#🍭✨🍨sticky & sweet event🧁✨��

[soleilnomoon]

Hi Kaia could i order white chocolate,fruit tart,glazed Donut,nougat,Donut hole,with caramel and whipped cream for one piece men: (Luffy ,Rayliegh ,Ace, Zoro, Sanji ,Shanks,and Law) plz and thank you

hihi ty for being patient angel 🥰️ i def took some liberty w. this one, but i think i like how all of them turned out; you gave me a tall order but *clenches fist* i survived 💛💛💛 anyway, ty for requesting hope you like it :)

3.2k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; smut, some angst, fluff (wow i know), hurt/comfort; feat. luffy being a total menace, rayleigh being the dilf we all want, ace being mischievous as ever, zoro being a dumbass, sanji being overwhelmed, shanks being the absolute worst, and law trying to teach reader a lesson. also feat. cute stuff like: ass grabbing, rough (consensual sex), exhibitionism & public sex, lil bondage, jealousy, orgasm denial, some sof smut™ (who am i), oral (f receiving), fingering, oral (m receiving), idk other stuff probably. y/n has no self preservation ofc, these men are ridiculous (i love them). (if u see grammar/spelling mistakes no u didn't <3)

it isn’t your intention, but somehow you and your captain get separated from the group one afternoon while canvasing a new island. you normally don’t get lost, but luffy was teasing you all morning — pulling you aside for impromptu kisses, grabbing onto your hips from behind, his lips curled into a devilish smile against your neck with each kiss he left behind. luck was usually on your side during those instances, except it seems it’s suddenly run out.

“don’t give me that look,” you say as sternly as you can, eyes glancing around to see if any of your crew mates doubled back to look for you. luffy’s really to blame for you both getting lost, but he doesn’t want to admit that just yet; it’s more entertaining to tease you, because you’re cute when you’re annoyed. luffy wraps a hand around your wrist and pulls you further away from the path you came from.

in between kisses, you remind him that you’re both pressed for time.

“don’t worry,” he says in a low voice, “it’ll be fine, probably.” you’d slap him if he wasn’t already kissing you again, tongue licking inside your mouth hotly; you arch against him, face flushed from the heat. his kisses remind you of summers and warm breezes; your mouth still tastes like the mangos you consumed with him earlier — sticky and sweet, a taste he’ll always covet.

you squeeze your thighs together when his hand roams lower and take a shuddering breath once he backs you against a thick tree. you hike a leg around his hip, holding him close to you, humming pleasantly when you feel the growing bulge in his shorts. being this close to him makes you impulsive and you know that all you have to do is rub against him once and he’ll fuck you against that tree. but your conscience wins out and you pull away, ducking out of his hold quickly, panting lightly as you touch your lips with the tips of your fingers.

“we need to get back to the others,” your voice is a bit too high when you say that. luffy laughs at your act and plants a wet kiss on your cheek; you bicker with him playfully on the walk back while holding his hand and lacing your fingers together with his.

“i don’t normally do this. i have to go.”

that’s what you said twenty minutes ago, after you’d gotten tipsy enough to have the courage to flirt with the older man sitting next to you. the pub was crowded and you only ever came by if you didn’t want to be recognized. rayleigh had a dangerously devilish charm, one that extracted information out of you with ease.

his voice is thick and rich, his words a pretty distraction — hypnotizing you as you find yourself nodding along to his impetuous plans. he hadn’t intended on sleeping with anyone tonight, but he couldn’t resist himself once he saw you sitting there by yourself, swaying on the bar stool while humming a nameless tune.

you seemed so content to be alone, it was admirable.

he had a bright smile and a laugh that came deep from the soul; you felt your body flush at the thought of kissing him suddenly. you blamed the alcohol for making you foolish, but you knew that wasn’t exactly true.

now you’re seated atop a sink in the upstairs bathroom, whimpering softly as you keep your legs spread for him. your skirt is hiked up, panties discarded somewhere — they were ruined once rayleigh whispered in your ear and suggested you carry on the conversation elsewhere; his hands were skilled, his mouth even more so.

he liked how pliable and supple your body was, how plush and soft your thighs were under his calloused hands. you shivered as he ran a finger along your slit, making you tremble as you keep as still as possible. rayleigh, you come to find, is experienced and passionate; you grow impossibly drunk from all his teasing — to the point that you’re panting and begging him to fuck you.

“all in good time.” his voice is gravelly when he nips at your exposed clavicle, cock hard and heavy; he knows he should hurry up, but something about you makes him want to take his time — so he can see all the frustrated expressions on your face. you pull him close and wrap your hand around his cock, stroking his length, rattling his nerves until he finally gives in.

he buries his cock to the hilt, hips pulling back and snapping forward roughly against you. letting out a breathy moan, you can feel just how slick your pussy is from your arousal. legs wrapped around him, you lean up to kiss along his jaw; he chuckles and indulges you, hands gripping your thighs, fingers likely to leave bruising marks behind from how tight he’s holding you. rayleigh fucks with you with fervor and selfishness that serves as a daunting reminder — that you’ll never find someone else like him after this.

“ace,” you pant as quietly as you can, but you’re struggling badly. the 2nd division commander has you in a back hallway on the ship early in the morning. he’s grinning like a fool, clearly entertained by your insistence on keeping quiet. he kisses you as he knocks his hips against yours, his cock sliding deeper inside your pussy; he holds you up against the wall as your legs stay wrapped around him.

you buck your hips against his, doing your best to match his thrusts, but his strokes are deadly and frenzied.

“wait, wait, ace slow down,” you whisper, sighing pleasantly when his cock reaches a sweet spot that has you clenching around him tightly.

“can’t,” he says in response, breath warm against your jaw, “stay. unless you want to get caught.” he gives you a meaningful look that’s accompanied with a smirk. you purse your lips but shake your head. it would be easier if you could stay mad at him, but he’s too cute and funny and attractive — plus, you like that he’s bold enough to fuck you in public without a care in the world. you hear voices off in the distance and panic, eyes widening as you look back at him.

but ace only winks and tells you to hold on tight.

as you bite down on the fleshy part of your palm to keep yourself from screaming, ace pummels his thick cock into your cunt mercilessly, balls slapping against you loudly. the sound is lewd and tantalizing; you find that you can barely keep up with his thrusts, but you do your best anyway.

apparently, he’s determined to make you cum before your crew mates catch you. and as much as he jokes that he wouldn’t care if someone saw you, a small wave of jealousy passes through him at the thought of anyone seeing you like this. he wants to finish up quickly so he can take you somewhere more private. it’s when he bites your neck roughly and pants against your skin that you cum unexpectedly, a blinding, white hot flash filling your vision as you forget yourself and scream his name.

the rain has yet to let up, not that it matters to you since you’re trapped in yet another argument with your thick-skulled boyfriend. you can’t even remember what triggered the argument in the first place, and because stuff like this makes you extra sensitive, you end up crying.

he sighs at the sight of your face flushing and eyes closing as you try to wipe away the tears, as if they were bothersome and unnecessary. guilt eats away at his chest, making it hard to swallow or breathe; he knows he should apologize, but he’s just so terrible at it. so, he does the one thing he knows how to do — apologize with his hands and mouth.

the mattress is soft beneath him as you straddle his hips and slowing sink onto his cock; you both shed your clothes some time ago, lips swollen from kissing him hungrily, an insatiable need seeping into your pores and making you greedy. you place kisses along the base of his throat, hips rocking forward as he thrusts into your cunt slowly. and while he’d love to just fuck you senseless — something quick and dirty — he knows that you’d appreciate his apology more if he took his time.

so, he does.

you sigh against his lips, fingers threading through his hair, tugging on the short strands. his chest is broad and firm, your nipples harden each time they rub against his light brown skin. slipping your tongue into his mouth, you cradle his face in your hands as he continues to give you broad, sensual strokes that have you whimpering in the most pathetic way against him. he likes you like this, though, and tells you as much when he presses a kiss along your jaw.

he finds forgiveness when you bounce on his cock a little harder, his hands rough against your skin as he grabs onto your ass to thrust into your pussy at a devastating pace. tears coat your eyelashes, but they primarily because zoro’s fucking you like he loves you. and maybe he does; you don’t want to think about that too much, because the intimacy behind it scares you.

jealousy, you think, looks good on him.

sanji rarely likes to show his true jealous side to you, it’s less playful and much more charged, possessive but you don’t mind that at all. earlier, zoro had offered to help train you and before you could turn him down — you’d seen firsthand just how brutal he is with his workouts — sanji was already up in arms over it. they argued for the entire afternoon, but by then you were already annoyed over the situation and dragged sanji off to calm him down.

his face is flushed when you kiss him suddenly and pull him into a broom closet without thinking too much about it. you can’t remember if you locked the door, but it doesn’t really matter. all you care about is wanting to give your silly boyfriend a little bit of attention.

your idea of giving attention is rubbing his half-hard cock through his pants, smiling slyly against his lips when you feel him shiver. in one fluid motion, you sink to your knees, fingers quickly unzipping his pants and tugging it lower. you pull his cock out and admire the shape of it, the slight curve always made your mouth water; before he can say anything, your tongue darts out and swipes at his slit, the pre-cum slightly salty in your mouth.

you make a big show of licking your lips, which only causes another flush to stain his cheeks. whenever you get like this, he has no choice but to follow your whims; he likes that about you, a lot. that you take charge and keep him grounded whenever his feelings get to be a bit too much for him to handle.

he opens his mouth to apologize, but you kiss his tip and he forgets all about it, mind short-circuiting momentarily, which gives you the opportunity to take him by surprise again.

“i don’t care that you’re jealous,” your voice is honeyed and sweet, wrapping itself around him comfortably, a lust-filled haze taking over his mind when you wrap your lips around him and suck. you run your tongue flat along his length, taking your time to lick all over before you take his cock into your mouth completely.

sanji’s breath slows and he does his best to not fuck your face, but then you’re massaging his balls and bobbing your head faster — so he does the most impractical thing and bucks his hips forward and thrusts his cock further down your throat. you gag around him, the pressure intense but welcomed; if he didn’t already know that you like it rough, he’d feel bad — and he still does, but he hasn’t voiced that out loud just yet. you don’t care though; truly, you don’t. you just want him to feel as relaxed as possible, but how can he relax when your mouth is warm and wet, when you’re looking at him tenderly, like you’d be on your knees for him every day if he asked you?

you let him have his way, and he doesn’t last very long, but you keep still, hold onto his thighs, nails sinking into his skin when his cock goes a little too deep. when he sees the tears roll down your cheeks, it ignites something in him and he cums in your mouth, your name a soft chant that tumbles out of his parted lips. he feels feverish and dizzy, but very much alive. you rub your thighs together as you swallow the thick load, smiling prettily at him, head tilted slightly while you boldly ask, “do you feel better now?”

he knows better than to piss you off, but he does it intentionally anyway. the captain of the red hair pirates loves pushing your buttons; he likes when you roll your eyes at him, when you pout cutely and demand he take you seriously; he likes when you don’t stop him when he kisses you openly, mouth possessively staking its claim against yours.

if you weren’t so used to his whims, you’d have the decency to act bashful.

you have a short temper that he’s been warned about time and time again; except, shanks doesn’t fucking listen — nor does he care.

so when he has you bent over one of the tables in the kitchen late one night after you both argued and drank and argued again, you have no choice but to forgive him. especially when he his thick cock is buried deep inside your pussy, his large hand pressing down on your lower back as you grip the sides of the table. your legs shake, but you know better than to complain right now. shanks fucks you hard, the wooden table scraping against the floor every time his hips knock roughly against yours.

“shanks, fuck,” you cry out, chest heaving as you try to keep your sanity intact. his chuckles annoy you, but he knows that you only pretend to act annoyed with him because you like the way he makes up with you. your ass bounces back against him, jiggling from the ferocity behind his thrusts.

“careful, doll,” he grabs your hip to power into you — his strokes turning you into a mumbling, delirious mess, “thought you didn’t want us to get caught.” he sounds so fucking pleased with himself, and you hate that your pussy is wet enough that you can take him without much prep. you blush at the thought of being caught and remind yourself to keep quiet.

“oh, don’t stop now on my account,” his voice lowers substantially, you crane your neck to hear him better, and you just know without having to look at him that he’s got a pleased smile on his face. that man works every nerve in your body, but you like him too much to leave him properly.

you press your lips together to stifle another moan, but then shanks keeps his hips close to yours and gives you short, rough thrusts that you struggle to keep up with. with your back arched, you make for a pretty sight; he knows he should finish quickly, but he likes watching you hold onto the edge of the table like it’s your only lifeline. you don’t even have time to process the orgasm that passes through you because it happens so suddenly.

he teases you mercilessly and without remorse, but you take it; you take the rest of his frenetic thrusts, take the way he slides his hand underneath you to rub your clit. your body is much too sensitive, and when you moan his name like that, it flips a switch in him. you doubt you’ll be able to walk properly after this, but you’re not too worried about that; shanks bullies his cock in and out of your needy hole until he’s satisfied, successfully wrenching another orgasm out of you that makes you slump over the table weakly.

“don’t tell me you’re all done,” he presses a kiss on the side of your neck, lazily grinding against you, every bit as greedy as he always is. you can barely stand, but you feel alive in the best sort of way, already forgetting that you were mad at him in the first place.

you knew better and you still didn’t listen.

the restraints around your wrists dig into your skin a bit, but they don’t hurt that much; you squirm around on the bed, not liking that you can’t touch yourself or him. but he told you earlier to behave and you still chose to ignore his warning.

now you’re paying for it.

although, you wouldn’t exactly call this sort of thing a punishment.

law’s mouth latches onto a patch of skin on your inner thigh, teeth and mouth leaving behind marks that serve as little reminders for later. you whimper softly, but he pays you no mind, instead moving to the other thigh, tongue running along your skin. you buck your hips forward to get him to touch you properly, but all he does is click his tongue at you in faux-disappointment.

“seems like you still need to learn,” he says sharply, his eyes a dark amber, the look he gives you is equal parts fierce and mesmerizing. you want to kiss him, to run your hands down his chest, but he won’t let you and you’re upset about it.

when it looks like you’re about to say something that’ll piss him off, he stuffs your panties inside of your mouth to keep you quiet. your pleas are muffled but he pulls your hips close, mouth brushing along your slit, making you tremble with need.

he knows he should probably ease up, but if he doesn’t teach you now, then you’ll keep the same bad habits and he can’t have that, now, can he? you’re nearly in tears when he finally flicks his tongue against your throbbing clit, hips jerking forward when he swirls his tongue around. you can feel your saliva dampen your panties. you close your eyes briefly, ecstasy filling every part of your body when he stops and says, “keep your eyes on me.”

you want to tell him that it’s damn near impossible, but you try to follow his instruction anyway.

law eats you out with purpose and vigor, his mouth a sinful delight as he french-kisses your pussy without restraint. he teased you for so long that your nipples ache from being hard and untouched. you could kill him for that. and law is smug in his own way, enjoying you at his leisure, slurping and licking your pussy with fervor.

you thrash against him and he holds you steady; you can barely keep your eyes open and you feel like you’re having an out of body experience when he glides his lithe fingers inside your cunt. law fingerfucks you lazily, sucking on your clit like it’s his favorite piece of candy. when you cum, your moans are strangled and garbled, vision blurring as you ride his mouth shamelessly, a sharp pain on your wrists from the way you keep tugging fruitlessly.

he could let up but won’t, taking pleasure in watching you fall apart for him; you tell yourself that once you’ve calmed down, you’ll just have to pay him back in kind later when he least expects it.

[soleilnomoon]

May I get a oatmeal raisin cookie, dulce de leche roll, nougat, with caramel on top with Law from One Piece, with a f!reader, please?

hiii angel 😊💕 ty for your patience, i had fun writing this one, something short & sweet as law is the worst and i h8 him (i'm lying ofc).

1.8k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, a lil bit of angst (i can never help myself ok) mixed w. smut; feat. cute thangs like law being the worst ever, delusion on both law and reader's part, rough (consensual) sex, reader as always lacks self-preservation, but that's how i like her; law likes to think he's above intimacy but lbr he ain't. (if u see spelling/grammatical errors, no u didn't <3)

if he’s honest with himself — and he often isn’t — you brought this on yourself. he’s grown beyond tired of repeating himself throughout the day; he tells you as much after he instructs you to hold onto the backs of your thighs to expose your pussy to him in a way you’ve never done before. there’s something almost clinical about the way his amber eyes take in your body. his gaze is hawkish, a little cold, but also very familiar — leaving behind a blazing path with every passing second.

you knew you shouldn’t have pushed him, but you were having so much fun earlier, and things are always exciting whenever he gets angry. what you didn’t count on, was law reacting so quickly. normally he lets you have your way and then deals with you the next day, preferring to drag out his punishments — but today, you really toed the line. you’d be proud if you weren’t currently in a bind.

one ironclad rule that everyone on board the polar tang follows, is to never disturb the captain while he’s working. on the rare occasions where there’s an absolute need for his assistance, he’ll make an exception — but you’ve never cared about that, often provoking him in front of the others, flirting as you taunt him by not wearing the appropriate attire in the submarine.

trafalgar law thrives on order, on ensuring his crew follows his plans exactly the way he wants them to, and without question, too. you’ve always thought the others archaic and ridiculous for following him blindly like that, and, besides, law makes it easy to tease him. constantly finding reasons to touch him, always making sure to sit right next to him during meals, your hand drifting to touch his thigh under the table, nails dragging down he inseam of his denim.

whenever you act like that, whenever you brush up against him with the intent of rattling his nerves, he has to remind himself that it’s not feasible for him to fuck you on the table for everyone to see exactly how he likes to deal with you. it’s because you know he won’t do it, that you keep poking.

he stopped fighting you ages ago, but he doesn’t let you get away with much in front of the others.

except for today. you actually managed to fluster him in an irreparable way, so he’s teaching you a lesson.

there are books, papers, and pens scattered on the floor near the desk — law shoved them off to drop you on the surface without restriction. you’re on your back, hot tears pooling around your eyes, threatening to roll down your round cheeks without mercy.

when he originally called you into his office, you figured he’d give you a lecture then send you on your way; but the moment you entered, he had you backed against the door, long fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing tightly. you’re normally not so careless to let yourself be caught off guard like that, but he has height and strength to his advantage always.

you expected him to kiss you then, to make you fall apart without even doing much — but he didn’t, as usual, he always refuses to kiss you. the sting of that rejection somehow always leaves you with a bitter feeling that you swallow with great difficulty each time. you don’t know why you get your hopes up like that; law isn’t intimate, nor does he crave any sort of romantic companionship. you know that, and yet you still can’t help yourself; hope is a dangerous thing, so you unfortunately have to learn that lesson repeatedly.

“don’t move,” is all he says when he slides the tip of his cock inside your tight hole before snapping his hips forward, the motion making your hips twitch and has your pussy clench around him. it’s pure desperation that has you whimpering and pleading with him to hurry up.

he doesn’t listen — and why would he? he’s the one in charge here, not you. still, he doesn’t make you wait for long, as he thrusts his cock in and out, enjoying the way your slick clings to his length, your thighs warm and soft each time his hips meet yours. you bite down hard on your bottom lip, hoping to keep quiet — knowing it’ll piss him off even more, but law isn’t having it. he plucks your lip away from your teeth, cock pounding into you harder, making you choke on his name.

“behave,” he clicks his tongue afterward, but gives you a dark smile. “you’ll take what i give you and like it.” more than like it, really; your mind is a jumbled mess, thoughts bouncing around erratically, heart beating too fast, as if you’re running an eternal marathon. he leans down, licks along your collarbone, nipping at the skin there, hips rolling against yours at a devastating pace. it makes you rethink all the times you acted out, makes you want to repent somehow — and this does serve as some sort of penance, even if you’re getting pleasure out of it.

and he is too; out of your submission, out of his domination of you. it’s always exhilarating when he has the upper hand in any given situation, but with you he’s amplified tenfold, and he doesn’t know why. or he pretends he doesn’t, anyway.

when you plead for him to slow down, he sucks his teeth and speeds up, reminding that he’s the one in charge — and always has been. your pussy swallows most of his length, a feat that he continues to remain in awe of. no matter how rough he is with you, you always manage to survive and he supposes he likes that about you.

your tenacity is dangerous, though, and if he’s not careful he might end up liking you more than necessary. even though he already does. he watches the expressions on your face, the ecstasy despite all your complaints — you just like running your mouth, is all; he knows that now.

law pulls out of you without warning, leaving a aching, vacant feeling in your pussy. you open your mouth to protest, but he motions for you to get on your hands and knees. he hisses in annoyance when you rub your ass against his hardened length; his patience is practically nonexistent, and you feel it when he grabs your ass and thrusts inside you again.

the change in position has you arching your back, a bit of drool gliding down your bottom lip and spilling onto your chin as you reach back and grab his hip. you bounce your ass against him, matching the timing of his thrusts; a warmth crawls around his chest as he watches the way his cock moves in and out of your pussy. he doesn’t know what to do with that feeling, so he swallows back a groan and grabs a fistful of your hair to pull you closer.

your whining grips him around the throat, makes him think about going easier on you — but then he remembers your insolence and drags his lips along the curve of your ear.

“stop running.”

an impossible request, you know that he knows that; but you take it anyway, grateful that he’s fucking you hard enough to make you forget you have feelings for him. you know later on you’ll mull over what you should or shouldn’t have said, but for now you’ll enjoy the way his cock kisses a spot so deep that it has your eyes rolling back. your words are barely coherent when he kisses the side of your neck, and he almost moans your name out loud when you clench around him in retaliation. and, because he refuses to let you push things in your favor, he rubs your clit with his fingers, your wetness dripping down your thighs so prettily, pussy squelching loudly with each thrust of his cock.

you know that this will only end with your heart in torn carelessly into pieces, but you don’t care; the rush that overwhelms you with each orgasm he gives you is worth it. it’s a powerful delusion, one that you’ll keep for as long as you can. law pinches your clit impulsively, and the way you tremble beneath him, the way you cry out for more more more nearly incapacitates him.

but he stands strong, thankfully.

it’s only when his strokes get sloppy and frenetic, that an orgasm seizes control of your body.

“you’re squeezing so tight,” he says lightly, breathing uneven against your skin, pressing kisses on your shoulder, “must be feeling good, hm?” he knows why you can’t answer him, which is why he pushes you back down onto the desk and slaps your ass. you’re not sure if it’s the aggression or the fact that you’re nearly spent, but it’s like your orgasm is never ending. arousal pools around your abdomen as sweat clings to your skin; he won’t last much longer, but he wants to delude himself into thinking he can handle more.

“too much,” you manage to say, pussy overstimulated, sensitive, and puffy; but you still arch against him, still buck your hips backwards, enjoying the way law seems every bit as obsessed with you as you are with him. you know you’ll be sore in the morning, but it’ll be worth it; and you know that no matter what he says, you affect him more than he’s ever willing to admit publicly.

your pussy has him in a literal chokehold, which is always the case whenever he fucks you, but tonight it feels different. he’s not sure what it is, but something compels him to pull you flush against his chest. when you turn your face towards him, he kisses you, the impulse surprising both of you. he cums the moment your lips part and his tongue glides inside your mouth, artful and graceful as it caresses your tongue with familiarity. a flush takes hold of your body, making your skin hot to the touch, but he doesn’t stop kissing you; his thrusts are slower, almost sensual but he refuses to read too much into it. when he pulls away, he tries to catch his breath, heart suddenly much too big for his chest when he realizes what he just did. you don’t bother teasing him about it, as your body is currently out of commission, your thoughts obliterated of anything that isn’t related to him.

he glances down and sees the way your cum spills onto his desk, the sight burned into his mind. you don’t even remember if you locked the door when you came in — and anyone could’ve heard the way law had you screaming, the pleasure much to great to keep quiet no matter how hard you tried. he isn’t worried about that, though; he’s concerned with how he’s supposed to move forward now that he’s allowed you a bit of intimacy and vulnerability. he supposes he can think about that later, so for now he runs a hand down his face before giving your ass a playful slap and commending you for a job well done.

[soleilnomoon]

Hiya!! I’m absolutely in love with this event you’re doing and wanted to put in an order with you if possible 🥲❤️

Can I please have a glazed donut with caramel and a touch of whipped cream, a Neapolitan rose cake with poppy seeds and whipped cream and a #1 (Kidd) from the secret menu?

For a f!reader (Gn reader is also perfect, whatever you’re comfortable with!)

Thank you so so much!!

hihi!! ty for being patient with my very slow writing 😭💓 anyway i love kidd he's so fun to write and he's just so silly being grumpy like that all the time. i wrote this like i was possessed so i hope you enjoy 😊also as u know enemies 2 lovers is my shit, i love it sfm.

3.3k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; smut, enemies 2 lovers, hurt/comfort, a splash of angst (nothing major it's so tame i promise maybe), and fluff if pretend real good (jk it's there somewhere); feat. oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), fingering, kid being a bigass bully but reader dishes it back, kid is a mean bitch when he's jealous but what's new, reader likes it ok; is this toxic??? maybe a lil idk, i'm into it ok. both of them need to do better; killer makes a brief cameo! (if u see grammar/spelling mistakes, no u didn't :))

“listen, memory’s got a hard heart and a soft head. / whatever light the eye sees, the heart says dark, dark, dark.” — charles wright

an empty beer bottle shatters on impact the moment eustass kid chucks it at the wall near your head; thankfully your keen senses allow you to miss the attack, just barely.

“care to explain,” you say as carefully and as cordially as you can, teeth grinding against each other every time you pause to calm yourself, “why the entire fuck did you throw that at me?” you keep your distance from your hot-tempered captain, staring fiercely at him, not at all fazed by his intimidating presence.

kid pours himself a glass of scotch and ignores you altogether, grunting noisily before downing the drink all at once.

“kid,” your tone is anything but amiable, he can taste your annoyance even from across the room; everyone had cleared the kitchen once you and kid started arguing — the crew has been privy to one too many explosive fights and they were tired of breaking them up. when it doesn’t look like he’s going to answer truthfully, you roll your eyes and toss your hair over your shoulders. “know what? i’m done, i’m leaving this stupid ship, because there’s no way i’m going to survive with a shitty captain like you.” the words leave your mouth much too fast, spurned by the two glasses of wine you had previously.

you weren’t even mad that he threw the bottle, you were used to the outbursts and you were equally as destructive as he was — much to the chagrin of your crew mates, who constantly reminded the two of you to figure something out quickly.

kid knows better than to encourage you to leave, even though the words touch the tip of his tongue, but he thinks better of it and says nothing. instead, he fills another glass and drinks again.

“do whatever you want,” he dismisses you with a wave of his hand, eyes closing as he lounges on a chair lazily. he doesn’t mean it, of course, but you decide to interpret that as him giving you permission. bile rises to the back of your throat, and you will yourself not to let a single tear fall. you sniff loudly and turn your face away before storming out of the kitchen.

you bump into killer on your way out, but before he can ask what’s wrong you run off. he doesn’t chase after you as he has a sinking feeling that you and kid had yet another fight that requires his mediation.

a thankless job if anyone were to ask him.

he finds kid with his eyes closed and a frown stitched onto his face. killer sits across from his captain and sighs loudly.

“start from the beginning,” he says smoothly, watching kid carefully to see if he’s actually going to give him the whole story this time.

kid doesn’t move for a long moment, but he knows he can’t avoid killer so he relents. he tries not to think about the shape of your mouth, or the curve of your hips; he tries and tries and tries, but he can’t get your face out of his head.

“it’s not a big deal,” kid says gruffly, voice low, irritation spiking all over again when he slams the glass on the wooden table — the force of it rattling the furniture nearby.

killer crosses his arms against his chest and fixes kid with a steely glare, one that penetrates through his mask. still, kid insists on pleading his case.

