his eyes darken, laser focused on your bottom lip. You bite down on it as a flood of heat spreads to your core. “I may not look it, but I’m a pretty jealous person. I don’t want others to have what I want.”

You swallow, almost missing your next step. You look down at your feet for failing you before looking back up again. You almost wish you hadn’t because the way Rafayel was looking at you was enough to send every thought screaming and running away from you. You clear your throat in an attempt to buy time; anything to formulate a coherent sentence.

“And, what is it…that you want?” You ask him. “Aside from some seashells?”

Rafayel watches you briefly before he smiles. He leans even closer, so much so you feel his breath on your lips. You swallow the taste of it.

“You’re real cute when you fight back, cutie,” he murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. “But I think you’d be even cuter if you gave in.”

Your heart leaps. Adrenaline jolts you, makes you feel cold and hot all at once. You can’t think straight, all kinds of possibilities and options come running to the forefront of your mind as Rafayel brushes his lips against yours. Your lips part—to breathe, to taste, to kiss him—but he moves his mouth at last minute, and kisses your cheek instead.

“Come on,” he chuckles against your heated skin, and drags his lips upward. He presses his mouth gently against your temple before he grabs your hands and spins you out of his embrace. Breathlessly, you try to keep up with him. He pulls you back in, your back pressed against him. He sways with you to the beat. You feel something hard and hot pressed against your lower back. The realization of it makes your stomach flip pleasantly, and the heat between your legs pulses. The need inside you grows even deeper when you feel his soft lips brush against the side of your neck. “Isn’t there somewhere less crowded you can give up in?”

You turn around immediately, releasing yourself from his arms. He laughs at your furious expression. Your face feels hot, and your heart is hammering away in your chest. You feel a mixture of shame and disappointment taking over. You’re ashamed that you want him so badly, and disappointed in yourself. Is that all it took to seduce you?

“What do you mean?” you demand. Rafayel, instead, just laughs at you.

“If you don’t know. I know a spot.”

You look up at him incredulously. When you don’t move fast enough, Rafayel takes your hand. You snatch it back, and he immediately reaches for it again—not easily dissuaded despite your attitude.

“Cuuutie,” he whines, pulling you towards him. “Think of it as me paying you back for showing me around. Despite what you call me, I’ve actually been here before.”

“Ah-ha!” You shout and point up at his chin, as he drags you along. “See, I was right! You’re—“

“I’m not a Sea God!” Rafayel insists, rolling his eyes as he pulls you away from the crowd of dancing lovers, away from the food stalls, and away from the main roads lined by street lamps. He takes you to the beach with the shore made of broken seashells. He takes you even further, down to a path that has been cleared through mangroves.

“Where are we going?” you ask, trying not to trip over roots, or get knocked out by branches. “It’s so dark. I can barely see where we are going.”

Rafayel squeezes your hand and looks back at you with a smile so bright that even the night couldn’t obscure.

“You’ll see. Trust me?”

You hesitate before you squeeze his hand.

“Okay, I trust you.”

You keep moving forward, your hand in Rafayel’s. He pulls you through some low laying branches and you finally see where he meant to take you all along. The moon hung high in the night sky, and its light spilled on the softly rippling water. The air was full of the sound of tree frogs, and the soft splashing of the waves in the distance.

“Come,” he said in a soft commanding tone, leading you to a small row boat. You get on wordlessly, careful not to fall over. Just as silently, you watch him climb aboard and join you.

“When did you prepare this?” you ask him in confusion. “Did you have this here all along?”

Rafayel shrugs, as he pushes off the shore with the paddle. You look down, and see a light rippling to life underneath you. You gasp. Brighter than the moon, a brilliant blue that electrifies every part of you follows your path as Rafayel continues to paddle. You reach down, and dip your hand in the water. The water lights up everywhere you touch. The sheer beauty of it almost brings you to tears, and you look up at the night sky wondering what could be more beautiful than that moment and that place on your island. The inky night sky is decorated with blinking stars, like fairy lights.

