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megamindsecretlair · 2 months ago

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So um I’m kinda obsessed with Aaron and that fic you just wrote kinda makes me feel like I’m going through withdrawals😂😂….. so um are we gonna get the part where he eats her like a full meal cause um yea (Love your writing btw❤️)

A/N: Not with that dynamic, anon, but how about this one??

Let Me Take Control

Pairing: Toxic!Neighbor!Terry Richmond x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering (female receiving), oral (fem receiving), teasing, size kink, dirty talk, degradation kink, praise kink sprinkled in, rough sex, persuasion, reader is able to be picked up, use of n-word, all consensual.

Summary: Your fine as hell neighbor, Terry, hits you up late at night with a text. Already knowing what’s ‘bout to go down, you invite him over and get yourself ready for an unforgettable night.

Word Count: 3,807k

AO3 Link

A/N: MISS HIMMMM. I watched Rebel Ridge for the (mindyabidness) time and I neeeeeeed him! WHEW! Ya'll blew my first fic up, and YALL. Don't make me cry with all your sweet words! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

That Munch: You up?

Your phone chimed and you flipped over in bed, reaching for your phone on your nightstand. You opened the message to see a text from your fine ass neighbor, Terry. You popped up in bed, bouncing with the effort as you turned on the lamp.

Cool light flooded the room, taking mercy on your sleep deprived eyes. You pulled the bonnet off of your head and assessed your hair. It was currently coiled into a bun to keep it neat, but your braids were recent and still fresh. Good, you were gonna need that extra strength.

You bit your lip as you texted back.

You: What’s up?

That Munch: Can’t sleep.

Your heart skipped a beat. Terry said the two magic words that got your blood thumping. Your core heating up to dangerous levels. You hopped out of bed and ran to the bathroom to freshen your breath and relieve yourself.

You washed your hands and looked at yourself in the mirror. Terry’s brain needed to be studied. It was like he knew what you were missing without even having to ask. Or think about it. You were just tossing and turning in bed, sleep eluding you for the hundredth time. You were running through possible solutions when that little chime and those two words fell from the sky like a divine intervention.

You texted back, feeling a little giddy that he was up and willing. You’d been like two ships passing in the fog lately. Always arriving or leaving a touch out of sync with each other. He would just be getting in the elevator when you left your apartment. He was just closing his door when you were emerging from yours.

And once inside, you usually kept contact to a minimum. Tried to put Terry into a box. Firmly in the neighbors with benefits column. He was too fine. Too hot. Too intense to ever be a regular thing. You couldn’t stand it. Looking at that man night and day? Please, you’d die.

You paced the room in your oversized T-shirt and panties, biting your lip as you waited for the short trek through his apartment, out of his door, and the knock on yours. When it came, you skipped to the front door on a bed of nerves. Each footfall felt like lead and each heart beat felt like a stab in your chest.

You opened the door and leaned your head against it. “Hey stranger,” you said, keeping your cool around this man.

You were terrible at it, actually. Terry blinked those pretty electric eyes at you and entered your apartment. You closed the door behind him and locked the door, taking the time to admire his back side. He didn’t wear anything but some long joggers that cupped around his ankles. His ass was well rounded, looking good enough to bite. One side was slightly higher on his calf and for no reason at all, it was the hottest thing ever.

He turned around and his eyes softened. “Were you sleep?” He asked.

His voice alone sent shivers down your spine. On the inside, you were screaming. He was too damn hot to be real. He was like a marble statue made real. He moved with care. Purposeful. You shook your head and with it your thoughts. “You know that ain’t true,” you said.

��Why didn’t you text me?” He asked. He stepped closer, crowding into your space. The door was the only thing holding you up at the moment. He approached, stepping into your personal space. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his smooth skin.

You shrugged. “‘Case you were busy. I came home late tonight,” you said.

Terry smirked and tilted his head. “Has that ever stopped us before?” He asked.

You shook your head. Terry bent his head down and kissed your cheek. You gasped, lips parting as he left behind tingles. Your breathing began to hurt your lungs, breathing too fast and too hard. He hadn’t even done anything yet.

“You been tossing and turning when you know I’m right next door? Willing? Eager?” He asked.

You shivered even though he was hot enough to fill the room. You kept your hands down at your sides. If you started touching him now, this would be over before it started. His shoulders were broad, honed, sculpted. His full lips glowed in the low ambient light in your living room.

“Terry,” you said, more of a warning than a plea. This was why you didn’t call him. This was why your brain didn’t even give you that option. It always felt like you were taking advantage, knowing he wanted more and you continued to toy with his feelings.

It wasn’t on purpose. You truly couldn’t decide to take that ride with him or not. If you were ready to be with someone so grown. So in control. You were used to little fuckboys who played in your face. Who were bigger drama queens than you were and that shit didn’t fly.

But Terry? Terry was a different breed. Falling into his lap was almost an accident. You were smart enough to know your limits but dumb enough to toss them right out of the window.

Terry took your hand and led you away from the door. You smiled at him as he moved without light to your bedroom. You supposed each layout of the apartments were about the same, with some variations. Did that mean his room shared a wall with your bathroom? The thought alone had you biting your lip picturing him all glistening wet.

Inside your bedroom, Terry spun you around and pulled you against the nearest wall. He smirked at you and then he leaned down, bringing his lips to yours but not kissing you. You pouted when you caught up and looked at him.

“I missed you too,” he said.

You took a deep breath and laughed. “I didn’t say that,” you said.

“You were thinking it,” he said. He blinked slowly, lips touching but not completely. You couldn’t feel the full weight of them and you leaned forward, trying to close that distance. Terry leaned out of the way at the last minute, making you grunt.

“You want to fall asleep or not?” You asked, sucking your teeth. Trying to hide how turned on you were. How needy. You could feel your slick leaking out of you and you just needed some damn friction.

Terry’s eyes narrowed. His hand slipped around your throat with such ease, you didn’t even feel him moving. “Who you think you talkin’ to like that?” He asked.

You moaned, eyes crossing at the slight pressure. “You got an attitude with me?” He asked.

You tried to shake your head. Ah, shit. It was one of those nights. You moaned even though you shook your head again. You didn’t mean to get him riled up so quickly.

“You sure? You talkin’ real reckless for someone who want they pussy licked, huh?” He asked. He squeezed your neck and you threw your head back, placing a hand on his chest. You couldn’t take it. You were on fire. Licks of flame made its way through your veins.

“I’m sorry!” You moaned.

Terry chuckled and finally kissed you, bringing you forward by his grip on your throat. “You lucky I’m just hungry tonight.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned.

Terry released your neck and dropped to his knees. He was still tall as hell, so it didn’t really look like he knelt. The look in his eyes at this angle had you sighing. He didn’t have a merciful bone in his body. Even on his knees, looking up to you, he looked defiant. Challenging. Like he wanted you to fight him because he knew that he’d win.

Terry’s big, strong hands came around to cup your ass. He separated your ass cheeks, giving it a full squeeze, before releasing. Your ass jiggled and Terry hummed and kissed your belly.

“When you gon’ stop playing with me?” He asked.

You cupped his cheek and scratched at his beard. He closed his eyes and hummed, a deep rumbling in his chest. Almost like he was purring.

“Not now, Terry,” you said. You were too lost in the sauce. Too lost in the depth of those eyes. Swirls of brown and blue and green, like he contained the world in them. You’d agree to anything right now and he didn’t need to know that.

Terry lifted your shirt, kissing all over your stomach. He left fat, wet kisses on your skin. You ran your nails across his fade, filling the slight ripples. His hair was coarse, feeling like heaven against the palm of your hand. Terry moved lower and pulled your leg over his shoulder.

He pushed your panties to the side, taking a deep breath and moaned. “Smell so fuckin’ good,” he said. His tongue darted out and licked you from entrance to clit. You yelped and collapsed against him, leaning all of your weight on him.

Terry hummed, purred, and placed a hand on your belly and pushed. You fell back against the cold wall, yelping from the shock of it. Terry kept one arm under your leg, supporting your hip from the back. His other flattened across your belly, pushing you against the wall and stabilizing you.

“I was laying in my bed, trynna think of what would make me go to sleep. And then, I started thinking about this pretty pussy,” he said. He began to eat you out and talk through it, dragging his lips. He spoke these words into your pussy like he was writing affirmations into your skin with his tongue.

“About how you get so wet, so quick. My favorite is when you start leaking down your leg,” he said. At the end of the sentence, he sucked on your clit and you cried out, gripping his shoulders and trying to push. He held you down, held you open, while he purred.

“I like knowing you get so needy, you can’t help it. You’d fuck anything nearby, wouldn’t you?” He cooed into your pussy.

Your teeth chattered as he licked and prodded at your entrance, gathering up your essence, and suckling it all down. He moved back up to your clit, playing with the swollen nub with the tip of his tongue. You shivered against him and he moved with you, dodging your attempts to turn to mush in his arms.

“And then I started thinking, hmmm, I need that. I need to bust down that throat. Or maybe save this load for this pussy. She look hungry,” he said, moving his lips between your folds.

“Oh god, oh god,” you moaned. The fire he started went straight to your lower belly, clenching painfully as you neared an orgasm. Why was it so difficult to maintain a cool exterior with this man? In no time at all, he already had you screaming to the heavens. Screaming for any neighbors to hear that he was hand delivering pleasure.

His hand squeezed your ass and you moaned, biting your lip painfully. His lips began smacking, suckling on your clit and releasing it with a loud smack. Your clit throbbed, uselessly clenching around nothing.

“Please, Terry, oh god, please, please,” you begged.

“Keep begging, baby, shit turns me on,” he said, repeatedly suckling your clit.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, finally letting the climax take over. You shook and shivered, flopping against the wall and turning boneless. Terry kept up with your flopping, chuckling evilly as he continued to eat you out while you spasmed on him.

“That’s it. That’s it, beautiful. Let all that shit go,” he whispered into your pussy. You didn’t know how you heard him. Perhaps he was just that good. Just that in control. That deep voice was lower than sin as he whispered against your clit, rolling his tongue.

You looked down at him and his eyes snapped to yours. Eyes soft. Pretty ass eyelashes. He was perfect. Too perfect. Your body stopped flopping and you panted, huffed, as you came down. Terry slowed his tongue against your clit, flattening his tongue against and making you jerk.

His heavy breaths fanned across your pussy and you moaned, writhing against him. “Fuck, Terry,” you said.

Terry kissed your thighs, leaving a trail of wet kisses. He continued up to your belly, lifting your shirt with his head and he came up further. Your leg slid from his shoulder down to his side, and wrapped around his leg as he stood up.

He gripped your chin and pulled you into a kiss. You smelled and tasted yourself on him, your slick on his beard. You moaned, turning the kiss nasty as you played with each other’s tongues.

Terry broke the kiss and smirked at you as he hooked his thumbs into your panties and tore them from your legs.

“Hey!” You yelled, slapping his shoulder. Terry smirked, licked his lips, and stuffed the panties into your mouth. You smelled your arousal, your essence, and you moaned.

“You like it,” he said with a shrug.

You rolled your eyes, lifting your hand to pull your panties out. Terry snatched your wrist, pulling it above your head. Before you could lift the other, he snatched that one too. He kept both in one hand, and then stuffed your panties further into your mouth.

“When you gon’ say yes and let me play in these guts whenever I want?” He asked.

You groaned and closed your eyes to the onslaught of pleasure. His voice found your off switch, making your brain fritz out over hearing his words. “Not now, Terry,” you said, voice muffled by the panties.

You breathed harshly through your nose, rubbing yourself against him. He was so tall, so big, so thick.

“Why not now?” Terry asked, nudging his nose against yours. He kissed the corners of your mouth, kissing your jaw below your ear, and then nibbling on your earlobe.

He used his free hand to lift you on top of him and you wrapped your legs around his waist. His impressive bulge slotted between your legs and you moaned, rubbing yourself against him. Fuck, he made you needy. Wanton. Like you truly grew dumb, replaced with nothing but your baser instincts. To fuck. To grind. To toot your ass in the air and let him do whatever he wanted. Whatever he asked for.

“What’s holding you back from me? From this? From fucking you in the morning, fucking you at night, in between meals when I need to get inside you. I know you feel this too,” he said. He moved his joggers down, exposing his huge dick.

“Fuck,” you moaned, rubbing against him. Your pussy smacked as he tapped his tip against your pussy.

“She nice and loud tonight,” he said.

Your legs shook as Terry moved his dick through your folds, getting the tip of him wet before pushing in.

“Oh shit, shit, shit,” you moaned, throwing your head back against the wall. He was so big. “Fuck, fill me up, fill me up.”

Terry groaned as he pushed inside, rolling his hips to sink inside. To bury his shaft deep and touch a that part inside. The part only he could touch. You tried going on dates with other guys. You tried convincing Terry and yourself that you were for the streets. Wasn’t no nigga gon’ play ‘round you no more.

But they all fell short. They all were measured against Terry and were found lacking. Incomplete. With a look, Terry could have you whining and fucking yourself on him like a horny dog.

“You could have this whenever you want,” he said. He began to stroke, proving that what came before were merely foreplay. He snapped his hips, pumped his arms and slammed you on his dick.

You moaned and grunted on his dick, crying, shaking, gripping onto him for dear life. He was the only one capable of delivering this type of pleasure. He leaned down and buried his nose into your neck, absently kissing you. Licking the rapid pulse in your neck.

“Terry, please, not-now,” you moaned. You didn’t know if he knew what you were saying considering the gag. Every inhale brought a fresh wave of your scent to your nostrils and you moaned. His moans mingled with yours, sliding more easily inside of you as your essence flooded his dick.

“Say yes, baby, say yes. Say yes for me. Say yes for Daddy,” he said, snapping his hips faster.

He fucked you furiously against the wall, slamming inside of you while placing tender kisses against your neck. Under your ear. Moving along your jaw. He clamped his teeth down on your panties and pulled it from your mouth. He leaned down and kissed you. Kissing those sweet lips. Playing with his rough tongue. His mouth was a gift from God himself.

You wrapped your arms around his neck. He moved his hands to your ass and smacked it, causing the sound to echo in your bedroom. “Oh fuck, Terry!”

Terry smacked your ass again. “What you s’posed to call me?” He asked.

He dropped you against his dick, pouding against that deep spot inside of you. The pitch of your moans changed, turning higher and faster. Coming quicker than you can breathe.