“you know she argues with me on purpose, why are you always on her side?” he will never understand; if anything, his crew should side with him always. loyalty above all else, after all. there’s no legitimate reason for why you and kid are always at each other’s throats — it’s probably because you’re more alike than you think and your stubbornness always clashes with his; he’s also controlling and bossy, pigheaded and a pain in your ass.

and yet, there you are, sighing in defeat as you press your face into your pillow and try not to scream.

the funny thing is, as much as you both like to deny it, everyone can see that this is pent up sexual frustration that will implode sooner rather than later. kid would rather gut himself than admit that he likes you, would rather swallow nails for ninety days before confessing to you first. similarly, you hate the idea of him having this sort of power over you — that’s what you tell yourself anyway; if he knew how much you liked him, then you’d never hear the end of it.

his ego knows no bounds and you don’t know if you’d be able to tolerate him being that smug around you.

still, you’re sorely tempted to just tell him and get it off your chest; maybe if he sees where you were coming from, then he’ll ease up. you doubt it, though. while you’re not oblivious to the heated looks that kid gives you, if you give into that desire, there’s no coming back from it unscathed.

your poor battered heart can only take so much, you need to protect it from men like him — men who come in like storms, wrecking your life without remorse.

killer’s lecture only pisses kid off even more, but his best friend has never steered him wrong, so he takes his advice seriously. his issue with you is so painfully simple that if you knew you’d make fun of him forever — at least, that’s what he thinks anyway.

his attraction to you has only grown stronger over the years and you have an iron grip on him without even realizing. he fucks other people to get you out of his head and it only gets worse. you tried your best to flirt around in the hopes of finding someone to take your mind off him, but everyone you meet pales in comparison.

there’s never anything wrong with them — they’re just, so nice, so… tame. and you hate that kid has gotten you accustomed to a certain kind of chaos that you crave without meaning to. you know that you’re much too intense for just anyone to handle, so you don’t try that hard anymore. for some reason, this pleases kid more than it should. he actively sabotages anyone’s interest in you for the sole purpose of keeping you to himself, all without telling you, of course.

killer wants to tell you to wise up about kid, but knows that it’s not worth it; you won’t listen to reason anyway, will you?

you like to lie to yourself and say that you hate him, but you know you don’t. and kid doesn’t want to admit that part of the reason why he likes you so much is because you’re dismissive around him and are one of the few people who dares to talk back to him. he likes that part of you so much that he’s sure it’s an unhealthy obsession at this point — hence why he’s always acting out whenever you’re nearby.

you know you should just let it go, try to find a middle ground with him — and he keeps telling himself that if he fucks you once, maybe you’ll calm down and stop nagging him so much.

one can only hope, right?

after docking the ship on a small island, you take to exploring around the closest town. the others follow kid to a pub and drink heavily. because it’s packed inside, kid opts to finish his drink outside, where the breeze caresses his skin gently; he finds solace in the cool evening temperature and almost heads back in when he hears laughter.

a few feet away, you’re standing with an unknown man — a civilian from town, most likely — smiling like a mischievous cat, batting your eyelashes and touching his arm every so often. kid narrows his eyes, jaw clenched as he finishes his drink, his anger steadily rising at the sight.

you’re in the middle of accepting a date, when kid calls your name out. loudly.

you try to ignore him, but you know that he’ll only be tempted to do something outrageous so you apologize to the stranger and stomp over to your nosy ass captain.

“what do you want now? can’t you see i’m busy.” your face is flushed from embarrassment — and the stranger leaves once he sees the fierce look kid gives him from over your head — and anger, a deadly combination that makes you look every bit as cute as you are alluring.

 he wishes you’d stop being attractive so he can get over you quickly; but yet there you are, fussing at him without a care in the world. your lack of fear only makes him want you more. he licks his lips and motions for you to follow him back to the ship.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you say, holding your ground and not moving an inch.

kid swivels on his heels and his audacity reaches new bounds when he says, “either you walk on your own or i carry you. either way, you’re getting back on the fucking ship.”

something about that stirs something forbidden inside of you, a wicked heat that makes you squirm a bit under his gaze. if you don’t comply that’ll complicate things, but if you do that’ll only mean you’re giving in to his demands and you don’t want that.

right?

lips parted, an argument rolls onto your tongue, but he grabs your face roughly with his hand and stops you from saying another word. “i’m serious.” and you know he is. you swallow hard and nod, following after him quietly, heart beating much too fast. you tell yourself you’ll make it out of this in one piece, but you make the mistake of following kid back to his room, all of your self-preservation thrown out of the window when you close the door behind you and sigh.

kid’s anger nearly blinds him; he didn’t think he’d ever be that jealous, but he saw the way your soft features were illuminated in the moonlight, and it became painfully obvious that he wanted you to look at him like that too. but, again, stubbornness and cowardice work in tandem, making it easy for him to avoid that sort of vulnerability for the time being.

“you can’t keep bossing me around, you don’t get to tell me what to do,” your words come out sharp, but your voice lowers when he steps closer to you and backs you against the door. “you also can’t get jealous because you and i aren’t dating.” this is the first time you’ve actually said that out loud to him; he considers your words, but only chuckles darkly in response.

“and that’s where you’re wrong.”

you stare at him, wide-eyed; what an impossible man. whatever residual irritation you have steadily dissipates, as you try to tell yourself that fucking eustass kid will only bring you more headaches. but then he pushes his leg in between yours, and then you’re leaning into him, back arching, chest heaving the moment he kisses you.

there’s nothing delicate about the way kid handles you; with brutish strength, he rips through most of your clothes, laughing when you shriek and chastise him over it. he kisses you repeatedly, tongue swiping against yours playfully as he grabs your ass. heat courses through your body viciously, making you pull away so you can unbuckle and unzip his pants, stroking his stiff cock without prompting, admiring the length and thickness.

this man will be the death of you, that much is certain. but you’re going to enjoy the ride the entire time regardless.

you sink to your knees, the wooden floor cool against your skin. you run your tongue along the length of his cock, soft hands massaging his balls with skill and ease. kid fights to not moan your name, instead opting to tug on your hair roughly. “stop teasing me,” he says in a low, gravelly voice, lust fueling his thoughts and actions.

he’s trying to be considerate, but at the pace you’ve set, he has half a mind to just take over; but he lets you have the reigns briefly, watching you with half-lidded eyes, tongue gliding along his bottom lip as you suck on the thick head of his cock.

“fuck.”

you take that as confirmation to continue, looking up at him, desire burning through you as you open your mouth and slacken your jaw to take in more of him. whatever you can’t fit in your mouth, you compensate by using your hands. his hips jerk forward, and he braces his heavy, mechanical arm against the door, while his other hand grabs onto your hair and tugs you off him.

“make it sloppy,” he says roughly, and you squeeze your thighs together, plush lips parted as you exhale deeply. you know better than to disobey that command, so you give him what he wants, bobbing your head up and down his cock, hands twisting and pumping around the base. your saliva coats his length and he sucks in a harsh breath when you moan and suck on his tip, persistent and playful.

he ends up thrusting into your mouth, cock gliding further down your throat with his help. you let him fuck your face, his groans loud, vibrating along your skin, making your pussy slick with your arousal. his hips jerk forward, his breathing uneven as you hold onto his thighs for support. if he doesn’t fuck you soon, you might pass out honestly. he knows if he continues, he’ll only end up cumming in your mouth and he doesn’t want that just yet.

when he tosses you onto the bed, you get on all fours, tempting him with your ass — that he’s admired for far longer than necessary — you look over your shoulder at him, lips swollen from his kisses. he thinks you look pretty like that, a dazed look on your face, insatiable in your desire for him. he’s in the same exact boat as you, muscles tensing as he pulls the rest of his clothes off.

you shiver slightly, rub your lips together and let out a shrill whimper when he licks along your slit, your arousal dripping onto his tongue once it slides in between your folds. you don’t think you’ve ever had someone taste you like that — like you’re a coveted fruit, like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t devour you whole right now. kid eats your pussy with fervor, leaving open-mouthed kisses and slurping messily.

grabbing at the bed sheets, you make an attempt to shift away from him, but he holds you steady, tongue circling dangerously around your throbbing clit. you yelp, cry out loudly, and beg for more.

he hums absently, before he slides a thick finger inside of you, pumping it in and out, watching as you fuck yourself against his hand once he inserts another finger. he scissors them recklessly, and you shamelessly buck against him before he swaps his fingers for his tongue.

“yes, fuck, right there,” you chant, breathing erratic as you chase the high that kid is dangling right in front of you. he’s barely holding on himself, but he has a point to prove. he swipes at your clit again, flicking his tongue against it before sucking on it hard. a flash of white blinds you, and when you cum forcefully enough to make you slump over.

still, kid’s not done with you.

he admires all the marks he’s left along your thighs and ass, smiling to himself haughtily. you know he’s probably grinning like a fool right now and you don’t even care to argue with him about it. you rub your ass against his cock once before he thrusts his cock inside of you; he grants you a bit of mercy, pausing so you can adjust to his girth before snapping his hips forward and fucking you at a merciless pace.

with a hand on your back, kid bucks his hips roughly against yours; your thighs tremble and your voice grows hoarse from how loud you’re moaning for him. the walls in the rooms aren’t thick, so no doubt some of your crew mates have heard you already — not that you care about any of that right now anyway.

his balls slap against you with each stroke, his cock burrowing deeper inside your cunt without remorse. he grabs you by the back of your hair and pulls you flush against his chest, back arching as he powers into you with short, frenzied thrusts. your pussy is soft and warm around him, making him think irrational, impossible things — making him want to be different with you.

the pads of his fingers are rough when they rub against your clit, and he wraps an arm around you to keep you close as he fucks you faster. sweat pools at your temples, the room is hot but not uncomfortable. he pushes you down onto the bed, pulling out of you momentarily and panting lightly. when he enters you again this time, he plunges in deep enough to have you babbling incoherently as tears glide down your round cheeks.

he laughs at your whimpering. “big baby,” he says teasingly, the taunt dark with intent. “all that mouth but you can’t take my cock, what a damn shame.” you know he’s joking, but your face burns with shame anyway.

“shut up,” you manage to say with great difficulty, moaning shamelessly as he rolls his hips against yours. kid presses a kiss to the side of your neck, and you’re surprisingly okay with the intimacy — and he is too.

strange. very, very strange.

it’s when he angles his cock like that that you cum again, clenching around his girth, holding him hostage as his thrusts become sloppier and frenetic. there’s a feral possessiveness that he exudes when he rolls you onto your back and throws your legs over his shoulders. you barely have the strength, but you do your best to keep up, hips lifting to meet his menacing strokes, pussy squelching loudly.

his bed sheets are soaked, but he doesn’t care; all he cares about is this. you. he realizes that now — very belatedly, but still. he finds himself tipping over the edge when you lean up to kiss him sweetly, almost affectionately. he meant to pull out so he could cum on your stomach and thighs but doesn’t, he cums inside you instead.

it’s thick and hot, you whimper against his lips pathetically, nails clawing along his back, head spinning from the intense way he fucked you.

after a minute or so, he pulls out and clarity hits him. you look over at him as he stretches out on his large bed, lazy like a mountain lion, eyes closed briefly. you wonder if this is where you get kicked out and you dread the walk back to your room — especially since kid rudely ruined your clothes. he feels you shift on the bed, arms and legs shaky as you sit up. he frowns, not liking the idea of you leaving and grabs onto your arm, tugging you towards him gently.

although with a man as large as him, his idea of gentle is different than most. you find yourself laying on top of his chest, confused but also content, smiling secretly as you duck your head to avoid his gaze. he plays with your hair before yawning.

“i was going to—”

he pulls you closer and you clamp your lips together, afraid of saying anything else that might disrupt whatever peace has settled between you two.

kid hesitates only for a moment before saying, “stay.” it’s almost cute, the way he’s suddenly very demure, as if the idea of asking anyone to stay over has never occurred to him. but he knows that if he lets you leave, then things might go back to normal, and he doesn’t want that.

not that he knows what he wants exactly, but that’s beside the point. he’ll figure it out in due time, but for now, he’ll enjoy having your body next to his.

[soleilnomoon]

3/20!!!

AYO!!!

red velvet cupcake, lollipop, cake pop with whipped cream! for trafalgar law!! ayyyyyy 👉👉

just some cute domestic vibes with Wano!Law, Law stressing out over Luffy not being back yet and reader looking after him! then kinemon, mononosuke, penguin, shachi, and bepo (or whoever ✨) appearing like "AYYY BATHTIME" only to realise reader is there and freak out, causing Law to shambles them mid-scream 🤣

your prompts are so funny ily 💓 anyway, ty for being patient, as u know i am a slow writer, but i had fun (ofc i did, it's law) and i got second-hand embarrassment for everyone involved.

636 words (gasp, who am i), gn reader, sfw but suggestive, 18+ mdni, fluff (how could u); feat. law being a brat, reader having the patience of a saint, shower/bath time, would this count as voyeurism? maybe? idk, anyway law needs to just admit he's head over heels and get over himself, but will he?? no! brief cameo from bepo n frenz 💗

in hindsight, law realizes that it was foolish of him to think that the energetic straw hat captain would heed his words and follow his plan like the others. still, he really can’t believe the slight betrayal he feels when luffy deviates and does not arrive on time. he runs through several scenarios in his head over the hows and whys that might be the driving force behind luffy’s delay. all in all, he's stressed himself out beyond reason.

you tell him more than once that he needs to relax — despite his young age, you’re sure this level of stress isn’t good for the body. still, he barely hears or acknowledges your words until you gently place your hands on his face until you playfully squeeze his cheeks. that snaps him out of that bothersome daze, and he blinks several times before looking down at you, curiosity piqued now.

“do you trust me?” you ask on a whim, a teasing smile slipping onto your face, which only makes law narrow his eyes at you.

“not really,” he says rather quickly, although you know that he’s not being truthful. if anything, law trusts you entirely too much, which is a problem that he’s yet to rectify. his words don’t deter you, and your smile is much warmer when you tug on his hand and lead him to the bath house. questions swirl around inside of him, threatening to spill out, but he decides to keep them to himself for a moment, instead opting to trust you without hesitation.

it's surprisingly empty, which is great in your opinion — because it means you can help him relax without interruption. law manages to piece together what you have planned, and he can admit that he already feels the tension slowly leaving his body. the heat from the water helps relax his muscles, and you rub along his shoulders, kneading his skin firmly.

he grabs your wrist and turns to kiss you, lips moving against yours — the kiss is slow and sensual, igniting something deep within you. he pulls away to trail kisses along your jaw and neck, his palms are rough when they roam along your skin, but you’re so into it you don’t care.

“i’m supposed to be helping you relax,” you say with a sigh, the sound sweet, compelling him to pull you closer to him.

“you are,” he insists, and before he can say more, a cacophonous sound drifts inside, accompanied by the sounds of several pairs of heavy footsteps. it takes you a minute, but you soon realize that penguin, shachi, and bepo are there. you’re not sure who screams first but the noise is loud enough for law’s patience to come to and end. he casts a sharp glance their way, which only prompts them to ramble off excuses and flimsy apologies while you hide behind law to cover yourself up. your heart sits at the base of your throat, making it hard to breathe, the embarrassment powerful enough to make you want to melt into the water immediately as your cheeks flush deeply.

and while law doesn’t like using his devil fruit power for frivolous things, he deems this situation necessary and teleports his idiotic friends out of there. a faint flush finds its way onto his ears and neck, as he considers what would’ve happened if —

no, he wouldn’t go there, because if he did then he might actually strangle them later.

after calming yourself down, all you can do is laugh; it would be your luck that you’d get interrupted like that. law isn’t as forgiving as you are, already plotting a punishment for the trio, although you try your best to calm him down by pulling him in for another kiss.

maybe this time, you’ll really have the place to yourselves.

[soleilnomoon]

Hiiii! :D <3 I owe you another event request that I announced.. sitting at work, yet another late evening, and dreaming of some Ace goodness. So may I ask for an ice cream sundae, donut hole, oatmeal raisin cookie, affogato and toffee? With female reader? :D If possible with the one serving the ice cream sundae being the reader? I need lotssss of caramel and whipped cream to get me through the week! Thank you so much!!!! <3

i can’t believe it took me so long, i’m so so sorry, but!!! it’s finally here *sobs continuously* so sorry bb that i took forever, but i only like to give you guys quality writing (esp with ace, i love him) so forgive me pls thank u & ily 😭💛🥺️

3.3k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; only a tiny bit of angst (yay), fluff!!!! and smut!!! ace needs to do better, and reader isn't as slick as she thinks she is (but lbr, when is reader ever slick). friends 2 lovers (surprise, surprise i know who am i), feat. v cute things like oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), a lil roughplay but nothing crazy, a lil dry humping, idk other stuff probably idr anymore ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა but i had fun writing even tho the fluff almost killed me but for u i persevered! (if u see spelling/grammar errors no u didn’t <;3)

“look how we bleed from all this wanting” — ama asantewa diaka

unease is something you’re well-acquainted with — a painful, yet comforting, reminder of things that may or may not come. its slender vines wrap meticulously around each bone in your rib cage, lying in wait as your heart beats faster. it’s a pathetic, melancholic melody; a lullaby you can never escape. anxiety pours into you slowly — poisonous and haunting, tainting the lush, untamed garden that’s grown deep inside of you; one you’ve painstakingly tended to for most of your life, where your childhood dreams remain dormant, where your fears slither around in the thick vegetation ready to strike when given the chance. everything becomes fuzzy and unbearable, but you somehow manage to inhale several large gulps of air before continuing. 

it’s not easy keeping secrets, but you do it anyway. for him — only for him. today’s no different, as this is one secret you’re more than happy to keep to yourself.

contrary to popular belief, ace is much more particular about certain things than he lets on. for whatever reason, he’s adamant on keeping his birthday hidden from his crew mates — something you don’t quite understand, but respect, nonetheless. he says it’s because he doesn’t want the fuss and awkward fanfare of celebrating, but you know there’s another reason — one possibly drenched in tragedy and grief, so you refrain from asking again.

instead, you decide to celebrate with him in private; you’re best friends, after all. and after a few months of prodding, he finally concedes, giving you free reign to do as you please. a man like ace isn’t simple to shop for; you stress over his birthday gift for weeks, desperately wanting to find something unique — something that no one else would think to give him. it keeps you up for several nights in a row, where torn pieces of paper with scratched out ideas litter the floor in your room. at a certain point you scream into your pillow, desperate to get all your frustrations out before going back to sift through your failed gift ideas.

you pass out in the middle of ranting to yourself about your own incompetence, and the idea comes to you in a dream. when you wake up the next morning, you’re a little nervous but you’re sure this might be the one gift he wasn’t expecting — the one gift that he’ll appreciate and possibly cherish.

the thought of that only serves to rattle the tiny box of nerves that sits in the middle of your stomach — the lid barely attached; the contents ready to spill at the next inconvenience that comes your way. 

ace intentionally kept vague about what he wanted as a gift; he hates the idea of people scrambling around trying to surprise him, and instead keeps his expectations low. life, it seems, has helped him learn that lesson time and time again; it’s better, in his opinion, to snuff out any residual hope — the one that lingers behind all the disappointment that tends to follow him around — before it’s too late.

still, he’s curious to see what you’ve been working so tirelessly on. you’ve kept quiet about everything, and no matter how many times he tries to pry the answers out of you, you remain steadfast and keep the secret to yourself.

he's impressed, to say the least, and a flicker of excitement courses through him as he spends the morning of his birthday obnoxiously guessing what your surprise gift is. you wave him off, tell him to stop pestering you, but he doesn’t let up. there were times when you almost told him, but he has to hand it to you — you’re incredibly determined and stubborn. 

you convince him to come off of the ship with you and explore the main town of the island your crew is visiting. he knows you’re not that interested in exploring, that you’re doing all of this to distract him; he smiles to himself in secret, away from your curious and trusting eyes, unable to come to terms with the warmth that’s taken hold of his chest, pitifully churning his insides around. if he had more sense, he’d realize it’s his nerves that have gotten the best of him; but that’s ridiculous, what would he have to be nervous about?

especially on his birthday?

while he thinks he’s being stealthy by trying to hide his emotions, you catch him several times; you don’t say much about it, instead wanting ace to fully enjoy himself unrestricted. you admire the shape of his jaw when he excitedly looks around, nearly trip when you notice how sunlight drapes itself along his freckled, light brown skin, and choke on your drink when he glances over at you. the corners of his lips quirk upward, and a small, devastating, dimpled smile crawls onto his face. 

you’re rarely rendered speechless, but your inability to function properly causes you to let go of the cup in your hand — not that it matters, really. you don’t even care that the drink splashes near your sandaled feet, nor do you notice the way ace’s brows furrow together at your sudden clumsiness. a frown works its way onto his lips while you stand there stupidly, trying to remember what it is you’re supposed to be doing.

he tilts his head and briefly wonders if maybe the heat has gotten to you — you’re usually much more with it, but today you’re quieter and spaced out. when he opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay, you simply step over the fallen drink and keep walking down the street. something about your insistence on ignoring your recent faux pas makes him laugh out loud; he doesn’t mean to, but it’s just so damn funny to him.

and while you could be mad at him for the way he can’t seem to stop laughing at you, you know that the small bout of annoyance will fizzle out shortly. you can never actually stay mad at him, even if you tried — and yes, you have tried and failed several times over.

ace eventually catches up to you and that familiar teasing grin stretches lazily along his lips as he playfully grabs your arm and pulls you towards him. you steel your features as best as you can and narrow your eyes at him; the residual embarrassment from earlier lingers obnoxiously, making you stumble over your words.

or, that’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

because if he knew that it was because it’s become increasingly difficult to be around him for extended periods of time, then you’d never hear the end of it.

the problem is: ace already knows, and has known for quite some time. he never brought it up, because then you’d find a reason to keep yourself busy and stay away from him intentionally. he’s selfish and will continue to monopolize your time however way he can, especially today. you’ve never had an issue with ace touching you before, but for some reason his skin is warmer than normal — or maybe it’s because you’re still too nervous about the gift. you know that he’ll like and appreciate anything you give him, which is why you let out a soft sigh and rummage through your purse to shove a small piece of paper into his hand.

“i wanted to wait until we got back to the ship,” you say quietly, tongue suddenly much too big for your mouth; you try pulling away from him, but ace’s grip is firm, and you’re not trying that hard anyway. “but, um… happy birthday!”

he watches you curiously before glancing down at the paper in his hand; in a cute, neat script, you’ve written: birthday coupon (1 use only). and before he can ask anything unnecessary, you explain quickly, words tumbling out of your mouth in a rush.

“basically, you have my services for exactly twenty-four hours only.”

and, as ace is constantly in a state of perpetual confusion, he glances back at you to see if this is a joke or not.

“really?”

he wants to believe you, but he also knows that you’d never actually let him have his way for a day — or, would you? now he isn’t so sure.

your usual bravado leaves you faster than you can handle, so you nod a few times and finally manage to free yourself from his hold. after giving yourself a bit of space, you realize that you can think clearly now that he isn’t so close to you.

“yes,” you say lightly, hoping that he’ll buy your false confidence as legitimate. “whatever you want me to do, i’ll do. no questions asked.” you know you’re treading dangerously, but this was the best idea you could come up with. unease finds you again when ace remains quiet — a feat for him, as he’s usually boisterous and vocal about everything — but all of that doubt dissipates when a small, sly smile appears on his face as he pockets the coupon and beckons you closer.

“thanks, let’s go.”

you don’t bother asking where, because ace has already grabbed your hand and tugs you along with him. you want to tell him that he doesn’t have to hold onto your hand like that, but you decide that you deserve a bit of selfishness too. the day passes fairly quickly — you end up eating at several places with him, purchase enough sweets to put you into a sugar-induced coma, and laugh so hard you end up in tears.

he likes seeing this side of you, the part that’s carefree and full of energy; he admires how smooth and soft your skin is and thinks it’s impossibly cute that you can’t stop sneaking glances at him. you’re not as inconspicuous as you think you are, but ace doesn’t tease you about it. already he’s had you do silly things like balance on one leg like a flamingo in the middle of the shopping plaza and cartwheel as long as you can down to the pier �� the latter was him testing the waters to see if you’d really do it, but you rise to the challenge and only fall over twice.

embarrassment be damned, as long as ace is happy today that’s all that matters.

when you make it back to the ship, the sun has set, bathing the ocean and sky with a pretty mixture of bright colors. you take a moment to lean against the railing to watch the sky, mesmerized by the artistry, while ace watches you and contemplates how best to proceed with you. he’s normally much better at hiding his desire and attraction, but today he’s at his limit. he doesn’t bother looking away when you feel his gaze on you; it’s always intense, having ace’s undivided attention — and while a small voice tells you that it’s dangerous to let this tension build to a frenzied state, a much bigger voice tells you to just let go and embrace whatever happens.

it's ace who grabs your arm and tugs you with him to his cabin, locking the door behind so that no one would interrupt; and it’s ace who plucks the coupon out of his pocket again, playfully waving it around as your brain scrambles as you try to guess what he’ll request next. it should alarm you that your excitement starts to build all over again when ace plops down lazily in a nearby chair, legs spread; something compels you to move closer and before you can say anything remotely foolish, ace pulls you onto his lap.

you tell yourself that it’s purely for the sake of ensuring he has a memorable birthday, but the truth won’t let you off that easily — not when you shamelessly straddle him as your skirt rides up your thighs; not when you thread your fingers through his hair and tugging on it impatiently; and not when you softly press your lips against his and mumble something along the lines of, “hurry up and ask.”

it’s refreshing seeing you take initiative like that, so ace tosses the coupon onto the floor unceremoniously before gripping your hips firmly. that warmth from earlier comes back in full force, and suddenly you’re wondering why the both of you are still dressed. he doesn’t hesitate when he runs his tongue along your lips, and you, in response, roll your hips forward and grind down hard against his stiff cock. a dangerous game, you know — you know — but you can’t help yourself; not today, anyway.

it's you who kisses him first — clumsy and rash, but after a moment, your lips move against his with more certainty; he guides you with his tongue, heat shooting up your spine, making you pliant and eager. each time he kisses you, you have to remind yourself that it’s not another dream, that it’s actually happening. and even if, after all of this, you both go back to pretending you’re just friends, you’re sure you’ll be fine.

maybe.

you don’t dwell on that thought though, and focus on the way ace keeps rubbing his hands along your thighs — slow and tortuous, the callouses on his hands rough, but welcomed on your skin. you’re panting and whining softly, the heat radiating off his body stifling, but also addicting. he’s not sure how much longer he can hold back, and you somehow get the hint when he bucks his hips against yours, your panties already damp with arousal every time your pussy rubs against his cock.

there’s a slightly dazed look in his eyes when you managed to climb off of him without your legs giving out, and it’s his own selfishness that drives him to watch you as you take off your clothes without prompting. is it adrenaline, lust, or the intoxicating effects of ace’s presence that has you in between his legs and on your knees. when he realizes what you’re about to do, he opens his mouth to tell you that it’s not necessary, but his argument dies in his mouth and fizzles out completely when you unzip his shorts and pull out his cock.

ace inhales sharply as a warm breeze slips in from the open window and tangles itself around both of you; and, although the moon hides sleepily behind a few clouds, some of its light filters through, giving you an ethereal glow as you run your tongue along the length of his cock before wrapping your lips around the tip. it’s not often that ace finds himself powerless in front of someone, but you’ve rendered him weak beyond comprehension. you suck and swirl your tongue around, dragging it along his slit and licking off the precum that leaked out.

it invigorates you — watching him through your lashes as your hands wrap around the rest of his length, twisting and pumping mercilessly, every stifled moan giving you the encouragement to keep going. you inadvertently rub your thighs together, pussy slick with your wetness, but, surprisingly, you don’t feel ashamed about it — not when you take more of ace’s cock into your mouth, relaxing your jaw and letting him have free reign for a bit. ace juts his hips forward, feeling only a tiny bit remorseful when he sees you gag, but the determined look in your eyes tells him that you refuse to back down.

when you feel like you can’t breathe, you lick down his length and massage his balls, earning a string of unintended, slightly incoherent curse words from ace under his breath. it’s a sensitive area — and, try as he might, he can’t help but moan your name out loud, his breathing growing unsteady, making you all the more delirious and obsessed. your teeth accidentally grazes his skin and he tugs on your hair more forcefully than he means to, startling you but not for the reasons it should.

his voice is low and gruff when he speaks again. “y/n… behave.” which is all he really needs to say, because while it was an accident, something forbidden swirls around your lower abdomen, making you bold and somewhat reckless. before he can say anything else, you suck on his balls, melting his resolve and small bout of annoyance.

he wants to ask if you’re trying to kill him, but he partially knows the answer to that already. goosebumps prick his skin as you look at him equal parts mischievous and full of adoration. he’s not sure why, but he likes that he’s only ever seen you look at him like that.it makes all of this that much more intense, and he knows that after tonight he can’t go back to being just friends with you.

it’d be impossible.

you take his cock back into your mouth again, bobbing up and down, his girth still a challenge, but you take it in stride anyway. and its when you suck on his sensitive tip again that ace’s restraint finally gives out; you feel him jerk underneath you, and his cum is thick and hot as it spills into your mouth. he half expects you to spit it out, and even through that post-orgasm haze, he’s amazed when you swallow it all.

with his face flushed — from the force of the orgasm, from how he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you, especially after you lick some of his cum off of your lips — ace runs a hand through his hair before standing up and pulling you to your feet. he kisses you again, sloppy, yet domineering; your hands work on tugging the rest of his clothes off quickly, and it doesn’t take long before he has you on your back thighs clamped around his head as he devours your pussy.

nothing can compare to the high you feel right now, hips rolling forward, shamelessly tugging on his hair roughly, moaning his name louder than you mean to. anyone passing by can hear you, the walls are thin enough, but you don’t care now. his tongue glides along your slit, your arousal spilling onto his tongue before he flicks it against your clit.

something about the way he’s handling you — as if you’re able to take whatever aggression he tosses your way, especially when he slides his fingers inside of your pussy, finger-fucking and enjoying how you’re falling apart underneath him — makes you that much more reactive to him. and when he sucks on your clit — merciless, just like you were being with him a short while ago — you don’t hold back.

your cries are music to his ears, and he knows he should tell you to keep it down, but he also likes how loud you’re being. almost as if he wants other people to hear that he’s the one making you writhe around on his bed like that. the orgasm is sudden, brutal, and life changing; a blinding light practically incapacitating you, momentarily robbing you of your vision. your chest heaves as you try to gather your thoughts; a lightheaded feeling takes over, making you shiver, your sweet whining only makes him want to keep torturing you with his tongue.

but he refrains, for now.

after pulling back, you both look at each other for a moment before you pull him down for another kiss — this one tender, sweet, and slow. ace lets himself fall further under your spell, not wanting to ask if you complied with his selfish whims because you wanted to or because of his birthday coupon. and if he did ask, you know, deep down, that you’d tell him it’s very obviously the former — that it wasn’t only his selfish whim, that you were equally to blame for letting things escalate like this. not that it matters much right now, since all you can think about, is how you don’t plan on leaving his bed for the rest of the night. and how you know you’ll be plenty sore once he’s done with you later on.