You’re too enamored with the view that you only remember Rafayel is with you when you hear him laugh softly.

“What?” you ask him defensively, as you blush. Rafayel reaches over and fixes the flower in your hair.

“If I knew this would make you speechless I would have brought you here sooner.”

You swat at his arm playfully, lifting your butt from your seat, causing the boat to rock. Rafayel’s eyes widen as he steadies you by holding on to your elbows.

“Careful, cutie. If you fall over, all my hard work will be for nothing.” You look at him suspiciously and resist swatting his arm again. “Isn’t this a much better spot for it?”

You wrinkle your nose, and suck your teeth. Rafayel shrugs as his face dons and innocent expression of confusion.

“For what?” you mumble, your frown grows deeper and deeper. Rafayel’s smile widens as he leans closer. The boat rocks slightly, and you place a hand on his chest as if to stop him from moving closer. “You’re gonna topple us over.”

“It’s okay,” he says with a teasing smile. You can’t help but notice his eyes are on your mouth. You feel your body heat up immediately. “I’ll be gentle.” Your heart speeds up, pounding furiously against your chest. As it attempts to escape, you try to at least keep a hold of your breath. You feel yourself gulping loudly as you try to regain control if the situation. The hand on his chest curls around his shirt. “If I can’t have the seashells. I want to ask for something of equal or greater value. It’s only fair.”

Your throat runs dry. Swallowing now is an almost impossible task. You fear choking, but you fear missing a single expression on his face even more. Your eyes take him, from the soft curve of his bottom lip, to the sharp edge of his eyebrows. You follow his jawline to his ears hidden behind soft curls of hair. As if possessed, your hand finds its way there, to the arch of his ear. Rafayel shivers at your touch.

He holds your wrist, his long elegant fingers sear your skin leaving invisible tattoos your eyes won’t ever see but your soul will always carry.

“Like what?” you hear yourself ask, but your voice sounds foreign to your ears. His thumb, slightly calloused, brushes against the pulse of your wrist; a beacon that guides it into beating faster and faster. He suddenly pulls you towards him, expertly adjusting you on his lap. Water splashes onto the boat.

Rafayel’s laughter is light, teasing, and disarming. You feel all your defenses shattering down into the water around you. They sink to the bottom like relics of an ancient civilization.

“I think a kiss would be a fair trade.” He says with a soft smile. Behind his eyes you can see mirth dancing in the purple and pink hues; the light of the bioluminescence casts his face into an ethereal glow. He brings your hand to his face, and rests his cheek on it. “What do you think, cutie?” He asks you. Rafayel turns his face to nuzzle your hand, and drops the softest kiss on the crook of your palm. With his lips still pressed against your hand, he looks up at you through his lashes, shattering whatever was left of your resolve.

You don’t open your mouth to agree. There are no words left for you to say. You could argue you. You could deflect. You could demand the truth and demand to know his reasons but you knew that the mysterious man from the sea would never break himself open for you; at least not so easily, at least not yet.

You reach out to him with your free hand, sliding it around the curve of his neck, before grasping his nape. Your fingernails scratch his skin, eliciting a hiss from him. His lips part as he lifts from your palm. You seize the moment, trapping his open mouth with yours. You slot your lips against his, claim his bottom lip into your mouth. His eyes flutter close the moment you take control, his hands fumbling with your body as his brain screams to bring you closer, at any cost, whatever it is. He grips your hips and pulls you down against his erection. The boat rocks, almost making you lose your balance. You gasp as you break the kiss, your eyes darting to the water nervously but Rafayel brings you back to him, one arm wrapping around your torso, the other holding firmly to the side of your head.

His mouth is hungry against yours, demanding your attention, and everything you can give him. His tongue is soft yet scorching, a contradiction you could easily get addicted to. He drops open mouth kisses down your neck, while his fingers dig into your hips. Rafayel’s teeth snag on your neck as he nips playfully. You gasp and grind your hips, pleasantly surprised to find him as aroused as you are. Your soft pants so close to his sensitive ears nearly make him lose control.