“There it is. But you gon’ have to earn this second nut,” he said.

You pushed feebly against his shoulders. Not to get rid of him but you needed some kind of release. Something to make the pressure pop. You forced yourself to breathe, to gulp in air.

“Please, Daddy,” you moaned, turning wet, glistening eyes to him.

A tear escaped your eye and Terry licked it off of your cheek. He purred, dick throbbing inside of you.

“Be good for me and say yes. Say yes to getting dicked down every night. On demand,” he said.

“I can’t,” you moaned, shaking your head back and forth.

He found a good rhythm, hitting your spot and making you moan every time he did it. Sweet, musical moans that sounded good even to your own ears. He was fucking you too well, had you clutching onto his neck. His thighs were like steel, effortlessly holding you and slapping against your ass.

“Sure you can, you wanna cum, right? That’s why you opened the door for me? That’s why you’ll always open the door for me? ‘Cause you know I dig this shit out right. You know you can’t find another nigga ready to treat you like this. Give you what you need. What you crave. Like a good little fuckin’ slut,” he said.

He abruptly pulled out of you. “No!” You screamed.

Terry chuckled as he carried you to the bed. He laid you down, pushing your shirt up enough for him to see your titties.

He spread your legs wide and slid back inside you like he never left. He rutted inside you, increasing his pace now that he didn’t have to support your weight. He was relentless, moving his hand up to rub your clit.

Your thighs snapped shut, trapping his hand. “Open that shit back up. Now!” He barked.

You whimpered and whined as you fought against your body, opening your legs even though you wanted to stall him. Hold him off. “Move that hand before I move it for you,” he said.

You sniffled, hot all over and sweaty all over. You moved your hand, lowering it to the covers and grabbing a handful. “Fuck! Please, Daddy!” You moaned.

Terry pushed your legs until they were practically at your chest. He slapped your ass a few times. Each slap was worse than the last, lighting your ass up like a Christmas tree.

You yelled out, cried out, pleaded with him while he continued to smack your ass and dig in your guts. You felt him deep inside, throbbing, pulsing.

“Please, give meeee,” you moaned.

Terry chuckled. He flicked his thumb against your pussy, your slick making your pussy sound louder. Wetter.

“Hear how she sings? You gon’ take this dick and still lie to my face?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Not-lie,” you huffed. Fuck, you were close. You were so close. You clutched at the covers, at the sheets, clawed at anything close by.

“You want that shit, then you say the magic words. I’m tired of waitin’,” he said.

You sniffled. Aw hell. There was no use fighting anymore. It was clear that Terry was the only one for you. He was the only one who knew exactly what to do, what to say. He was a man. All over.

You leaned on your elbows and stared in his face. “Fuck me, Daddy, like I’m yours. ‘Cause I am,” you said.

“You mine?” He asked, grinning wide and stealing your breath away. Fuck, he was so pretty. So beautiful.

You nodded. “I’m yours,” you said.

“This pussy mine, too?” He asked. He pressed on your clit and you moaned loudly. You lifted your hips, needing him to do that shit again. He obliged, pressing on your throbbing clit.

“Yes, Daddy, all yours,” you agreed. You’d agree to steal the moon for him if he would just let you cum. If he would grant his permission.

“Good, then cum on this dick like a good slut,” he said. He kissed you, changing the angle of his hips and snapping against your sweet spot. You came instantly, legs shaking, pussy gripping him tightly.

“That’s it. Squeeze that fuckin’ dick,” he moaned against your lips. He palmed your tits, kneading, pinching your nipples and making you grip him even tighter.

“Make me feel that,” he cooed as he thrust one more time and exploded inside you. His pulsing cum painted your walls white.

Terry moaned, face falling into bliss as he came. He was even more beautiful like this. Undone. Unleashed. Untethered to that iron clad control of his. He scrunched his face up, like it felt too good. Too amazing.

“Ohh, good girl, good fuckin’ girl,” he moaned, kissing your forehead. You huffed, panting, sweating. Your skin turned clammy, the pressure gone from earlier.

Your pussy squelched as Terry softened, pulling out of you. His cum gushed out, leaking down your ass and onto the bed. Terry kept your legs spread, watching as he leaked out of you.

“Tomorrow night. Me and you. Date night. Then back here so I can fuck your brains out,” he huffed. He kissed your forehead and then pulled you into a sitting position.

He caressed your chin and you fell forward, placing your forehead against his sculpted chest. “Yes, Daddy,” you said and kissed his belly.

“There’s my girl,” he said.

There's more Terry! The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist: @planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

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@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

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@misskiki90 @miyuhpapayuh @satoruya @starcrossedxwriter

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ashen-char · 2 months ago

Text

special to me 🔞

ship: anora x reader (gender neutral in terms, reader has a penis so g!p)

content: smut (but not PIV), sex work bc of ani's job

summary: a regular client of ani's, you strive to be special to her. the way she calls you puppy makes you think you might be.

word count: 1100+

Ani moans into the kiss, her body arching down into your touch. She can feel the hardening evidence of your arousal pressing against her thigh, hard and insistent. So greedy. She fucking loves it. It makes her own core throb with need, her panties dampening. Because of you. For you.

This knowledge is why you come back every time. You delude yourself that she's only this wet for you, that she hates everyone else she talks to. They're just wallets. You're special. Maybe it's true. Maybe this is her shtick with every client that walks through those doors. You can't bring yourself to care. Not when she smells of cherry blossoms and cheap tequila, not when you can taste her sweet on your tongue and feel her heat on your lap.

"Mmm, my naughty darling," Ani purrs, her hands sliding under your shirt to explore the planes of your back. "Touching yourself without permission, wasting your fuckin' cum. Such a bad puppy." She rocks her hips down against your lap, grinding her clothed pussy against your cock. You can feel it straining in your boxers, begging, pleading for more. More friction, more attention, fucking anything. "Don't you know it's all mine?"

"I'm not bad," you protest weakly. "Just missed you. P-please." You don't think you get the last word out, interrupted by Ani's manicured fingers slipping into your waistband. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, nails digging into the leather seats.

Headquarters' VIP room is a familiar sight to you now. You went for the first time a couple months ago for your best friend's bachelor party. That's when you saw her.

Ani's words bring you out of that reverie. "You're lucky I'm in the mood to forgive you. The thought of you needing me so bad you stroked that pretty cock 'til you popped? Well, it makes a girl feel special." She flashes you a smile and you think it's genuine. You feel it.

That makes you perk up. You're her puppy, her baby, she wouldn't forgive anyone else. She wouldn't care.

Ani's hands slide down to your ass, squeezing the firm muscle there. She hooks her legs around your hips, using the leverage to pull you closer. Dancing has given her a lot of strength that might be surprising considering her slight frame, her core and legs in particular. You watch in awe every time she's on the pole. Or on your lap.

"I think you owe me an apology, don't you?" she breathes, her lips brushing against your ear. Her whisper is hot, makes your dick twitch. "You should've fucking visited earlier if you missed me. I think you need to make it up to me with that fat dick of yours."

She reaches between your bodies, fumbling with your zipper. Ani's fingers brush against your clothed cock, making her gasp at the size of you. "Fuck, puppy. Already?" the dancer teases.

"You know you make me hard," you answer sheepishly. "Don't be mean."

She finally gets your jeans undone, shoving them down your hips along with your boxers. "Fine. I'll play nice." Your cock springs free, slapping against your stomach with a resounding thwack. Ani's eyes widen at the sight, her mouth watering, mouth curving into a smile. "God, look at you. So big and hard, all for me."

She wraps her hand around your shaft, stroking you slowly. Ani's thumb swipes over the tip, smearing the bead of precum that's already leaking from your slit. "Tell me my body drives you insane," she says. "That you don't even look at any girl here."

"Your body is perfect." A breathless grasp. Ani pumps you a little harder, retaining that snail's pace but rewarding your words with a squeeze. "You're fucking breathtaking. No one dances better than you. I-I don't even watch anyone else, even if you're doing a group number. The other girls don't exist, not to me."

"Good puppy." She jerks you off with a smirk on that pretty face. You try not to close your eyes, to keep your gaze on how the glitter sparkles just above her cheeks, or the tinsel in her hair. Since she's got those long nails, her hand doesn't even completely wrap around you, mostly stroking the underside. But fuck that's good too. So good.

"Your good puppy," you whine. You can't take it. Your eyes close, you bite your lip, you scratch the seats up.

"I want your cum inside me, puppy. I want you to fill me up until I'm dripping with it." Her voice is low and breathy, filled with lust. "But first, I want that tongue. I want you to eat my pussy until I'm screaming your name."

Ani releases your cock, an action that makes you whimper pathetically, sitting up and quickly stripping off what's left of her clothes. She tosses her bra aside, her pert breasts bouncing free. Ani lies back on the couch, spreading her legs wide in invitation. Her pussy is glistening, swollen with arousal. "Come and get it, puppy," she purrs, her fingers sliding through her slick folds. "Show me how sorry you are."

With a harsh gulp, you kneel down in front of her. A wary glance to the door. "You sure no one will barge in?" you ask. Not that your worry lasts long. She looks too good, glistening like that. Dripping, inviting you to taste. So you throw caution to the wind and you do.

Her legs wrap around your neck and pull you in until your cheeks are pressed against her inner thighs. With a roll of her hips, her wetness smears against your face. The sweetest nectar. There's no more room for hesitation. You bury your face between your legs and eat her out like you're fucking starving.

Your erection is still raging, jutting out from between your legs, but you don't call attention to it. Ani's teased you about it a bunch, calling it your red rocket, your stiffie, laughing as she jacks you off and says it's cute. You lap at her cunt, little licks on her clit since you know she likes the build up. She always tells you to be gentle at first and you're her good puppy so you do.

Her hand strokes through your messy hair, nails scratching your scalp. "That's it, puppy. Just like that." She sighs, and you can feel her body relaxing, muscles untensing. "Maybe I missed you too. Just maybe."

You realise it then, as your tongue curls around her engorged clit and she twists so pretty for you. You were so worried about being special to her that you never thought that she wanted that too. "You're perfect," you repeat, "you're talented, and fierce and I-"

Her grip on your hair tightens and her hips rise from the leather seat, bucking against your mouth as she cums, beautiful and breaking just for you.

#anora #mikey madison x reader #mikey madison #anora x reader #g!p reader #g!p #anora mikheeva x reader #anora mikheeva

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radio-fmm · 1 month ago

Text

Dear Luffy… what?!

Luffy x fem!reader

1.6k words, fluff confession, gendered terms such as ‘woman’

!This is a part 2! Sanji found your love letter to Luffy and now everyone knows you like your Captain

Pt.1 | Masterlist

It had been a week since Sanji had found your letter, and somehow things got worse. Everyone on the ship knew about your crush by now, everyone except from the one that should be more concerned about it. The strawhats lived for gossip

Every glance, smile and compliment you’d share with your Captain as you both usually did, was accompanied with giggles, teases and whispers from your crewmates, making you nervous to even breath near Luffy in fear they’ll say something out of place loud enough for him to notice

Even your time alone was disturbed by them trying to convince you to confess to the clueless strawhat boy

“I’m sure he likes you too!”, “It’s not that big of a deal”, “Just go and tell him already!”

As encouraging they were being, it didn’t simmer your nerves, it made them grow bigger and bigger turning you into an anxious mess

Of course your time with Luffy was cut short thanks to your noisy friends; the fun games, fondness and entertaining conversations you’d used to share with him long gone, replaced with you just sulking around the ship and hiding from everyone

Soon enough they’ll either forget or lose interest in the matter

Right?

At this reate, Franky should install a loud very incorrect buzzer on the ship

All of this horrendous energy was getting to you, not only were you feeling frustrated and hopeless; since no longer getting your daily dose of Luffy, your lack of sunlight had your patience running alarmingly low. Consequently, you were feisty. No one could approach, look, ask, or even talk to you without your reaction being blown so out of proportion that it ended on you screaming at them

Today’s victim? Zoro

“Can you move your weights for a sec? I need to mop”

“Can’t” he answered quickly, grunting as he flexed his arms mid push up

“Just put them aside real quick” you were keeping your calm, already growing annoyed

“Do it yourself woman”

Uh oh

Zoro genuinely didn’t mean to sound so condescending and rude, usually you knew this was just the way he talked to everyone, you just had too much going on. The argument got so heated that it had the whole ship witnessing the whole ordeal around both, like a street fight club. You were red, cheeks puffed and up on your tip toes screaming at the swordsman like he couldn’t just cut you in half any moment now

“Can’t you just be nice for one second?!”- heads immediately turn- “Can you stop being a total jerk?!”- eyes widened- “Grow some brains first and I’ll consider it”- gasps bounce around the deck- “What about growing some balls and confess to Luffy already?”

Silence

Deafening silence doesn’t even begin to describe this silence. It’s a heavy one, laced with panic, regret and fear.

Your heart beats loud and then drops to your stomach, suddenly feeling nauseous as a hand flies to your mouth. Zoro’s eyebrows jump and sweats profusely

He fucked up

All eyes on you then on the Captain, who’s face you can’t even turn to look at right now, only focused on the embarrassment that was choking you. Embarrassing, so fucking embarrassing. The most dreaded emotion, you hated it to the core, you most rather Zoro cut your chest and throw you out into the open ocean of the Grand Line before feeling this

It’s been a while and no one has dared to speak. A giggle then breaks the freezing moment, melting it completely in its warmth as it slowly builds into joyful laughter

“Good one Zoro!” Luffy comments and it somehow feels like a punch to the gut, even if it’s just him being honest

Nami then curses at her Captain, manicured hand pushing him in pure disbelief

“What? It’s not like I didn’t know”

Silence. Everyone is surprised you haven’t fainted by now

Ussop then joins the navigators side “What? You knew this whole time?”