[soleilnomoon]

hello!! ive been seeing some of the requests for your current event and they have just been so amazing 😩 and also congrats on 500!! that’s amazing!

i was wondering if i could order dulce de leche, lemon drop, and lollipop with a topping of poppy seeds and caramel for 1, sabo from one piece. if not thats alright or if i didn’t request correctly please let me know! thank you sm!

i am so sry this took forever, but it's here (finally); thank you thank you 🥰️ still can't believe it tbh lmao lemme tell u i love sabo so much & yk i love angst, anyway i had fun writing this 💕

1.8k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, angst angst babey (altho it's a lil tame to me, but i love that shit so ignore me); sabo loves being in denial, that's his favorite river; y/n, as usual, doesn't care abt consequences; feat. oral (m receiving), rough (consensual) sex, mutual pining, sabo being a dumbass for ignoring his obvious feelings, y/n not having any self-preservation is just normal y/n behavior lbr 🌺 (if u see grammar/spelling errors no u didn't 💛)

“the kiss i didn’t give you has become a star inside me…” — dulce maría loynaz

for sabo, life is all about routine; not in the mundane sense, but in his quest for needing to have consistent control over every aspect of his life, he thrives on having a path laid out for him. he can’t help it — it’s something that was carefully ingrained into him since he was a child. he blames his parents, blames the world he was born into, blames the world nobles for uprooting his newfound family and separating him from his brothers. yet, he holds steadfast in the work he does, finds pleasure in seeking justice wherever he can, and makes it a point to not make the sort of romantic connections that will keep him distracted.

his colleagues don’t bother prying him for more information on his previous life, and they know that he actively keeps people at an arm’s length for some unknown reason — not that they can judge him, their line of work is dangerous and there’s very little room for mistakes, or weakness for that matter.

you’re not sure what you did exactly to land on sabo’s radar, but once he set his eyes on you there was no option for turning back. not that you mind, of course — you just hate the way you can’t seem to penetrate any of the walls he’s securely built around himself. he gives very little of himself but demands everything from you.

to anyone else, this would be reason enough to cut him out of their life; but you, unfortunately, cannot let him go. if you do, you’re afraid he’ll never let you back in — not after you fought so hard for him to stay by your side.

in his mind, you’re someone that he can quit anytime; it’s a lie he likes to tell himself whenever he’s feeling particularly lonely or vulnerable. he hates that despite how hard he fights to keep you from plaguing his thoughts, you still manage to find a way — especially late at night, when he can’t seem to sleep. insomnia has always had a strong, punishing grip around him, often leaving him breathless from the way he can’t seem to stop thinking about you.

at first, it was because you kept insisting on talking to him socially; then it was because he allowed you to take meals with him privately, a feat that did not go unnoticed by the others, much to his annoyance; and then it was because you had the audacity to kiss his cheek one night, after talking with him for hours. your demure behavior — the sweet, shy smile you gave him afterwards, the way you couldn’t look at him in the eyes properly the following day —ignites something deep within him that he never knew existed.

an ache makes its way into his chest, and he finds himself rubbing at it absently periodically, as if the burden of those emotions would take his life someday. while he might not outwardly show it, he looks forward to your incessant chatter — you talk about everything and nothing, something that baffles and amuses him to no end. with anyone else, he’d zone out of their conversation five minutes in, but you captivate him in an illogical way — one that has him watching you from across the room without meaning to, thinking about impractical things.

it's sabo who kisses you first, on a surprisingly quiet afternoon, in a back hallway that very few frequent during the day. a mistake, he tells himself when you part your lips for him without prompting; unnecessary, but he has you against the wall, with his knee in between your thighs; dangerous, yet he keeps kissing you anyway. he holds you still with a firm hand on the back of your neck, goosebumps tickling your skin every time his tongue caresses yours.

when you place your hands on his chest, arching into his hold as his other hand makes a slow descent down your back, he remembers himself. it takes effort but he’s able to extract himself from you in one swift motion, suddenly aware that he’s crossed a line he swore he’d never cross. after putting a good foot of distance between you two, he leaves abruptly and without giving you another thought.

or, so you think.

you don’t move from that spot for a few minutes, hands balled into fists at your sides, nails sinking into your palms out of frustration. you tell yourself that you absolutely cannot fall in love with that man. but it happens far too quickly and you’re incapable of fortifying yourself properly in time. he doesn’t kiss you again after that, not really anyway; he takes to catching you off guard when you walk back to your room late at night.

the first time he does it, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you to him. you screech in surprise and slap him on reflex. mischievous and a little stunned, sabo laughs at your reaction — your face grows hot from the embarrassment. his idea of an apology is pulling you close enough for him to drag his lips along the side of your neck. any residual irritation immediately dissipates the moment he places a kiss on your skin, an act that saps all your common sense, and transforms you into a marionette of his liking.

after that, you come to expect his surprise visits; you let him sit you on top of his desk, legs shaking as he thrusts his fingers in and out of your tight hole. you’ve long since forgotten to keep your voice down as you lean back on your hands, mind hazy as you watch the way your arousal drips onto his palm. if he wasn’t so intent on keeping his promise to himself, he’d kiss you all over again; but he knows if he does, there will be no turning back.

and this sort of weakness is out of the question for him.

you realize quickly that he’ll always distance himself from you emotionally, refusing to hold you for long, always pulling back whenever his lips are too close to yours. despite the bruise on your heart never healing, you can’t seem to let him go.

sabo fucks you like you’re an addiction he can’t seem to quit. no matter how many times he tells himself to leave, he makes his way back to you, hips rutting against yours frenetically, his cock buried deeply, making you moan his name loud enough to mesmerize him.

witchcraft, he muses to himself on occasion, fully believing that you’ve cast some spell on him.

his selfishness wins out when you sink down onto your knees in front of him one morning, stroking his cock with your soft hand before pressing your lips against the tip. whatever residual restraint he has is gone after your tongue swipes against his slit. the moan that slips out of his mouth invigorates you, makes you wrap your plush lips around his cock, sucking on the head teasingly before taking in more of his length.

you watch him with lowered lids, moaning around his cock, the vibration slicing through his logic as he grabs onto the back of your head so he can properly fuck your mouth. loosening your jaw, you hold onto the backs of his thighs for support, a heat passing over you every time sabo’s hips snap forward. your mouth is warm and moist, a combination that has him moaning your name without thinking. your heart speeds up and he ignores the warmth that spreads through him when he looks at your face; he constantly marvels at your beauty, at your soft skin, at how pliant and obedient you can be.

it annoys him that he’s found himself this deeply invested in you; when he pulls his cock out of your mouth, you take several deep breaths, a few tears sliding down your cheeks, a bit of saliva gliding down your bottom lip. the look he gives you is fierce and somewhat feral, and suddenly a nervousness that you don’t anticipate infiltrates your thoughts when he tells you to get on the bed.

he doesn’t have to tell you to get on your hands and knees, but he does it anyway; you severely underestimate the way his voice affects you — always a commanding, impressive force that leaves you breathless as you rub your ass against his stiff cock. you know you’re toeing a dangerous line by doing that, but you’re beyond caring. sabo glides his cock between your folds, arousal coating his length immediately.

you whimper shamelessly, fingers curling into the sheets as you plead with him. “sabo, please, i can’t take it anymore.” whatever else you want to say comes out as a garbled noise and you choke on his name as he snaps his hips forward, thrusting his cock into you roughly. you squirm when he pulls on your hair, yanking you back to him, lips nipping at your skin.

“stop running,” he says gruffly, his words almost making you laugh.

you could tell him the same since you theorized a while ago that he’s perfected the art of running. he doesn’t kiss you when you turn your head to look at him — he rocks his hips forward, the tip of his cock reaching a spot that has you clawing at his arms, your cunt squeezing around his girth in retaliation. he doesn’t kiss you when he has you on your back, legs draped over his shoulders as he pounds into you mercilessly, your voice growing hoarse, body writhing underneath him every time he sucks on your skin.

you wish you could hate him for making you fall in love with him, because only love could make someone foolish enough to carry on a relationship like this. you fall a little more in love with him every time, but he always finds a way to shatter your heart when he turns away from you on the bed. he tells you constantly that you can stay or leave, that the choice is ultimately up to you as it doesn’t affect him either way.

it must be madness that drives you to stay, wrapping yourself with the covers, breathing slowing as your eyes close. he turns around carefully, watching you with a tenderness that forces him to drape an arm around you, lips ghosting the curve of your ear as he whispers softly.

“i like having you around.”

you open your eyes but don’t dare turn around, afraid that he’ll leave if he realizes that you’re still awake — because if he ever takes those words back, you’ll never survive the fallout. so, you will your heart to stop beating loudly, and tell yourself that this must mean he’s lowering more of his walls for you intentionally. you don’t know how long he’ll allow himself to be this vulnerable with you, but regardless you’ll always cherish the time he’s spent with you.

[soleilnomoon]

i would love to place an order for Meringue Cookies, Dark Chocolate, Jelly Beans, Candy Necklace, & Blan Manje, with Caramel & Honey. Side menu # 1 for Boa or Nami. either is fine! with a g/n reader! These stories are a blast to read!

anon i am so so sry this took forever 😭💕💕💕 but i finally finished and i'm actually happy with it; also ty for requesting, i love boa hancock sfm i wish more ppl wrote for her.

4.3k words, gn reader (no pronouns), nsfw, 18+ mdni; angst angst angst bc that's how i vibe & smut, and if you squint real hard there's some fluff somehow i think. hancock is a brat as usual and reader ain't shit, but they go great together <3 feat. cute things like oral (f receiving), fingering, a lil bondage, hair pulling, some pussy slapping, more stuff that idr anymore ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა (if u see grammar/spelling errors no u didn't ;_;)

tagging lil’ kaia bc she asked so nicely ❤︎ @cvvor

“our love would be death” — anaïs  nin

sea salt sifts through the wind, warm and fine enough that most don’t notice its intrusion. it lands on your nose and lips, coats your tongue when you exhale through your mouth; no matter how many times you try to wash away the taste, it still lingers. a persistent annoyance that refuses to leave you alone. it’s a bitter, yet familiar taste — one that fills your heart with memories you’ve long wanted to keep buried. you’re no stranger to heartache, but this is different.

you find that you can never sleep through the entire night without dreaming of your ex — of how you begged them to stay, of how you told them you couldn’t live without them. pathetic, you tell yourself one morning after another restless night — you know you need to find a way to move on, but there’s no way you can, not when you carved so many pieces of yourself to give away without much thought.

what you’re left with is a battered heart that can barely function on its own; it flops pitifully in your chest, rattling against your rib cage weakly. every day it gets harder to breathe, harder to face the truth that you’re all alone — again.

boa hancock doesn’t know why she even fucking bothers, but she can’t seem to stay away from you. it’s a privilege, in her opinion, for you to be graced with her presence, let alone be allowed to touch her intimately. so, when she finds you staring wistfully out of the window, sighing to yourself again she snaps.

“y/n, look at me,” she commands loudly, voice piercing through your body like a thick arrow that keeps you frozen in place. you know better than to disobey her, even though you want to; you know you’re being unreasonable, but the heart always wants what it can’t have, right?

not that she cares about any of that. in her mind, your ex is an ex for a reason. she grabs your face with her hand, squeezing tightly, delicate brows furrowed together as irritation drips down her spine. she could easily kill you and you know it. “i’m the most beautiful woman in the world,” she boasts, although there’s something melancholic about the way she says it.

you narrow your eyes at her, mouth moving before you can think better of it. “and what of it?” it’s not often that you challenge her like that, but today you’ve had enough of her games, of constantly catering to her whims and desires, of her veneer that she insists on keeping even when she’s alone with you.  

it dawns on her then what the actual problem is. “you’re still in love with them.” anger seeps through her pores, and she knows if she doesn’t walk away soon, she might say or do something she’ll possibly regret.

you flinch, eyes widening — she’s not entirely wrong, but she’s not right either. you’re just stuck in limbo, unable to move on because you refuse to do so; after seeing them so happy with someone else, you can’t fathom finding any sort of happiness yourself. so, you cling onto the past, even when it threatens to destroy your present life.

for some reason, this pisses you off — that hancock is so much more perceptive than people give her credit for; that she’s not afraid to tell you the truth, despite how your friends sugarcoat everything for you. the rage that’s bubbled deep inside of you for months finally pushes out; you can barely think or see properly, and you forget yourself when you practically shout back at her.

“and you’re just jealous because for once, you’re not the focus of my attention.” you’re not sure why you say it, but as soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel like shit.

there’s rarely a moment where hancock finds herself in absolute shock, but your venomous words cut into her bruised ego with vigor. it's a harsh reality that she refuses to accept, so she lashes out at you again.

“you’re pathetic.” her tone is cold, and she steels her face enough that she almost looks bored with you. hancock releases her hold on you and swivels on her heels to walk away. you don’t bother calling after her, but she pauses in her gait to look over her shoulder at you. “i’m done playing with you, get out of my sight.”

the dismissal is the first slap of many and her insistence on blatantly keeping her back turned while she ignores you is another. something in you breaks, but you know you’ve angered the pirate empress enough for one day. you don’t hesitate before scrambling to your feet and leaving her alone. after you close the door, you hear a shriek that’s accompanied by what sounds like a large vase shattering. you don’t bother checking on her, because you know you’re not wanted in her presence right now.

you should’ve seen this coming. one doesn’t simply think about another lover while in the presence of boa hancock; it’s absurd and theatrical, but it’s an unspoken rule that you keep breaking over and over. in the back of your mind, you know you should go make things right with her, but you just don’t know how.

hancock’s frustration continues to build throughout the day. she doesn’t know why someone — you, a commoner who should be groveling at her feet daily — can be so insolent without remorse. she’s smashed several expensive sculptures, shredded her mattress and bed sheets with large scissors, and cursed out every staff member in kuja palace. her anger only intensifies when she hears someone whisper your name, so she locks herself in her bedroom, refusing meals or assistance from anyone.

you’ve always thought that the pirate empress was annoying, self-centered, and unnecessarily mean without reason. you’ve told her this on several occasions, stunning her into silence — a feat that most cannot achieve. hancock would normally sentence someone to death for those sorts of callous remarks, but for some reason she spares you. maybe it’s because despite her incomparable, unrivaled beauty, you don’t helplessly pine after her.

and she absolutely hates that about you.

hancock’s not someone who’s used to being treated like a regular person, and yet that’s what you do to her. you barely hold any reverence for her, give her the minimal amount of respect owed as a citizen of amazon lily, and you don’t flinch when she threatens you publicly. most are afraid to be associated with you, out of fear for incurring the snake princess’ wrath — not that you care, you’ve known that your personality can’t be tolerated by most because you tend to happily go against the grain.

you’ve always found her beauty to be intense and intoxicating — imposing like the sun, forcing a heat to surge through you that has yet to dissipate. you hate that your attraction to her impedes your daily life, especially when you’re plagued by dueling thoughts of her and your ex. you’re barred from entering the palace, and you’re thankful for it as you don’t know how you’d be able to face hancock after all that you’ve said. you know that you should apologize profusely, but a woman like hancock requires something extravagant and elaborate — something that’ll prove that your adoration and loyalty is genuine and not forced.

the first few days are relatively easy; you work tirelessly to keep your mind and body busy, and you’re so exhausted by the end of the day that you sleep without dreaming. when a week passes, you start to notice that certain things are off; you didn’t make it a habit of frequenting the palace that often, but you were there enough that the staff didn’t give you a hard time when you showed up unannounced. you tell yourself that distance is good — it means you’ll be able to finally focus on the things that are important to you.

but, when you sit and think about it, you’re not quite sure if that’s entirely true.

after the second week, you start getting antsy. your friends keep pestering you, asking why your mood keeps shifting day to day — you’re intolerable and grouchy, snap at minor things and make mistakes all day. your heart, as tired and as worn out as it is, still skips a beat when you think about hancock despite what you try to tell yourself when you’re alone. somehow, you’ve convinced yourself that the only reason why you’re thinking about her, is because you miss fucking her.

the lie is tough to digest, but you keep repeating it and sooner or later you’ll believe it, right?

soon, everything reminds you of her.

on a warm night, a small festival is held, and you wander around listless and slightly tipsy. memories of the first time you met boa hancock — outside of all the fanfare that her royal title awards her — plague you relentlessly. you remember the warmth from that night, similar to this one; you remember how highly oppressive and unbearable the humidity was; and you also remember that you were on your third drink when you unceremoniously bumped into the pirate empress.

at first, her sisters demanded you apologize, but you were annoyed and had just been dumped so you chose audacity instead.

hancock’s irritation was evident, despite her not saying much — and it wasn’t until your rambling struck a nerve that she fired back. it was the first time he’d let her walls down, and her sisters watched in shock as both of you went back and forth over nothing. hancock called you all sorts of terrible names, and you sneered and laughed in her face. the fact that you weren’t cowering in fear or salivating over her beauty set her skin on fire in a way she didn’t understand.

you remember her dismissing the other gorgon sisters, insisting that she’d be able to handle you on her own. and she did, in a way. if anyone were to ask her about that time, hancock would easily admit that she regrets meeting you that night — but it would be a lie. the only thing she regrets is allowing you to infiltrate her heart, to settle without permission, to make her feel less than when she knew she was anything but.

her brattiness is unappealing on the surface and you normally wouldn’t be attracted to a woman who boldly wears such an ugly personality with pride. somehow, hancock has made the trait endearing to you, in a strange way; she’s so unapologetic with her behavior, that you find it rather comical. why people take her seriously is beyond you.

but, despite all of that, you do miss her.

you miss seeing the way her nose would scrunch and wrinkle when she was disgusted with something insignificant and minute; you miss kissing her in the middle of arguments and watching her easily melt underneath your touch; but you mostly miss hearing her complain about your lack of etiquette, about how odd she finds your views on the world, and about how you see her more clearly than anyone else on the island.

that sort of vulnerability terrifies her, and it’s why she’s been so miserable without you.

her sisters pay you a visit one morning and implore you to talk some sense into hancock. they tell you about how her temper tantrums have gotten uncontrollable (even for them) and how she barely eats or bothers leaving the palace these days. that bit surprises you, as hancock thrives off the validation from the populace. at first you mean to refuse them, but when you take note of how marigold anxiously fidgets with the gold bracelet around her wrist and the way sandersonia has dark circles under her eyes, you give in.

after taking a long, long soak in the bath, hancock pads back to her room naked, deciding to keep the windows open so she can air dry properly. you find her shortly after, out of breath from running over to the palace; she didn’t lock her door — and why should she? she’s the empress, after all — so you enter her room with ease. because she’s been so out of it lately, she’s been sluggish in her reactions to certain things; especially since she hasn’t stopped thinking about you.

with the door shut and locked behind you, hancock’s mind clears a bit; she blinks slowly, her dark eyes honed on you, taking in your thick thighs and toned body. as usual, hancock’s face only features an impassive expression, and she keeps her tone flat when she addresses you.

“why the hell are you in my bedroom?” she grabs the silk robe that’s draped over her mattress and puts it on in a rush.

before you can answer her or move closer, she picks up a large pillow and chucks it at you in the hopes that you’ll get the hint and leave her alone. you sidestep the attack, lips pressed together as you hold back a laugh; she can’t honestly think that a pillow will stop you, can she? hancock keeps throwing things, anything within her reach that isn’t nailed down to the floor or wall. you try to reason with her, try to make your way closer, but stop when you see the way her lips quiver.

she keeps fumbling with tying her robe properly, keeps looking down at her trembling fingers — the same ones that have tugged on your hair more times than you can count — but still she won’t say anything else to you.

after a minute, hancock manages to compose herself once again, her lips pressed tightly together as she fights the urge to berate herself for looking weak in front of you — as if you care about any of that. your silence compels her to swiftly make her way towards you, long legs shimmering in the sunlight, captivating you so much that you forget you’re supposed to be angry with her.

“look at you,” she stands tall, her pride giving her the confidence she needs to verbally tear you apart. “you’ve come begging for my forgiveness, right?” she doesn’t wait for you to respond and simply flips her hair over her shoulder before continuing. it’s all she can do to keep her composure around you; she knows if she gives you even a fraction of an inch, you’ll take a whole damn mile. “i should have you gutted for entering the palace without permission. you should know your damn place.” while her words are harsh, her delivery doesn’t quite match the expression on her face. maybe it’s because you haven’t taken your eyes off of her since you entered her room; or, maybe it’s because she’s standing much closer than necessary but can’t physically move herself away.

did you cast a spell on her without her knowledge?

while her eyes do narrow at that possibility, she highly doubts that you could, as there’s no one on amazon lily that doesn’t succumb to her treacherous beauty. but you continue to defy her expectations and you never know when to quit. which is why she just wants to grab you by the neck and toss you out the window; maybe if she actually kills you this time, she’ll be done with you forever.

except, she could never bring herself to harm you — not really. so she continues with her rant, reminding you that you’re beneath her, that you should be happy someone like her gave you any attention at all, but the more she talks, the more you want her to just shut the hell up.

“you’re right,” you say, cutting her off without remorse or any regards for your own safety, “and i deserve all of that,” and possibly more, but you don’t add that bit in. it becomes a little difficult to focus, what with hancock watching you with a different kind of intensity than you’re used to. “i… should’ve just explained myself properly before. but, more importantly,” you decide to take a risk and gently grab her by the hips.

silence wraps around her, blending into her thoughts, warping her perception of everything that’s happening. your hand is warm — much too warm, hot almost; she can feel the heat through the flimsy fabric as she presses her body closer to yours. whatever it is you want to tell her doesn’t matter — maybe she’ll pester you about it all later, but right now all she wants is you.

so, you give in and allow yourself to be more selfish than usual.

when your lips brush against hers, she completely comes alive — the longing you both felt for weeks, the irritation and unsaid words, they all prompt her to wrap her arms around your neck. it’s something short of a loving embrace, but you know better. your kiss goes from slow and tender to something much more fevered and enthusiastic; her lips are soft and supple, wholly inviting and terribly mesmerizing. you back her against the wall as she threads her fingers through your hair, tugging on it roughly, her patience practically nonexistent from all her wanting. you laugh at her in between kisses, breath warm against her skin — a feat that simultaneously annoys and arouses her — and remind her to play nice.

when she tugs on your hair again, you bite her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, but run your tongue along the miniature wound to soothe the sting. she inhales sharply, the pain not noticeable, but the way you suck on her lip makes her head spin while also leaving her breathless.

 a woman like hancock doesn’t beg, but when you grab her ass roughly — aggressive, yet completely undoing — she lets out a whimper so pathetic she’s almost ashamed of herself.

she should slap you, but all she does is roll her hips forward once you spread her legs and run your fingers against her folds. in a fit of desperation, to excuse her reactions, she tells herself that it’s because she hasn’t been touched in so long — but deep down she knows the truth; she knows it’s because there’s no one else she’d rather have here with her, and that is a terrifying revelation. still, she’s very receptive to your touch, her back arching as soon as you spread her with your fingers.

her arousal drips down slowly, and while you’d love to take your time with her, you also know that if you don’t hurry up you might actually lose your mind. you trail kisses down the length of her neck, and hancock presses her lips together to keep from making any more embarrassing noises. it’s ridiculous the way her body can easily be commanded by you without much effort; she wants to hate you for leading her down this path, but she can’t ever bring herself to do so.

love makes people incredibly foolish and tender indeed.