“Do you give all strays the same treatment?” he breathes against your clavicle, dropping soft butterfly kisses along it. You tilt your head, giving him more space as goosebumps roll over your body with each wave of pleasure. Your hips keep moving, eager to elicit more pleasure from the friction with each gyration. You hold on to his shoulders for support, and turn your head up to the sky. The stars are beautiful, and you pretend they’re a map you have to follow on your way to ecstasy.

“Don’t be silly,” you reply near breathless, so close to your orgasm it makes it hard to think much less talk. With one hand digging into his hair, you bring his mouth closer to your chest. Rafayel drags his lips against the neckline of your top, as his hands slide up your sides and to your breasts. He cups them gently at first, but when you moan at his touch, his grasp becomes more possessive. “You’re not even a real stray.”

He looks up at you, and you smile, eating up the attention. The way he looks at you emboldens you, makes you feel beautiful and powerful. You eat up the way his jaw slackens, the way his mouth drops open while his beautiful eyes grow heavier and heavier. You feel as if you’d collapse any moment, so you rest your forehead against his.

“So?” you ask softly, hip still moving in that dangerous hunt for pleasure. Heat tightens in your core, you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. Rafayel’s hands slide from your hips to your ass. You feel his fingers dig into your backside, and you bite down on your lip to keep quiet. “Isn’t this better than a few seashells?”

“Weeeell,” he drawls, his signature playful voice heavy with lust. You’re beautiful under the moonlight, your curls stuck once more to your face and lips. Rafayel laughs softly, and brushes it away, only to take its place and kiss you on the lips once more. “If you were wearing nothing but the seashells right now that would be really nice.”

“That can be arranged,” you mumble. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time?” he jokes, before he clamps down on one of your shoulders. “You’re so confident.”

You chuckle and turn his face with your hand so you can bite his bottom lip as revenge. Rafayel moans slightly, as he adjusts you on his lap. Now that you’ve caught your breath, you feel yourself coming back to your senses. You shift slightly on his lap, suddenly hyper aware of his arousal.

“I have a question,” you murmur, cheeks aflame. Rafayel smiles and tucks the flower back in your hair. It was hanging for its life to a single curl.

“You’d rather ask questions than kiss?” he jokes. He kisses each of your cheeks. “What an interesting little fishy.”

Despite his charms, and his kisses, and the sparkle in his eyes, you are not dissuaded.

“What is your name?”

Rafayel seems to ponder it over. Silence falls between you. The sound of distant tree frogs, and crickets fill the night air.

“Rafayel,” he says finally. You smile and repeat his name. You repeat it softly, rolling each syllable around your tongue as if you were savoring the letters that made up who he was. “Finally. Nice to meet you.”

He smiles softly at you, but the way his eyes lose a bit of spark scares you. He holds you closely, and rests his forehead against yours.

“It has been an honor to know you,” he whispers, the back of his hands brushing down your neck. “I’m only sorry that I have to leave you. So, I think right before I go, I should leave you with something to remember me by. I know how forgetful humans can be.”

You brush your nose against his. Goodbye seems so permanent so you can’t bring yourself to say it. Instead you trace the planes of his face with your fingertips, brush your lips against his once, twice, thrice. He trails soft kisses from your cheek up your jawline, and to the pulse point under your neck. There, you feel his lips part and he kisses you fiercely with an open mouth. It’s hot, and the way he’s forcefully suckling on the spot there makes you aware of what he is doing. It shouldn’t turn you on so badly, that he wants to mark you—as if you were his to keep but your hips didn’t get the memo. They move with new ferocity, as soft little moans drop from your swollen well-kissed lips. You cry out his name, when you feel you’re close, his hands slipping under your skirt to touch the sensitive skin of your thighs. His fingers slip past the elastic of your underwear, tracing dangerous circles on your ass.

You shut your eyes tightly, even as you feel Rafayel switching to the other side of your neck to suckle. You don’t think about the consequences. You let pleasure take over, you let his fingers explore you, as they find their way to your aching core.