Finally, with all the remaining strength in your body you turn, slowly, eyes meeting as you drown in too many emotions flowing inside of you

“Hehe yeah!” The Captain smiles, ever so sweetly and you actually taste your breakfast in your mouth

You turn to Zoro, helpless

“I’m sorry” he mutters, genuinely ashamed

But you don’t answer, the only sound being heard being your boots stomping on the hard wood of The Sunny as you leave, tears peeking, and then, a door being slammed

It’s been a while since you had sobbed like this. You didn’t even knew why you were even crying anymore, the last week had been hell for you. You felt bad for snapping at Zoro and being a total ass to the whole crew; you felt so stupid for crying at something that could be resolved by talking and you hated yourself for not giving yourself grace

Because it’s ok to feel too much

It was comical how different you were from Luffy in that sense. Yes you were confident, adventurous and a loyal friend, but you were also reserved, shy and very sensitive. Your Captain was actually very emotionally intelligent, he knew exactly how to identify his emotions and navigate them, but you? It felt like being pushed into the sea without a motive or direction

You were too tender for a pirate, but again, there’s no shame in that

After a deserved lengthy crying session, you wiped yours tears and allowed yourself to take a big breath in. Suddenly, it didn’t felt as bad anymore. You opened your bedroom door and decided to go and wash your face to clear up to then apologize for exploding like you did. Again, embarrassment creeped up on you but you shrugged it off

It’s ok to feel. You reminded yourself on the mirror before leaving

The deck of The Sunny was weirdly quiet, no sign of anyone relaxing or in light conversation. Quickly you notice the familiar strawhat of your Captain and can’t help but smile a little, you had missed him this last week

“Hey Luf” you greet sweetly making him turn, a trace of a scowl leaving his features now replaced by worry, his arms shoot up unexpectedly and wrap around you before pushing you into a big hug, he speaks your name in almost relief making your heart skip a beat

“Oh I was so worried about you!, are you still mad?” His worry makes you feel guilty

“I was never mad at you Luf, or actually anyone… I was just really stressed out” you explain as you slowly melt into his embrace, warmness spreading trough your tired limbs as you feel a smile forming on Luffy’s lips

“I scolded them” your eyes wide slightly and your eyebrows jump

“Really?”

“Usopp told me what was going on and it just wasn’t ok” he tenses, as if the memory of it all makes him uncomfortable

A gentle sigh lefts your lips, leaving the tight hug you were enveloped in to face the man before you

“Thank you Luffy, but I also messed up, I shouldn’t have snapped like that” he shakes his head

“It’s understandable, you were under so much stress didn’t you?”. His understanding was something so foreign to you, his emotional maturity showing, butterflies in your belly going wild

He pulls another smile out of you before he pulls you in once again almost crushing you, it almost felt apologetic

But there was still, the elephant in the room

“So… you knew” it’s all you can muster up to say. Luffy then lets you go completely making a slight pout appear on your face at the motion. He looks a little bashful? you can’t really tell because it’s an emotion you had never related to him before

He scratches the back of his neck “Yeah… you always spend time with me and treat me differently than everyone else, and you make my heart beat so fast! It was obvious”

You don’t really know how to feel about his statement, you were obvious yet he just accepted it?. Your face becomes redish by the moment, feeling embarrassed but a different kind of embarrassed, thus one didn’t made you feel terrible

“Why didn’t you say anything?” your hands drop to play with the hem of your shirt as you waited expectantly, repeating his small hint of reciprocity in your head as comfort at the moment

“Because you never acknowledged it and I didn’t wanna push ya’”

Of course

Suddenly you feel a giggle bubble in your stomach and it hits Luffy’s ears, making him smile widely

“You’re such an idiot” your hands cover your face, the warmth of your cheeks engulfing them

“Also thought I’d pass out if I said a thing, you make me nervous” Luffy thought if he kept confessing this kind of stuff, you would keep laughing, and he adores when you do

“What?!”- you are a fit of giggles at this point. “Me? making you? nervous?!”

You both laugh, and it’s just so endearing, the moment so sugary sweet you fear you’ll have a toothache. Suddenly you are being pulled again, this time by your arms making your soft lips land on top of Luffy’s pillowy ones. You yelp in surprise but immediately ease into it, fitting in his frame like you were meant to be after all

Your tooth aches

Your Captain then looks at your puppy eyes and grins “Wanted to do that for a while now”

After a much needed kissing session to soothe you. Luffy made everyone on the ship apologize to you, one by one (except for Chopper, he never dared tease you) before making it known how much he really really loved you

Like it wasn’t obvious enough

tag list: @guinea-pig16 @cosywinterevenings @angieslove06 @rafis03

Ty for the love on the first part 🥹

#one piece #luffy x reader #luffy x you #monkey d luffy x reader #luffy oneshot #luffy op #luffy x y/n #monkey d luffy x y/n #monkey d luffy x you #monkey d luffy #monkey d. luffy #luffy #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #x reader #one piece one shot #fanfic

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niqhtlord01 · 3 months ago

Text

Humans are weird: Human cameramen are crazy

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The greatest decision Intergalactic Wave 6 ever made was hiring Reggie Bradford.

At the time of Finch’s hiring IW6 was a relatively small news organization based in the outer worlds. Barely reaching four systems on a good day compared to the top contenders like Celestial Times which was broadcasted in inner core systems and pulled in an average of twenty to thirty systems each broadcast. The anchors for IW6 were locals, a Temrelien that needed a third grade translator unit just to be barely understood and a Myporie which couldn’t see the color green.

As the underdog’s underdog, IW6 more often fed off larger stories reported by other stations or small local stories relevant to a handful of worlds. Nothing interesting happened in their corner of the universe so as long as they broke even they were fine to never reach further than the length of their arm.

Reggie Bradford was a hired on as a cameraman to work for one of the planetary studios on Orbin VIII. You’d find him either working in the back making sure the camera bots were functioning or, more often, when they weren’t he’d be manning the forty pound cameras himself. The studio crews were always amazed how this seemingly out of shape man could heft the heavy outdated camera unit like it was as light as a pen.

They wondered what a lone human was doing so far out in the boonies as he would say, but he would always shrug and say that he felt like this is where he belonged; a notion IW6 would be most grateful for in the coming days.

When the Intherax/Coalition war broke out it was the biggest news story to hit the plasma streams since the death of Empress Karen III when she was eaten by her own corganai.

The Intherax were a militaristic society, trained from birth to kill before anything else, and spanned some fifty star systems not including client kingdoms and vassals. General galactic dealings with them often boiled down to standing aside from whatever they wanted and hoping it wasn’t you or your world, lest the invasion armadas would descend and obliterate what little civilization your people had been able to achieve and then be sold into slavery.

This time however when the Intherax made a proclamation to annex the colony worlds of Jense, Shatu’a, and New Hamburg the current occupants politely told them to bugger off and formed a Coalition for mutual defense. From there dozens of governing powers flocked to the coalition and added their strength to it in what they saw as the best chance of finally checking Intherax aggression once and for all.

Ever one for a challenge, the Interax declared war on this new found coalition and opened the conflict by orbital bombarding Jense until it was little more than a cold husk of rock trapped in the decaying orbit of its system’s sun.

What followed was best described as two sides of no holds bar warfare as the Coalition retaliated with the first ever invasion of Intherax territory against the world called Kai’de.

Naturally every news organization wanted to be seen covering the war, including IW6. Sadly they did not have anyone either brave enough to send so they settled on sending someone they believed was stupid enough and sent Reggie.

They expected to get some b-roll of soldiers marching or shots of fleet warships in formation. They never expected nor asked him to go into active combat. So when the first feed came back during their late night broadcast they were surprised to see that Reggie was onboard an assault ship breaking through atmosphere.

“Reggie,” the Temrelien spoke with every other word shifting tone from the broken translator, “where are you?”

“I’m currently with brave members of the 27th Dragoons as they head to take the fight to the surface of Kai’de.”

Reggie waved a hand at the soldiers who in turn gave a rousing cheer and slammed their feet against the metal decking.

“Orders came in late last night for a massed landing to take the enemy by surprise. From what I understand the Intherax military had not expected coalition forces to invade their territory and have not had time to establish proper defenses.”

Both news anchors looked at each other in confusion.

“If that’s the case isn’t this broadcast putting the entire attack at risk?”

To their surprise Reggie laughed as the camera shook.

“The plan was to get them by surprise, but judging from the amount of anti-air fire,” he said as the assault ship rocked back and forth, “I don’t think they were fooled.”

The camera panned right suddenly as one of the armored dragoons grabbed it and spoke directly into it.

“We want them to know we’re coming! Because we’re going to kill them all!! AHAHAHAH!!”

Another chorus of cheers and whoops came from the soldiers as the soldier let go of the camera and Reggie readjusted it. The anchors wanted to continue their questions when the leader of the dragoons shouted out and interrupted them.

“60 seconds!”

With the order given the soldiers stopped their foolery and began hefting their weapons. Reggie panned the camera over them as they slapped in fresh clips or attached power cables from their backpack generators to their more heavy weaponry.

In awestruck silence the anchors and their viewers watched as the assault shuttle slammed hard into the surface and the boarding ramp flew open.

“GO GO GO GO!!!!” the dragoon leader shouted as the soldiers poured out screaming their battle cries. Reggie waited and filmed them as they disembarked but did not join the first out the ramp. A inclination that saved him as enemy gun fire began raking the ramp striking several soldiers down in clouds of viscera and gore.

The censors barely had time to cut the feed while the horrified anchors composed themselves to resume the broadcast.

In the hours that followed IW6 confirmed that Reggie had survived the battle and had been with the unit of dragoons for the entire duration. During those hours he had recorded the entire engagement from ramp down, to storming city streets as the Intherax deployed building sized walkers, to the hoisting of the coalition flag over the central governing building at the heart of the city.

With this footage viewership numbers for IW6 skyrocketed overnight as none of the other networks had been able to capture such stunning footage. In fact, by the intake of broadcasts none of them had been able to attach an anchor or cameramen to the initial assault save for Reggie. When asked how he had been able to get approved for such a deployment he did not say which only further added to the mystery. Yet for the moment IW6 was far from ready to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Reggie’s footage was shown over and over on IW6 and was soon sublicensed to other networks and shown there. Exploits of the dragoons became known galaxy wide as Reggie followed them through battle after battle; never afraid to risk his life to capture the perfect moment.

When the Intherax fleet arrived in orbit and began to bombard the planet while also fighting the coalition fleet Reggie had forgone sheltering in nearby bunker complexes to film the orbital strikes as they hurtled down all around them.

Thick columns of pure energy shattered buildings and mountains alike as the ground quaked and there stood a lone Reggie filming it all. Even when the anchors begged him to find shelter he simply panned the camera over the city to show entire skyscrapers be reduced to molten mounds the oozed and sludged through the city streets.

By the time the battle had finally ended thanks to Reggie’s footage IW6 climbed the viewership charts to be the third most watched network galaxy wide. Much to the dismay of IW6 it also drew the attention of Reggie the cameraman to the other outlets who began showering him with ever more lavish offers for employment.

Too their surprise he denied them all and said that he was right where he belonged.

#humans are weird #humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #cameraman #news broadcast #space news

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mxzero · 17 days ago

Text

DULLED HIM

Synopsis: Zoro found it difficult to detest you any longer

Count: 3003 wrds

a/n . . slightly rushed ending due to motivation loss?

He didn’t like you.

The very moment Luffy deemed you one of the crew, it took core strength not to make a fuss about it. As much of a fool he could be, a Captain’s decision would always be final. Still, that didn’t mean he had to like you. Zoro failed to perceive what you brought to the table, what made you useful other than your place as another bland decoration on the Sunny when he walked by. If he paid much attention, he’d see your effort—perhaps if he squinted hard enough. Your existence was but a bother, and overtime, he’d gotten sick of saving your hide in the midst of a fight all because you couldn’t sense the enemy’s approach quick enough.

Zoro resisted complaining, as it’d ruin his image. The great swordsman, destined to be the best of all time, complaining over a crewmate that couldn’t even hold a sword correctly? Foolishness. He’d covered Nami and Usopp’s asses on days end, and you'd have to be no different. Of course, there were various aspects of you that he couldn't ignore completely. Like your captivating smile that tended to rival Luffy’s when you were happy enough.

..Not that he glanced at your face long enough to view it. No, not at all.

You'd prove to be a liability in no time. Then they'll see. They'll all see how much of an extra, useless weight you were to carry. Alas, it appeared the swordsman was incorrect himself, and for once, doubted his judgment.

“Roronoa!”

“Hah?”

Zoro had taken it upon himself to venture into the green depths of the island’s forest, departing from the docked Sunny with little to no awareness of his surroundings. Had he stayed put to listen, he would've known a sheet of frigid snow would make its appearance on the island. It was bad enough he had a poor perception of his surroundings—to navigate through weather as severe as this was but a death sentence. Zoro wandered aimlessly, and unfortunate for him, not even his sharpened blades could fend off the chilling breeze that ravaged his body. The fire of determination is what kept his soul warm.

The utterance of his name is what pulled him from his concentration.

Swiveling his head around, his available eye zeroed in on you in no time. His hand had instinctively fallen to the hilt of his sheathed sword, his reddened nose wrinkling with mild annoyance. “Thought I told you to quit callin’ me that.” He grumbled, though instead of acknowledging his dissatisfaction, your ears focused on the evident frog in his throat. Unlike him, you came prepared for the weather that Nami forecasted, clad in a lengthy, pink wool coat, insulated bottoms, and a pair of boots ensuring your feet stayed protected.

The snow crunched underneath your boots with every pounding step you took, a look of relief filtering through now that you'd confirmed the swordsman’s well-being. Not that you doubted he could fend for himself. Zoro, veiling his confusion underneath the impregnable walls of his unwavering resolve, stared at you with puzzlement. Why were you out here in such conditions? “I was looking all over for you!” You smiled, the warmth of it stumping the swordsman further, though he brushed it aside. He squinted, his fingers tightening around his sword with suspicion. “What for?” He quirked a brow, challenging your reasoning head-on. He didn't need a pansy to guide him back to the ship, even if he had passed the same frail tree five times now. The slashes he'd carved into the bark made it obvious.

“Well, you hadn't returned from when I last saw you leave– and I didn't want Luffy to eat your dinner because you didn't show up.” You explained your reasoning, but even then, Zoro didn't budge. You paused mid-explanation to spot your crewmate’s unusual flaws within his appearance. Speculating he might've caught a cold from enduring the icy breeze all this time, you did what anyone with sympathy would do. Zoro’s grip loosened up, observing with caution as you removed the flowy scarf that ornamented your choice of attire.

His stoicism wavered once it made its home around his neck.