“that won’t do,” you remark lightly, gliding your fingers back and forth, barely grazing her clit. her breathing stops momentarily when you open her robe completely and drop to your knees in front of her. “why are you holding back?” you don’t ask her because you actually want the answer; you ask because you know it’ll annoy her greatly.

you tease her entrance with your fingers and a shiver fires through her entire body; with her lips parted, you strain your ears a bit, but you hear through her all of her light panting, her softly saying please, please, please. she’s trying so hard to hold it together, and you commend her for her efforts by inching your fingers inside of her slowly. hancock’s façade finally shatters, and you hear her moan audibly as you plunge your fingers in and out of her pussy. you love the way she clenches around your fingers — warm and tight, soft in a way that just doesn’t make sense to you — and the way she moves her hips once your tongue playfully swirls around her clit.

you drape her long, shapely leg over your shoulder and scissor your fingers inside of her pussy; you hum against her skin, thoroughly enjoying the way her chest heaves and how she can’t seem to stop moaning your name.

if only she was always this compliant.

a heat passes through your body as her nails rake against your scalp, and if you weren’t so hellbent keeping her steady, she’d probably fall over by now. you eat her pussy with vigor, swapping your fingers for your tongue; you thrust it inside without remorse, and she quickly becomes a whimpering mess as she chants “yes, yes, yes.” you mean to tell her to keep it down, but a part of you also enjoys it when she lets go and gives into her desires. you don’t want to get caught, but the thrill of it incites you to lap at her pussy — greedy and eager, as if it’s the most savory meal you’ve ever had. her wetness drips down your chin, glistening along your lips but you don’t stop.

she watches you in a trance, unsure if she’ll ever be able to let you go after this. possessive by nature, hancock never thought she’d find herself in this sort of position, but there she is, completely under your spell. every swipe of your tongue brings her closer and closer to the edge — a dangerous dance that she does without thinking. she brings her free hand to cup and knead one of her breasts — hefty and round, moaning repeatedly, voice already straining as she shamelessly rides your face.

you love it, though and when you suck on her clit roughly, lightning wraps around her veins, time slowing down around her, causing her vision to blur. she’s so wound up, that the orgasm takes her completely by surprise — her hips buck wildly and you hold her firmly as you work your fingers back into her pussy. you pull away just to give her a haughty look — one that she catches by accident through her tear-stained lashes — voice low and husky as you continue teasing her. “you’re doing so good,” you lick her clit hard enough to have her eyes roll back, “do you trust me?”

it's not fair of you to ask her genuine questions right now, but you need to know.

hancock swallows hard, unable to think properly, but answers without hesitation: “y-yes.”

her voice is sweet, much more demure than you’re used to; your heart suddenly feels much too big for your chest, the beats growing louder and thunderous; a dangerous combination when coupled with your cowardice. but you know better than to cower away, so you muster the courage to quietly respond with, “good, i’m glad.”

you’re not sure why you ask her that, but you keep thinking about it when you have her naked on her bed with her hands bound above her. thanks to you, her normally blemish-free skin is littered with bite marks and dark red bruises — small and harmless, but you do feel a sliver of remorse when you realize she’ll have to cover herself up for a bit when she’s outside of the palace. you tell her she’s a masterpiece worthy of exhibition, and she tells you that you’re insolent for stating the obvious.

she’s so beautiful and vulnerable in this position — flushed cheeks, tears in her eyes, legs shaking as they’re spread wide for you; her pussy is swollen after you slapped it a few times when she gave you lip a few minutes ago. out of habit, hancock wants to run her mouth again when you hover over her, but her words never come out. she looks up at you, silently wondering why you keep coming back to her. the melancholy that accompanies those thoughts is heavy enough to make her want to cry, so she ignores it. she wraps her legs around you as you rock your hips against hers, cunt still dripping — eager and inviting.

fucking hancock is like being trapped in a feverish dream, one where you fall over and over, unable to predict if you’ll survive in the end. it’s an unending maelstrom — powerful and unpredictable, wild, and all-consuming. sweat pools at your temples, but you don’t slow down until you wrench another orgasm out of her. her voice grows hoarse, and she claws at your chest; you lick the tears off her cheeks and kiss her in a way that deludes her into thinking that she’s your one and only.

when you finally cum, it’s with her name on your lips. your hips stutter and your breath is uneven — for you, your pleasure comes mostly from watching her unravel underneath you. hancock never lets you stay over, but she’s surprisingly soft with you afterwards, even letting you run your fingers through her silky, ink-black hair.

the intimacy scares both of you, but you can’t stop yourself from touching her like that. and even though you’re both sticky and sweaty, skin burning in a way that doesn’t make sense, you still stay close to one another.

she opens her mouth several times, the compulsion to curse you out for driving her mad grows weaker as time passes. she watches you fall asleep and she admires your features without restraint. she refuses to tell you that you’re much more attractive than she’d like you to be; she’d rather you be hideous with a shitty personality, but that’s not the case, is it? she’s hopelessly enamored with you, and you with her.

nothing will ever be perfect between the two of you, but you don’t need perfection or superficiality — not with her; you like dealing with the true, raw version of herself. there will be a moment — not now, but in the near future — where you’ll be brave enough to finish your confession; but for now, you keep it to yourself, tucked safely away in your heart, and enjoy the way your limbs are tangled with hers.

[soleilnomoon]

would love to order a red velvet cupcake, an ice cream cake, some banana bread, handful of konpeitō, & some dark chocolate, with caramel on top. i'd love to share it with #1 (ace & female reader) from the side menu, pls & thank you!

hiii i am so sorry this took forever, i rewrote it so many times but i think i like how it came out in the end ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა love a good shower sex fic, so i had fun and it's ace so you already know he was doing the absolute most for no reason at all 💗😊 i hope you have fun reading &lt;3

2.5k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+, mdni; tiny bit of angst bc i can't help myself but it's very tiny, and smut bc we're nasty bitches in this house; feat. cute stuff like ace being the absolute worst™, fingering, kissing, public exhibitionism, shower sex; ace can be a lil mean when he's frustrated and reader needs to stop being a coward, alas what can i say *washes hands of this*

residual embarrassment — a parting gift from the night before — prevents you from looking at him and properly sorting out your emotions. you spend more time than necessary hiding out in the bathroom, hoping the day keeps him busy enough to forget all that you said to him. when your skin can’t take the heat from the water any longer, when your mind keeps replaying certain things over and over, you grab your towel and step out of the shower. thankfully, the bathroom is empty, leaving you to mull over your bothersome thoughts and contemplate what to do next.

with ace, everything is always so complicated. he lives life out loud, has no trouble voicing his opinion — especially on matters that have nothing to do with him — and tends to sniff out your bullshit before you can lie and cover your tracks. and, really, it’s not that you don’t want him to know the truth, it’s just that the truth is deliberately debilitating, and you don’t have time to deal with that. cowardice isn’t easy to deal with; it slips into your bloodstream and commands all your movements without remorse. your body is a husk — a seemingly hard exterior and tragically soft, pliable interior.

one crack and everything spills out.

if you weren’t so intent on throwing a perpetual pity party for yourself, you’d hear his footsteps in the hallway. and, like clockwork, he comes through the door loudly — boisterous and energetic, an accompanying lopsided grin, the same splatter of freckles on his cheeks that you like counting from time to time. tiny stars, randomly strewn on his skin, varying shades of brown that bring comfort whenever he’s too close to you.

but it’s not comfort you feel now, it’s annoyance.

you fold your arms against your chest and stare at him incredulously. he’s being absolutely ridiculous. “what,” you say, swallowing hard and steeling your features, “are you doing here?” while the bathroom is a shared space with ample room, you know damn well he’s only here to antagonize you further. you eye him critically and wonder for the umpteenth time why he always walks around shirtless. you asked him once and his answer made you blush hard enough to make you speechless — he was entertained by your honest reaction, that he decidedly teased you for the rest of the week because of it.

“i was thinking about what you said,” his steps are every bit as imposing as he is — brutish but familiar, making you take several steps back without thinking about it. “and, what i can’t understand is wh—” your hand shoots out and you slap it over his mouth; startled, ace stumbles back a bit, but ultimately laughs as you try to quiet him down.

“don’t. you don’t have to say it.”

his brows quirk at that; another interesting response, another reason for ace to stick by your side for the remainder of the day. you know how this goes, but you refuse to entertain his foolishness until the door opens again. it happens fast and you don’t think it through, but you pull ace back into the shower with you and turn on the water quickly. several of your crew mates enter at once, laughing and joking with one another, talking of menial things. you hope they don’t stay long, but ace keeps giving you looks and you start to panic.

it's funny, really, the lengths you go to deny your feelings. it annoys him, though; you’re so quick to dismiss things, to want to explain everything away, but this time you really can’t run. he chuckles at the thought, and you glance at him sharply. “it’s not funny.” your voice is barely audible, so he leans closer to hear you better, but you’re both soaked from the water so naturally he starts taking off his clothes.

your delayed reaction is ultimately your downfall; you stare at him, wide-eyed, shock temporarily halting your rationality. “wh-what are you doing? stop that.” it’s too late, though, he’s already naked. you know that it doesn’t make sense for either of you to be in the shower right now, but it seemed like a good idea in the heat of the moment; now you regret it. sort of.

“why? i don’t want to stand around in wet clothes.” his answer is sound, logical even; you just don’t like it because no matter what he does, his attractiveness never fades. he thinks you’re being unintentionally cute and funny, even says it to you when he tugs on your towel and watches it fall to the floor. a wet clump that’s currently unsalvageable.

it's one transgression after another with him; you smack his arm and he laughs at you, at your stubbornness and insistence on being extra difficult when you can easily let go and give in. but, that’s the thing — you’re much too afraid of what you’ll become once you take that step. still, you’re a bit mesmerized with the way the water glides down his body, taking a long moment to watch intently. when you catch yourself, your face heats up — and you blame the temperature of the water, of course.

ace, however, knows better.

the stalls next to you are now occupied, but you’ve forgotten about the intruders because ace is looking at you like he’s figured you out. “anyway,” he starts again, because he’s determined to have this conversation whether you want to or not, “about last night—” you shush him, place both of your hands over his mouth this time, doing your best to keep him quiet for fear of the others overhearing.

“there’s nothing to talk about.” you don’t want to revisit the absolute mess you made of your confession, of how you turned back and told him you were just joking, of how you literally ran out and hid from him for the remainder of the night — much to his rising frustration, although he likes that side of you too.

ace simply steps closer to you, body flush against yours; his hands roam down your back and grabs onto your ass. the intrusion makes you squeal louder than you meant to; suddenly, there are several voices around asking if you’re okay. ace smirks, you feel his smugness in the way his shoulders won’t stop shaking as he tries to contain his laughter, even as you keep your hands over his mouth. a pathetic attempt at handling a situation that keeps getting worse as time goes on.

“i’m fine!” you chirp, hoping you sound convincing. “just thought i saw a bug.” the resounding laughter around you both calms your nerves and annoys you. but ace uses the opportunity to back you against the wall and kiss the palm of your hand. it becomes a bit too intimate for you, so you release your hold, drop your hands and let them settle on his arms.

it's absurd, you know it is. even more absurd is how fast your heart is beating and how there’s a suspicious ache growing in between your thighs. you blame ace, of course; blame him for putting you in this state, where you oscillate between arousal and cowardice. he does his best to be patient, but your body is incredibly soft, and his cock is already stiff — a reoccurring pain in his ass. he more or less has an idea of why you keep running, but this time he’s certain things will work out in his favor.

you know that the more you deny yourself, the harder it is to resist him and you’re so tired of fighting. maybe if you give in just once, you’ll get it out of your system and can move forward with your life. he knows better than that, though, but you convince yourself that everything will fall into place afterward — where you won’t have to deal with unnecessary emotions, where you won’t have to constantly be on alert whenever he’s around.

ace places a kiss on your jaw, drags his lips down the side of your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he bites you playfully. despite how your brain has turned into unrecognizable mush, you manage to remain cognizant enough to wrap your hand around his cock and stroke him slowly. there’s a moment where you almost stop breathing, and it’s when you look up and see the heated look on his face, the intensity behind his gaze is enough to make your movements falter for a bit. you increase your pace — hand moving up and down in a fluid motion, thumb brushing along the head of his cock, swiping at his slit; ace’s soft pants and groans invigorate you, make you stroke him faster.

it doesn’t take much for you ignore the chatter and background noise around you, because without warning ace’s mouth finds yours. this isn’t the first time he’s kissed you, and it certainly won’t be the last — but it’s the first time, in a long, long time where you feel like your body is an inferno, determined to burn you alive. he kisses you with fervor and familiarity, as if he’s done this hundreds of times before, burning you repeatedly as his tongue caresses yours. you’ve completely forgotten why you were fighting him so much when you clearly enjoy the way he touches you.

you place a hand over your mouth once he pushes your legs apart, refusing to make a sound and let him completely have his way; it’s a difficult task since your pussy is the worst kind of traitor, arousal slipping through your folds without a care in the world. that insolent smirk of his — the one that tends to find him whenever he’s up to no good — makes its way onto his lips, causing you to narrow your eyes at him. miraculously, you refrain from slapping it off of his face.

his fingers move quick, grazing along your slit before slipping inside your dripping folds. his thumb brushes against your throbbing clit, rubs slow circles around it, and he watches you struggle to keep quiet. and while he wants to draw all of this out, he knows there’s only so many minutes a person can stay in a shower before someone gets suspicious. you bite your hand the moment his fingers slide into your needy hole, not bothering to tease you as he plunges them in deeply.

your hips jut forward almost immediately, his thick fingers scissoring inside as your plush walls squeeze around them tightly. he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, fingers moving faster as he whispers unreasonable things like “why are you holding back, you were so vocal before” and “don’t cover your mouth, i want to hear you” when you insist on stifling each sound that threatens to burst from deep inside of you. it’s just so damn embarrassing, you can hardly stomach it — and yet, you keep moaning and looking at him; demure and aroused.

if your heart beats any faster, any louder, you might just actually die in that shower — with ace’s fingers still lodged deep inside of your cunt. not a bad way to end things, honestly, but you’d hate for anyone to find you compromised like this. and just when you feel like you’re on the precipice, dangling off the edge, ready to fall — he pulls his fingers out rather suddenly, your legs nearly give out and you whine unintentionally.

something about your reaction makes him laugh — maybe it’s because of how you can’t seem to figure out if you’re mad or happy at the turn of events, or maybe it’s because you’re already pulling him back in for a sloppy tongue kiss. he lifts you up, keeping your back pressed against the wall, your legs wrapping around him to hold yourself up. your hands shake while they guide the tip of his cock to your entrance, and you rub your pussy against him eagerly. tired of all the teasing, ace buries his cock into you — hurried and powerful, hips snapping against yours roughly. your hands grip his shoulders for support, nails digging into his skin, whimpering pathetically against his lips as you kiss him again.

you’re not sure if it’s the steam from the water, the taboo of fucking in the shower with others around, or if it’s just him but you forget yourself for a moment, drunk from the euphoria that ace brings each time he thrusts into you. he keeps his hips close to yours, barely keeping it together as he fucks you harder; your pussy is much too warm and tight, addicting without meaning to be. if he could fuck you every day for the rest of his life, he’d leave the pirating life behind without hesitation. a powerful notion, one that confuses him although he barely dwells on it. he’s much too focused on ruining your life with his intoxicating strokes, your arousal slipping down his length, making it easy for him to slide in and out without issue.

you’re not sure how long you both go at it, but at a certain point, all you can focus on is the way his breathing grows ragged and on the obscene, squelching noises that your pussy makes, his cock still thick and heavy as he pummels it into your aching hole. something builds in your abdomen, spreads through your body, brings a shudder to your chest; nothing can prepare you for the way your orgasm hits you — a white, hot fury that slams into you repeatedly. you lose all sense of decorum, lips swollen from all the kissing — parting to moan shamelessly. and when he whispers in your ear, telling you to say his name, you’re absolutely helpless against him; and you do say it, or yell, rather.

loud enough to rouse him into laughing at you again; loud enough to make the others who were lingering in the bathroom to gasp and whisper; loud enough that your voice grows hoarse afterward. he’s actually impressed with you and works you through your orgasm as your pussy flutters around him — creaming and overwhelmed from the ferocity of ace’s thrusts. he doesn’t last much longer, his mouth littering your neck with kisses, sucking and biting your skin. he cums inside of you without thinking — thick, hot, your nails raking over his back from how full you feel. you never thought that you’d find yourself in this situation, yet here you are, panting and clinging to him pathetically, heart pounding as you press your chest against his. you realize this won’t help your situation, but you can’t go back — you both know that. he places a soft kiss on the side of your mouth, and you almost cry at the intimacy. almost.

he makes a snarky remark about how well you took him and how he’s proud that you lasted as long as you did. you’re much too tired to fight him, but you remind yourself to berate him over it later. for now, you’ll have to deal with showering again and trying your best to keep your hands off of one another in the process. you never imagined your confession would lead to ace fucking you like that, but you suppose it was bound to happen anyway; you just don’t know how you’ll be able to face your crew mates later, knowing that some of them heard you.

at the very least, ace doesn’t seem bothered by it, and maybe one day you won’t be bothered by it too.

[soleilnomoon]

HEYYYY 2/20 REQUESTS!! LETS GOOOO

ice cream sundae, nougat, neapolitan rose, ice cream cake with honey and caramel!!! for trafalgar law as I'm a one trick pony

give us the pirate x marine angst!! the tension!! the forbidden love!! getting caught by Law and forced (not really, reader wants this badly but has an act to uphold) to play his lustful game where reader ends up throwing out the act in the end and just wants him, and he gives and makes them stay on his crew after!

"don't think I'll let you run back to your shitty marine corps, you're staying with me. but first, I need to punish you some more for all those times you've stopped my crew..."

"oki bb, whatever you say~💅✨😘"

let's pretend i didn't take 100 years to finish this request, however!!!! i had so much fun (i love enemies to lovers sfm, as u know ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡) so sorry it took forever, but it's here at last. i hope you enjoy bc i def had way too much fun writing this.

6.5k words (i know omg, i know shhh), fem reader, nsfw, 18+, mdni; angst angst angst, fluff? don't know her; she doesn't exist here. smut, obvy bc that's what i do ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა enemies 2 lovers, babey. feat. cutesy things like alcohol, public exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), pussy slapping, lil bit of nipple play, other stuff probably; idk law is a mean bitch bc he can't handle his feelings; reader is a marine who has zero self preservation obviously. both of them need to shuddup and kiss. (if u see spelling/grammar errors no u didn't; also the section in italics is a longass flashback i'm not sorry).

“because i am the kind of woman who leaves scars” — anaïs nin

ONE, TWO, THREE

when you received your promotion earlier on in the year, you assumed the higher ups would loosen their leash and let you do as you please. to your inevitable disappointment, they haven’t; you learn this the hard way when several thick stacks of documents are left for you to review on your desk one brisk morning. you scoff, fight the urge to set them on fire, and plop down on the cushioned chair. with your boots propped on top of the desk and feet crossed at the ankles, you close your eyes and sort through the running list of tasks you need to complete before you can set off for the new world.

it's never your intention to think about trafalgar law, but somehow he always finds a way to sneak into your thoughts throughout the day. agitation works its way slowly through your veins, teeth clenched as you grind them against each other. it’s even worse at night, where you find yourself twisted in your bed sheets, tossing and turning, plagued by dreams where his hand wraps around your throat almost too easily. instead of fighting him off, you’re always breathless and mesmerized, lips parted and wanting — his amber eyes holding you in place, seeing through all your thick layers and steel walls that you’ve erected to protect yourself.

no one’s ever penetrated them before and survived.

it's terrifying and unsettling that you always wake up panting, trembling fingers clutching the front of your shirt desperately, sweat pooling around your temples, curls frizzing from the humidity. you fear that your heart is beating hard enough to incapacitate you and you clamp your hand over your mouth as if it’ll prevent you from screaming out in frustration. if you keep your eyes closed, you can still feel his hands around your throat; if you keep your eyes closed, you can ignore the guilt that accompanies those dreams and tread the dangerous path towards impossible fantasies.

an unsteady tightrope that you tackle head on — one foot in front of the other, blindfolded and nervous, unsure of what awaits you at the end.

there’s nothing abnormal about a marine trying to figure out a pirate’s next moves, but your case is a little different. irritated at yourself, you kick your feet off the desk and knock the documents over; the pages float through the air and you laugh as you ignore the mess. you suppose you’ll sort through it all later. the transponder snail rings loud enough to startle you, but you take your time answering.

you pop a mint into your mouth and chew thoughtfully, not bothering with pleasantries as your voice denotes your irritation. “what is it?” you’ve never been one to be polite when speaking to other marines — no matter the rank; and since your mood still hasn’t lifted, you don’t bother pretending.

“oh, absolutely not,” you grit out, brows furrowed, a frown settling on your lips. the commodore refuses to let up, berating you for your past failures and reminding you that as a captain you need to be setting a proper example for your subordinates. right now, the commodore was not happy with you; and if he’d let you explain the situation, then maybe he wouldn’t feel so inclined to lecture you like a child.

“right but—” you’re cut off by another long diatribe of his and the longer he speaks, the angrier you get. “well if you’d listen, then i could—” again, you’re unable to get a word in; you try several times over to no avail. irritation swells inside of you, an itch you can’t quite scratch yet; you clutch the receiver tightly and end up hanging it up once more foolishness is spewed your way. it’s ridiculous that headquarters wants you to drop your current mission and focus on capturing law. they refuse to let you shirk any responsibility as you let him escape the last time you crossed paths. you knew the decision would come to haunt you, but you didn’t think it would be this soon. and while you had a very valid reason for letting him go, you still can’t forget the last thing he said to you before slipping away. it follows you around throughout every day, an unrelenting reminder of your incompetence.

weakness is not an option, even if the enemy in question tends to throw your world into chaos whenever he sees you.

FOUR, FIVE, SIX

you’re nursing your fifth shot of vodka when trafalgar law approaches you; the pub is dingy, overcrowded, but popular. you’re not much of a fan, but the alcohol is cheap — business is always booming. since you typically don’t wear a uniform regardless, no one seems to recognize you — it could be the fact that most of the patrons are drunk or exhausted or a combination of both. you’re too damn tired to make any arrests so you drink to your sorrows and ignore the ache on your face and shoulder.

he slides into your booth, opting to sit right next to you, leg bumping against yours without a care. you cast a sharp glance his way, scowling as you knock back the shot. there’s something off with him tonight; he’s much too relaxed — in all the years you’ve been pursuing him, you’ve never seen him with a devil-may-care attitude. until now.

“bold of you to assume i won’t take your head right here and now,” you say lightly, alcohol sitting heavily on your chest; you’re sure that that’s the reason why you suddenly feel out of breath, but you steel your features in his presence and trace the tip of your finger around the rim of your shot glass. you observe him through your lashes, eyes trailing along his jaw, admiring the distinct features that you can never tire of. if he was uglier, then you’d have no problem dealing with him. but he’s not. it pisses you off.

law pauses, mulls over your words, and tilts his head as he studies you. “that’s the thing,” he leans forward, crowds your space until you back yourself against the wall, wary and critical as you narrow your eyes at him. if he gets any closer, you might not be able to resist whatever nonsense he’ll tout your way. his voice is unnecessarily hypnotic, but if you voice that out loud, he’ll never let you live it down. “you’re not in a position to act right now.” how he knows that is beyond you, but you suck your teeth and roll your eyes.

“don’t test me, i’m not in the mood.” not that you ever are in the mood to deal with him, but he doesn’t need to know that. “now, leave me alone.” you’d rather ignore his presence altogether, but he’s doing that thing where he makes you squirm under his gaze; you try to hide it, but he catches the movement, eyes dipping lower as he takes in your appearance.

it's hot out and you opted for something breezy and short, sleeveless and stress free. you blame the vodka for bringing an uninvited heat to your face when he leans in again; and you blame the vodka for not giving you time to defend yourself against his sorcery. because that’s what it is — that’s what you keep telling yourself, anyway — why else would you inhale deep enough to commit his cologne to memory.

absurd. foolish. this sort of behavior will get you killed.

and yet—

he snorts — a surprise to you both — and coughs to clear his throat. “what will you do if i don’t?” you almost slap him, but keep your hands balled into fists, nails sinking into your palms to keep yourself grounded. it’s not the words that get to you, but the rich timber of his voice drips onto your skin, permeating through the layers, its huskiness mixing into your blood.

his is a voice you’ll never forget, and you hate that so fucking much.

frowning, you fold your arms against your chest, cheeks slightly puffed, that heat still lingering on your face as you try to steady your heartrate. his eyes are hawkish, raking over your body in broad sweeping motions; you watch his throat as he swallows, and suddenly you’re very aware of his proximity. you’re both silent for a long moment, but when you part your lips to speak, you choke on your words as law tugs on your plump bottom lip with his fingers.

you stare at him incredulously, but you don’t move; normally you tell him off, give him scathing words and go back and forth until you’re both too tired to continue. to make matters worse, your tongue darts out and briefly flicks against his finger. a harsh current of electricity shoots up the length of his arm, making him retract his hand quickly. he gives you a hardened stare, jaw clenched, eyes narrowing before muttering something under his breath. you catch the words, “ridiculous” and “unnecessary” and “how irritating.”

you want to point out that he’s the irritating one, but you’re still reeling from what you’ve done. shame settles onto your shoulders, makes it hard to move around. so you order another drink. you half-expect law to leave, but he doesn’t, which is strange. very, very strange. you don’t bother talking to him but find that you can’t ignore his presence any longer. his knee presses against your thigh and he leans against the palm of his hand while his elbow is propped on the table. always silently watching, crafting contingency plan after contingency plan — you’re a wildcard that needs to be dealt with. swiftly.

it must be an act of pure possession that forces him to snatch the shot glass out of your hand and chuckle darkly when you try to grab it back. the words that fly out of your mouth are tart yet welcomed; he’s comforted by that sort of behavior, because it’s predictable. and it’s your predictability that will allow him the chance to escape with his crew. when he brings the glass to his lips, you feel your annoyance reach its peak.

“don’t. you. dare.”

it's your drink, he needs to get his own. granted, you definitely don’t need to drink anymore; but you’re committed to wallowing and throwing a pity party that you don’t want law to interrupt. the vodka floods his senses as soon as its in his mouth, you watch in horror as he finishes your drink, a small smirk prancing onto his lips when he places the glass down. he’s testing your patience, you know that, however it doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his shirt, fisting the fabric as you bring your face close to his.

“the fuck did i just say? what is your damn problem?” your anger is rolls off of you — lethal and toxic, spreading through the air — but it only furthers his interest in you, although he’ll deny that later on. he’s not sure why, but he grabs your chin roughly and runs his tongue along your lips. your breath stills, and you wonder if maybe this is all a dream; since you’re properly distracted, he releases your chin and grips your neck, long fingers pressing into the sides. firm enough to make you gasp, but not hard enough to cut off your breathing completely.

you can feel your pulse skyrocket, and while you try to keep calm, you can’t; not when he traps your bottom lip in between his teeth, not when his other hand runs along the inside of your thigh, and not when you inhale sharply and lean forward to kiss him impulsively. you completely take him off guard, as he fully expected you to fight him a bit more. law rubs his thumb along your neck before squeezing it again, slanting his lips against yours, tongue stroking hotly and licking inside your mouth. you were upset he took your drink, but you can taste the alcohol on his tongue — it’s more potent than the other five shots you downed previously.

his hand inches higher, fingers gliding underneath your dress, goosebumps pricking your skin mercilessly with every swipe of his tongue. you place your hands on his chest, the warmth from your skin nearly burning through his clothes. this is a mistake; he knows it, he should’ve left you alone — but he knows that’s easier said than done. besides, you’re one of the few constants in his chaotic life right now. he kisses you to sate his growing appetite, but it’s not enough; if anything, it only stokes the mania that he keeps locked away. ravenous and unyielding; he knows better than to open that door just yet.

your lips are softer than he imagined, plush and inviting, supple enough to stir certain feelings that he continues to ignore. his annoyance still lingers as his arousal builds inside of him; he didn’t think you’d be this pliant, didn’t think you’d allow him to squeeze and caress your thigh like that. in all honesty, you just aren’t thinking; he’s taken that away from you — all your logic and sound judgement — and when the tips of his fingers graze the front of your panties, you let out a soft whimper that nearly makes him forget himself.

he swallows all your doubts and worries, gives rise to a feverish madness that whirls inside of you; turbulent, accosting in nature, a force to be reckoned with. he only meant to tease you, but in return he set himself up for failure; his cock strains inside of his jeans, the front pressing painfully against his half-stiff length. if he doesn’t stop soon, if he doesn’t find a way to purge you from his system, he might never be able to stop touching you.

law’s fingers stroke along the front of your panties, the fabric growing damp as he rubs firm circles on your clothed cunt. you nearly leap out of your skin, whine pathetically against his lips, legs spreading as he applies more pressure. a small voice in the back of his mind reminds him that he’s wasting time, but when he tugs your panties to the side, when his long fingers work their way inside of your needy hole, he forgets himself. your walls are warm and tight, and squeeze around his fingers as soon as he starts to move them.

the pace he sets is slow enough to annoy you, but you moan against his lips, he plunges his fingers deeper — enjoying the way your pussy clenches around his fingers with each thrust. impulse coats your tongue, makes you kiss him wildly to gain control of the situation; your hips roll forward, desperate to chase the high that is just outside of your reach. he pulls away, chest heaving, eyes darkening as he keeps moving his fingers; you’re left in a daze, fury rising at your inability to resist his charm and at the shameless way you let him handle your body.

it's pride that prevents you from calling out his name, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you stifle the wanton noises that rattle around the back of your throat. because he’s determined to not let you have your way, he plucks his fingers out of you and admires the way your slick wetness drips slowly down the length of his fingers. appalled and embarrassed enough to want to hide forever, you look around to make sure no one is paying any attention.