“Yes!” you cry out in an urgent whisper as you feel him poking. He slips one finger inside you, even as you rock your hips, tilting your pelvis slightly to allow him more room. Rafayel laughs against your ear and inserts a second finger. “Just like that.”

“Don’t worry, cutie,” he coos, his fingers moving in tandem with your hips. Your eyes roll back as you feel the stretch, you cry out once more when he curves them, expertly finding your weak spot to exploit. “I’ll give you just what you want.”

Rafayel kisses you into silence, devouring every moan and sigh that was trying to fly out of your mouth. His fingers scissor inside you, and relishes on the silky wet feel of you. You’re warm, and inviting and a part of him would like nothing more than to lay you on your back and fuck you like his body desperately craves. Still, he doesn’t give in, and focuses on your pleasure.

“Almost there,” he teases with a grin at the sight of the glazed over look in your eyes. Your mouth is slightly open, shoulders slouched as you fall victim to pleasure. You whine against his neck, dropping sloppy wet kisses. Rafayel picks up the pace, fucking you with his beautiful long fingers, until you cry out one last time. He hums as you clench around him, feeling a desperate pull at the pit of his stomach. He resists it still then.

You’re not sure how long you rest there in his arms, coming down from your orgasm, but you blink away the fog thanks to a beautiful melody he is humming. You look up and straighten up, embarrassed.

“If you come back and change your mind,” you say in a playful tone. “Maybe I can part with a few seashells after all.”

“I won’t,” he says with a laugh and stands up suddenly. You look up at him in confusion right before he falls backwards into the water. Startled, you gasp and you’re busy trying to balance yourself on the boat. You peer over, trying to spot him somewhere in the water but the ripples he left behind are lit up in a bright green luminescence. You take a deep breath, and try to accept the fact that he’s gone. That he’s gone. That Sea God or not, it felt as if something special had transpired that night.

Suddenly, he breaks the surface of the water, and plants a wet kiss on your lips. You blink startled, amazed at the sight of him transformed. His muscles glisten under the moonlight.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t come back,” you mumble, startled but wanting to have the last word. Rafayel smiles up at you.

“Mm, about that,” he hums contemplatively. “We’ll see.”

Rafayel slips under water. You wait there, as minutes go by but Rafayel doesn’t come back.

He comes back the next day, right before sunset. His feet hit the shore, relishing in the familiarity. It had barely been a full day but he felt as if he had learned so much. He follows the paths you led him down, surprised at finding the food stalls closed. He goes to the town center, and drops a few seashells he picked up at the beach on one of the altars. Then he turns down the road he bought all the cosmetics from. There was no lady in sight with her swollen belly. Rafayel hoped she was resting at home on a comfortable bed. She looked like she needed it.

As he continues to walk, his thoughts stray to you. Your mischievous smile, the way your eyes capture the night lights, your mouth against his, the smell of your skin. It all comes into his mind like fractured images. He tries to build them up, like a puzzle, or a kaleidoscope. Entertained with just thinking of you, Rafayel finds himself in front of the construction site for the cosmetics factory. In front was a crowd, rowdy, shouting—not at all the determined but peaceful singing of the prior night.

Rafayel blinks in confusion as he sees the police clash with the crowd, pushing back with riot gear—shields against unarmed civilians. A bang and a smoke startle him, he hears cries from all directions, hears shots ringing out—and your voice.

He calls out to you.

“Don’t fight back up!” you yell through the crowd. Rafayel tries to follow the sound of voice. “Don’t shoot. They’re unarmed! Why are you doing this?”

He sees you there, pushing back against police officers. Your face is a mixture of anger, and anguish. When you yell and cry, he can feel the sense of betrayal in your voice. He tries to move towards you but every time he does, he’s pushed back by the crowd, or he gets caught up in a glob of smoke that burns his eyes and lungs.

He hacks and coughs, looks for you through blurry eyes. He calls out your name and hears you calling him back. He advances towards your voice. Finally, the smoke clears and when your eyes meet he feels he can breathe a little bit easier. Your hand reaches out to him in the distance.