The soothing fabric hugged his neck, and with you looping it around his broad shoulders to ensure he stayed protected, an unfamiliar warmth hugged his heart as well. “You should be more careful, marimo.” Your voice had always been the epitome of euphonic, but with the lack of obnoxious voices from the rest of the crew to drown it out, it was almost a rich noise to his ears. He wasn't even upset you called him out of his name. His fingers curled around the fabric, pulling it up to shield his nose from being further assaulted by falling snowflakes. While you didn't have the gall to admit it aloud, you thought the garment was worn nicely by him, especially it previously belonging to you.

Zoro would soon come to know your generosity didn't cease there.

The hairs of his nape stood at the atypical brush of your thumbs against his flesh, working your fingers to cover up his exposed skin by grasping his coat, closing it up as best as you could. “Nami says you’ll have trouble getting back, so lemme help!” Your confidence brooked no room for objection, sealing the deal with the way you began to drag him along by his wrists. It felt odd, but not once did the swordsman even begin to struggle against your touch. Despite the sickening fuzzy feeling inside, your words only then registered.

“She said what?”

“Walk faster!”

Dinner.

It went the same, per usual. The liveliness of the kitchen seemed vacant, quiet enough for Zoro to catch the sound of bubbles surfacing in the blue depths that kept their ship afloat. He hardly discerned the ringing clinks of cutlery against their plates, as though such clamorous sounds that once grated on his nerves no longer existed. Even plucking a scallop from his plate made little to no noise, the swordsman beginning to wonder if it was the work of some paranormal activity. No, he doubted it. That cotton candy-haired pest was far away from him.

Zoro’s eye lifted from his plate at last, and as it did, the food he chewed caught in his throat. The mouths of his crewmates, they certainly were moving—fast enough to where he couldn't read their lips no matter how hard he tried. From the way Luffy and Usopp’s chests oscillated from their laughter, Brook’s obnoxious movements that had him out of his seat—there should be nonstop racket ricocheting off the walls at lightspeed. But no.

Their boisterous captain pulled his infamous party trick; shoving chopsticks up his nostrils and proceeded to make faces no regular human being could possibly manage. While most erupted into muted cackles, Zoro's heart threatened to leap out of his chest the very moment a single voice ripped through the quiet cursed upon his ears.

It was you.

Zoro’s attention snapped toward the one seated across him, the scallop that lodged itself in his esophagus hitting the pit of his stomach like a bullet. The way you laughed wasn't anything he had ever heard before, and he came across many adversaries that sparked the desire to dice the meat of their tongues just to silence them. The droplets of mirth that made your eyes glossier reeled him in like a damn fish, the hand that tried to cover that widening smile while you laughed useless. He hadn't the foggiest idea as to why the golden sound that was your amusement was what called out to him, but in a way, he didn't wish to hear anything else at that moment.

Hearing his own thoughts then, Zoro pushed himself up abruptly from the table, resulting in the shaft of his encased swords knocking Robin’s glass over. The sound that finally transferred through was the glass shards scattering across the floor. Not only that, but his faltering breaths that made his chest tight became a pounding disturbance to his eardrums. Silence shrouded the kitchen then, the beady eyes of your crewmates including your own now locked with the startled first mate.

“Watch it, one-eyed wonder.” Sanji hissed, the cook having already moved to clean up the mess. Zoro, not one to take such insults, opened his mouth to retaliate. “Zoro,” It was your voice that rose instead, his lips pressing into a straight line. That concern in your tone, it was nothing more than pity. He loathed it. With a sudden jerk of his ankle, Zoro smashed a shard underneath his boot until it crumbled into meaningless particles. More specifically, until the reflection of his scrunched face of confusion was no more.

The swordsman retired from the suffocating room without an exchange of words, his posture as he exited a silent request he be left to his own devices. Smartly, no one rose from their seats, left to pick at the leftovers on their now lukewarm plates. Luffy, on the other hand, happily extended his arm across the table, prepared to swipe Zoro's leftovers if it weren't for Nami’s chopsticks pinning his rubbery hand to the table.

You stayed behind to help Sanji with the dishes, even though the lovelorn chef insisted you get your rest. Truth be told, you wanted a distraction. Zoro valued his alone time, they all knew that. It was practically a virus how much you wanted to help him—even though you weren't entirely sure as to what his troubles stemmed from in the first place. You weren't a tough fighter like the swordsman, the captain, or the cook. But at the same time, you hardly backed out either, knowing you were a weak link. Still, you made it a personal mission to prove your worth to them all.

You still had a debt to repay, after all.

So caught up in your thoughts, Sanji’s constant calling of your name didn't register until now. “Y/N!” The cook’s voice startled you, the dish you'd just finished cleaning flying from your hands. Sanji moved twice as fast to retrieve it, the plate balanced on his erect knee while his arm saves you from quite the fall. “Sorry..” You were quick to apologize, though the accepting smile on the cook’s face cleared up your guilt. “You're losing your edge tonight, Y/N. I'll finish up here, just get some damn good rest.” His advice was the best course of action, it seemed. With a short nod of understanding, you dried your hands off with a nearby towel. Of course, the thoughts of dinner didn't quite leave.

“I don't think Zoro's feeling well.” You sighed, folding the towel up once more and placed it back on the counter. Sanji bent his cigarette between his fingers, mulling over your concern with a fraction of a contrasting feeling. “I'm sure that muscle-head is fine..” He scoffed, tendrils of smoke billowing in the gap between you both. The cook's words did little to console you, especially when you had a strong gut feeling that you were correct. Noticing the flame in your eyes that refused to be extinguished, Sanji sighed. “..but it wouldn't hurt to check on him,” He added rather late, his hand giving your shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “You're good at that.” His words then gave you enough courage to set out in search of your troubled first mate.

You were grateful for your suitable choice of wear, otherwise, you were certain you'd keel over from the unbearable chill just beyond the door. Stepping out onto the deck, you drew in a breath, bracing yourself for what could possibly come. Zoro would be found and consulted, you swore on it. With your goal in mind, you began to wander the Sunny, caring not for the snowflakes that began to teem from the star-spangled sky, for such minor inconveniences wouldn’t keep you from doing what felt right.

The frustrated grunt somewhere behind you piqued your interest.

Your eyes snapped that direction in an instant, but to your disappointment, there wasn’t anyone there. Until you looked up, that is. The crow’s nest, and within the dome-shaped hut, the training room where Zoro released his pent-up frustration. You felt foolish for not thinking to look there first.

And so, with a sudden surge of energy, the bottom of your sandals slapped against the floorboards to reach the ropes surrounding the mast. You scaled them with efficiency, not that you were the best at climbing such wild ropes, but your determination kept you going. Soon enough, you reached the hut and poked your head through the entrance within the floor. You dodged the flying attack by the skin of your teeth, ducking in time to avoid being diced like the training dummy just behind you. Before you knew it, the clatter of swords hitting the ground nearly had you fall out of shock.

It was the sudden, unyielding grip on the collar of your shirt that kept you from plummeting to the deck far below.

Your gaze gradually lifted, wantonly zeroing in on the beaded-sweat chest before ultimately meeting the scowl of the first mate you were in search for. “..Thank—” But before you could proceed with expressing your gratitude, you were dropped onto the wooden floor with little warning. Naturally, you rolled, and as you did, Zoro’s foot that stamped your back, albeit gently, kept you from hitting a dumbbell. “What, long-nose?” He spat, but instead of acknowledging the venom, your attention was drawn by the moniker. “I'm not Usopp.” Your mouth formed a slight pout, Zoro's eyes narrowing at the sight of it. “With the way you stick your nose in other people's damn business, you might as well be.”

You found yourself incapable of retorting, as he did have somewhat of a point.

Of course, to bicker wasn't what you came here for. “Ror– Zoro,” You cleared your throat, a relieved exhale leaving your lips once Zoro's foot lifted from your back. He looked down on you with a glint of an emotion you struggled to identify. The question you planned to ask, it had been answered. Zoro's eyes squinted, a sudden tension gripping his face. That reddened nose of his twitched, and before long, the imminent eruption that was his sneeze rattled his bones. You climbed to your feet in an instant, but the swordsman’s hand that revealed his outward facing palm forced you to a halt.

“I'm fine.”

“Your ears turn red when you lie.”

Zoro quirked a brow, his hand instinctively moving to cover his jewelry-ornamented ear. His face flushed with annoyance at the sight of your smug smile, the realization that he’d be duped being rather humbling. “You think yer funny.” It wasn’t a question, more of a bold statement of a fact—not that he’d admit such a thing. You weren’t above referring to yourself as a comedian when appropriate, but now wasn’t the time. “This is why I told you to cover up!” You frowned, and his scoff that dismissed your evident concern irked you further. Zoro’s eyebrows seemed to crease, for the sound of your words being sautéed in venom was a harmony hadn’t heard. He didn’t like it. Your clenched fists let up, your eyes beginning to follow his hand movements with a sense of caution.

The swordsman swiped his swords from the ground, sheathing them effectively. The tautness of your face eased up at the sight of Zoro unraveling your gifted scarf from around his arm, just underneath his bandanna. How you hadn’t noticed it before, it was a question left unanswered. The swordsman extended it out to you, yet your declining of what belonged to you baffled him on the inside. And so, he took action. Your muscles stiffened as you processed the encircling of strong arms around your leaner torso, pulling you into his bare chest with little to no warning.

“You worry too much. S’just a cold.” Roronoa grumbled, but as he spoke, you took the time to swathe him in the scarf, wrapping it around his neck carefully. “You’re a fool.” You murmured, nose twitching as the scent of sweat-slicked skin infiltrated your senses, caused by the close proximity. “Why’d you leave dinner early?” At long last, the million dollar question fell from your lips, and it seemed his nose began to burn brighter. He planned to pull apart from you then, but it was useless once you wrapped your arms around him as well, drawing him closer.

“Didn’t like the food.” Zoro shrugged, though the both of you seemed to know what a lie that was. Breathing a sigh of exasperation, your hands slid up his brawny back, up to cradle his cheeks in your palms. The gesture puzzled him, enough to briefly shatter the intricately crafted facade of collectiveness he bore. “Don’t lie to me..” You playfully warned, feeling the way he subtly leaned into the touch of your hands, thumbs smoothing along his cheekbones. Zoro’s expression softened, chewing the bottom of his lip with mild annoyance. However, as your thumb brushed against the bottom, thumbing the swelling with a tender touch, he found it difficult to resist.

In a swift motion, his lips met yours in a messy, fervent kiss, gradually softening into something tender and affectionate. Instinctively, your fingers wrapped around the back of his head to pull him impossibly closer, granting him the wish of claiming your lips so hungrily. The fingers of your free hand traced the broadened chest before you, your occupied hand cradling the head of the man you wanted. The two of you parted reluctantly, Zoro’s tongue sweeping across his lips to savor the sweet taste of your own.

“M’not lyin’,” Zoro breathed, pinching your chin to tilt your head up further, “..but it tasted better comin’ from you.” The smirk tugging at his lips sent a warm flush creeping up your cheeks, unable to resist the smile that made your cheekbones ache.

#roronoa zoro #one piece #zoro x reader #one piece zoro #zoro #one piece x reader #zoro roronoa x you #zoro roronoa x y/n #zoro x you #zoro roronoa x reader #oneshot #fluff #comfort #straw hat pirates #straw hat crew

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sleepymarimo · 1 year ago

Text

𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥! 𝕡𝕥. 𝟚

part two to this fic! summary: after catching you in your room, you and the swordsman decide to take things up a notch pairing: zoro x afab!reader cw: mdni, oral (m!receiving), reader cannot deep throat to save her life, missionary, mating press, both parties are inexperienced, soft!zoro an: welp, this is my longest work and it's literally just sex, so... thanks for sticking around 🫶 special shoutout to lana del rey, arctic monkeys and hozier 🫡 and the whole bottle of wine i drank while writing this wc: 4.1k

not letting your eyes leave his, you lower yourself until you're knelt before him, caged between his strong legs. running your hands up and down the length of his clothed thighs, you give him a smile, more than eager to return the favor. "show me."

show me how to make you feel good.

zoro's heart catches in his throat as he processes your bold request, driven by lust and an eagerness to please.

the feel of your hands along his clothed thighs have him releasing a long exhale, his head falling back before he catches himself. you’d trusted him with your body, your pleasure, so why would he deny you?

your head tilts, timidly and almost too innocently, as you gaze up at him. you can’t deny that you’re curious, that you've been curious, your thighs rubbing together in anticipation for his next move. the soft crashing of waves against the hull and the gentle sway of the ship barely register to your senses. even the dull pain of your knees on the wooden floor do little to distract you from the swordsman.

his hands get to work, tugging his trousers and boxers down just enough to release his cock from the suffocating layers of fabric. he can’t help but give it a few strokes and let out a throaty sigh, the events from earlier having him ridiculously hard.

he can almost see the way your pupils dilate, a silent plea for permission to which he responds by retracting his hand and relinquishing control to you. tugging upwards on the hem of his shirt, he removes the garment and tosses it to some random corner in the room. the muscles of his chest and abdomen flex as his palms find their way to the mattress, where he leans back and allows you space to tend to him.

one of your hands tentatively wraps around the base of his aching length, lightly stroking it. that action alone has his breath hitching, his hips gravitating upwards toward your touch. yet, it’s not nearly enough. he can sense your hesitance, your touches feather soft and unsure.

“you can go harder.” he says through clenched teeth, his fingers digging into the bedding.

you obey, tightening your grip and biting your lip as you take it all in. the flesh of his cock is so soft, almost like velvet. it’s a stark contrast to the scarred skin of his chest, a testament to his strength and fearlessness. it reminds you of why you admire him so much, your mouth watering as you continue to jerk him off. your own hips gyrate slightly and you let out a small, shaky breath.