“wipe them off,” you whisper loudly. law looks at you briefly, an idea forming as he pulls you close and swipes his fingers along your lips. they glisten under the dim lighting, and you can feel a flush take hold of your entire body. before you can say anything, he licks the remainder of your arousal off his fingers and then licks your lips again.

“sweet.”  he blurts it without thinking — more so an observation than anything else, but he berates himself internally for not keeping the comment to himself.

your thoughts scatter, a shiver gliding down your back as you watch him with widened eyes. it doesn’t take long for your brain to start functioning normally again, but the residual embarrassment will stay with you for the duration of the night. after smacking his hand, you scoot away in the hopes of ridding yourself of the moment. absently, you lick your lips, mind replaying that small series of events over and over, tipping your sanity over the edge.

“go away,” you say again, as you try to quiet the thundering beats from your heart. you squeeze your thighs together, ignore the way the ache keeps growing, and hope that whatever spell he cast on you disappears once he leaves. you’re surprised that you can formulate coherent statements, as you’re still trying to sort through the haze from your arousal and your rising anger. “you had no right—”

“relax, relax,” he says nonchalantly, shoulders loose as he grins devilishly at you. “you’re making quite the scene. i’m sure you’d like to keep your identity hidden in here, right?” you swallow back your retort, eyes roaming around the pub as you take in the various pirates that have gathered there. he makes a solid point. if you cause a scene, you won’t be able to fight them all; you’d certainly try, though. he can tell. brows knitted closely together, you consider your options, but ultimately decide to back off.

“fine.” it’s difficult for you to let things go, but you don’t need anymore broken bones; your subordinates are still resting, so you can’t risk putting their lives in danger all to shut trafalgar law up. “are you done? can you leave, now?” because it unnerves you that he still hasn’t moved away.

the issue is that he doesn’t know how to leave you alone; he hates the power you hold over him, the one you wield without trying. and then you have the nerve to act clueless; he’s certain you know exactly what you’re doing, and he won’t believe otherwise. still, he shouldn’t linger any longer, because if you decide to change your mind — which, he suspects, could happen if he pushes you hard enough — then he’ll draw more attention to himself than necessary.

he takes the initiative to slide out of the booth and regards you coolly, that stoic mask he’s infamous for returning in full force. with a tilt of his head, he says, “we’ll play again another time, firefly,” and strides out of the pub without looking back at you. once the night air hits his face, a burst of clarity follows; it takes a lot for him to keep walking, to inhale through his nostrils to calm himself completely. by the time he reaches the polar tang, he’s agitated all over again. his crew mates know better than to ask questions, and he motions for them to start preparing the ship for the next voyage.

if any of your subordinates find out what happened, you’ll be ruined. still, you can’t say you detested any of it — if anything, you feel more invigorated than before.

SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE

that memory drives you to act; reminds you that you have a mission to uphold, that as a marine you must prioritize the safety of the public over whimsical fantasies about a man who intentionally tries to catch you off guard whenever possible. if the commodore caught wind that you not only let law escape, but that you kissed him too. you gather the scattered documents together and sift through them quickly; you know what is expected of you. if you don’t catch law soon, they’ll demote you; and not that you care about promotions or titles, there’s a certain level of freedom awarded at your status as a captain.

you refuse to give that up.

it doesn’t take long, but you gather a small group to travel with you to the new world; they’re not the bravest, but they’re stealthy and creative. you don’t need brash idiots who will run into battle without thinking things through — not that you have room to talk, you’re much more reckless than you let on. it takes a little more than six days to reach your destination, a lovely island full of lush plants and flowers, with lively towns and villages. you reach the island before the heart pirates do and bide your time until they discreetly dock along the coast.

it's been two months since the last time he saw you and he’s yet to find some semblance of peace because of it. while law prides himself on being able to multitask, to be able to think several steps ahead of his enemy, he can admit that you tend to divert his plans without even trying. insomnia prevents him from properly resting, although that’s due to the way his thoughts are often haunted by the memory of your lips on his. if he closes his eyes, he can still picture the way you struggled to keep quiet, the way your pussy kept sucking his fingers back in; he should be disgusted and ashamed, except he’s not.

and even as fatigue settles over his bones, weighs him down, chaining him to his bed, his mind still won’t let up. it’s because he hates you, that his cock won’t let up. he hates how you can’t seem to take a hint, hates the way you insist on chasing after him, and hates how you defy his expectations every single time. it’s almost always late at night when he dreams of you — writhing underneath him, skin littered with bite marks and bruises courtesy of the brutish way he handles you — and he’s always startled awake, desire coiling around his legs, restricting his movements as he fists his cock.

it's out of hatred and annoyance, it’s what he keeps telling himself — even after he bites his fist to keep from moaning out loud — but the lie gets harder to tell as the days go on.

bepo takes note of law’s change in demeanor, confers with penguin before confronting their captain with his theories. law sighs loudly, irritation coming to a boil, festering underneath his skin as he tries to listen calmly.

“i’m staying one step ahead,” he says smoothly, flipping through a medical textbook and ignoring the pointed looks from shachi; he’s read this book before, but they don’t need to know that. “what do you think will happen if we don’t eliminate her soon?” his notoriety has caught up with him; there’s very few islands he can frequent openly without having to worry about the navy catching him. not that he actually worries about that, but still. it’s rich, though, coming from him — and bepo almost points it out but refrains when he catches the look on law’s face, the one that chills him to his bones, makes him shrink back and keep quiet for the duration of the morning.

law grinds his teeth together, ignoring the guilt that plagues him; it’s not bepo’s fault, but he’s on edge and doesn’t see a clear way out just yet. he instructs his crew to scope out the area and set up camp; he’s not too concerned with any navy interference, but one can never be too careful on the grand line. it’s intentional when law loudly announces that he’s heading to town alone, already discovering one of your subordinates before carrying on; he leaves his first catch behind for his crew to deal with, while he waits for you to find him.

you don’t know why you thought this would be easy; infiltration is your specialty, but with this lot you’re not able to be as discreet as you hoped. you’ve had to shush a few of them several times already, much to their annoyance — although, they don’t voice that out loud, instead opting to mumble under their breaths to one another instead. you don’t care, though; you’re focused on the mission at hand. you follow law as quickly as possible, going from street to alleyway — but when you take the wrong turn, you can’t find him anywhere.

it's suspiciously quiet around you, which is when you notice that the others are nowhere to be seen. great. just great. you’ll have to scold them later, but for now, you’ll just do the job your damn self. after an hour of searching, of combing through the crowds of people in the hopes of spotting law, you nearly give up. a familiar hand grabs onto your arm and pulls you into a nearby alley. you stumble and law uses the momentum to shove you against the wall — weathered bricks crumbling as you look up at him. anger courses through you, but before you can act, he smiles slyly and confusion takes hold of your face.

“before you say anything,” he starts, voice smooth and intoxicating, “your men are being held captive.” it’s not that he cares enough to tell you, but he thoroughly enjoys the way desperately try to steel your features to appear unaffected by his news. “they’re not your usual crew,” he muses out loud, eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out if he’s missing something.

you simply shrug, opting for nonchalance — even though you can feel your heart leap out of your chest when he moves closer to you. “what can i say,” you pause, lick your lips, mind racing as you try to buy some time, “i have a lot of men under me.” an unintentional slip of the tongue, one that simultaneously impresses and infuriates him; mostly because he now has an image of you fucking other men and he doesn’t like that. at all. jealousy prompts him to keep your wrists bound together, the restraints digging into your skin as he drags you back to the shore. he could’ve easily transported both of you to the polar tang, but he wants to teach you a lesson instead. you struggle to keep up with his long strides and curse at him behind his back; although it’s mildly entertaining to him. at the thought of running, you remember his previous threat — that he’d fuck you publicly, in front of your men and his — and behave. somewhat.

your skin flushes at that, your mind wandering as you consider your options; if you let law have his way, you’ll be proving the commodore right. you refuse to let that old bastard have the last word. you don’t realize you’ve made it to the ship until you see your men being held hostage by law’s crew. if you can slip away from law long enough, you might be able to help them escape — and, as if he can sense that very thought, he glances over at you sharply, dark brow raising, almost as if he’s challenging you to do just that.

you doubt you’ve ever hated anyone as much as you hate him right now.

“two options,” he says suddenly, voice permeating the air, menacing and matter-of-factly, “i let you go and eliminate your men.” you make a face at that, the frown semi-permanent as you wonder if the second option is any better. “or, i let them go and keep you.” he hadn’t meant to say it like that, and bepo gives him a knowing look that he conveniently ignores. the answer is clear-cut, and, without hesitation, you tell him to let your men go. he smiles at that — every bit as devilish as they say — and while he half-expected your men to bargain, to plead for mercy, they don’t.

it rubs him the wrong way for some reason.

“that eager to get rid of her?” he asks them, and they remain quiet before voicing aloud the opinions they were only brave enough to tell one another. apparently, you rub people the wrong way with your polarizing views, contrary opinions on most political matters; you always need to have the last say, and while you do your best to fight on what you believe is the right side of justice, you only do so on your own terms. the men you chose for this mission never had faith in your plan, and it could be because the commodore manipulated them into double-crossing you.

is it pathetic that you didn’t see it coming? you can’t blame them for bailing, but a bitter taste seeps up your throat as you try to stay focused. law gives them three minutes to get out of his line of sight and they push one another as they scurry away. he’d threatened them earlier too, that he’d kill you if they breathed a word to headquarters. they believed him — he could tell from the way their eyes widened, from how their shoulders tensed, and from how their hands shook. he had no intention of killing you, of course, but they didn’t need to know that.

you watch them retreat and let out a humorless laugh; it’s cut short when law leans in to say, “checkmate, firefly. time to play.”

TEN. TEN. TEN!

aboard the polar tang, law endures endless questions about why you’re still alive, but law insists that he has a plan — he always has one, even though his current one is unraveling slowly. he hadn’t planned on you caving, but he assumes this is a ploy on your part so that he can lower his guard. even though he removed the restraints around your wrists, it doesn’t matter; you know you can’t escape him now. you’ll have to bide your time until you can find an opening.

it's rare for law to venture into his room before nighttime, but he makes an exception to interrogate you — or, that’s what he tells his crew. you know nothing good can come from the two of you being alone together, but you’re currently at his mercy, hoping whatever he has in store won’t be too painful. he leans against the wooden desk in his room, arms folded against his chest as he watches you — eyes hawkish, tracking your movements with precision.

“strip.”

you blink at him repeatedly, even laugh and shake your head. “absolutely not.” you know you’re in no position to try and barter your way out, but you’d like to try anyway. law, however, doesn’t give you the opportunity. he closes his eyes, inhales sharply before repeating himself — the command latches onto your skin, burns you alive once he sets his eyes on you again. you don’t think you can refuse him the second time; not out of fear, but because he’s giving you that same heated look he gave you month ago in the pub.

you tell yourself that it doesn’t matter, that you can follow whatever asinine rules he’s set for this “game” and take your time undressing. it’s that audacity that makes him want you badly, the desire nearly taking hold of every rational thought in his mind as he takes in your hips and thighs. you inhale deeply, do your best to remain in control, but feel your nipples harden under his intense gaze, turning you into some blushing fool.

“get on the bed.” he’s never shared his bed with anyone, so this is all quite new for him, but he doesn’t voice that out loud and instead takes pleasure watching the way you comply without much of a fuss. you move to the center and before you know it, law’s pushed you onto your back, hand gliding down your stomach, fingers hovering over your pussy. if you inhale deeply enough, you’ll be forever consumed by him — and you’re having great difficulty trying to convince yourself to keep on fighting.

this isn’t exactly a part of his plan, but as he’s a quick thinker he’ll improvise on the way. you should have more self-preservation, but law flicks his tongue against your pert nipple before sucking on it selfishly. you let out a startled cry and place your hands over your mouth to keep from making anymore sounds. you refuse to let him have that satisfaction, but the longer he teases your breasts, teeth grazing over your skin, the quicker your anger fizzles out. you know better than to keep indulging, to stop this before it’s too late, but your mind grows hazy once he spreads your legs and instructs you to grab onto the backs of your thighs.

despite not being a connoisseur of the fine arts, law admires the way your slick arousal glides down your slit; he wonders, briefly, if you still taste the same. you’re much too aware of your own breathing, and when law’s mouth hovers over your pussy, you almost lose your mind. “don’t move,” is all he says before running his tongue in between your folds, making your hips buck against him. “what did i just say?” he glances at you, his cock stiff beneath his pants, making it difficult to concentrate. you swallow hard and nod at him, steadying your breath as he slowly crafts a very crude love letter on your pussy with his tongue.

in between strokes of his tongue, he tosses questions your way, fully expecting you to answer as you keep holding onto your legs. in the span of two minutes, he’s already extracted a few deep confessions from you — ones that he pockets for later, to investigate further — but you’re beyond caring at this point. your body burns as you try not to move, chest heaving, teeth biting down on your lip hard. it becomes impossible to pay attention to his words, and your wetness clings to the insides of your thighs as law continues to antagonize you in the best way possible.

you’re not sure how long you last like that, but when you sift through his dark hair with your fingers and tug hard, he pulls back to give you a look before slapping your pussy. the shriek you let out quickly turns into a moan when law pinches your clit. “don’t be a brat,” he warns, voice gruff and husky. your legs shake when he slips two fingers inside of you, tongue circling and swirling around your throbbing clit, as he thrusts his fingers in and out. your stifled moans annoy him, he tells you as much before sucking harder, fingers scissoring as your walls squeeze tight. his erection is partially to blame for why he's acting irrationally, but it’s also very much your fault too.

the last time he had his fingers this deep in your pussy, you had to keep quiet, but now? he’s interested in hearing what other sounds you can make.

“don’t close your mouth, i want to hear you.”

if you weren’t so captivating and alluring, he wouldn’t have any issues; but there he is, slurping on your pussy like the delectable piece of fruit it is. it’s a rush, really, and he doesn’t stop you when you roll your hips again, enjoying the shameless way you buck against his mouth. you’re not sure if it’s the way he holds onto your thighs, fingers digging into your soft skin, or if it’s the way he moans against your cunt, that insatiable hunger raw and feral, turning him into a man possessed. you tug on his hair again, harder this time, crying out as your orgasm brings a deep shudder through you. law doesn’t let up, tongue lapping at your wetness, not bothering to wipe it off his chin.

you watch him through your lashes, face growing hot as you watch him take his clothes off too. you’re not sure what comes over you, but you pull him down for a sloppy kiss, tongue brushing against his as he rubs the thick head of his cock in between your folds. he knows that if he doesn’t fuck you soon, he might just die. or, something close to it. the kiss is all tongue and teeth — fervent and sensual. you taste yourself on his mouth and completely forget that things have gone a little too far.

and just when you think you’re close to having the advantage, he bites your lip hard enough to draw blood and flicks his tongue out; it’s a sharp, coppery taste that fuels him to kiss you all over again — a euphoric delirium, deadly and carnal. you drag your nails down the hard planes of his chest, taking your time to commit each dip and curve of his muscles to memory. rather than let vulnerability catch him off guard, he grabs your face and runs his tongue down the length of your throat.

that lust-filled haze guides you onto your knees, ass playfully rubbing against his stiff length; he grabs you roughly, teases your entrance, and inches his cock inside of you before snapping his hips against yours. law burrows his cock into your puffy pussy, your soft, gummy walls clenching as he pulls out and slams into you all over again. your moans bounce around the room, swirling around his head, making him light-headed.

his girth is every bit as imposing as he is, but you take it without much issue, hips rocking against his, fingers grabbing at his bedsheets as you arch your back. law slaps your ass before fucking you harder, watching the way his cock disappears into your pretty pussy with every stroke. you feel another orgasm approach, his thrusts brutal, but delicious, making your toes curl as you shamelessly moan his name. if he was a better man, he’d take his time with you, let you get acclimated to his size, and hand you the reins.

but he’s not; he’s a pirate, after all.

he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you towards him, leaving behind open-mouthed kisses on the side of your neck and jaw. his hips stay close to yours, strokes getting faster and rougher, pussy squelching loudly, but you don’t ask him to stop — if anything, you keep chanting more, more, more. he dips a hand in between your thighs and rubs your clit, making your body convulse, voice growing hoarse from how loud you’re being.

when you cum you’re nearly incapacitated, eyes rolling back, cunt fluttering around his thick cock, squirting as his hips knock against yours. a merciless, unrelenting tempo, one that has you melting under his touch. he doesn’t last much longer, his cum thick and hot as it pours into you, dripping down his length as his hips slow down. you can hardly move, legs completely giving out, body like jelly as you plop down onto the bed. he runs a hand down his face and looks at you, a warmth invading his chest, making it hard to breathe properly. to combat that ridiculous feeling, he tells you that he’s far from done with you and that he has no plans on letting you return to the navy. if you had more sense, if you weren’t as obsessed with trafalgar law as he is with you, then you’d find fault with his words.

he tells himself he’s doing this to teach you a lesson, to punish you for all the times you’ve interrupted his journey, but he knows the truth — and, after seeing this side of him, the one where he’s completely tossed aside that mask he wears, you also know too.

[soleilnomoon]

Hi again! Still absolutely adore your Kid fic from your last event 💜 Never got around to asking for a Sanji one, so here I am again😅 But seriously, congrats on over 550 followers!! Love seeing your blog grow, cause you’re really talented and deserve them all and legit can’t wait til you hit 1k+ 🥰

For the event order, may I please ask for a #1 with my boi Sanji, with anmitsu, konpeito, and keylime pie and with honey, please? 🥹 i hate this but need some sanji angst 😭

I also dunno if these three would work particularly well together for a prompt, so you can choose whatever! just really feeling angst and sanji rn and maybe comfort if you’d like 🥰

Thank you for all your works you’ve done so far 💜💜

hiiii omg haha i loved that fic fr (i'm obsessed w that man!!!) also ily for requesting sanji i don't write him nearly enough 🥰️ but thank you sm!! 😭 making me all soft and i am so so sorry this took forever, as u know i am so slow but!!! i had fun tormenting sanji w the angst ngl 💓💓💓💓 also those were great choices for the prompt, i wanted to write more but it would've been 8k words before i finished and who has time for that (i do, but listen... that's besides the point) ✨

2k words, fem reader (honestly gn too now that i think abt it), sfw (SHOCKING i know), 18+ mdni, a lil bit suggestive but nothing wild, angst angst angst city babey, fluff if you squint, also i gave u comfort bc u deserve it bb 💗(and sanji does too); feat. sanji being in denial forever and ever, mutual pining, fake unrequited love, reader is determined and sanji is a coward; also i made myself sad writing this but a good sad bc sanji deserves happiness and i'll fight oda if he doesn't get it i s2g... (if u see grammar mistakes/spelling errors... no u didn't 💗)

“loving each other began this way: threading / loneliness into loneliness / patiently, our hands trembling and precise.” — yehuda amichai

STEP 01:

what does it take to kill a soul? —

a question that’s posed unironically, without a hint of remorse or tact, the words precise and venomous, slicing through the thick veneer that he’s carefully crafted. he’s never been able to answer that question — not at six years old, not twelve or fifteen, and not at twenty-one. his siblings took pleasure in taunting him with seemingly philosophical questions, ones that clamped down onto his thoughts with heavy shackles.

even after he’s extracted himself from that life, he can’t scrub those memories from his mind — no matter how hard he tries. they sit, still raw and bloody, giving rise to unpleasant emotions that make his stomach churn from so many things left unsaid. he never set out to be a pirate, but piracy has given him the sort of freedom that he could only wish for as a child.

it’s with tender hands, with nimble yet graceful fingers, and with a fastidiousness that puts him in a category of his own, that he creates and creates and creates —

he’s told he’s an artist, which only pushes him to work harder, to be better. and when he asks himself why, he doesn’t have an answer. or, rather, the answer he does have only serves as a punishing reminder that he’ll never be good enough. no matter how many times his crew mates thank him — their emphatic, genuine praise a soft, warm breeze against his heart, gentle caresses that he commits to memory — despair still manages to infiltrate, a darkness choking out what little light he has left inside of him.

STEP 02:

how far are you willing to go to reach the truth? —

when you join the crew, he’s unnerved by your presence, which is wholly unlike him. usually, he’s able to put on his façade of the flirtatious cook, one that’s jovial and sociable, that lives to serve and please those around him. his first conversation with you ends in disaster; he spills the drink he tried to pour for you, despite your insistence that you are perfectly capable of pouring your own drink — and he knows it’s not out of malice, but it cuts into him all the same.

he tries again and again, bringing you little treats that you only agree to eating if he sits and eats with you; confusion eats away at his mind, and when he opens his mouth to decline, you pat the seat next to you and he acquiesces. he sits stiffly, at first, unsure of why he always feels on edge around you — an irritating need to impress you in a way he’s never wanted to for others grows stronger by the day.

you think it’s cute that he always seems flustered around you — that he stumbles over his words, refuses to hold eye contact with you for longer than thirty seconds — you also think it’s cute that the false bravado that he puts on for the world, diminishes immediately the second you come close to him. if he’s skittish, it’s because you always catch him staring at you; despite his quick reflexes, his reactions around you are slow but pure — childish, almost.

lately he’s clumsier and scatterbrained, nearly burning dinner when you decide to keep him company. you lean against the countertop, a teasing smile on your face — the same one that that caused him to bump his forehead against the cabinet door earlier — as you prattle on about a dream you had. he can barely keep up, his eyes drifting from the skillet to your face, gliding around the curve of your cheek, dipping lower in a slow descent along your neck.

he blinks repeatedly when he reaches your clavicle, stunned at his restraint; and it’s only when you call his name loudly that he realizes he’s left the heat on for too long.

“are you okay?” you ask when you see that he’s fussing over how best to save the dish, mouth moving as he quietly mutters to himself. he barely registers your voice, as an insidious one whispers harshly into his ears about his perpetual incompetence and lack of talent.

you can see that he’s retreated even further into his mind, a feat that also leaves you frustrated. you want to shake him but refrain and grab his hand instead. he snaps out of whatever stupor that held him captive just moments ago, lips parting as he sighs softly before glancing down at you.

“thank you.”

the words are quiet, but impactful, as he didn’t think he’d be able to get them out. you let go of his hand too soon, but he doesn’t say anything else, choosing to focus on cooking than embarrassing himself again in front of you.

you take his silence as a silent dismissal, but you don’t fight him on it — it’s bitter, that sort of rejection, and you swallow back your argument with great difficulty.

STEP 03:

what’s the difference between cowardice and self-preservation? —

frustration bubbles underneath his skin when he can’t find where he placed his lighter; he runs a hand through his hair and tugs on impulse, accidentally ripping a few strands from his scalp. they swirl and tumble onto the ground, pathetic in a way — just like me, but he never really says that out loud. he doesn’t hear your footsteps, although you did your best to remain as quiet as possible.

a cigarette sits in between his lips, and he has half a mind to toss it over the railing of the ship, but a warmth suddenly appears in front of him in the form of a flame. you found his lighter on the floor earlier and meant to give it to him, but every time you got closer, he found every excuse to leave. you don’t realize the impact you have on him — not really, anyway — because he’s genuinely surprised that you can’t hear the heavy beats of his heart that grow more intolerable the longer he hangs around you.

always afraid of being found out, he opts to keep his distance. it’s easier this way, he tells himself, better. but he doesn’t quite believe that; the evidence is plain as day when his tongue feels like its grown three sizes in the span of seconds, where his words get lost and forgotten. it’s all your fault, he reasons; you who insists on talking candidly with him, who insists on listening to him ramble about his dreams, who absolutely insists on stubbornly tearing down his walls, steadily chipping away without a care in the world. he looks at you as if you are the source of all his problems, but he also looks at you as if you’re the solution.

the intensity behind his stare makes your hands tremble slightly, it’s a miracle you’ve managed to keep yourself composed for this long. you light the end of his cigarette with ease, as if you’ve done this for him hundreds of times —and place the lighter into his pants pocket afterwards. if he wasn’t so used to you getting in his personal space all the time, he’d retreat immediately. the proximity is almost too much for him, but he doesn’t step back; you take that as a good sign and keep him company for a few minutes.

you don’t care for the smell of smoke, but on him it smells good. you almost tell him that, but instead bite down on your lip and keep your comment at bay, nerves getting the best of you as you nearly choke on the possibility that your feelings won’t be reciprocated.

another time, maybe. cheeks flushed, you turn your face to look elsewhere. although, you wonder if there ever will be another time. with him, you never know.

he’s still trying to figure you out and why he feels a different sort of calm around you; it’s alarming and new, drumming up an irrational fear within him. he doesn’t think he’s deserving of your attention or affection, and he’s convinced himself that you don’t harbor any romantic feelings for him. and why would you?

one by one, his thoughts pummel into him, acerbic and overwhelming. he exhales a sliver of smoke and puts the cigarette out. he gives you a quick, apologetic look before telling you goodnight, the smile on his face is melancholic and barely existent. you don’t dare say a word, keep your lips pressed together stubbornly; exasperated and dejected, you don’t know what’s worse — his inability to lower his guard around you for longer than ten minutes, or your inability to stop yourself from trying to carve pieces of yourself to give to him.

maybe if you helped him fill the gaping holes in his heart, he’d truly understand how you feel.

STEP 04:

if you had to do it all over again, would you do anything differently? —

sleep evades you after that night, and the night after that, and so forth; it gets so bad that you’re yawning in the middle of the day, falling asleep before you can have a cup of coffee or tea. this does not go unnoticed by the others, and after talking with nami, you feel less out of your element and finally can see the parts of sanji that he wants to keep hidden. her advice is simple: approach slowly and with intent; corner him and don’t let him escape.

you bide your time, full confident that you can find a moment to sit down with him and talk this all out. it doesn’t come easy, but franky mysteriously swaps sanji for the night’s watch — something that should strike you as odd, but it’s a small opening that you take without thinking as you hurriedly climb up to the crow’s nest with a renewed sort of energy.

even with his eyes closed, as he sits lazily on the bench with head tilted back against the wall, he knows it’s you.

“go back to bed,” he says firmly, refusing to look at you.

your stubbornness, unfortunately, wins out. “i’m staying.” at that he sits up, his attention completely on you as his eyes widen at your words. he wants to ask you why, but cowardice wins out — again. as his features soften, a flush crawls along his face, lightly painting his cheeks pink. he closes his eyes again, tries to steady his breathing as he counts backwards, only for his efforts to be obliterated with ease the moment you sit next to him.

as your thigh presses against his, you take his hand and on impulse you trace your fingertip along the lines on his palm. he watches you with a morbid fascination that scares him; but then you start to say things like, “you will live a very long life,” and “you are courageous, and you have a big heart.”

a small part of him wants to pull his hand away, so you won’t say anything else — but he remains put, so still that you almost think he’s stopped breathing. your voice is sweet and disarming, even when you carry on this charade of reading his palm. a belated realization hits him forcefully, making him blink several times; it dawns on him that you’ve always been so kind and gentle with him, even when you teased him. he’s spent all this time overthinking and hiding behind his past, that it never occurred to him that he could have simply let you in. you’ve never given him reason to believe that you’d betray or harm him intentionally.

he takes a deep breath, voice a little uneven, “i—”

you lean in close, adoration dripping onto your words as you interrupt him. “hey, have i told you?” the question glides along his skin, the words seeping into him as you continue, the lilt in your voice a honeyed, melodic spell. “you remind me of starlight and the mysteries of space.” your lips brush against his when you tell him that, and a warmth settles into the middle of his chest, makes it hard to focus. he doesn’t think when he curls his fingers around yours and doesn’t think when heleans down to kiss you — tender yet electrifying all the same.

the move disarms you in a way that doesn’t quite make sense to you, so you simply hum in approval and lean your head against his shoulder. a comfortable silence settles around you both, but you don’t mind that at all; it’s nice, not having to tip-toe around him anymore, and the demons that plagued him for so long don’t seem so intimidating with you by his side.