“Rafayel!” you voice calls out, chased by the echoing sound of a bullet. You’re frozen in place. Rafayel freezes as your expression changes. He watches, in icy terror, as red blooms on your chest like the petals of an unfurling flower. His legs feel like lead, he drags them, curses at them to move faster. When he reaches you, you collapse in his arms, your eyes never leaving his face.

“Don’t go,” he whispers, and despite the lack of volume in his voice, there is a sense of command there that makes you want to meet his expectations but each breath is painful. You feel as if you’re choking. Your vision falters, bright white, then his face, over and over again. “Listen to me. Listen to my voice.”

You reach for him but it’s like clawing through fog. Everything you grasp is intangible. You cry out in frustration. Then, the images still, and you see him—his eyes brimming with unshed tears, his hair in disarray. He smells like the sea and smoke.

“You came back,” you mutter, your lips stretching into a tired smile. Rafayel holds you tighter in his arms. He brings up one of your hands to his cheek, just like he had done before; and just like he did before, he kisses your palm. “I knew you’d change your mind.”

He says your name against your bloody hand, over and over.

“Shh,” you try to soothe him, but your eyes are so heavy. You’re so so tired. It seemed pointless to fight it when you could just rest your eyes. “I’m glad…I got to see you again.”

You had always seen the world in shades of pink, and green. You suddenly remember the sunset by the beach, the way he rose out of the water, the last rays of light spilling over his shoulders. You remember him standing there, looking at you as if he saw right through you to your core, and you remember the way he said your name—as if he had breathed you back into creation. He watches you smile before you gasp loudly, once—lastly. His hands tremble as the light in your eyes dulls, but he doesn’t look away. It would be a dishonor. When there is nothing left, he gently closes your eyes, and carries you through the crowd.

He barely hears the yelling, the crying. The tear gas doesn’t distract him. He pushes through the clouds, letting himself feel everything—the anger, the pain, the stinging in his eyes and lungs. He feels the warmth of your body slowly slipping away, and he lowers you down on the floor by the fountain of the Sea God you thought looked so much like him. Rafayel’s anger grows at the sight of your lifeless body, tears spilling over his heated cheeks. As he clenches his fist, he hears the water in his ears.

“The Sea gives, and the Sea takes,” he spits through clenched teeth.

The water of the lake where he kissed you, unexpectedly roars to life. It rushes over its banks, spills into the streets and into the food stalls. People scream as they’re caught by surprise. They run for cover, others taken by the sudden current. Water reaches the construction site, and it tears its way inside, dragging sediment and debris with it. He picks up your body once more, and walks towards the beach, the water parting wherever he stepped; as if it did not dare get in his way.

The sun continues to sink lower into the horizon, the familiar pink stained sky welcomes him back to the beach. A lump is in his throat as he does his best to fight it. You look peaceful in his arms, as the last remaining light spills over your face. Colors he once loved, filled with feelings of tenderness, joy, adventure, hope—now leave a bittersweet taste on his tongue. Although he had expected to say goodbye to you one day, he could have never predicted it would have been this way.

Fate was a monstrous thing—like the sea, it gave and it took without mercy.

He holds you close to his chest, as he sinks back into the water, with the pink of your story in dyed into his mind.

#lads rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel x y/n #rafayel x you #collab: hola verano #Spotify #💛🦀🍊 hola verano collab 🍧🦀💛

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queserasora · 17 days ago

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I'm so excited! It's all I've thought about for a week now lol. Don't be afraid to participate if the bug of inspiration bites you.

guess who's back, y'all (hint: ✨ it's me, babie ✨) i missed everyone fr fr ;-; i've been away for far too long, i know i know. but yk how these things go. to everyone who has stuck around, ily so much and i'm smooching all of ur cute foreheads 🥰️; and to my new followers, holaaaa it gets real wild around these parts.