“is this okay?” you ask, so desperate for his validation as you continue to please him. your grip is steady, squeezing slightly harder when you reach the head of his arousal. pre-cum dribbles from the tip, his jaw falling open as he silently accepts your pleasure.

his response is an exhale, a rumble in his chest. “that’s perfect.”

and it's true. the swordsman hasn't ever experienced anything quite like this. he can feel his face growing hotter, his groans becoming harder to contain.

his praise sends shockwaves of bliss to your core, the sight of his closed eyes and delighted expression only making you more bold.

your lips part and you lean closer, your tongue caressing the tip of his hard cock before the rest of your mouth engulfs him. with a hiss, he bucks his hips, unable to resist the warmth and wetness you offer. he definitely didn't expect that. a whine escapes you as you accommodate to the the feel and taste of him, your mouth feeling full.

there’s a salty taste to his skin, a layer of sweat from the training he’d done not too long ago. after a sharp inhale from your nose, you try your best to set a tempo with your hand and mouth. the wooden floor creaks beneath you as you adjust your position.

you can only take so much, his large cock easily sliding past your uvula in a way that had you gagging. tears prick at the edges of your eyes and you focus on anything other than the sensation of his length down your throat. to compensate, your hand works itself a little faster up and down his shaft, squeezing a bit harder.

meanwhile, zoro finds himself struggling to cope with a plethora of new feelings. his chest swirls with lust and affection as he looks down at you. the sight of your mouth struggling to take him in, the sound of your repressed gags and the way your body lurches when you take him in too deep- it has him wanting to ruin you in ways he'd never thought about before.

he doesn't want to fuck this up with his impulsive actions, so he forces himself to take what you so sweetly give him. every fiber of muscle in his body is tense with anticipation, poised and on edge.

your mouth heavily salivates, the sticky, slick fluid dribbling down past your lips and down his cock where your hand uses it as lubrication to pump him even faster.

he can sense your eagerness, your need to drive him to the edge of release. so, he indulges you.

“that’s it.” he praises with a gruff sigh, his hand coming to rest atop your head in a bid to encourage you. “keep goin’.”

when his hips buck and it’s too much, his cock ramming too far down your throat, you have to take a break and open your mouth with a choked whine. strings of saliva mixed with pre-cum tether your lips to the tip of his arousal as you take some breaths, your hand continuing to service him. some tears roll down your cheeks and your eyes flicker up to him, as if wanting to make sure you were doing well.

his reddened cheeks and the way his chest heaves has you feeling confident and assured.

it’s only then that you acknowledge the pulsing sensation between your thighs, a neediness that you can’t ignore for much longer. your free hand slides down to your clit, begging for any sort of friction.

the sound of your moan lightly echoes in the air, your lips quickly returning to their previous position until you’re applying a firm pressure around the head of his cock with your mouth. the noises you make have his head snapping down and he quickly notices how you're attempting to pleasure yourself.

he lets out a small grunt as he assesses the situation. did you need him? of course you did. and he's not adamant on leaving you unsatisfied.

the hand on your head pushes you back, a rough growl emanating from his chest when your lips leave his tip with a 'pop'. “c’mere…”

without much effort, he leans forward and places his hands on your waist, lifting you until you’re on the bed with your back on the soft sheets.

after a squeak of surprise, you find yourself looking up at him with slightly parted lips. he leaves the bed only to shed the rest of his clothes, the mattress dipping with his weight as he joins you once more. your thighs widen, preparing yourself for the inevitable as he settled between your legs.

completely bare, you can’t say that you’ve ever felt so vulnerable. your hands absentmindedly place themselves on your tummy in an attempt to lessen the feeling of being exposed. however, you place your trust in zoro completely. how can you not? you can’t remember a time when you doubted his loyalty or his intentions.

the swordsman’s chest rises and falls in a quick rhythm, knowing deep in his mind that this would forever shift the dynamic between the two of you.

he couldn’t care less, though. you’d proven yourself to him time and time again. there was no point in denying his attraction towards you. he’d suppressed it enough, he thinks, reminiscing about the times he’d force himself to look away when he saw you sunbathing or after a battle when your clothes were torn.

his strong hands, hands which have very well ended the lives of many, softly dig into the flesh of your thighs. letting go of any reservations he might’ve had, he takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him.

now that he was looking down at you, really taking you in, he couldn’t help himself from groaning. the swordsman was really never good at keeping his thoughts in his head. there’s something in his gaze that you’ve never seen before, a curious hunger and possessive carnality that threaten to tear the seams of his rationality apart.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty.” he murmurs, hands roaming across every inch of your exposed flesh. he kneads at your breasts, runs his thumbs over your perked nipples, squeezes the flesh of your tummy and rubs circles on your hips. in this moment, every inch of you is his to explore and savor.

he’s captivated by you, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. his cock twitches and he leans forward enough to allow it the pleasure of lightly rubbing between your slick folds.

you’re not immune to him and your hands do the same, gliding over his biceps and up to his broad shoulders. one of your hands even trails to his chest, where you lightly trace the edges of his scar. something about it has you shivering slightly, a sharp reminder of the beast looming above you.

every touch and caress from him has your back arching, muscles twitching as they beg him to get on with it. even the head of cock against your entrance has you squirming and whining.

his grip settles on your hips and he takes a deep breath, searching for any hint of reluctance or unease in your expression. “y'ready?” he asks, needing your confirmation.

your nod comes so fast that you wonder how you don’t get whiplash. your clammy, shaky hands come up to rest on his biceps. “yeah.”

he doesn’t hesitate, his hips rolling forward until he’s slipping into your wet cunt. your body, unfamiliar with such an intrusion, tightens and welcomes him with a pulse.

so…fucking…warm. he thinks, his grip on your hips tightening.

he’s dizzy, every nerve in his body alight as he sinks into you. he barely registers the feel of one of your hands coming to rest on his abdomen, keeping him from plunging in any further.

wordlessly, he obeys your silent request, though it takes a great deal of self-restraint to stop himself from fucking into you right then and there. he assesses your expression, noting your furrowed brows and open mouth. he’s not even halfway in.

“i just needa sec.” you lightly sigh, whiny and sharp as you look at him with puppy dog eyes. “s’too much.”

he grunts in acknowledgment, his tone calculated and noticeably softer. “let me know when."

your hips gyrate and he bites his tongue, allowing you time to adjust to him. those few seconds feel like eons. the hand that you have on his abdomen starts to lightly trace the muscle beneath. it's almost a sort of thank you, a gesture showing that you appreciate his patience.

when you remove your hand, allowing it to rest on his bicep once more, he searches your face for approval. with your nod of affirmation, he pushes forward once more. there's a noticeable pressure, but no pain as he inserts himself into you inch by inch. he stops for a second when he feels some resistance, but with a grunt he thrusts forward a little more until something just gives.

heavy groans leave both of you when he finally bottoms out, his hips flush against yours. it's a moment that solidifies a new connection between you and the swordsman, a bond that goes beyond mere crew mates.

"shit." he hisses, inhaling sharply as he drags his cock out of your slick folds before slowly plunging back in.

he's stretching you out nice and good, your eyelids fluttering as he continued with slow and soft strokes. initially, there's some resistance as your cunt desperately tries its best to accommodate him. after the fourth thrust, his cock starts to slide in and out of you with ease, your walls sucking him in.

that's when you start to whine and writhe, the pleasure taking a strong hold on you. his mind goes hazy and he picks up the pace, the debauched sound of skin on skin echoing throughout your quarters. you have no words, and if you did, you wouldn't be able to get them out.

your fingers dig into the flesh of his biceps and your legs snake around his waist. a small cry leaves you as you throw your head back and let your mouth fall open. your breaths are heavy and hot, your muscles turning to mush.

zoro still can't get over how tight you are around him. how your cunt seems to want nothing more than to be stuffed with his cock. his skin feels like it's on fire and a light sheen of sweat forms on his body. his hips snap into yours with great fervor and he only pulls out about halfway before shoving himself back inside of you. using almost all of his weight he pins you down by the hips, pushing you into the plush mattress.

at your moans, he glances down at your face. he’s hypnotized by your reactions, his gaze shifting from your sweat coated cheeks to your moist lashes to-

oh, how could he forget?

he’d had his fingers deep in your cunt… you’d sucked him off… now he here was fucking you. all that without having kissed you?

one of his hands releases the grip it has on your hip and he leans forward to plant his arm by your head. you feel his movements, the dip of the mattress, and you open your eyes only to see him above you. the hands you have on his biceps come up to rest on his shoulders, sliding upwards until you caressed his face.

your lips are swollen and shining with drool, making them look all the more inviting.

without wasting another second, he leans down and kisses you. he buries his cock into your cunt, his hips coming to a halt as his senses honed in on the feel of your lips against his. it's not the most coordinated kiss, but it's imbued with a level of emotion which rivals the depths of the seas.

his chest feels a different find of warmth, one that makes his heart flip.

he's quick to lose himself in the feeling, as are you. your lips continue to mold against his, time coming to a still as you revel in the act of a simple kiss.

when his tongue sneaks past your lips, lightly caressing yours, his hips burst forward and it's then that he seems to remember that he's deep inside of you. oh, he likes that. the sudden movement makes you pull back and gasp when he inadvertently bumps against your cervix. in the moment that your lips part, he's quick to lean forward and slide his tongue back into your mouth.

his hips find their rhythm once more, a pleasure building deep within your core. your moans and cries are swallowed up by him, eagerly so. his tongue laps at yours and he finds himself needing to keep his mouth on you.

he pulls back only to get in a deep breath and groan, head momentarily tilting upwards before he lazily rolls it back down to look at you.

"fuckin' perfect." he mumbles, almost in a trance as he drinks you in under his steel gaze. he leans down once more, planting a quick peck on your lips before exploring further. “y’feel so fuckin’ good.”

his mouth doesn’t leave your skin, always finding somewhere new to claim. your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. in his mindless state, he even licks a stripe up the side of your face, reveling in the taste of your sweat and tear coated cheeks. he wonders how it would feel like to use his tongue on your cunt, but figures that he could save it for the next time. between his bouts of exploration, he makes sure to capture your lips in his every so often. he groans every time your lips meet and your tongues swirl against each other.

absentmindedly, his hands fall to your thighs, adjusting the position of your legs so he could press himself closer to you. he didn't expect to pull such a reaction out of you, but the effect was immediate. the moment your legs get slung over his shoulders, he can feel you start to tighten around him with every thrust.

your whole body seems to tense, your whines wavering. "right there zoro...right...there!" your tone is hushed, almost a whisper, as if speaking any louder would pull you out of the rabbit hole you were falling into.

"i got you." he's quick to reassure, keeping that perfect pace. his cock drags deliciously against the swollen and spongy walls of your cunt, pulling more and more whimpers from you.

his forehead presses to yours, your soft moans and his ragged breaths mingling together. everything else seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you as you indulged in this sinful experience together.

simultaneously, both of your heads tilt downward and watch as his hips hammer into yours. you’re taken aback by how his cock slides out of you, drenched in your arousal, before plunging back inside. your eyes glass over and he finds himself turned on by the way you so easily succumb to the pleasure he provides.

something begins to build in your navel, clawing its way up towards your chest.

"oh! zo'..." your face scrunches as it processes the swell of euphoria. it's new, not like the orgasms you've given yourself in the past. it's overwhelming, your chest feeling like it was going to burst. "m'gonna-!"

your blissful expression and pleading whimpers spark something familiar, something animalistic deep within his core. instinctively, his thrusts get a little harder and, even though he won’t openly admit it, a part him absolutely gets off to how helpless and pitiful you look underneath him.

his earlier softness is momentarily put aside.

“you gonna cum for me?” he asks, his voice nearly a growl.

for me. he darkly thinks, his confidence growing as you so sweetly submitted to him. because there’s no way in hell i’m gonna let anyone else do this to you.

you're teetering on the edge, pushed over completely as you register his all consuming and primal aura, something akin to what you would see of him during a battle. "y-yes!"

he can't help but smirk in satisfaction when he hears your sharp gasp, the air stolen from your lungs as you came around his cock. your body spasms and writhes, back arching off the mattress while you cried out his name. his pace doesn't falter and he continues to pry you open, even when your cunt clamps down on him like a vice and begs for mercy.

your head is spinning in delight and your breath hitches. he feels so good. god, he feels so good. you're absolutely soaked, your cunt squelching embarrassingly loud with every thrust.

having reached your limit, you allow your body to go pliant. you'd let him use your helpless form as he wished. your legs limply fall from his shoulders and loosely hang over his waist.

he doesn't complain.

his thrusts get more shallow, more rapid, with the head of his cock growing sensitive and dripping pre-cum. he was so close to cumming, wanting nothing more than to stuff you with his release.

and damn, he wants to.

but the swordsman knows that now isn't the right time, so with a guttural snarl he increases his pace until the muscles of his abdomen start to twitch.

when he can’t take any more, he pulls out and lifts himself up just enough to snake a hand between your bodies and grasp the base of his cock. his cheek is pressed to your temple as his mouth falls open, the most unchaste groans spilling past his lips while he starts to fist himself.

you whine as he starts to jerk himself off, wishing that it was your drenched cunt that was wrapped around him.

his eye flutters closed and he just focuses on you. your scent. the feel of your body against his. your whimpers. he imagines pumping you full of his cum, imagines how it would leak from you, and his hips start to buck into his hand.

fuck, it’s you. it’s you.

he rasps out your name before he shudders and comes to a stop, his muscles visibly relaxing. you let out a small gasp when you feel him cum on your tummy. it’s so thick and so warm that you shake.

zoro has to take a moment just to breathe, his head heavy and clouded by the pleasure he'd just experienced. the next thing he registers is tiredness tugging at nearly every muscle in his body, before some sense starts to creep its way back into that dense head of his.

he'd really just done that. with you. his cheeks burn.

“zoro?” your voice is small and breathless, laced with satisfaction.

whatever thoughts run though his mind come to a halt when he hears the vulnerability in your voice. his head immediately drops down to you, his gaze attentive as his protective instinct takes over.

“hm, what is it?” he grunts, the bed creaking slightly as he sits up a bit. “you okay?”

your nod is firm, but your expression is a little bashful. “m’okay, it’s just, uh…” your eyes flicker down to your cum coated tummy before they meet his gaze again.

a small bit of embarrassment creeps into his chest, though the sight of you painted with his cum does make his softening cock twitch. some of it is even dripping off of you and onto the sheets below, the wet trails looking almost pearlescent in the moonlight.

fuck, she looks good…he briefly thinks, before snapping out of his daze.

“damn, gimme a second.” he looks around the room, focus landing on a box of tissues on your nightstand. leaning over you, he reaches an arm out and attempts to grab it.

his hands are still slightly shaky from his orgasm, the unsteady movements of his fingers causing the box to fall to the floor with a dull thud.