[soleilnomoon]

hiii may i request cotton candy, frozen yogurt, lemondrop, donut hole, and cream puff with whipped cream and caramel as toppings? for law from one piece, tyia i love your works! 🫶

hello, hello ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა thank you for reading my work 💛💕and ty for your patience! i had a lot of fun with this one, bc i love seeing law suffer <3

2.1k, gn reader (no pronouns), nsfw, 18+, mdni; tiny bit of angst, there's fluff somewhere i promise, & smut. law is a lil needy & sees the light™ & reader likes to ignore their feelings abt things; feat. only one bed trope, oral (m receiving), mutual pining, all that good stuff. they're both stubborn af tbh.

despite not actually caring about the matter, despite feeling a little relieved that you came to him for help, he still manages to grit out, “please explain to me why any of this is my problem?”

if looks could kill, trafalgar law would’ve been six feet under since the moment he found you making coffee in the kitchen. you glance over your shoulder once, shoot him a look that tells him he should stop talking, like, right now, and continue to keep your back turned to him. you bravely ignore the inclination to go back and forth with him, and butter your toast quietly, hoping he’ll stop pestering you long enough to finish your breakfast.

“i could just set up a cot for you in the hallway and call it a day.” his suggestion is ludicrous, and he knows it; he simply wants to see your reaction, a deep-seated desire to see the crack in your facade finally resurface after many, many weeks. you’re quite good at that, at masking your emotions — possibly even better than him — but it’s a difficult task, one that you struggle with daily. there are moments when he is genuinely sweet — they’re rare, but they exist; and there are moments where you want to rip his head off and yell until your face turns red (and it won’t, not really).

a huff glides out of your mouth and you turn around to face him properly. “you will not,” you say confidently as he sits languidly in a chair, legs spread wide, as if he has all the time in the world to talk to you. “also stop trying to piss me off, i know what you’re doing. it won’t work.” you’re very certain about that, actually; you raise a brow at him, as if you’re daring him to contradict your statement. “we need the extra room, besides you barely sleep as is, you won’t miss your bed at all.” it’s really because law is particular about who occupies his space; and since the polar tang is housing some unexpected guests — castaways that needed safe harbor to the nearest island — you volunteer for them to use your room temporarily. which means you need somewhere to stay.

no one else has the audacity to volunteer to room with their captain, but you’re a little different than the rest, aren’t you? he enjoys your presence more than he lets on, likes hearing you talk about nonsensical things like dreams and desires, likes the way you’re easily riled up — and he doesn’t actively try to do it on purpose, not really, anyway. you boldly told the others that you’d just sleep in your captain’s room, since he barely uses the bed as is. the others shared looks with one another, ones where they tried to contain their i told you so expressions. you ignore that and the way your face heats up at their insolence and move some of your things into law’s room for the time being.

law holes up in his office for most of the day, going on his third day of not sleeping, and while he knows it’s not practical to stay up like that, he can’t help himself. eventually, fatigue does find him, grips him by the throat and hauls him over to his room — he doesn’t bother fighting it. freshly showered and too tired to care, he thought you’d be asleep by now, but you’re wide awake. it’s nearly impossible to fall asleep like this — law’s bed is big and wide, leaving you with more space than you know what to do with. it also smells like him. and even though you wish that the scent was unpleasant, you know it’s a fruitless endeavor, because he always smells good. so you sit up when you hear him open the door, mouth hanging open to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.

for some reason, dealing with law during the day is vastly different than dealing with him at night. there’s more intimacy involved with the latter, since your crew mates are asleep or resting somewhere, leaving you to deal with law on your own. wordlessly, he climbs onto the bed with you, opting to lie on his side with his back facing you. despite how tired he is, he also can’t fall asleep just yet. he can tell you’re burning to say something slick, so he beats you to it.

“it’s really not a big deal,” he says with a yawn before rolling onto his back. “the bed’s big enough for both of us.” he closes his eyes, determined to use whatever remaining energy he has to will himself to sleep. your presence is overwhelming, though, a heat rippling underneath his skin, making him clench his jaw to dismiss those feelings — the ones where he wants to pull you on top of him and hold you close. your eyes never leave his face and instead of fight him on it, a sigh coasts out of your mouth — resigned, yet a bit hopeful.

he glances at you suddenly, startling you out of your thoughts; your heart racing as you swallow back your bravery and scoot back a bit. “w-what?” you ask, hands clutching one of the pillows in front of you — as if it can protect you from whatever he’s preparing to say next.

“you’re looking at me.”

you stare at him wide-eyed, pillow pressed firmly against your body; whatever argument you tried to build quickly shatters the moment his dark amber eyes sweep over you — taking in the thin shirt and shorts you’re wearing — and render your brain absolutely useless. so you blink and blink, hoping to scrape together some words that sound appropriate enough to say.

“they’re my eyes, am i not allowed to?”

you could kick yourself for your foolishness, but instead you toss the pillow at his face when you see that damn trademark smirk of his climb onto his lips. he doesn’t know what possesses him, but he laughs at your antics and, invigorated by your uncanny ability to bring out his playful side, pulls you close. with your chest pressed against his, you inhale deeply and regret it immediately — you’ll never be free of him at the rate you’re going.

“if all you want to do is look, then by all means,” his lips brush against yours as he says that, long limbs tangling with yours when you give in and finally let go. the last time you kissed him, it was in the heat of the moment, and you’d slapped him for it afterward — because you couldn’t handle any of the vulnerability involved. he’d laughed at your reaction, mostly because the slap was harmless, and he barely felt the sting and only laughed again when you ran away. law told himself back then that he’d just wait until you were ready before pouncing again.

this time, however, is different. very, very different.

your tongue flicks against his upper lip, soft enough to make him grab you by the back of your neck and drop heated kisses on your lips. you’re too flustered to function, but you’re cognizant enough to kiss him back, returning each of his heated kisses with needy ones of your own. tongue swirling hotly around his, you roll so you’re on top, teeth nipping his lip as you straddle him. you pull back to look at him, eyelids lowering as you roll your hips and grind down on his growing erection. his hands grip your hips tightly to halt your movements, and you smile down innocently at him.

“you…,” he grits out, breathes through his nostrils, and starts again, “if you like me, you can just say that, y’know.” it’s presumptuous, he knows, but he also knows that if he doesn’t back you into a corner properly, you’ll weasel away quickly. and he can’t have that — not now. an ache bubbles deep inside of you, making your skin feverish, so you buck your hips against his a few times. he stares at you darkly, a forbidden sort of hunger taking hold of his thoughts, and his large hands grab onto your ass firmly, a shudder coursing through you at the contact.

“shut the hell up,” you say in lieu of the confession he failed to drag out of you, “you’re talking way too much right now.” because talking means you’ll fall into a trap and you’re not equipped to fight him just yet. so, you wiggle out of his grasp and pull his underwear off. he props himself up to look at you, almost asking if you’re sure, but ultimately shutting up when you grab his stiff length and slowly drag your tongue along the tip. an involuntary hiss flies out of his mouth, but you’re too preoccupied with tasting him to notice. to say he’s dreamt of this moment would be an understatement; watching you talk, drink, and eat only fueled his fantasies late at night.

not religious by any means, he swears he’s having some sort of a spiritual awakening — or something close to it — when your plush lips wrap around the head of his cock, tongue licking and swirling before you open your mouth more. he lets out a soft, “fuck” and strokes your hair as you take in more of his cock, bobbing up and down, tongue flat against his length. unlike you, when he’s pushed to this point, he can’t control himself or his movements. his hips jut forward and you gag a bit, tears prickling your eyes; you use your hands to stroke and twist around the rest of his length as you hollow your cheeks. your mouth is wet and hot, melting every bit of his resolve, and he understands that he’s placed himself in a predicament that he won’t be free of until you’re good and ready to let him go.

you pull his cock out of your mouth so you can breathe a bit, but you’re quick to suck on the thick head with vigor, enjoying the way his pre-cum drips onto your tongue. “you keep asking me to tell you how i feel,” you say at last, hand caressing his balls before your mouth nips at the skin playfully; his hips buck forward, and he bites down on his fist to stop himself from moaning your name. “but…” you take your time flicking your tongue against the length of his cock, slurping as you take him in your mouth again.  “do you really need me to say it?” your uncanny ability to peel back his layers, should frighten him, but it doesn’t. he grabs onto your hair and you relax your jaw as he pushes his cock further into your mouth; you let him set his own pace this time, his hips roughly thrust his cock inside as he fucks your mouth.

in an attempt to ignore your own arousal, you focus instead on the way his cock hits the back of your throat, the force behind his movements making you sputter and choke. drool slides out of your mouth, saliva running down your chin — he thinks you’re beautiful like that, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, a dazed look in your round eyes. it gets to be a bit too much, a tightening sensation in the pit of his abdomen making him grip your hair harder, knuckles blanching from how tight he’s holding. he inhales sharply as his orgasm carelessly pulses through his body, rendering his body useless, despite the messy way he’s thrusting his hips. you take it, though, endure until he’s satisfied, his cum thick and hot in your mouth. his vision leaves him momentarily, blurring your face as you swallow and lick the remainder of his cum off his cock — dutiful, yet mischievous.

he lets go of your hair once your mouth is off him; you lick your lips and plop down onto the bed beside him. he stays silent for a while, unable to speak; fatigue accompanies his silence, and he runs his hand down his face before rolling over to nestle his head in the crook of your neck. you freeze but inevitably stroke the back of his head, eyes closing as his breathing settles. what he wants to tell you, is that even though he knows how you feel, he’d rather hear you say it instead; but that’s another argument for another day. for now, he’ll just enjoy the taste of sleep — and you’ll continue to lie to yourself, to tell yourself that you didn’t need this as much as he did, that saying certain things means bringing forth truths that you’re determined to keep buried no matter how desperately they want to come out.

[soleilnomoon]

Hiiii!!! I would like to order a caramel with frozen yogurt with an angel food cake roll and the items 10 and 15 from the side menu!! (zoro)

hiii ♡꒰ᵕ༚ᵕ⑅꒱ thank you for being patient, so sorry this took forever! you gave me a good selection so i had a lot of fun with this 😊

2.3k words, gn reader (no pronouns), nsfw, 18+, mdni; angst, fluff if you squint hard, and smut; feat. a bratty and jealous (surprise, surprise) reader; zoro is a menace as usual and his patience has run thin (who could've guessed); there's some cute stuff like only one bed trope (except it's more like they opted to use that bed), fingering, overstimulation, unwarranted jealousy, rough (consensual) sex, a lil bit of bondage, zoro being mean, alcohol, yk romantic shit.

gambling is not your forte, but you do make a risky gamble when you shove the overly friendly, incredibly flirtatious server aside to put distance between her and zoro. he looks at you strangely, brow raised at your suspicious behavior as you grab his arm and try to drag him off with you. the bar is packed, the air sweet, salty, and greasy — but you ignore all the noises and smells, determined to get out so you can lash out at him comfortably. long gone are the days where you have drunk arguments in public, you’ve graduated to fighting indoors now. he left with the bottle of rum and grins slyly as you mutter to yourself under your breath.

“what’s this all about?” he inquires, curiosity eating away at him as you huff again, hand holding onto his tightly. he could stop you, if he wanted — but he doesn’t, instead opting to see just how far your temper tantrum will get you.

“don’t play stupid,” is all you say when you make it back to the ship, footsteps loud as you stomp to your room with him in tow. your anger is unwarranted, but all he does is take another swig from the bottle of rum and laugh when you lock the door behind you. “it’s not funny.” you clench your teeth and grab the bottle from him, drinking deeply from it before placing it on your nightstand. he offers you a lazy shrug in response and takes a seat on the armchair near the window. your crew mates are still partying on the island, so you have no qualms in raising your voice as you speak.

“she was flirting with you,” your words are terse and leave very little room for discussion. he tilts his head back and thinks back to the conversation; he wouldn’t say she was flirting per se, but she was friendlier with him than she was with everyone else. he didn’t think much of it at the time, but since he knows how you get, it was only a matter of time before you concocted some sort of dramatic tale in your mind — he swears those romance novels will be your downfall, if you’re not careful.

zoro closes his eye and considers your words once again.

“she was being nice,” he says casually, not bothering to fight because you’re overreacting and he doesn’t have the energy to deal with it. “stop getting worked up over stupid things.”

you glance at him sharply, brows furrowed as his words glide down your skin and suffocate you slowly. “if you acted like you were in a relationship then maybe she wouldn’t have been ‘so nice’.” you stand in front of the chair, anger wafting off of you, dangerous small waves that knock into him repeatedly.

he grins and pulls you onto his lap. “your jealousy is cute,” he says in between littering kisses along your jaw, “unnecessary, but cute.” your face heats up at his strange compliment, so he takes the opportunity to trap your bottom lip between his teeth — tugging and sucking playfully. you squirm, a deep shudder making you cling onto him as you roll your hips against his.

“i’m serious,” a sigh drifts out of your mouth as he presses a lingering kiss on the base of your throat, “i’m mad at you.” he leaves a few more kisses behind — each one more dizzying than the last, your sighs and whimpers encouraging him to bite you — and even though you insist that you’re still mad, you somehow find yourself brushing your lips against his in the end. despite having zoro to yourself, jealousy still sits on your chest, drowning out common sense, making you say things that you don’t necessarily mean — like, why don’t you go back to her? and are you sure you want to be with someone like me?

it’s not for a lack of confidence on your part, but that little green monster drags its claws up your back, wraps them tight around your neck, watching you choke and stumble over your words as you try to explain yourself. zoro drops a kiss on your lips before flicking your forehead with his fingers.

“stop stressing over the small stuff,” he says quietly, annoyance coloring his words, making him get off the chair and carry you to your bed. “i’m tired of hearing you complain about the same shit.” his frank manner of speaking is part of why you fell in love with him in the first place, but what you enjoy the most is when his irritation reaches a boiling point and he has no choice but to act. he tosses you onto the bed and you scramble around, trying to get your bearings as he pulls his shirt off.

moonlight filters into the room, casting additional shadows as he leans forward and crowds your space. the light makes it easy to make out the sharp dips and curves of his muscles, which is why you reach a hand out, drag your fingers along the skin, enjoy the way he inhales at your touch — a spirit determined to haunt him for the duration of the night; moored and restless.

“why are you still dressed?” it’s a command moonlighting as a question — zoro reigns supreme at phrasing things in a way that don’t overtly feel stern, but you know if you don’t comply he’ll concoct a creative punishment for you. it’s tempting enough that you want to keep being difficult, but the fierce look in his eye makes you swallow hard and take your clothes off slowly — to whet his appetite. you open your mouth to let him know how unfair it is that you’re naked and he’s not, but he grabs your neck and rubs his thumb against your skin — almost as if he’s daring you to say something else. the words somehow vanish and all that’s left behind is a small squeak that makes him chuckle darkly.

“that’s what i thought,” his voice is low and husky, almost as if his words are an afterthought. “you get so damn jealous and for what?” he releases his hold and motions for you to move to the center of the bed.

it’s really the rum that has him in a somewhat decent mood, or else your stunt at the pub would infuriate him completely. so, naturally, he believes it’s time to remind you that your jealousy will always be misplaced, no matter what. and while his annoyance might peak every now and then the more he thinks about it, he also can’t deny his arousal. seeing you riled up like that, ready to fight the world for something so simple and petty, has his cock hard and heavy, the fabric of his pants stretched tight around his bulge. you’re an odd pair, to say the least — but the push and pull is what keeps you two together.

besides, if there is one person he’ll willingly allow to annoy him — even more than the rest of your crew mates — it’s you; always, always you.

in hindsight, you fucked up. you should’ve kept your feelings at bay, shouldn’t have shoved the poor server, and shouldn’t have dragged zoro away from the festivities to try and pick a fight. you think about this as you tug on your hands and struggle to move; the rope digs into your wrists and no matter how much you squirm, zoro hovers over you, amusement etched over his features. your hands are tied to the headboard, and despite knowing the outcome you still pull at the restraints, panting lightly as you look up at him.

“okay, okay,” you start, lower lip jutting out so you can pout, “i’m sorry, i overreacted just a bit.” eyebrow quirked, zoro peers at your face, hawkish gaze making your guilt drag the truth out of you finally. “well, maybe not a bit. i overreacted a lot, okay? i know.” there’s no real use in pleading your case, zoro’s already made up his mind.

“so?”

his blasé attitude pisses you off, and the look on your face is priceless — even more so with the way you’re still struggling with the restraints. “what do you mean ‘so’?” he’s long shed the rest of his clothes, and you feel his cock against your skin as he cages his arms around you. he lowers his mouth to your heaving chest, body feverish once his teeth graze your skin. you know better than to keep your mouth shut at this point, but you do it anyway, hips bucking when he swirls his tongue around your hard nipples.

“i mean what i mean,” he says in between licking and sucking, already leaving behind several marks that will likely bruise later, ones that have you whimpering relentlessly — the noise trapped in your mouth as your body continues to betray you. “and you’re not that sorry,” he adds as he pushes your legs apart, “but that’s okay.” because there were plenty of times he’s half-assed apologies for various things, so he can’t really blame you — but, if he doesn’t temper that attitude of yours, you’ll just explode even more the next time.

his fingers move in between your thighs — that ache growing strong and throbbing in a way that has you trembling — stroking deftly as your back arches off the bed. he slips a finger inside of you, enjoying the way you clench around him needily; it’s when he pumps his finger in and out, movements lazy and slow, that you finally cry out. frustrated and more aroused than you thought you’d be, you roll your hips forward to try and get him to move faster. but he doesn’t. zoro eyes you warily, and you settle down. you know what he’s going to do — he’ll edge you until you’re in tears begging — and while you’re annoyed at yourself for getting to this point, you’re also excited for the prospect of zoro fucking you senselessly.

he swaps his finger for his tongue, flicking and swirling around, your core aching and throbbing; you thrash under his hold when he inserts another finger, increasing his pace as he stretches you further. while he’d love to drag things out, he knows that he’s barely holding on, his cock twitching slightly, his need to be inside you steadily clouds his need to teach you a lesson. meanwhile, you’re already gasping and moaning as zoro plunges his fingers in deeper, thighs trembling as you try to keep up with his pace.

“zoro, please, please,” you lick your lips, face heating as you muster the courage to beg without crying; a familiar heat licks around your abdomen, spreading throughout your body quickly. “fuck, please i’m sorry!” tears manage to spill and he tilts his head at you. “just…please, i can’t take it anymore. i need you to fuck me.” and fast. his smirk is inevitable, but he does remove his fingers and teases your entrance — tender and sensitive — with the tip of his cock. you swear that if you make it out of this alive, you’ll turn over a new leaf. you let out a shaky breath as he inches inside of you, his girth stretching you further — a bit of pain to go with the pleasure, you remind yourself. he grabs one of your legs and drapes it over his shoulder, pausing momentarily so you can adjust properly; he snaps his hips against yours hard, burrowing his cock inside, groaning at how tight you are.

you doubt you’ll ever get used to the way he fucks you, which is a good thing in your book. zoro pulls back only to slam his cock back inside of you, your moans building in volume with each thrust of his hips. he presses a kiss on the inner part of your leg, right near your knee, the tenderness a sheer contrast from the way you buck against him, his powerful strokes nearly incapacitating you. he leans forward, cock disappearing inside of you completely, and kisses you — it’s all teeth and tongue, sloppy in a way that makes you moan his name pitifully against his lips. you’re more than lost, but he anchors you by trailing kisses along your jaw, licking down the length of your neck, bringing you higher and higher.

nails sinking into your palms, you feel yourself lose momentum, eyes rolling back as you wrap your legs around him and keep him close to you. he knows it means you’re teetering on the edge, orgasm just out of your reach — and while he should pull out, let you lay there for the rest of the night to reflect on your behavior, he doesn’t. mostly because he’s too far gone to keep up the charade, and because each time you call out his name, it stokes a small warmth that flutters around his chest. your muscles tense just as your plush walls squeeze around his length; your heart beats wildly, making you swallow back your moan, hips jerking forward to meet his brutal thrusts.

your orgasm seemingly comes out of nowhere, arousal spilling down your thighs, legs limp and useless — but despite all of that, zoro’s cock reaches a spot that’s deep enough to make your vision blur. his moans ripple along your skin, and his thrusts lose their rhythm as he cums inside of you. panting lightly, he grinds his hips against yours before pulling out. he unties your hands and gently kisses your wrists, almost as if he’s apologetic for keeping you like that. you shiver and pull him down for another kiss — it’s warm and tender, which is how zoro really knows that you’re sorry. still, you did learn your lesson — that acting bratty in front of a tipsy zoro will inevitably lead to your downfall. and, if anyone were to ask, you’d happily say that you’ll go down that path any day of the week.

[soleilnomoon]

could i also order a mocha latte with a chocolate (carmel) mousse with some poppy seeds! he/him ftm with eren pls💖

૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა ty for your patience, this was a lil labor of love. also i love a good fake dating trope!! and eren, i love him sfm (obvy but yk) 💗💗it's probably more angst than necessary but that's just how i live my life.

2.8k words, ftm reader (he/him pronouns), nsfw, 18+ mdni; hurt/comfort, angst~, smut obvy, some fluff if you squint real hard; modern au feat. fake dating/marriage of convenience, arranged marriage, eren living in denial bc that's what he does best, fingering, a lil bit of tlc on eren's part (shocker), mutual (unrequited) pining. reader is better than me bc i'd never have that much restraint but that's just bc i'm weak (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝); both of them need to get it together *washes hands* (if u see spelling/grammar mistakes, no u didn't (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝))

“i pray you do not fall in love with me, for i am falser than vows made in wine.” — william shakespeare

HORS D’OEUVRE

you remind yourself, for the twentieth time this week, that it’s simply business.

as your parents’ only child, it only made sense that they’d try to marry you off to the highest bidder — the business world is all about making meaningful connections, and you know that better than most. marriage was never something that you envisioned for yourself, but your parents rarely ever demanded anything from you, so the least you could do was adhere to their wishes.

and if you knew your husband-to-be would be this standoffish and hard to read, you might not have agreed — it’s a lie that you like to tell yourself, because it makes it easier to deal with his constant rejection. still, you did sign a contract — one he drafted outside of his parents’ prying eyes, one that he had you sign secretly; that you both agreed to one full year of marriage for appearances, that you refrain from interfering with one another’s private lives, and that you’d never fall in love.

you didn’t think much of it at the time, because there was no way in hell that you would fall in love with a man like eren jaeger. not when he looked at you like you were a nuisance that he was forced to deal with; not when he was so stiff and curt with you whenever you tried to drum up conversation; not when he barely sat for meals with you; and not when he refused to share a bedroom with you after you moved in together.

still, you hold your head up high, determined to see things through; the sooner this sham of a marriage was over, the better.

and eren was of the same mindset.

he argued with his parents until he was so fed up that he had to leave for a few days to calm down; an arranged marriage was always in his future, he just didn’t think it’d happen so soon. maybe it’s because his parents were tired of seeing him galivant with a different partner each week — maybe because the image of their company desperately needed a more family-oriented look (to draw in the masses, of course).

or maybe they wanted to punish him for being impulsive and hard-headed, for not wanting to take the path that was neatly laid out for him, and for simply rejecting the last twenty marriage candidates they presented to him over the past few years.

so, imagine their surprise when eren agreed to marry you — someone who kept to themselves, who didn’t cause trouble for their family, who seemingly looked obedient to the point that it made him sick. he figured the best way for him to live his life would be to use you as a cover up; you didn’t look like the type to complain, nor did you look particularly interested in getting married either.

it was the perfect solution to his problem, and it didn’t hurt that he found you attractive, too. not that he was going to tell you that just yet.

APPETIZER

despite how terrible his personality is, you can’t deny that your husband is handsome. you catch yourself staring at his profile while you wash dishes in the kitchen, eyes lingering on the shape of his jaw as you scrub the same plate over and over. he’s on the phone again, arguing with one of his friends — jean, maybe? — so you’re safe to admire him from afar, like you’ve always done. you try not to do it too openly because he tends to act smug when his ego is stroked, and you don’t have the capacity to deal with that just yet.

but also, more importantly, because you don’t ever want him to know that you’d give anything for him to come over and—

“i don’t care,” eren says loudly, his voice echoing from the adjacent hallway as he paces around. the noise startles you, so you turn to focus on the dishes before sneaking a glance at him again.

eren turns when he feels your eyes on him, and you don’t have a chance to look away fast enough. his eyes are a startling shade of green that matches his intense and audacious personality; you grip the wine glass in your hand a little too hard as he watches you. curiosity at your behavior makes him narrow his eyes and you assume he’s annoyed with you again. except, that’s not true at all.

he’s mostly annoyed with himself.

the marriage, in theory works just fine — he just did not consider the possibility of him developing feelings for you, not after being together for six months already. he finds every excuse to not touch you; barely looking your way in the mornings and evenings — the only time he even shows a modicum of interest is whenever you’re both whisked away to events that require both of you to be in attendance.

it’s out of duty that you comply, but you find it harder and harder as time goes on.

the first time eren kissed you was after you exchanged wedding vows — his lips were much softer than you thought they’d be, and while he’d only intended to give you a quick peck, he’d become entirely too immersed. you’d always found yourself disappointed with past partners because of the way they’d kissed, but eren truly made you feel like you would float for eternity. his hand was warm against the back of your neck, and you thought your heart would shoot out of your chest when his tongue brushed against your lips.

even though your lips parted immediately, eren remembered himself and refused to let himself get carried away. you were a little disappointed when he pulled away, but when you looked up at him you noticed the faint flush on his cheeks. you smiled to yourself, committing the sight to memory — which would become your anchor afterward — and genuinely enjoyed his presence throughout the rest of the evening.

where he was usually gruff and blasé, he’d suddenly become the perfect, loving groom. it unnerved and confused you; he was very adamant about keeping this as superficial as possible.

you wondered if it was part of the act? but if that was the case, why wouldn’t he mention before so you wouldn’t get so caught off guard. it made you skittish whenever his hand brushed against yours, whenever he offered you secret smiles and prolonged looks, and whenever he leaned down to whisper words of encouragement when it seemed like your anxiety over the whole affair was eating you alive.

it helped ground you but did nothing to stop your heart from beating rapidly when the realization set that you were married to him.

but by the time you got into the car to head back home, he sat as far away from you as possible, his posture stiff, expression unreadable. he’d gone from sociable and charming, to his usual petty self.

incredible.

“it’s just business,” he said out loud; you wanted to ask if those words were meant for you, or if they were meant for him. the question never leaves your mouth; you swallow back the rejection as best as you can, steel your features, stare out the window and remind yourself that falling in love with eren jaeger would be your downfall.

ENTRÉE / MAIN COURSE

after that, he makes it a point to only touch you out of necessity; he figures it’s the most logical and diplomatic solution to his problem. jean continues jabbering in his ear about nonsense, and he leans against the kitchen island, eyes tracing down the length of your neck and the slender shape of your shoulders. he really should take his conversation elsewhere, but he’s a masochist without meaning to be.

“uh huh,” he says noncommittally, a heat passing through him the moment you glance his way again — again, you’re doing that thing where you act as if you’ve been caught red-handed, like some doe-eyed deer in the middle of the night. and maybe you are, or maybe it’s all an act.

little does he know, you’re much too aware of his presence now, and your hand slips when you grab a plate and it shatters in the sink.

“damn it,” you say loudly and start to pick up the large pieces without thinking; you cut your hand and try to clean out the wound as best as you can. eren hangs up the phone in the middle of the conversation to make his way over to you; the scent of his cologne suffocates you in the best way, and when you turn and offer a small smile so you can rebuff his offer to help, you hesitate.