anywayyyy, presenting a kaia & sora caribbean coconuts production™ — 💛🦀🍊 hola, verano! an anthology collab 🍧🦀💛 — a summer & caribbean themed collaboration event that will run for the entire month of august. sora and i will be posting a fic every sunday & everyone is welcome to participate! that being said, mdni please & thanks. anyone who submits must be 18+, i stand firm on that. fics should be summer and/or caribbean themed! use whatever prompts you want; fics can be as long or as short as you like (but please nothing under 500 words, we want a lil substance here folks).

i'll add everyone's contributions as people post to the masterlist later on💛💕

all fandoms are welcome (comics & video games included)! if you do decide to participate, please tag @queserasora and me and pls use our tag so we can find you! we are really excited for this, y'all you have no idea.

please don’t forget to check out my rules before submitting 💕

🌴 once again, the collab is open to all fandoms (games & comics included). you don’t have to follow us to join, just make sure you are 18+ (mdni pls & thx) and that any character you write is adult-aged for the fic.

🌴 sfw & nsfw fics are allowed — if you decide to write dc please check my rules tag it appropriately. minimum word requirement is 500 words (there is no maximum, bc we're long-winded over here).

🌴 repeat characters are allowed.

🌴 multiple submissions are allowed.

🌴 you can write character x character, character x reader, or character x oc! whatever works for you.

#💛🦀🍊 hola verano collab 🍧🦀💛

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queserasora · 5 months ago

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

I - LIGHTNING

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

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

For once, he felt speechless.

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

II – THUNDER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Julius laughs, delighted by every word you speak.

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

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

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

“D'you say something?”

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

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

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

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

III - Hail

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you talking about?"

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

That earned him another slap to the chest.

#julius novachrono x reader #julius novachrono x fem reader #julius novachrono #julius novachrono x y/n #black clover x y/n

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queserasora · 9 months ago

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

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

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

💖☁️ la vie est drôle ☁️💖

starring: "straw hat" luffy x reader.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you hate it. so, so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🌙 credit to leafsea for the cute crescent moon divider 🌙

#every time i read this fic i lose life points #luffy is so insufferable #is he a demon? he should be a demon #y/n is stronger than me #i would have jumped head first into the sea #let the sea kings take me #one piece fic recs #&&. sora's fic recs

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queserasora · 9 months ago

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one piece masterlist

Ace

Doffy

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

Izou

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

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

Law

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

Luffy

Sanji

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

Zoro

#꧁ masterlist: one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece x y/n

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queserasora · 9 months ago

Text

obey me masterlist

Beel

Levi

#꧁ masterlist: obey me #obey me fanfic

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queserasora · 9 months ago

Text

jjk masterlist

Fushiguro, toji

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

Nanami, kento

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

#꧁ masterlist: jjk

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queserasora · 9 months ago

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bleach masterlist

Renji, abarai

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

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

#꧁ masterlist: bleach

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queserasora · 9 months ago

Text

attack on titan masterlist

Kirschtein, jean

#꧁ masterlist: attack on titan

3 notes · View notes

queserasora · 11 months ago

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

#ty #before anyone accuses me of committing copyright infringement on myself

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queserasora · 11 months ago

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

all you give me is a heart beat

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you’re hard to hug, tough to talk to

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heartless. He was heartless; he could be.

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

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

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

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

when we get undressed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you don’t love me, big fucking deal

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

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

There was no turning back now.

There was no point in regretting it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Darkness comes, as it does for everyone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

#law x yandere reader #law x reader #law x you #law x y/n #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader

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queserasora · 11 months ago

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

PART ONE

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Izou laughs softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, hips never stopping.

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

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

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

#izou x y/n #izou x you #izou x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader

138 notes · View notes

queserasora · 11 months ago

Text

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

PART TWO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The warmth of his playful grin soothes your ruffled feathers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#izou x reader #izou x y/n #izou x you #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader

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queserasora · 11 months ago

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

You had your eye on him for a while now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One step, two steps, three.

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

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

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

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

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

So why couldn’t you just fucking give it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#sanji x y/n #sanji x you #sanji x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader

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queserasora · 11 months ago

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

PART ONE

He was a man of his word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hears movement behind the door then silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#sanji x y/n #sanji x you #sanji x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader

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