“shit.” he murmurs, groaning in frustration as he got off the bed and retrieved the box.

your eyes wander to his broad shoulders and down his back, admiring every contour of his body. he seems to feel your mesmerized gaze and he can’t help but grow uneasy at how exposed it makes him feel, as if he hadn’t had you cumming on his cock less than five minutes ago.

pushing that thought away, he takes a tissue and runs it along your soft skin. it takes a few of them to properly clean up the mess he'd left on you. when you're clean, you sit up with a sigh. there's a residual ache in your core and at your hip joints.

tenderness isn't something zoro considers himself to be an expert in. he doesn't even know where to begin, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. "what can i do?" he asks, gruff but genuine.

it makes you feel warm and you give him a smile, pushing yourself off of the bed and into a standing position. your legs tremble and zoro takes a step toward you, but you hold a hand up. "it's okay, i got it." you assure, leaning your weight on your dresser while picking some fresh underwear and a tee.

he rolls his eye as he watches you stumble to the bathroom, your knees threatening to fall out from under you. a small smirk tugs at his lips, satisfied that he reduced you to such a state.

"stubborn woman." he mutters, grabbing his boxers off the floor and tugging them back on. instead of going back to the bed, he waits outside of the bathroom.

when you finally emerge, he doesn't think twice about scooping you up into his arms. a yelp of surprise comes from you and he ignores it. he groans in relief when he finally settles down on the mattress and flings the blankets over the two of you.

his strong arms pull you to his chest, your hearts beating in tandem against one another. the scent of sex and sweat are still thick in the air, the sounds of howling winds and splashing water reverberating throughout the walls of the ship. your legs entwine with his and you can't resist the urge to lean up and plant a kiss on his cheek. as you nuzzle your face into his chest once more, he traces circles along your back, silently acknowledging the significance of tonight.

nothing has to be said, sleep claiming the both of you. you know that in the morning, he'll be there.

and that's all you can ask for.

if you read the whole thing, you get a cookie as a ty. 🍪

#roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece smut

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lesbomaticlove · 2 months ago

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ive talked about it before but i wanna talk about it again and that's

body types in drawing especially in terms of one piece characters

and i know its because official art presents them all the same but it just does not feel right to me, y'know? especially when i look at fanart and it looks like they just drew the same body multiple times with different faces (talent in that yes but god change it up a bit PLEASE)

like with my style i like to draw semi-realistic cartoon type beat, and that means im thinking about an abstract of shape language in the way that i present the characters. i consider their fighting styles and workouts when i think about what their body type would be, not just for op ive done this with mha and jjk characters too because god dammit gege, maki deserves bulkier muscles for her efforts

so here it is. my analysis of more semi-realistic designs for these characters. all my opinion and not meant to be a call out to anyone.

also, not including the women because we all know how unrealistic they look and i dont need to explain that to you im begging just use reference.

LUFFY

rubberhose arms are ESSENTIAL in his design so when i draw him, i never put too much definition in his muscles. real definition should be reserved for gears that alter his muscles

noodly arms and stick ass legs that is his Charm thank you i dont need super definition

ZORO

on the opposite end of the spectrum, zoro.

though, i see many people draw him more bodybuilder silhouette when he should be powerlifter silhouette, youve SEEN how this man works out. stereotypical bodybuilder physique that's all muscle and no fat is EXTREMELY UNHEALTHY TO MAINTAIN and you know theres no damn way sanjis letting someone on the ship watch their weight for the sake of visuals. he should be defined and bulky, but softer edges on the abs.

USOPP

Speaking first on pre ts, what does he excel at most? long range weapons and running.

obviously he gets proper strength training during timeskip, but i really think the best representative for him is olympic sprinters

muscular, but still pretty skinny

SANJI

hear me out. ballet physique.

i see him drawn w the same physique as Zoro and it just feels so wrong. he doesnt train his upper body, so most of his definition would be in his core and legs. not to mention his flexibility tracks with that.

maybe ill come back with a figure study on these later to fully show how it translates into my drawings but. for now. tumblr wont let me add any more images to this post

#one piece #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #usopp #sanji #lesbomatic meta #artists on tumblr

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alpaca-clouds · 1 year ago

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The Punk-Factor of Punkpunk Genre

So, when I posted my history of Solarpunk, someone (probably not in good faith) asked: “So, what about the punk in all the other punk genres?!” towards my request to put the punk back into Solarpunk. And given that my autistic brain obviously cannot just let that stand… You know what? Let me talk about the other punk genre and in how far they are “punk”. I tried to be as exhaustive as possible, though there is a good chance, that I might have missed some of the punkpunk genre. So feel free to add.

Trying to judge the punkiness I do not assume punk as simple counter culture, but a specific ideology. Quote from Wikipedia:

[Punk ideology] is primarily concerned with concepts such as mutual aid, against selling out, hierarchy, white supremacy, authoritarianism, anti-consumerism, anti-corporatism, anti-war, imperialism, conservatism, anti-globalization, gentrification, anti-racism, anti-sexism, class and classism, gender equality, racial equality, eugenics, animal rights, free-thought and non-conformity

Most of the artwork here has been taken from concept art of either of the examples listed.

Sorted from most futuristic to pre(historic). Yes, the list is long.

Cyberpunk

We start with the OG punk genre, the one after which all other punk genre were named. Yes, you could argue that in fact the two genre following are more futuristic – but Cyberpunk kinda just had to start the list.

As a genre: Given that Cyberpunk had its start completely in literature it is the best defined in this regard. Taking place in a late stage capitalist dystopian world in which most is owned by megacorps who don’t follow anyone’s laws but their own, the protagonists usually are social outcasts fighting against their own oppression, trying to keep themselves alive in a world hostile to them. With cybernetics always being a core of the genre, it also tends to deal with the question of humanity in a “ship of Theseus” sort of way. How much can the human body be altered, before the human vanishes?

As an aesthetic: Cyberpunk is the most punk in terms of aesthetics, really. There is a lot of punk and grunge going on in terms of character design. Neon hair colors, fishnets and thorn up jeans jackets can be found here. As well as of course cybernetics on the characters. The world usually is a megacity with a stark divide between rich and poor, tons of neon signs, a slight Japanese influence, flying cars and somehow a constant downpour of rain.

Punk-Factor: Cyberpunk is the one punk genre, where the “punk” was chosen very knowingly as a name. Usually the protagonists are “punks” fighting for their place in the world against a suppressive capitalist system. (Also, they usually fit the punk aesthetic, if they don’t wear leather dusters.) It should be noted however, that especially in newer western Cyberpunk often the punkiness vanishes more and more – for the same reason we have so little Solarpunk: media that outright confronts the problems of capitalism is just less supported.

Examples: Neuromancer (1984), Mirrorshades: The Cyberpunk Anthology (1986), Snow Crash (1992), The Matrix (1999), Dredd (2012)

Biopunk

As a genre: As a genre biopunk is still fairly ill defined, as it mostly shows up as a subsection of Cyberpunk. Rather than the characters having cybernetic implants (or additionally to it) they are augmented on a genetic level. This can be all sorts of augmentations, changing anything from appearance to giving characters higher strength and agility, giving them claws or night vision, or in some cases even “magic” powers. Usually the genre tends to be set in worlds similar to Cyberpunk. In fact it might well be set in a cyberpunk world, only that characters with bioaugmentations exist parallel to those with cybernetics. Additionally, though, there is a subsection of this genre, that concerns reproductive rights.

As an aesthetic: Ironically biopunk is even less defined as an aesthetic. There is not a lot of biopunk art out there and most that exists can go in different directions. As such it often mixes elements from other punk aesthetics – like Cyberpunk, Steampunk or Dieselpunk – with an assortment of bodyhorror elements.

Punk-Factor: It is hard to define the “punkiness” of a genre, that barely exists for the most part. Usually, when it is set against a Cyberpunk backdrop, it might be very punky, but in other settings those punk elements vanish.

Examples: Ribofunk (1995), Altered Carbon (2002), Bioshock (2007), The Windup Girl (2009)

Nanopunk

As a genre: Like Biopunk Nanopunk mostly exists as a subsubgenre to Cyberpunk, often being set in a mostly Cyberpunk world, only that instead of or additionally to Cybernetics, the technology used to alter the human body is nanites. These serve the same function as the genetic manipulation in Biopunk, giving the human in question more strength and agility and at times more or less magical abilities. There is one common plot that comes up again and again, with an AI or megacorp turning the nanites against the people they inhabit or trying to control them.

As an aesthetic: Aesthetically Nanopunk does not have much in terms of its own identity. Most artworks relating to Nanopunk feature a similar aesthetic to Cyberpunk, with megacities and lots of neon.

Punk-Factor: This genre is so small, that it is kinda hard to judge the exact punkiness.

Examples: The Diamond Age (1995), Prey (2002)

Solarpunk

As a genre: Being another genre, that started as such, Solarpunk is a bit better defined. Solarpunk usually takes place in a world post-strive. It is post-capitalist and decolonial in its settings, usually featuring a world that has either formed against the backdrop of preventing climate collapse or in the aftermath of it. A lot of it features people rebuilding – or alternatively building communities. It always features elements about living in harmony with nature or trying to do so. So far, the genre is mostly defined by short stories, partly because there is still disagreements within the movement, how far a conflict can be taken to still qualify as Solarpunk.

As an aesthetic: Solarpunk has a very strong aesthetic definition, mostly featuring all sorts of cities and urban areas, that incorporate natural elements into the urbanity, with greenery growing on roofs and concrete car-centric streets being replaced with more natural, walkable areas. The character design aesthetic is not quite as clearly defined, but usually features natural materials and patterns usually seen within indigenous art.

Punk-Factor: Contrary to what many say, Solarpunk is fairly punk, as it very much embraces the entire anti-hierarchical, anti-capitalist mentality. With the big difference, that the punk mentality is no longer counter culture, but the mainstream culture.

Examples: The Dispossessed (1974), Nausicaä (1984), Laputa – Castle in the Sky (1986), Princess Mononoke (1997), The Summer Prince (2013)

Lunarpunk

As a genre: Lunarpunk is pretty much a subsubgenre of Solarpunk, just as Nanopunk and Biopunk are sprung off from Cyberpunk. It is so far ill-defined as a genre, but the general consensus is, that it is set in solarpunk-esque worlds, but with a heavier focus on mysticism or spiritualism, at times outright including magic. It also tends to feature a lot darker places, being set in underwater or underground settings – or alternatively at night.

As an aesthetic: Lunarpunk is far more of an aesthetic than a genre so far. It features dark places, often with bioluminescent elements in it. Often featuring a mixture of black and dark blue with lighter blue, violet or light green elements shining in the middle of it. Mushrooms – especially glowing mushrooms – feature repeatedly in artwork.

Punk-Factor: Given that Lunarpunk is barely defined as a genre it is hard to estimate the punkiness in it. If it gets more stories, will those still feature the anti-capitalist and anti-hierarchical messaging we see in Solarpunk? This should be the defining factor. Some of the artworks use little aesthetics from the punk scene, but nothing much more.

Examples: Bioluminescent: A Lunarpunk Anthology (2023)

Hopepunk

Honestly, I had no idea where to put this one, given that it might technically be set at any time and place.

As a genre: Hopepunk is very much a genre, not an aesthetic. It has been defined as the opposite of grimdark by its “inventor/name-giver” Alexandra Rowland. The basic idea is to create fiction that instead of taking a dystopian, defeatist and violent approach, takes one defined by hope and to some degree pacifism. As such the genre can be set in any setting, real or fantastic. It mostly is defined by the protagonists taking opposition to cruelty and violence, fighting for a better world and, crucially, also partly archiving it. Other than in usual Cyberpunk, where the best possible ending, tends to be, that the protagonists get to live a somewhat better life themselves, Hopepunk aims to better the life at least for groups of people.

As an aesthetic: Being fully a genre, Hopepunk has no aesthetic associated with it.

Punk-Factor: Hopepunk is punk less in the sense of the protagonists or things happening within the story, which might or might not be punk, but was named such rather because it is considered counter cultural towards the gross of media at the moment, that often strives for a “realistic, gritty, grimdark” outlook on the world. Basically it is saying: “Hope is punk.” I will not make any judgement on whether or not this is true.

Examples: The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet (2014), Mad Max: Fury Road (2015), The Good Place (2016)

Mythpunk

As a genre: Another one, that does not really fit into a temporal sorting system, because once again it can be set anywhere between the stone age and the far future. The basic idea is, that the story interweaves postmodern storytelling with elements from mythology or folklore. This can mean mythological, genre-traversing retellings, but it can also mean, that mythology seeps into any given story bit by bit. As such the genre with probably the most media in the subgenre is Urban Fantasy, which often borrows from mythology and incorporates these elements.

As an aesthetic: Mythpunk as an aesthetic is a bit strange. There is definitely a mythpunk aesthetic that exists, often mixing familiar elements with elements from mythology and folklore (at times also including quasi-folkloric works of literature, such as Alice in Wonderland and the Wizard of Oz). Often just a bit dark and twisted.

Punk-Factor: To be perfectly frank, for the most part, there is not a lot of punk to be found in this genre. While there have been definitely punky stories told within the genre, this is more a story decision than something inherent to the genre.

Examples: Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), Over the Garden Wall (2014), Inscryption (2016)

Dustpunk / Rustpunk / Desertpunk

As a genre: Kinda grouping those above all together, because people argue about what they might entail and in some interpretations they kinda are similar: Post-apocalyptic stories set in a world of sand and rust. Often featuring a loner character, having to go up against everyone to ensure his own survival – and at times being forced to learn, that the lonerness might not win him (and most often it is a him) anything.

As an aesthetic: Aesthetically this tends to be very much post-apocalyptic, maybe in some cases with some more classical punk elements added to characters and surroundings.

Punk-Factor: Given that there is neither a system to rage against – nor a new, less hierarchical system – usually there is not that much punk outside of some aesthetic choices. Neither tend those stories go into constructing worlds of mutual aid or working against oppression.

Examples: Anything Mad Max should count for this.

Atompunk

As a genre: Atompunk usually deals with themes connected to the cold war – in some cases directly, in some indirectly. Often it overplays the American ideals that were pushed for during the cold war era and portrays scenarios in which American Exceptionalism slowly reveals itself as the dystopia most punks already know it to be. Outside of this vague idea for the setting, the genre is less described, as there is less of a clear script an Atompunk story might follow. So, little description of who might be the protagonist and what their role is.