“let me see,” he demands, “don’t even think about arguing.” he casts you a sharp glass, one that tells you to behave, and for some reason, you find yourself wondering what would happen if you didn’t follow that command. but eren’s already grabbing onto your wrist and inspecting your palm carefully, long fingers gliding along your skin softly, making you a little dizzy. goosebumps prick your skin down your arms when he drags you to the bathroom so he can properly dress the wound.

you don’t know what to make of any of this; the questions pummel through your throat, bouncing around your mouth, desperate to escape. you never let them, though, and swallow them back with as much patience as you can muster.

“hop on the counter.” he lets go of your hand and rummages through the cabinet; surely, he’s joking, and you stand there stupidly, blinking at him, not moving an inch.

he grabs the first aid kit and narrows his eyes at you, the look he gives you is disarming and he steps close enough to place his hands on either side of you, gripping the counter tightly. “that wasn’t a request, you know.” your skin burns fiercely, and suddenly it’s hard to swallow; you do your best to hop on top of the counter in the minimal amount of space he allows you.

unfortunately for you, he does not let up. eren takes his time cleaning the wound properly before applying some ointment and wrapping it. he holds your hand much more delicately than you’re used to. you watch him, wide-eyed, breathing unevenly as you contemplate how to proceed with this man. for all the bullshit he puts you through, you know he’s lying to himself about his feelings towards you.

especially when he keeps looking at you tenderly, but also with slight annoyance — like he can’t figure out what to do with you yet. on impulse, he leans forward, lips brushing against yours and he knows that if he kisses you, there’s no turning back. you don’t make it any easier for him when you allow him to stand in between your legs, his hands gripping your hips and causing our mind to go blank.

you let out a soft noise, one that nearly incapacitates him; his cock strains at the front of his pants, making everything that much more difficult to deal with.

he knows he should leave, but he can’t — not yet, anyway. it’s eren who grabs the back of your neck and holds you steady as he kisses you, mouth moving against yours agonizingly slow, tongue gliding into your mouth with familiarity. the kiss leaves you both breathless, but it doesn’t stop him from kissing you again, nor does it stop you from helping him unzip and tug his pants and underwear down. his cock is smooth and heavy when you stroke it with your uninjured hand; the kisses transform into something feverish and frenetic, your skin warming significantly when you feel his hips jerk forward the faster your hand moves.

pre-cum slides down his tip, a welcomed sight in your book. you smile against his lips when his patience wears thin — he tugs on your clothes to strip you bare, and you do the same for him. you wrap our legs around him, hold him close to kiss him one more time — mind a muddled mess the moment his fingers enter you, scissoring around, pumping in and out lazily. you moan against his lips, hips rolling forward as your nails drag along his skin.

after plucking his fingers out of you, he rubs the head of his cock against your needy entrance, a shiver crawling through you at the sensation. you whine and fuss, telling him to hurry up.

he tsks quietly and shoots you a mischievous look, one that makes you nervous in a good way. there’s nothing soft or gentle about the way eren fucks you; but every time he does, it becomes much more intimate in its own way. you both knock things off of the counter, his cock sliding in and out of you, lips dragging along your throat, littering your skin with kisses and bite marks.

you clench around him desperately and he angles his hips to power into you faster and deeper. you moan his name so loud it only makes him want to fuck you harder; so he does. he’s not sure if it’s his heart or yours — or maybe both? — that beats loud enough to make him wonder if any of this is real. you’d say yes, if he ever had the courage to ask — but, as usual, his cowardice somehow wins out.

still, you can’t really complain; not when he keeps whispering in your ear, giving you the sort of praise that makes your toes curl. when you wrap your legs around him, hold him closer to you, he gives you short, brutal strokes, hips knocking into yours roughly.

it’s then that you really scream for him, and his lips find yours again as a lightheaded feeling takes over your entire body. you both cum simultaneously, a feat that surprises him; he rolls his hips lazily, cock sliding in and out of you for a little while longer until you both can’t take it. he doesn’t pull out right away and allows you to rest your forehead against his chest; a faint sheen of sweat coats your skin, but he holds onto you anyway.

when you place a soft, chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth, he realizes he’s in too deep. he pulls away suddenly and is already putting up his walls again.

with great difficulty, you climb down and reach for him, but he evades your touch and grabs his clothes so he can put them back on.

DESSERT

panic settles in your chest, the sinking realization that he’s going to run away from you again makes you clean up quickly so you can follow after him. he knows you won’t let this go, so he decides to cut to the chase. eren faces you and with a stern, severe expression, he says, “i can’t do this right now.” and he really can’t — or, rather, doesn’t want to.

to him, that’s the end of the discussion, but you’re so damn persistent — something that both was admirable and obnoxious to him — and stop him again.

“no,” you say firmly, which surprises him, “yes the fuck you can. we’re doing this right damn now.” you leave very little room for argument, so he relents; maybe if he lets you talk at him for a bit, you’ll drop this.

“what is it?”

your bravado slips but you still hold strong. “eren, we can’t keep…,” you trail off, lips pursed as you try to find the best way to say this, “i mean you can’t keep stringing me along like that.” you had feelings and a fragile heart, one that you willingly give to him over and over. his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he mulls over your words. “what are you so afraid of?”

he almost blurts out the truth, but instead balls his hands into fists at his side and attempts nonchalance again.

you won’t let up, though and poke at his chest with your finger. “i never pegged you for a coward,” you say harshly, which gives him pause. “i’m not going to have a half-assed relationship with you, i deserve more than that.”

he doesn’t speak for a long moment, the silence choking you, making you want to hide under your covers for the rest of the day; but then the strangest thing happens. resigned and wholly captivated by you, eren sighs and pulls you close to him. it’s an embrace that makes you question his motives, but his lips ghost along the curve of your ear and you can feel your heart pummeling against your rib cage. you will it to keep quiet, but it never slows. despite trying your best to remain calm and patient, you wish eren would hurry up and give you his answer, and before you can pester him about it again, his arms wrap around you and he whispers, “okay.”

[soleilnomoon]

Hhhhhhhooooooowwwww am I only just now seeing this???????? Like, holy shit, congratulations on reaching 500, oh my god that’s a lot! 👏👏👏👏👏🎊🎊🎊🎉🥳

I’d love to put in an order please, I would like a topping of whipped cream and caramel, from the menu options can I please have 1, 4, 8 and 44 and from the secret menu can I get 1 (Eustass Kid I’ve been soft yet feral for this man lately and there’s not enough fluffy smut of him to sustain me)

And again, congratulations!

hiiii (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ thank you so much omg it's pretty wild i still can't believe it myself lmaooo i am so glad you asked for kid i love him, he's so grumpy 😭🥰️ also i'm terrible at fluff so hopefully this was fluffy enough for you 😊 (also ty for being patient!! 💛)

1.9k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+, mdni; there's fluff if you ignore all the nonsense he does towards the end, a pinch of angst (i'm a sucker, i can't help it) but nothing wild, kid is bad with feelings, and reader isn't any better 💛; feat. a bit of brattiness, a bit of bruising, kid's a menace & a tiny bit mean, but nothing reader can't handle (obvy). (if u see spelling/grammar mistakes no u didn't 😌)

“whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” — emily brontë

gray, puffy clouds float aimlessly across the sky, blotting out the faint orange and yellow light surrounding the slow-moving sun. the air is sticky and moist from the storm last night. with the way the wind is blowing — furious, as if it has a point to prove — coercing the already jaded sea to beat against the victoria punk mercilessly; its waves are persistent, heavy fists that are seemingly more ferocious than they really are.

eustass kid ignores all of that; he ignores the ominous and foreboding winds, ignores the incredulous look you give him when he insists on continuing with his meal, and ignores your protests when you squeal after he pulls the thick blanket off of you.

slinging your arms around his neck, you try to siphon some of the warmth radiating from his body. “you’re impossible,” you murmur in between sleepy kisses, your lips moving against his softly and tenderly, while also somehow manages to give him a burst of energy.

“i thought you were ‘fearless’,” he says mockingly, lips twisting into a sly grin, one that drives you to smack his chest playfully as you roll your eyes. “you can’t tap out now, i’m hungry.”

if you had the energy to fight him, you really would; but kid has a tendency to take all of your snark and sharp words as foreplay, which is exactly how you ended up in his bed last night. an unnecessary argument over a spilled drink and a broken plate — one where he kept goading and baiting, where you fell into his trap without question — that resulted in heated kisses, hurried hands tugging on your clothes clumsily until kid got fed up and ripped them in half. with a flushed face and heaving chest, you called him a beast; he laughed in response, his voice low and husky, as he bent you over his bed and fucked you.

“incredible. absolutely unbelievable.” your words don’t phase him — not that you need them to, you just want him to know that that’s how you feel. “you should probably see a doctor for your condition, y’know.” you sit up and eye him warily, your gaze drifting lower as you take in his erection. “all that vitality can’t be healthy.” it’s a joke that you throw at him from time to time, but sometimes you do wonder how a man like him has that much stamina.

“like i said before,” he reminds you as patiently as he can, his hand grabbing your face to pull you close again, “i’m hungry.” except this sort of hunger has kept him up late at night, where all he can do is angrily fist his cock to keep himself from waking you up again.

you squirm a bit, face heating at  his unspoken words — ones that sit heavily between you — goosebumps crawling down your arms as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip. he tugs on your lip playfully, eyelids lowering, voice terribly hypnotic when he speaks again.

“open your mouth.”

it’s not so much of a command as it is a friendly suggestion — but you know better. you let out a soft sigh when your lips finally part and he slides two fingers in your mouth; instinctively, you begin to suck, tongue running flat against their length before you take them in deeper. he’s always very impressed with your skill, with the way you treat his fingers with the same way you handle his cock — graceful movements, soft lips, a very willing mouth and tongue. if he died now, he certainly would do so with a stupid grin on his face.

he hates it, so fucking much.

“enough,” he manages to let out as he reluctantly plucks his fingers away from your beguiling mouth. you look at him curiously even as you hitch your leg around his hip, rubbing against his cock greedily.

“hurry up then.” it’s not in your nature to be openly needy, but lately he’s had you under a spell of sorts, one that coils itself around your body, suffocating any logic that dares to enter your mind. kid lets out a quiet groan when you roll on top of him and grind your hips against his; eager, greedy, but he likes it. even says as much when he slaps your ass and tells you to move faster.

whatever fatigue that cloaked itself around you earlier has disappeared entirely; all you can think about is having him inside you all over again. your pussy glides along his length with ease, your arousal dripping onto him as he bucks his hips up against yours.

“kid,” you whine hopelessly, pausing your movements to look at him — so pretty and so pitiful — blinking as you bite down on your lip. if his pride didn’t continuously get in the way, he’d tell you that you look cute like that, face flushed, lips swollen from kissing him repeatedly. “help me out,” you say softly, nails gently raking down his skin.

you know he’s only doing this to tease you, but you really can’t handle any of that right now. “please,” you add in the end, annoyed with the smug look he’s sporting as he places a hand on your hip.

“now you want my help? i’m touched.” he’s going to milk this for as long as he can, especially when he rubs the thick head of his cock against your folds, earning him a series of soft whimpers from you. “i like seeing you like this,” he says for the fourth time in twenty-four hours; what he means is, he likes when you have to rely on him, likes when you’re so hopelessly drawn to his body, likes when you’re as obsessed with him as he is with you.

telling him off is the last thing on your mind when you finally sink down onto his cock, his girth every bit as imposing as it was hours ago. his grip tightens, more than likely you’ll bruise later on, but it doesn’t matter. you’re too focused on regulating your breathing as you relax, not wanting to overwhelm yourself before anything can happen. similarly, he’s also telling himself to relax, to not act as crudely as his impulses are telling him to act. he lets you take the lead, tucking an arm behind his head, as he watches you ride him.

you move your hips slowly, rolling and grinding until you find a pace you’re comfortable with. your thighs tremble and you breathe shallowly, an ache building in your abdomen, encouraging you to increase your pace. it’s his fault, but you’re the one doing the work; that smug attitude never leaves him, he enjoys seeing you struggle to take him, each roll of your hips more labored than the last.

“c’mon,” he says, orange eyes — sharp and wolfish — landing on yours, making you swallow back whatever retort you had for him. “i know you can do better than that.”

it’s not for lack of trying on your part, you’re just tired and he knows that, but that’s a you problem in his book. and, because you’re feeling bratty, you clench around his hardened length, enjoying the way his face contorts as he fights back a moan. it’s precisely that bratty attitude that he wants to fuck out of you.

your pussy is warm and tight, much more captivating than his hand could ever be, when his grip on your hip tightens, hips snapping upward as he plunges his cock into you deeply.

“don’t complain,” he says in warning, but he knows you won’t, not when he’s rolling so you’re beneath him, pulling out just so he can slam back into you again.

normally, you’d be a little more mindful about keeping your voice down, but you can’t do that when kid gives you brutal strokes like that, your cunt squeezing around him tight enough to put him into a frenzy.  his lips are on your neck as soon as you wrap your legs around him, holding him close; he bites you several times over, licking and kissing each spot as he powers into you relentlessly. he’d meant to take it easy, to let you have your way, but you were taking too damn long, and he knows that eventually the rest of the crew will wake, and he doesn’t want to deal with their incessant comments about how in love he is with you.

they’re liars, that’s what he tells himself; it’s what he keeps telling himself when you sigh in pleasure, breasts bouncing as you gladly take his rough thrusts, enjoying the way his cock fills your pussy and the way his balls slap against your ass.

his name falls off of your lips in a chant that increases in tempo and pitch, voice strained as his hips jerks against yours. he’s annoyed with how much he likes seeing your flushed skin — soft and supple, neck and chest littered with marks courtesy of one insatiable eustass kid — and how much he enjoys the way you arch into him when he leans down to kiss you.

your heart is at capacity, you fear — especially because he takes his time kissing you, tongue gliding into your mouth without prompting, sloppily swallowing your gasps and moans, hips knocking against yours as his strokes get shorter and harder. your fingers thread through his hair, tugging on the strands roughly as he chuckles against your lips, the vibrations rippling down your body as a tremor takes over.

because he’s such a generous and kind person, he grabs onto your legs and drapes them over his shoulders as he leans forward, his cock reaching a spot so deep that you start telling him irresponsible things like, i love you and don’t stop, don’t ever stop. it messes with his head, so he tries not to think about it — tries not to think about the way you look at him, as if you actually mean those words. a traitorous flush crawls onto his cheeks and ears; he ignores that too.

instead, kid focuses on the lewd noises that your pussy makes each time he pounds into you; it echoes around the room, the headrest bumping against the wall as kid fucks you remorselessly. again, he marvels at your tenacity, at your soft smiles and breathy moans, finding himself more and more entranced the longer his cock stays inside of you.

kid, quite literally, fucks you senseless; so much that when your orgasm approaches, you hardly see it coming. as your pussy clamps down mercilessly around his cock, you buck your hips wildly, a few tears spilling onto your cheeks, ones that he licks away before kissing you again, his own orgasm finding him shortly after. while he likes pulling out and cumming on various parts of your body, he doesn’t this time; he’s not sure what compels him — although, he’ll somehow find a way to blame it on the gloomy weather — but as his hips slow, as both of you attempt to catch your breaths, you drop your legs, and he brushes some of your hair off your face.

your yawn is contagious, and he finds himself yawning too, reluctantly pulling out but not straying far from you when he lays back down on the bed. you curl up against him, fingers tracing shapes on the palm of his hand; he wants to ask why you do that, why you never seem apprehensive about him or about any of this. but if he ever found that courage to ask, you wouldn’t have an answer for him. it just feels… natural to do so, nothing more, nothing less.

you’re completely at ease, and even though he’d rather die than admit any of this, he feels at home whenever you’re by his side.

[soleilnomoon]

CONGRATS ON 555+ FOLLOWERS!! THATS AMAZING!! AND AN OPPORTUNITY TO THROW IN A REQUEST TOO?? DONT MIND IF I DOO~

may I order a caramel mocha latte, with a konpeitō, a lemon drop, and a candy necklace? and maybe a dollop of whipped cream too? the name for the order will be Trafalgar Law from One Piece, please! 👉👈🥹🥰💕✨

omg thank you so much, i really appreciate that 🤭💛💕also thank u for your patience, this was a beast to write - law is impossible and i'm stubborn, but i finished it and survived (i hope u survive too) <3 please enjoy your sugar rush ༺♥༻❀༺♥༻

4.2k words (i know, i know), fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, fluff (somewhere, it's there, believe me), a bit of angst bc i'm a sucker for that stuff, and a lot of smut; modern/office au (hope u don't mind), fake dating/marriage; law's a little mean but reader dishes it right back & has a solid bite, so it balances out, i think; also lots of pining and flirting, tiny bit of jealousy, etc.

“absolutely not.”

you place your coffee mug onto the counter and stare, wide-eyed at the tall bastard before you. trafalgar law is the most audacious man you’ve ever met, and even more so, he insists himself upon you whenever he can — almost as if he gets off on seeing you fly off the handle and mouth off at him. men who are handsome like him — dark, enigmatic, a force to be reckoned with if you’re not careful — are a complication that you don’t need in your life.

“a favor,” he says, leaning against the counter, towering over you in a way that makes you want to slap him, “and it’ll just be for one night.” 

again you stare, and shake your head, curls bouncing around in defiance, almost as if they too agree with your decision.

“no. i don’t know how many more times i need to say it for you to get it through your thick skull.”

you’re laying it on thicker than necessary, but the truth of the matter is, law makes you nervous. most people don’t; if anything, you’re the one who intimidates others. but him? you can’t accurately get a read on him, nor can you ever guess what he’s thinking. he always looks at you as if he’s figured you out, giving you sly smiles that make you want to dump your coffee on him daily. your friends say you overreact, your mother implies that there’s something going on between you two — made worse by the fact that law is too damn good at buttering her up with his politeness — and your coworkers are under the impression that you’re one argument away from fucking in the break room.

you don’t know which of those is worse.

“you’re being dramatic,” he counters, tongue running along his bottom lip as he considers switching tactics; you get distracted, stare at his mouth a little too long, which of course catches his attention. a smirk slips onto his lips as he leans forward. “i’ll make it worth your while.”

a scoff leaves your mouth faster than you can stop it. 

he presses his lips together and tries again. “let’s make a bet, then. if i win, you’ll be my date for my friend’s party.” a wedding anniversary of all things; a completely useless affair, but law is loyal to a fault, and he already said he was going and bringing someone. everyone else annoys him, except you; so naturally you’re the perfect candidate. it also helps that he knows you’re as attracted to him as he is to you — you’re just stubborn as hell.

“go on,” you say wearily and dump the remainder of your coffee out in the sink. “what happens when you lose?”

it’s not cockiness that drives him to say, “i won’t lose, but if it does happen, i’ll let you have one of my high profile clients.”

a lucrative deal, one that has you roll your bottom lip in between your teeth, and internally debate as you consider the slight possibility of you losing. on the other hand, if you win you’ll walk out with the satisfaction of beating law at his own game, and scoring another client; this might actually work if you put your mind to it.

“what’s the bet?” you narrow your eyes at him but lose a bit of nerve when you see the heated glance he sends your way; you busy yourself with rinsing your mug out several times over for some reason, the water cold enough to shake those pesky thoughts away from your mind.

law’s mouth curves into a devilish grin as he drops his voice. “i can help you with your,” he pauses, giving you a knowing look, one that brings a silly flush to your face, “little problem.”

if your rising blood pressure doesn’t kill you, his incessant teasing will. “what ‘little’ problem is that?” you’re already regretting this, but you’re too curious to not see this through. “whatever it is, i doubt you’ll actually be able to help, as useless as you are.” it’s not true, he’s far from useless, but you know that if you feed him a compliment, you’ll regret that too. 

“see that’s why your problem will never go away,” he sighs at that before continuing, “i’m talking about the problem where you can’t seem to cum no matter what you do.”

he has more to say, but you shoot forward and clamp your hands around his mouth — his foolish, stupid mouth — muffling the rest of whatever nonsense he wants to spew. “who told you that?” your voice comes out in a harsh whisper, which only makes him laugh behind your hand, his breath tickling your palm, your face growing hotter as you look around to make sure that no one else is around.

there’s no way he’ll reveal that, but you look so cute when you’re all determined like that.

law pries your hands off of him. “it doesn’t matter. so, what do you say?”

you have so many questions, but know if you hurl them at him left and right, he might be prompted to do something and you’re not prepared for what he has in store for you. 

“let me get this straight. if you somehow manage to make me cum,” your voice is so soft, he has to lean close to hear you properly, “i have to accompany you to your friend’s party.”

“it’s a simple bet, really.”

nothing about the bet is simple, but the point is that you’re fairly certain you can win this — if you remain strong, that is.

“fine.” 

you steel your face, hoping that your lip stops quivering so you can appear every bit as unaffected as you claim you are. he doesn’t buy the act, and leans forward, his face just a breath away, the tip of his nose grazing yours; you’re sure he’s going to kiss you and, on instinct, your lips part — you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious or excited over the possibility. 

law tilts his head slightly, envisioning the satisfying checkmate that lies in his future, eyelids lowering, partially obscuring his amber eyes; you swallow thickly and don’t bother taking a step back. you know if you do, you’ll lose — and you’re not sure if the bet has started or not, but you need all the strength you can muster to survive. 

“wonderful,” he says, voice resonant — vibrating against your skin, another bothersome flush stretching over your cheeks, making it impossible to breathe — “see you later, then.” and then, he straightens up and walks away.

small, crescent-shaped indents appear on your palms from how deeply you sink your nails into your skin. it’s not anger you feel at him, so much as it is agitation with yourself. if only he could be a little more predictive, you’d have the upper hand. but, as you watch his retreating form, you realize, belatedly, that maybe — just maybe — you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. you don’t like the thought of that, at all.

you expect him to find you after work, but he leaves early; strange, but not entirely abnormal. to say you’re disappointed wouldn’t be untrue, but you have no intention of openly admitting that. the following morning, he comes in late, grinning and joking with the manager, loud enough to catch your attention. you carefully peek outside of your office, doing your best to look casual and inconspicuous; he feels you watching him, but since your attitude needs a bit of taming, he ignores you. 

normally, law finds a reason to appear at your office around lunchtime, always inviting you to eat with him and a few others — and, while you tend to decline more often than not, you feel a bit unsettled when he doesn’t come by. strange. very, very strange. on the third day you’re sure you’re losing your mind. he hasn’t spoken to you in 72 hours — you haven’t been counting, that would be absurd — which should bring you some semblance of peace and joy, but it doesn’t. 

disappointment makes your coffee taste sour. it sits in your stomach, hard like concrete, impossible to digest, and even more annoying to chip away at.

you think about the way he almost kissed you — and you were very sure he was going to kiss you, if you hadn’t been so opposed to him crowding routinely crowding your space — and the way your skin never fully recovered, a feverish madness taking over your mind, filling every crevice of your thoughts with images of him — his lips, his long fingers, the way he always seems to have some sort of inside joke with himself whenever he looks at you. 

it affects your attitude at work; you snap at your coworkers, refuse to participate in whatever menial meeting the manager tries to drag you to, and spend most of your day in your office. until you can’t take it anymore.

four days, that’s all it takes. he’s impressed with your resolve and even more impressed with the fact that you haven’t cursed him and his future descendants to hell and back for keeping you at bay. he knows that you’re like a dog with a bone, eager to investigate, determined to see things through immediately. but law is much more feline, and enjoys the hunt more than anything. he didn’t know how much longer he could keep away from you, but he’s very grateful that you’ve finally made up your mind about things.

you stomp over to his office on the other end of the hall, barging in, irritation prickling underneath your skin at the sight of one of the temp workers leaning over his desk and going above and beyond with showing him some simple graphs she put together. you don’t like the way her fingers graze his, don’t like the way she intentionally drops her voice to whisper something unintelligible at him, and you really don’t like how he glances up at you, a slow, amused grin spreading onto his lips with ease.

the other woman glances over at you, confusion etched into her pretty face; you absolutely detest her right now. 

“umm,” she starts, straightening up, eyes widening at the sight of you. her nervousness should be a sign for you to ease up a bit, but you don’t. “hi, i’m not sure we’ve met properly yet, but i’m—”

you glance at her for no longer than a few seconds, your indifference pushing you to curtly say, “move.” she stutters over her words, not quite understanding, so you say it in a different way. “get. out.” of the office, you mean. she doesn’t wait for you to say it again. when the door shuts behind her, you march over to him, lips fixed in a thin line, eyes blazing as you jab a manicured finger against his chest. the sight is plenty unprofessional, what with the top buttons of his shirt undone, his jacket draped lazily over the back of his chair, the sleeves of his button up rolled up and exposing his thick forearms. 

you try to ignore it all, but you can’t.

“you,” there’s nothing else you want to say, nothing else you can say; you’ve already scared off the newbie, you know there will be a memo or meeting about it later. but you don’t care; you really, truly don’t. “what is your problem?”

he supposes he likes this side of you best — the petty, jealous side, the one you try to keep hidden but can’t help but let out whenever you feel threatened in the shallowest way. still, he knows better than to say this out loud; he’d like to leave the office in one piece today.

“that was unnecessarily harsh of you,” he says in lieu of answering your question. you’re normally not that venomous, but for some reason, you felt compelled — jealousy is not something you deal with well, and you know you’ll need to apologize properly later, but you can’t think about that right now. all you can think about is somehow wiping that disgustingly handsome look off his face. law grabs your wrist, his long, tattooed fingers wrapping around it securely, the contact from his skin searing you, stirring a frenzy within you, making you want impossible things all at once. your breath catches in your throat the moment he pulls you onto his lap, your brain ceasing any functional capabilities as you straddle him, skirt riding up higher, exposing your thighs, your skin smooth and silky to the touch.

all your fight leaves your body as you concede to your desires.

“took you long enough to come to me.” he presses a single, burning kiss against the inside of your wrist, setting your body and nerves aflame. “four days is a long time, y/n… i’m not a patient man.” he really isn’t, but for you, he always will be.

you roll your eyes, do your best not to whimper when he kisses your other wrist, all your self-preservation and stubbornness melting away. “it’s your fault,” you say childishly, earning a quiet chuckle from him. “you said…”

he raises a brow at you, prompting you to continue.

your nerves almost get the best of you, but you don’t let them win. “you were going to—”

“make you cum, yes.” you’re taking much too long, and the softness of your body only makes it that much more difficult to concentrate on your words; he doesn’t bother hiding his erection, nor does he seem to mind when you jerk your hips against his when he kisses the palm of your hand. 

“god, are you going to make me say it?” you can’t believe him; if you had the energy, you’d slap him, you really would — but you’re tapped out, too hot and bothered to fight him anymore. 

“i’ve never been called god before,” he muses out loud, you narrow your eyes at him and he laughs again. “yes, i need to hear you say it.” because what’s the point if he has to do everything himself?

your throat constricts, face grows hot all over again, and you’re sure you’ll regret this later, but you manage to squeak out, “i want you.” it’s a confession that’s a few years too late, but he’ll take that over rejection any day. you forget that the point is to prevent him from winning his bet, but the idea of him touching you, of him making you beg, makes it impossible to do things the way you want to.

“now, doesn’t that feel good? to say it out loud, finally?” 

his arrogance knows no bounds, but you can’t continue fighting him, not when your body is at its limit. 

“stop teasing me, damn it.”

he really can’t help himself, but he supposes he ought to throw you a bone for coming this far. “sit on the desk,” he says, and releases his hold on your wrists.

when you don’t move, a hardened edge coats each word that comes out of his mouth afterwards. “it’s not a request.” you suppose you might as well listen, there’s no turning back at this point, and you want to get this over with — and prove to yourself that once and for all that you don’t actually like him, that this is a one time thing, and that you’ll be able to move on with your life afterwards.

you’re gravely mistaken, but you don’t know that yet.

he watches you scramble off of his lap and hoist yourself onto his desk, scattering the papers he was reviewing onto the floor. swiveling in his chair to face you, he tilts his head again, eyes darkening as you squeeze your thighs together. the way he unnerves you, the way he makes you want to act out, it’s so unsettling; you want to keep chasing that feeling until you’re certain it’s a fluke.

“do i need to keep spelling things out for you?”

licking your lips, you understand the silent command, tugging your skirt up higher and spreading your legs for him. for a moment, neither of you say anything, a charged tension hanging above both of your heads, making you light-headed as your breathing slows. it’s not like you want him to know, but it’s too hard to hide your arousal, especially with the dampness that stains the front of your panties. 

“take them off.” 

you don’t know what possesses you to listen, but you do, hook your thumbs underneath the lace band of your panties and pull them down slowly. because he’s so dedicated to observing you, he watches carefully, gaze sharp and hawkish, another flush crawling along your face, down your throat, spilling onto your chest — making it difficult to breathe again. he wishes he could capture this all on video, so he could revisit it later, because the sight of you, so vulnerable, practically trembling on his desk as your arousal seeps onto his desk, ruining one of the documents sitting underneath you. 

his laughter isn’t mocking so much as it is just thinly veiled amusement at your compliance; it takes on a life of its own and nestles itself inside of you, warming your chest, making your heart beat faster than necessary. 

law flicks his tongue against the inside of his cheek, his cock hard enough to make him want to fuck you right then and there; but, because he waited this long already, he’s willing to move at your pace. he runs a finger along your folds slowly, your irritation spiking at the way you melt at his touch, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to stifle the insufferable noises that dare to come out of your mouth. he glances at you, disapproving of your choice to keep your true feelings hidden as he stands up suddenly. with his free hand he tugs your lip free, sucking his teeth at your defiance, hand gripping your face roughly.

“i don’t think you understand,” he says briskly, his finger running up and down your slit, a soft whimper prancing along the back of your mouth, tumbling into the air recklessly. “we’re playing by my rules, not yours.” you inhale sharply, eyes widening at his words, your whimpering steadily increasing in volume when he grazes your clit with the tip of his finger. “now,” his lips graze your jaw, breath warm and dizzying, “be a good girl and spread your legs wider.”

you do your best to comply, gasping when you feel him slip his finger inside of you — a welcomed intrusion that has you rolling your hips forward; his eyes never leave yours as he plunges his finger into you, your warm, tight walls squeezing, making him insert another finger in response. you let out a moan, one that you attempt to keep hidden, but his hand slides from your face down to your neck and he wraps his hand around it — a warning, of sorts, for you to behave. you’re not sure if it’s the taboo of fucking in his office, or if it’s just him, but your hips buck against his hand wildly, the fleshy part of his palm bumping against your clit with each thrust of his fingers.

the walls in the office are thick but not soundproof, and you don’t think about any of that when you repeatedly call out his name, his fingers scissoring inside of your throbbing cunt, your arousal dripping down to his wrist. he can tell you hate how much you’re enjoying this right now, which only makes him squeeze your throat — firm enough to hold you still, but not tight enough to bring you any lasting pain. 

“law, w-wait, wait,” you gasp and moan louder, a familiar buildup pooling in your lower abdomen, making your breathing erratic and your mind fuzzy.

“hm, i think i know what the problem is,” he says lightly, curling his fingers, wrist angling so he can reach a spot you’ve never had the pleasure of reaching by yourself. your subsequent cries are music to his ears; he smiles down at you wickedly, a third finger finding its way inside of your pussy. “you’re sensitive.” very sensitive at that. you don’t know what he means, but you don’t question it — after all, his fingers are commanding your body with ease and skill, and where you normally don’t push yourself past this point, possibly in fear of enjoying it too much, he doesn’t let up. law is every bit as relentless as you knew he’d be, finger-fucking you until your words come out garbled, your chest heaving as an orgasm nearly splits you apart.

“oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” you can’t believe it, you should be pissed off but you’re not; you’re relieved. he works you through the orgasm and plucks his fingers out when you settle down. releasing his hold around your neck, he takes his time to lick his fingers as shame courses through you. and just when you think he’s done, he pulls you closer and finally kisses you. his tongue thrusts into your mouth, every bit as deadly as his fingers were; you don’t expect tenderness, but you’re surprised by the ferocity behind his kiss. teeth nipping at your lips playfully, you press your chest against his, hands reaching between you so you can unbuckle his belt and zip down his pants.

he didn’t expect you to take initiative, but he’s glad you’re on the same wavelength as him now. pre-cum slithers out of his slit, the head of his cock a reddish-pink, his length heavy in your soft hands. you’re not in the business of dragging things out, so you mumble against his lips, begging him to fuck you — so you can maybe carry on with your day without issue. because he’s such a benevolent person, he acquiesces almost immediately, lining the tip of his cock with your entrance, hands grabbing onto your hips as he snaps his hips forward and buries his cock inside of you. 

stuck in a trance, you lift your hips to meet his, euphoria wrapping around you — an exhilarating rush, magical and overpowering — no matter how many times you imagined this exact scenario, it’s nothing like the real thing. a thundering sound echoes inside of you when he pushes you down onto the desk and drapes your shapely legs over his shoulders. it has you calling out his name so loud that you’re sure the occupants in the neighboring building can probably hear you.

he pulls back before slamming his cock into you again, strokes long and daunting as his thrusts grow frenzied with each passing minute. you can hardly breathe, and he trails kisses down the length of your throat, tongue sampling your skin, enjoying the way you can’t seem to stop clenching around him. he moans against your neck, voice vibrating through you, and you sift your fingers through his hair, yanking when his cock hits a certain spot. law fucks you like you’ve pissed him off somehow, which confuses and arouses you; isn’t this what he wanted? to have you at his mercy, begging him for more?

but, what you fail to understand is that he’s mostly pissed at himself — pissed for taking so long, pissed for not being more frank and straight-forward with his intentions, pissed that you pushed him away when you both could’ve had this. 

and the soft pants that leave your mouth only makes him yearn for you even more; it’s silly, slightly obsessive, but he can’t help it. you’ll be the death of him, surely, but for now, he’ll enjoy this slow descent into madness. “you’re taking me so well,” he says smoothly, his mouth grazing the shell of your ear, “fuck… i don’t think i can let you go after this.” what he means by that is beyond him; it sort of spills out, a small nugget of truth he can’t afford to part with. he powers into you, over and over, your pussy puffy from the ruthless way he fucks you, and when you cum again he follows shortly after, panting, a light sheen of sweat coating his forehead as his cum thickly pours into you. 

you inhale deeply, hands clinging onto him, almost as if you’re afraid to let go; similarly he feels every bit as light-headed and drunk off of you. an impressive feat, one he can admit to freely. you’re not sure if he won because he made you cum more than once, or if you did for making him cum hard enough to make him reconsider things. still, you know just as well as he does, that there’s no coming back from this; you can’t simply act as if everything is fine, not when you’ve seen just how much you affect him. you didn’t know — or, rather, you chose not to know — and now that you’re cognizant of it, you’re hooked on him. 

not that he minds, it only makes everything easier; he’s sure that your coworkers are probably collecting on their bets now, after all, the entire office knows just how much you both liked one another. you sealed your fate when you walked into his office, and now that he’s had you, he’s definitely going to keep you.

[soleilnomoon]

Soo~o... I can't NOT do this, you know? I'm addicted to your writing (and especially you writing OP boys) and can we ever have enough sweets? Nooo~o. :D Could I... *tweedles thumbs* ask for: frozen yoghurt with marshmallows, a fruit tart on the side, a ginger bread cookie aaand some ice cream cake? With some whipped cream and caramel :D And perhaps with Marco / OP? Or completely random: With Corsa (Alabaster Arc), who I think I've never read anything about? Thank youu!!! <3

hi omg thank you for requesting again ♡꒰ᵕ༚ᵕ⑅꒱ also ty for being patient with my slow slow writing, but i wanted to take my time since this is my first marco fic lmao anyway i hope you have fun reading 🥰️

4.6k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, fluff somewhere in the middle maybe, angst, smut smut smut; reader is a brat and stubborn, marco isn't any better and is a lil mean when he's annoyed; feat. cute stuff like nipple play, spanking, oral (f receiving, m giving), overstimulation, marco's a greedy mfer idk what to tell u if u see any grammatical errors, no u didn't 😌

the sun sits low in the violet sky, kissing the horizon gently, casting a delicate, golden light along the underbelly of the fluffy clouds above with splashes of pinks, oranges, and light purples slowly swirling about. it’s magical, you tell yourself as you watch the sun sink further, a spell from mother nature herself.

it’s a belief you’ve held onto since you were a child, one that you tend to keep to yourself; people love to turn their noses up at strange ideas, and unfortunately, you learned that lesson the hard way many years ago. you drum your fingers along the railing of the balcony, enjoying the way the clouds resemble cotton candy; you reach a hand out as if you can scoop some into your palm, wanting a bit of that magic to help get you through the week.

a bitter wind blows close by, and you shiver, pulling your jacket around you tightly as you look over your shoulder. you absolutely detest winter — the way you can never keep warm enough, the snow is always terribly slippery, making you slide and fall over. you also hate that you’re stuck sharing a room with the incredibly obnoxious, first division commander. with your jaw clenched, you turn back to watch the sunset, determined to absorb as much warmth and magic as you can.

the wind brings a flush over your cheeks, nose, and ears; you should head back inside, find a spot to warm up, and go to sleep — but the idea of sleeping is out of the question.

marco is as insufferable as he is absurd — for being tall and more handsome than necessary, for being so naturally personable and so knowledgeable, for having no qualms about helping those in need, for being gifted with his hands, for teasing you without even trying, for making you flustered every time he’s near you — and you refuse to let him get the best of you.

obviously, he finds the situation laughable — particularly because you are so against it and vocalized said opinion earlier at lunch in front of everyone. you were so damn determined, went to various crew mates to try and trade spots but they all said the same damn thing: what? why? you and the commander get along so well. it’s not that he goes out of his way to get under your skin, but you make it easy enough. maybe he likes seeing you struggle to find a retort; maybe he likes that when you do find one, that you throw it at him with as much strength as you can muster — but without the venom necessary to make it hurt; or maybe he really doesn’t like you at all.

oil and water. that’s what you told him weeks ago. you’ll never be able to see eye-to-eye on anything because you are two completely different people. except, that’s not true at all — you’re both just too stubborn to see it. especially you. still, you’ll never openly admit that, and keep reminding yourself that had you not taken your time earlier, you’d have found a room that wasn’t occupied by him.

“foolish,” you mumble, breath visible from the cold; another annoyance, another thing to deal with. if you stay outside any longer, your fingers will fall off, so you do the sensible thing and return to the room in the hopes of warming up a bit. after being stuck on the winter island for days due to a persistent and heavy snowstorm, the weather finally lifts a bit. you suggested that your crew sail out last night, but marco vetoed the idea stating that there was no harm in staying for a few more nights — much to your annoyance, the rest of the crew cheered for his decision and the inn remained booked to capacity for the duration of the week.

the owners are ecstatic to have such a lively group stay with them — it’s almost hard to believe that you’re all pirates.

the first division commander was given the task of sailing out there to scope out the newest territory under whitebeard’s protection, but what you hadn’t considered was marco personally volunteering you to assist him with making house calls around the village. given the weather and overwhelming volume of patients, marco takes it upon himself to assist the practicing physician make their rounds in the area. it’s easy given that most of the inhabitants of the sleepy village are in relatively good health.

you watched him carefully and tallied all his grave offenses over the course of the week — the way he made the children laugh, the way he took his time explaining things to various patients, the way he’d randomly look over and catch you staring intently, the way he’d snort and try to fight back laughter only to fail miserably and laugh anyway. a thorn that you keep pricking yourself on, and just when you think you’ve reached your limit, he finds a way to push you completely over the edge.

of course, the room he chose only has one bed; on the first night you boldly declare that you refuse to share the bed with him and despite him saying that there’s enough space, stop being silly you still took refuge on the lone chair in the room and placed slept near the desk. he frowned at that, shot you a disparaging look — irritation at your immaturity given the circumstances — but didn’t fight you on it. you don’t remember when or how, but sometime during the night, marco swapped places with you. when you eventually wake up, feeling surprisingly refreshed and body ache free, you find him completely knocked out, asleep at the desk, a medical textbook open in front of him.

guilt seeps into your pores, has you scramble out of bed quickly, feet softly padding on the cold floor, shivering as you drag one of the thick blankets with you so you can drape it over his large body. bottom lip trapped between your teeth, you roll it back and forth in silent contemplation. because you’re not ungrateful, you lean forward and whisper thank you against his skin, lips making contact with his cheek as you leave behind a soft, chaste kiss. he stirs after that, making you leap back, hand pressed to your chest as your heart does the most disrespectful thing — beats rapidly, drowning out your thoughts, making you dizzy. when he doesn’t move again, you hop back into bed and curl onto your side and bury your head underneath the pillow.

when you see him later that day, he doesn’t thank you for sharing the blanket — on the other hand, you don’t think him for giving you the bed, either. his reasoning is because he’s still trying to figure out how best to broach the subject of you kissing him — or, his cheek, rather — and running away after. he considers himself a somewhat patient man, but with how much time he’s given you to get over your stubbornness, he’s not sure how much longer he’ll last at this rate.

your lips haunt him throughout the day, well into the night when you pretend to be asleep while he sits at that same desk, flipping through another book, but not absorbing a damn thing — he wonders why he hasn’t said anything yet, or why you still refuse to look at him, but he knows one of these days you’ll eventually concede. he must be patient, that’s all.

the following night tests your resolve; you make a small barrier with the pillows on the bed, struggling for a few minutes, even after he asks repeatedly if you need any help — but you decline, as you always do — before finishing and designating sides. eyebrow quirked; he looks at you in confusion. “it’s a bit much, don’t you think?” you inhale deeply, remind yourself to be as pleasant as possible and do your best to ignore the way his dark eyes keep you rooted in place.

“no,” you say quietly, but muster more courage to speak louder. “i think it’s an excellent idea. this way we can both lay on the bed without an issue.” you spent most of the day coming up with ideas and this was the best one; marco’s lips curl and he laughs without remorse.

“the problem is, the bed’s too small for that.” he checks the time and grabs his scarf. “i’m going out for a bit,” he says suddenly, “i’ll be back later.” he lingers by the doorway and says, almost as an afterthought, “i suggest you keep brainstorming,” before leaving.

you grab a pillow at random, determined to toss it at his retreating form, but don’t; instead, you flop onto the bed and bury your face in it, letting out a distressed cry out of frustration. no matter what you do, it seems the universe is determined to undermine your plans. maybe you should just stop fighting so much and see where things go, but when you think about the prospect of dropping your guard down around him, your mind spins — makes you lightheaded and impossibly foolish. you realize, belatedly, that the pillow you’re using is the one he used the night before.

it’s only evident because you’d recognize his cologne anywhere — it’s the kind to siphon all of the logic in your body, infiltrates your lungs so that it’s all you can smell and think about — you push the pillow away and roll onto your back, groaning audibly as you stare up at the ceiling. by the time marco gets back, you’re asleep, holding his pillow to your chest. naturally, he tries to pry it out of your arms, but you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for — so he acquiesces and after changing his clothes, climbs into the bed with you. just as he said before, there’s enough room for both of you; but he knows why you keep fighting him, and it’s amusing to see how far you’ll go to keep up the ruse.

again, you’re compromised, as marco’s arm rests around you lazily, his pillow discarded somewhere, and what’s worse is that you were possessed to do the unthinkable last night — cling to his body for warmth. his body temperature runs hotter than normal, so he’s the ideal person for you to share a small space with given the circumstances. however, when you take into consideration that you can barely function when he’s ten feet away let alone right next to you, this is the worst kind of situation to be in. your traitorous body makes it difficult to untangle yourself from his hold, but you succeed only to scoot too close to the edge of the bed and fall off.

“damn it,” you rub your shoulder and when you get off the floor, you see that he’s awake and doing a poor job of concealing his laughter again. a flush forces you to stomp away and angrily head to the bathroom to take a shower in the hopes of cleansing yourself of the indecent scenarios your mind keeps bombarding you with. you’re pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose, riling you up to the point where a single touch from him has you spiraling out of control. no amount of cold water can expunge the remaining heat from your body — the one that found you late last night when your fatigue had you so delusional that you languidly threw your leg around his, hands absently roaming along his exposed skin, your justification being that it was more comfortable to lay like that.

he was more than okay with that reasoning and wasn’t inclined to let you go; not when your body was so soft and pliable, where your breathing slowed to match his. he’d be a fool to disrupt that serenity and, besides, he liked having you to himself — away from the interference of the others.

you do your best to avoid interacting with him as much as possible, scurry off to the room under the guise of taking a nap — where he gives you an unreadable look in response, one that has tiny butterflies flapping around nervously in your stomach, that makes your hands shake, before telling you he’d be back later in the afternoon. nodding seems to be the only thing you’re capable at that moment, shutting the door in his face before lounging on the bed. frustration swells inside of you, splashing around angrily as you berate yourself internally.

there’s no real reason for you to be this difficult with him, but you’re unsure of how to proceed — your feelings are all over the place and you feel like throwing up constantly. if this is what the initial stage of love feels like, you’d rather spend the rest of your life sinking to the bottom of the ocean instead.

it’s ridiculous, though, that he can have you like this without even being remotely affected — to your knowledge, anyway — you bite down on your lip, wondering if maybe you just need to let go a little. you’re so tightly wound; you’ll never survive at the rate you’re going. lounging back on the bed, surrounded by your mini-fortress of pillows — as if that’ll protect you from him somehow — you think about the hard planes of his chest, how your fingers shamelessly traced along the ridges of his muscles, how he let you touch him freely without stopping you. it was confusing, to say the least, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it

it’s partially why you shimmy out of your pants and socks, toss the clothes haphazardly onto the floor, and find that your fingers are on the move again, brazenly slipping underneath the lace of your panties, legs parting to give yourself more access. this is wrong, you tell yourself as you gingerly dip your fingers in between your folds, arousal pooling as you imagine that it’s marco’s fingers touching you instead. and soon it doesn’t feel wrong at all; it’s freezing outside, but you’re burning up. a memory of his hand drifting down your back, of his fingers on your hips gently nudging you out of his way, of his mouth grazing your ear when you froze and didn’t immediately move.

the memory knocks into you repeatedly, battering your willpower, turning you into a sighing, whimpering mess — pitiful as you attempt to chase that similar feeling — once you starts rubbing slow circles on your pussy, hips jerking as you moan softly. while marco intended on taking some time for himself, he also happened to forget something in the room; so, imagine his surprise when he returns only a few minutes later, hand on the door handle as he watches you play with yourself. propriety would have him leave you be, walk it off, return much, much later and never speak of the incident again — but he’s beyond that now. he closes the door behind him, leans against the sturdy wood, eyelids lowering as an irrational whim washes over him.

you’re so into your fantasy that you didn’t hear him enter the room, nor did you hear him lock the door either. your fingers sink into your pussy, thrusting in and out slowly, at first, building momentum as you slide your free hand underneath your shirt to play with your nipples. it was hard enough the past few days dealing with being in the same room with you, which only amplified his agitation — with himself, of course — when he found that his cock was hard enough to incapacitate him last night. it’s only when he hears you call out his name — once, then again and again — that he bites his fist hard enough to draw blood, feeling whatever resolve he’d been desperately clinging onto snap with ease.

so of course, his legs carry him over to you, and of course he climbs onto the bed to swiftly remove your hand from your panties, his hand rough and warm around your wrist, your eyes blinking rapidly when you realize that he’s actually here and isn’t a figment of your imagination. you finally find your voice as shame sits heavily on your chest, making you squirm underneath him.

“don’t give me that look,” he says candidly, eyes drifting lower as they take in the sight of your damp panties and the wetness on your fingers. you should pull your hand away, but you don’t — too absorbed in watching him glide his tongue over your fingers, licking your arousal off, and lighting your entire body on fire. “you’re being selfish, y’know,” he says lightly, tongue clicking softly in his mouth as he looks down at you, while you attempt to form a coherent sentence, “keeping this from me…” he pinches your clit and drags another moan out of you as you buck your hips forward. “what do you have to say for yourself, hm?”

all you can do is open and close your mouth, for fear of telling him something mortifying — to admitting certain truths you keep trying to bury, but marco isn’t having any of that. not today.

“wrong answer,” he says with a sigh, almost as if he feels apologetic for what’s about to come. a different kind of anxiety fills you — mostly excitement that bubbles around inside, knocking your heart around, making it difficult to breathe as he tugs the rest of your clothes off of you. now, you’re quite certain this isn’t a dream, but on the off chance that it is… you hope you never wake up.

marco’s fingers twitch before he cups your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers, his mouth following suit as he licks and sucks on them. you try your best to keep quiet, but it seems that marco’s determined to make you vocal; you fight hard against it, clamp your lips shut tight, moan bouncing around your mouth as you inhale sharply to keep grounded. he chuckles darkly, kneading your breasts, coaxing some soft whining out of you until he bites the curve along your breast. you stifle a loud moan when you press your hand against your mouth, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer as you grind your hips against his. marco sucks his teeth at your insistence but admires your restraint; he trails kisses along your chest, teeth sinking into your skin as he leaves reddish marks behind.

your mind is melting, your body is completely under his spell, and you don’t even know why you’re fighting him this hard, if you’re honest. so, you simply give in — let desire take control for once, in the hopes that you’ll finally purge yourself of his lingering touch once and for all.

when he notices that your shoulders are much more relaxed, he shoots you a haughty grin before licking down the column of your throat, his fingers rubbing your pussy lazily, drawing out soft sighs that quickly morph into moans once he inserts a thick finger inside of you.

“marco,” you pant, eyes flying open again as you look at him, dazed but energized; you lick your lips and he circles his thumb around your clit. “more,” you say, a little breathless from his finger plunging in and out of you quickly — another finger joining the first one almost immediately. “more, please.” you don’t know what you’re asking for exactly, only that you’re slowly descending into a marco-induced-madness that currently has no cure.

“decided to stop being stubborn, huh,” a smug grin takes hold of his face before he kisses you. his lips move against yours with ease, your skin burning as his tongue slips into your mouth. your hips tremble with each thrust of his fingers, his cock pressing against the front of his pants, making it difficult to focus. you slide your hands underneath his shirt — soft and warm, skin smooth as it rubs softly against his abs — admire his hard muscles, and scratch at his chest when you clench around him suddenly, a dangerous flash of heat pooling in between your thighs as you cum unexpectedly.

your hips buck wildly under his hand as he keeps thrusting his fingers in and out of you. it’s impossible, the way you’re currently consuming every part of him — infiltrating the deepest parts of his mind, settling as if you’re intent on staying permanently — he hates how much he wants you and hates the way he doesn’t hate it at all. his teeth tug on your bottom lip, sucking roughly before releasing it with a small pop.

before he can say anything else that’ll piss you off, you tug his shirt off of him; he helps you take off the rest, and gives you a heated look, eyes raking down your body, admiring the bite marks he left behind. a good look, he wants to tell you, but keeps the comment to himself. for now. instead, he lowers himself so he can properly taste you. he runs his tongue flat against your pussy, the sensation making you yelp — you cover your mouth with your hands again, which makes him pull back and slap your pussy.

“don’t cover your mouth,” he says gruffly, mouth lowering as he spreads your folds open, “i want to hear you.”

his voice alone could trigger another orgasm within you, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything else. “but,” you start, swallow hard, hips rolling to push your pussy against his mouth as he eats you out, “w-what if s-someone hears?” you could kick yourself for sounding so timid, but you really don’t want to deal with anyone’s teasing after all of this. marco doesn’t answer right away, and before you can tell him off, he flicks his tongue against your clit and you let out a loud moan.

shameless, absolutely shameless; you don’t even bother feigning innocence, you’re too far gone for all of that right now.

“so what,” he says in between long licks, “let them hear.” it’s not like they’d actually have the guts to ridicule you in front of him. you want to tell him how ridiculous that is, that he can’t possibly mean that. but, when he looks up at you, a devilish glint coasting along his eyes, you decide against it. marco is something short of a man possessed, tongue dipping deeply inside your tight hole, enjoying the way your thighs press against him. pre-cum drips down the head of his stiff cock — he wants to fuck you so badly but is also very invested in ripping another orgasm out of you. there have been one too many nights where he envisioned his mouth on your pussy, devouring you like a man starved.

marco slurps on your pussy loudly, the noise lewd and making you flush all over again. he doesn’t care and likes the sound, committing it all to memory for later. when his mouth latches around your clit, a sinister jolt pulses through you, he holds you as he roughly sucks on your clit.

“fuck, marco, yes,” you words are strained, breath coming out in shallow pants, when you cum for the second time, he laps up your arousal, he taste hypnotizing him. you must’ve lost your mind because when he tells you to get on your hands and knees you don’t argue with him. marco runs a large hand over your ass, enjoying its suppleness, slapping it roughly. you let out a startled cry, nipples painfully hard as you clutch the bedsheets tightly.

“don’t hold back, love,” he says in warning, and you nod weakly before he slaps your ass again, prompting you to say yes repeatedly. “good girl,” he rubs the head of his cock against your glistening folds, a shudder passing through him at the contact. he’s so upset it took both of you so long to get to this point, but he’s glad it happened. and you are too, even though you fully plan on denying this tomorrow — because the idea of admitting that you liked marco so much you couldn’t handle it is too damn embarrassing, even for you.

marco inches his cock inside of you and you push your hips back to take more of him. he hisses and grabs onto your hips, fingers digging into your plush skin, a series of moans tumbling out of your mouths when he snaps his hips forward. he pauses briefly, allows you to adjust to his girth and length, and knocks his hips against yours all over again. his strokes are deadly — broad, hard, filthy — your back arches as you bounce against him, pussy tight and hot around him. not one to lose control of himself without reason, he finds himself unraveling quickly. he grabs your ass as he lifts his hips to angle his cock differently.

by now you’re sure your crew mates have all heard you scream marco’s name, panting as you beg him to fuck you harder, his hand wrapping around your thick hair, yanking you back towards him. he bites your neck as his hips remain close, strokes brutal and fast. you doubt you’ll be able to fuck anyone else after him. his body envelopes yours, sweat trailing down the side of his face, a light sheen coating your forehead and chest. he sucks on your neck recklessly, flicking his tongue at the spot, your hips bucking against him.

he pushes you down onto the bed, pulling out and rolling his hips forward, burying his cock in one go, a deep groan rumbling from deep inside of him. it’s feral, the way his thrusts are frenzied, possessive, tantalizing; a bit of drool trails down your lip, onto your chin as you sob, another orgasm powering through you. he pulls out again, rolls you onto your back, your lips parted — swollen from the way he kissed you earlier — eyelids lowered, a bit of adoration and hunger coasting along your face. there’s no way he can let you go after this; it simply wouldn’t work.

marco plunges his cock back into your puffy, aching cunt, your legs wrapping around him once more, your nails sinking into his skin as you scratch him. his lips are on yours again, tongue caressing yours hotly as he thrusts into you ardently, the orgasm lasting longer than necessary, body trembling from overstimulation. “i know,” he says in between kisses, reassuring you that he’s not that barbaric, “i know, i’ve got you.” something about the way he says that fills your chest with warmth, making you clench around his cock, your soft, plush walls milking him — spoiled and just as greedy, but he has no problems indulging you for something like this.

kissing you fervently, all teeth and tongue — messy, intense, crazed as you tug cling to him, hips rocking against his, pushing him over the edge indefinitely. his cum is thick, hot — even more as he keeps fucking you. later, you’ll tell him that he’s insatiable, an actual monster — but for now, you’re much too preoccupied with the delicious waves of euphoria that take over you. his hips slow but he doesn’t pull out right away, opting to kiss you again — properly, taking his time to map out your lips with his — breathing uneven, body heavy but a welcomed weight over you.

despite all of your theatrical tantrums, you know that a part of the reason why marco fucked you so hard was to tame that side of you. if he knows he was successful, you’ll never hear the end of it. so you don’t say a thing and enjoy the way your body feels light and weightless, a feverish hazes taking over you in the end, your arms wrapping around him, not wanting to let him go anytime soon — which is fine with him, your pussy is top priority on his list of things to do today, anyway.