As an aesthetic: The aesthetic of Atompunk borrows heavily from the Raygun Gothic aesthetic. So, futurism, as it was imagined in the 1950s and 1960s, with heavy influences from late pulp age science fiction art.

Punk-Factor: The aesthetic in this is definitely not punk. The stories often have some vague punk ideas of recognizing how fucked up the world has become, but given the genre is fairly wide in terms of stories, it is hard to give a definite answer to how “punk” it is. One can definitely tell punk stories within this genre, though.

Examples: Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy (1978), Fallout (1997), Futurama (1999)

Dieselpunk

As a genre: Dieselpunk is once again an example of “strong aesthetic, but no clear genre identity”. Generally, Dieselpunk is concerned with the interwar period, but might cover either of the world wars. In some cases the genre features alternate timelines, in which one war happened and not the other, or in which another faction won, with the technological development being influenced by this as well. But as a genre it is not much defined. A lot of stories building on Lovecraft’s legacy feature Dieselpunk in some regards. And there is definitely a subsection of Dieselpunk stories centered around “what if Nazis won” or “what if Nazis somehow went underground and did their own technological development after the war”. Also, there are a lot of stories about pilots of war planes in this genre.

As an aesthetic: As an aesthetic Dieselpunk is more clearly defined. A lot of bare metal and the sorts of technology you would expect from this era, often with retro-futurist and art noveau elements in between. A lot of the fashion within the genre is defined by pilot and military clothing of the times, but at times also dipping into “roaring 20s” fashion styles.

Punk-Factor: In this genre I would generally say: “If the story involves punching Nazis, you might get a couple punk points – but otherwise this is not really punk.”

Examples: The Iron Dream (1972), Brazil (1985), Dark City (1998), Iron Sky (2012), Bitter Seeds (2010)

Teslapunk

As a genre: Yet another one of these, that exists mostly as a vague idea, with no clear definition. The basic idea is a world, that works on Tesla’s inventions. And as those of you, who watched Doctor Who, might know, Tesla sorta, kinda already invented the internet or had an idea of what it could be and how it could work. So a Teslapunk world is based in an alternate timeline, but might in fact go into light futurism. There is not much in this genre though with a unique thematic identity, as stories that use Teslapunk as a backdrop rarely have coherent themes.

As an aesthetic: The aesthetic of Teslapunk is basically “Steampunk, but with Tesla-coils and electricity”. Which is not a big surprise given that Tesla came from the same era that would also be the inspiration for Steampunk. So, we have a lot of Victorian fashion, maybe some light augmentation, airships, and – again – all the tesla coils you can muster.

Punk-Factor: As, again, I think punk is more about themes than aesthetic, this is once more not really possible to judge, because there do not seem coherent themes within the genre so far.

Examples: The Prestige (2006), Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2011), Bioshock Infinite (2013)

Arcanepunk

Another one of those that do not neatly fit into the timeline…

As a genre: Arcanepunk takes place in a world, where both magic and technology have developed. In some cases both developed side by side, in others, we might have a technological world, that suddenly discovers magic by some happenstance. The fact is, though, that both exist parallel to each other or might at times be intertwined, with technology being powered by magic. This can exist at different technological stages, usually featuring settings inspired by the late 19th or early 20th century. But usually futuristic stuff that includes magic might be considered Arcanepunk, just as might stories that mix 18th century technology with magic. While also a vague genre, there is a repeating theme of magic being hoarded by those in powers and the poor and downtrodden finding ways to still use it in their own advantage.

As an aesthetic: Given that Arcanepunk’s setting is defined by the co-existence of magic and technology, rather than a specific technology, Arcanepunk has less of a defined aesthetic. Never the less, we have a part of punk aesthetics that often come up, as a surprising amount of Arcanepunk features characters with neon colored hair.

Punk-Factor: Another genre that is rather thin, yet, there is a surprising amount of stories featuring some punk ideas of fighting against an oppressive system and being counter culture to a main culture build around suppression.

Examples: Too Many Magicians (1966), Shadowrun (1989), Bartimaeus (2003), Arcane (2021) duh

Steampunk

Steampunk was the second genre to pick up the “punk” suffix and hence is as much responsible for the punk-punk as Cyberpunk as the originator.

As a genre: Being named as early as it has been, Steampunk kinda suffers the same issue as Cyberpunk itself. There is a lot of ideas there, but some are only vaguely defined. In general, though Steampunk always takes place in a world where the steam engine became the defining technology and was never replaced with the combustion engine. As such cultural aspects from the steam era, especially Victorian England and the Belle Epoche, still carry over for longer, than they did. So often we will see noble households based around similar values as the puritan Victorian English families, while the very poor are made to work in workhouses. At times we might also see themes of colonialism here. In some cases magic might exist in these worlds, as might electricity for some aspects. There is often a heavy inspiration from Jules Verne and H.G. Wells. Though it is still hard to define the “stereotypical steampunk story”, given that Steampunk offers a wide variety of stories, from adventure stories and romances, over to stories where people rise up against the Victorian-esque society.

As an aesthetic: Steampunk as an aesthetic is very much influenced by Victorian aesthetics and the time period of the late 19th century, mostly in the USA, Great Britain and France. But as all other punk genres it knows very well: “If it is worth doing, it is worth overdoing,” so steam-related elements are added to everything. Could

Punk-Factor: In the original idea for Steampunk was a lot of punk. “What if we took Cyberpunks ‘rage against the unjust system’ and made it 19th century” they asked. But given that the genre branched out so much, it is not necessarily there in all the stories. There is a ton of stories where people rage against that steam powered Victorian machine – but also a ton in which the Victorian world gets idealized and romanticized.

Examples: Thief (1998), The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (1999), Wild Wild West (1999), Clockwork Century (2008) – also half of all Sherlock Holmes adaption made after 2000 in any medium usually use Steampunk elements

Silkpunk

As a genre: Silkpunk is hard to define, despite there being a clear definition. The reason for this is, that the person who coined the term – Ken Liu – had a very specific idea in mind. He explains that the idea is of a world that has technology as language. In which form is as important as function, is made to speak a language all of its own. Inspired by ideas from W. Brian Arthur and Chinese philosophy. However, what the wider Science Fiction and Fantasy community made from it was “Steampunk but East Asian!” But given he coined the term (and also the alternative feels vaguely racist) I am going to go with Ken Liu for this. While Silkpunk will usually be set in an East Asian inspired world, the central idea is about the duality of technology, which will also be addressed within the stories.

As an aesthetic: As said above, the idea Liu had for it was a world that features some technology, but technology that is as much about form and communication through it, as it is about function. So the technology here has strong visual ideas. At least that was, how Liu intended it. Once again, the wider community made “Steampunk, but East Asian” out of it.

Punk-Factor: There is not a lot of stuff in this genre for now – however so far I do not manage to see a lot of punk ideas in it, even though some of Liu’s stories definitely feature the concept of challenging a higher power.

Examples: Dandelion Dynasty (2015), The Black Tides of Heaven (2018), The Tea Master and the Detective (2019)

Clockpunk

As a genre: Once again storytelling in this genre is not really defined, but the worlds diverge a bit before the wide adaption of steam, instead featuring mechanical devices powered by coils and springs and somehow kept alive, often at least implied through some form of arcane magic that gives “live” to these mechanical inventions. Most examples of Clockpunk, however, tend to show up as settings for parts of fantasy stories. Any fantasy world might have this “Clockpunk” area, where protagonists might travel. Especially games tend to feature this. While there is definitely a trope of the “mad inventor” often going along with this, few other tropes stand out.

As an aesthetic: The aesthetic of Clockpunk tends to take some inspiration from the early 19th century, but tends to add a lot of gears to everything, with even city wide gear constructions keeping things working. We often will find mechatronic characters, such as wind up soldiers or wind up dancers.

Punk-Factor: Once more, there are so few stories told, that it is kinda hard to speak about how punk this is. Most stories told so far, however, do not feature punk elements.

Examples: The Great Mouse Detective (1986), Hugo (2011), Clockwork Planet (2017)

Whalepunk

Please note: This is one of those genre, I would love to see more in, though so far it is barely explored.

As a genre: And you might ask: “Why do you even name those genre, that exist mostly in theory?”, to which I might answer: “Because I am a nerd.” As all these retrofuturists genre, Whalepunk imagines mostly an alternate historical timeline, where the technology that became defining was based around whale oil. This means that in Whalepunk often whalers or harbors play a big role, though as the genre is again very thinly spread, it is hard to say what “THE whalepunk” formular is. It seems there is a tendency, to mix some mysticism or magic into the genre, though, as the idea of hunting sea monsters often plays into it as well. Good chance that it could at some point merge with Cthulupunk (which I did not name separately, because most of it is either covered in Whalepunk or Dieselpunk).

As an aesthetic: The aesthetic of Whalepunk is basically “Steampunk, but with more sailors, ships and sea monsters”. There is definitely a bit of Oceanpunk mixed into it as well, with some aesthetics being somewhere between Steampunk and Dieselpunk. (Which is kinda ironic, because whale oil was mostly used in the early 19th century.)

Punk-Factor: And again. There so far is not a lot of connective thematic tissue within that genre, so exploring themes is kinda hard.

Examples: Dishonored (2012), Dredge (2023)

Oceanpunk / Piratepunk

As a genre: It really is hard to divide the Piratepunk out of the Oceanpunk, though some might call it different. The idea here is that this genre features stories mostly set on the ocean and often more heavily leaning into fantasy, than science fiction. While the worlds might feature technological elements, they will almost certainly feature magical elements of some sort. The characters will usually be seafaring one way or another and stories might involve any sort of adventure. There might be a storyline, though, about one company or nation trying to control the seas – often times through magical means – with the characters often unwillingly being made to oppose them. This genre might also take place in a post-apocalyptic setting with a flooded planet.

As an aesthetic: While the aesthetic is not clearly defined, there is a good chance that it borrows heavily from the late 17th and early 18th century and the golden age of piracy, when it comes to both ships and fashion sensibilities.

Punk-Factor: Pirates, at least as far as modern media imagines them, tend to be very punk, as they tend to inherently oppose any sort of government and what not. While the punk is not there in all of the stories, a lot of the most popular stories from the genre will feature at least lightly punky elements.

Examples: One Piece (1997), Pirates of the Caribbean (2003), Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag (2013)

Dungeonpunk

As a genre: So, the idea of the genre is basically “What if Cyberpunk, but Dungeons & Dragons?” Usually set in a vaguely medieval world, this world still shows the same corporate corruption as your usual Cyberpunk world. Adventurers are just another resource to be exploited by the system, their day job involving going on yet another dungeon crawl. For this there might be some technology entirely powered by magic, with those magic items taking over the same functions technology might have in a Cyberpunk world. And yes, indeed some brave dwarf, elf or halfling might rise up and challenge the corporate dungeon syndicate. (As you might sense: Yes, this genre tends to be at least partly a bit of a parody of the punkpunk idea. Though it also can be played straight as “Cyberpunk conflicts, just that all technology is somehow magic.”)

As an aesthetic: This is once again one of the examples, where there is a clear idea behind it – but absolutely no clear aesthetic, as this genre might cover anything from medieval settings to a lot more modern stuff.

Punk-Factor: The base idea, being heavily inspired by the base idea of Cyberpunk, just from a very different perspective. But too many people read the genre as “Magic Technology, yay”, in which case, no, it is not punk.

Examples: Dungeons & Dragons can be played this way, also Final Fantasy VI – XIII definitely counts.

Sandalpunk

As a genre: I mostly include this for the sake of it, because this genre tends to boil down to “fantasy set in ancient Greece or Rome, but with vaguely anachronistic elements”. It might also include alternate history stories (even going so far as Science Fiction) based on the idea “What if Ancient Rome/Ancient Greece never fell?” There is no real overarching themes, even though I could imagine some interesting way one could build those up. So far, though, it is mostly a vague gesture towards: “SciFi Fantasy, but with more ancient civilizations.”

As an aesthetic: The aesthetic is usually just Ancient Rome or Ancient Greece, but with more magic or anachronistic elements.

Punk-Factor: Given the super vague nature of the genre and the fact that it seems more like a genre of hindsight (with most media being declared this having been released even before 2000)… Nobody wrote those stories to be punk. The one punk thing I can see about several of these stories is people challenging Gods, but… That’s about it.Examples: Hercules: Legendary Journeys (1995), Xena: Warrior Princess (1995), God of War (2005)

Stonepunk

As a genre: The basic idea of Stonepunk is, that it is set in a stone age world, but with the technology being pressed towards a very anachronistic end, which is often played for laughs. Basically it gives stone age people a modern seeming world, though not really. Often enough this is used to make a point about the modern world and parody it in some regard. An argument can be made for stories, that feature stone age technology people being somehow subjected to modern technology (for example through time travel or space travel) also possibly falling into this genre.

As an aesthetic: Usually the aesthetic of Stonepunk is one of an overplayed stone age setting. The clothing characters might wear are not what we know is historically more accurate but really just “everyone wears a pelt around their shoulders”. Meanwhile stone age tools get spun to be used as all sorts of modern technologies.

Punk-Factor: The genre does usually not feature punk themes. However, the nature of parodying and challenging the modern world tends to be punk in its own merit, I assume?

Examples: The Flintstones (1960), The Croods (2013), Horizon: Zero Dawn (2017)

That's it. That's the list.

Feel free to add to it.

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invested-in-your-future · 3 days ago

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Arcane S2 feels like a genuine misfire in most ways possible.

Imagine:

Spending a whole Season One to set up The Conflict of Two Cities—only to spend most of S2 not focusing on that and instead adding additional factions and sides that aren't even directly related to the class divide conflict.

Setting up your protagonists for massive status quo change for S2—only to give them new unrelated plotlines instead.

Unless you are Vi, of course—Vi doesn't even get that much and just kind of wanders through most of S2.

Handwaving away the core conflict of the entire show in a cheesy montage—because magic robot zombies await.

Setting up the whole found-family theme only to have Vander subplot crash all of it in S2.

Taking Mel—a character whose strength is political intrigue and intelligence—and deciding her main plot should be "getting superpowers so she can fight in the big finale!"

KNOWING that Caitvi is such a popular ship and then giving the two barely anything to do and barely any actual development or progression till the very end.

Setting up Caitlyn to deal with the whole authoritarian position and making absolutely the worst possible decisions there, and then not dealing with that and not doing the subplot of Vi actually having to make her see sense and atone—all because magic zombies await.

KNOWING you only have NINE episodes total to wrap up a ton of subplots you set up—and then making a WHOLE bottle episode EPISODE near the very end that doesn't do much for an already rushed plot.

Taking a show known for focusing on different morally ambiguous factions making power moves based on what they believe in and instead making the finale be a big generic MCU laser in the sky magic robot fight.

Adding all the extras that end up being completely pointless, like the shield guy. What was the point of Maddie? Just...what was the point of her existing? Is this the same show that gave us such great character writing for extras like Marcus in S1?

#arcane #arcane netflix #netflix arcane #arcane season two #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 #arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane s2 spoilers #arcane spoilers

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thewertsearch · 6 months ago

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Karkat's becoming cognizant of all the videogame tropes in his vicinity, and he is pissed. This is what happens when you’re exposed to that damn fourth wall for too long.

Jump cut to Gamzee squatting in a dark corner somewhere, a Google results page for ICP open on his laptop, absolutely seething with anger.

[…] KANAYA: Do You Think Terezi Is Aware Of Your Interactions With Her KARKAT: I DON'T KNOW, PROBABLY? KANAYA: I Dont Want To Sound Too Meddlesome Because I Know People Dont Like That Much But Didnt You And She Used To Have A Thing Like That […] KARKAT: THE THING WHICH MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE EXISTED NOTWITHSTANDING, WHAT RIGHT WOULD SHE HAVE TO BE UPSET ABOUT ME TALKING TO JADE. KANAYA: Maybe She Thinks You Are Trying To Make Her Jealous KARKAT: OH LIKE SHE'S NOT DOING THE SAME THING TO ME BY TALKING TO THAT POMPOUS TOOL WHO'S IDIOTICALLY INSECURE ABOUT THE COLOR OF HIS EYES. […] KANAYA: Do You Actually Believe She Was Pretending KARKAT: YEAH SURE. I DUNNO

As the trolls’ party begins to unravel, so too does their intricate web of relationships. The entire John/Dave/Karkat/Terezi/Vriska situation is already a mess, and if Karkat is developing a legitimate crush on Jade as well, things might be about to go nuclear.

Forget Jade - I think Kanaya’s the one who’s really thriving from this cultural exchange.

Well, that’s certainly more convenient for me. Saves me from having to check everything with everyone, as I was originally planning to do.

Initially, I thought the trolls were just losing cohesion naturally as Project Trolling drew to a close. A lot of them won't give a shit about Project Friendship, so I assumed they'd just left to do their own thing.

This, though, seems like a pretty ominous way to describe the situation. It's like the Veil is a little too quiet, and not just because people have dispersed. Has Vriska been doing a few offscreen murders, or is something completely unrelated going on?

KANAYA: Im Returning To The Core To Deposit The Matriorb […] KARKAT: I MEAN, THAT'S GREAT, IF THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT TO DO WITH IT. BUT YOU CAN'T GO, I NEED YOU HERE. LOOK AROUND, SHIT IS MAYHEM. KANAYA: Ill Only Be Gone For A Few Minutes KANAYA: Anyway Youre Doing A Good Job And I Think You Can Manage To Cope With My Momentary Absense […] KARKAT: IN THAT CASE KARKAT: GOOD LUCK, HOPE IT WORKS.

These two are such good friends. They're probably my favourite platonic friend-ship in the entire comic, just on the strength of how earnest their relationship is.

Damn it, did I seriously just get jumpscared by a ‘Be Eridan’?

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #3321 #s119 #multiple 'nuclear' puns not intended

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darkdemeter · 9 months ago

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𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐈

— BUCKY BARNES COLUMN (ONESHOT)

Dark Pirate! Bucky Barnes x Siren! Female Reader

—- not my gifs, credit to original posters! -—

| A/N | DISCRETION |

A/N — Ey yo let’s go! Here it is, part 2!

Dark, pirate Bucky — possessive Bucky, also feat. possessive reader — profanity — angst! — mention of alcohol — pet names ("Siren") — SMUT 18+ Minors DNI — unprotected (given) p in v sex — mention of marks/hickeys — there be depiction of wenches/prostitutes — semi-exhibitionism — mention of memory wipe through magic — minor cigar consumption (not reader) — very brief depiction of harm against a crew member — Rumlow, he's a bit of a sly creep — I think that's it?

| SUMMARY |

You are his siren. Why do you insist on your curiosity when you know it will only get you into trouble? In your captain's search for the ancient treasure, a temple only you know the location of, the voyage will take momentary port in Nassau. Mina, a fellow siren, reveals to you the dark truth that you have been blind to. Lied to. She encourages you to take back the necklace. The time to be a siren is now, to lure your captain into a false sense of devotion, that your sights and desires only draw to him; and not the necklace bound to his hand and the secrets he's been keeping from you.

*6.1𝐤 ────────────────┘

| M-LIST | TAGLIST:

@identity2212 @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @mostlymarvelgirl @daddy-bucky @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @armystay89

────────────────┘

Dawn kisses the horizon’s rolling waters, erasing the wicked hue of intermingling black and blue with colours brighter, more promising, to bloom over sky and sea. A sight that portraits serenity in order to inspire a welling of hope. The flaming orb of heat commands to stir the once slumbering crew into action. Little does it work to awaken your captain, already awake and buried deep in the channel of your cunt, his cock surges forward aggressively, tip kissing your cervix with each powerful snap of his hips.

Relentless, he rolls in tandem with the rock of the ship, a string of grunted breaths and deep, stuttering groans thrum in the cavern of his large chest, heart hammering against his ribcage.

He pulls from you another countless orgasm to add to another countless hour of this tortuous bliss. A flushing, white and hot, seizes hold of you and beckons your body to respond accordingly, trained in his art of greed your legs drag over the terrain of defined muscle to bring him impossibly closer. Skin melding to inked skin, sweat laced bodies mingling in heated, frictional euphoria.

“Y’love that, Siren? Huh,” he pants on the shell of your ear, “love it when I have you full of me?”

You mewl a small, whiney sound.

“Yes—” you intake sharply, “C-Captain…”

“Aye, say it again.” He growls deeply, teeth nip the lobe of your ear, his nose buried in the crook of your neck inhales deeply the sweet dew of your flushed skin. Rough and strong, his hands have yours pinned, as he does your entire body, pressed against blood-red and snowy white velvets and silks and dark, exotic furs once belonging to pompous princes. Now, they belong to the king of the sea and his siren. Hips rolling together in time, fingers interlacing, woven together in bound strength to hold each other as guarded lifelines, the webbing between your slender digits draws and withdraws from their tucked beds of skin. Pupils conflict between dark, slitted lines and circular globes of blackness blown in pleasure.

“Shit… fuck– so fuckin’ tight, Siren!” he hisses, “mine… only mine.”

Already your core burns enticingly, welcoming another orgasm that follows closely behind your one just prior. His navel arcs to brush your clit, the girth of his cock strikes true each time, he pummels harder and faster, his tip the only portion to remain before he thrusts forward with a moistened glide.

Corded notes of pleasure are threaded into hitched knots, producing small, hiccuping whines as your abused, slickened walls constrict around his cock to milk him of every drop. The small bridge of your back arches, the smooth surface of your salty skin gliding over the defined divots and scars of his muscular front, inch by inch you feel him everywhere; both outside and inside.

He’ll never let you go. As a man who prides himself in the fine freedoms of piracy, he’s a blackened heart that guards you with vigorous possessiveness. Nor do you think you’re capable of ever leaving him. He is all you have. He is yours just as much as you are his.

The treasure he covets with unmatched greed. No woman on this earth could ever encounter what you have above you and between your quivering legs that loop tightly over his strong waist. And because of this, you equally covet this treasure of yours.

His cock ruts your cervix roughly, tugging forth a long, high noted yelp underlined with a breathy huff, the rhythm of his hips stutters at the sound. His pink lips find yours, tongue drawing over your own, your submission allowing him to do as he pleased. He feeds off the chorus of your breathless song, a song meant just for him. Because of him.

“Fuckin’ hell…” His voice rasps, teeth sinking into the bend where your shoulder and neck meet. “Love it when y’sing for m— me.” A gut-emitted groan reverberates in his chest, Skin meets skin in synchronised slapping, raw and primal with need. Wooden legs rub and claw the floorboards with heavy creaks.

“L–look atcha… huh, whiney and cock drunk– mmm, gonna make you scream for me, Love.”

His thrusts grow as ruthless as the brewing storms of the sea, lashing and rocking you beyond the point of refusal. There is no denying, no pushing away. Not when it comes to your captain.

“C’mon, Siren—” He pants with a series of rushing thrusts that pin you down. “Sing for me.”

The erected peeks of your breasts are tender as they push against his chest. You whimper softly.

“Captain…”

“Aye, louder,” he growls. Of his flesh hand, his knuckles whiten dangerously until the skin melts over bone. Another harsh snap of his hips sends you spiralling on the verge of your orgasm.

“Captain—” you gasp and he bites down into the bevel between your collarbone with a rasping growl. “Captain!”

Your velvety walls tighten around the hardened length penetrating you, filling you, his cock encumbered by the vice of your cunt. The blinding flash covers your vision and heat spreads through every corner of your body, leaving nothing but a siren blinded in lustful bliss. He groans with each drag and push, muscles glistening in the soft glow of the rising sun. The flowing wave of his precious seed finds purchase in your lower abdomen.

It’s not until he completely empties his hot load, does he finally slow his pace to a stop. Above you he pants heavily, each breath reminding you of the sea’s spray and sun-tainted breeze that tousles the darkened locks of his hair.

Your energy sapped from the unbridled temper of your beloved captain, you find reprieve in the gentleness of his tongue tracing the numerous dark marks covering your skin - his marks.

“Know this…” His voice rumbles lowly, his flesh hand harbouring the necklace dangles it mere inches over your parted lips. “There is nothing for you to find in a dried pearl, Siren. I am all you need.”

Metal squeezes your jawline, pursuing your understanding. The pink tip of his tongue wets his lips and he arches a brow.

“Yes…”

You needn’t be jostled twice by the threat of his grasp, you whisper, voice barely audible, “…Captain.”

“Atta girl.”

Arriving at port in Nassau means safe haven for the crew of The Avenger, a chance to rekindle spirits with a few dozen barrels of liquor and a woman’s belly to keep any weathered sailor happy. In the Caribbean’s turning and heating morn, gulls scavenge for pickings of food, the white banks of sand converging with the blue tinged tide bathe the nudity of your feet with absorbed heat, it brings an irate wince to cross your features. Over the vast stretch of beach and headed further inland, the jolly tune of harboured pirates emit from the wooden, creaky shacks, if not counting the ruckus of noisy patrons enjoying their paid company.

Never did your captain have need for such sleaziness, such lazed women who lounge in wait for coins to fill the near-always empty drawstring bag tied to their thigh. He had you. To hold you close to the scorching warmth of his battle hardened body, to passionately entangle your limbs in an endless thread of desire, and to bask in the radiance that is one another; the possession of a companion no other can have.

And your own guard for your beloved captain doesn’t go unnoticed, by either him or the hungering gazes of those women yet in wait, your arms encircling around the bulk of Bucky’s flesh arm, in your neck the muscles strain as your fangs become elongated in a threatening display, the disguise of your eyes falters into narrow strips of glaring obsidian.

These women are no strangers to the presence of sirens, in spite of the limited number of population, a siren’s prize is never to be taken from her.

“Easy, Lass,” Bucky coos, lips drawn on either side into a charming grin. “There’s none suiting my fancy but you.”

His assurances brighten refocused pupils and the lines around your mouth pull into a smirk. The now scornful glares of ladies unworthy of his time burn into you, and you in turn purse the tip of your tongue between your lips in retaliation. Behind, you hear a few members of the crew huff in their amusement.

With the crew tailing loyally behind their captain, each body a weighted husk ready to drown themselves in all that Nassau offers, the striking colour of a scarlet coat saunters forward in the corner of your vision. In a briefly stolen glance to your side, the brilliance of her green irises invade you with a soulless engagement, full lips drawn into a thin line and below the crimson stripe of her bandana, her brows are furrowed.

It comes to mind Bucky’s attendance on deck to anchor the ship at port, and so too does the possible thought that during that increment amount of time, Bucky could have very well informed Wanda of your curious skirmish ending in upheaval, caught red handed in the act.

And yet the events, the memory of what you experienced - the estranged bond you shared with the necklace - all of it remains. No bouts of stomach churning nausea or blurred hazes that leave you to stumble on your two feet, abandoning you to the mindless plane of confusion where memory is your worst and forgotten enemy.

And you prefer to keep it that way. These invasions that leave you more curious, sensing something greatly amiss the more of its occurrence is known, perhaps it’s best if you surrender the search. Your captain is all you need. Nevermind the ghostly songs that haunt the realm beneath the surface. Maybe, just maybe, there is good reason why you don’t remember anything. And if you cease this affair, then maybe with the grace of your beloved, that there will be no need to be swallowed into the misty thicket of her dark, scarlet magic.

I am my captain’s siren. I must remain with him. He is all I have. All I want to have…

‘Mm hm, mm hm, mm~hmm~hm~mm… mhm.,.’

The melody chimes to lure your attention, the trickery of the voices blooms thickly throughout the forefront of your mind. You press to ignore the empty promise of their secrets revealed. This search ends now. No more. In defiance to the woeful, bleeding song of murmured hums, your arms hold tighter to Bucky, his chin dips low as his blue eyes look you over, gorgeous eyes of the ocean, captured within the handsome sculpture of his visage. A forbidden make of marble, carven with perfection in mind.

‘Mm hm, mm hm, mm~hm—’

“Something the matter, Siren?” thrums the husky drawl of your captain. You turn your eyes - your entire form of attention - to him, devoting it to him alone, and not to the tune that wanes with grieving cries that drown in the mists of that plane. You shake your head with refined elegance and bring a smile to grace him with.

“Nothing, my Captain,” you purr sweetly. Voice soft enough to easily die in the crashing of heavy waves, but so throbbing to the heart that the lilted beat of your voice could never be lost to him. Bucky grins at your words, respite is found in the security of your vow. Not only does your answer satisfy him immensely, but it draws Wanda’s intense focus away from you.

The quartermaster, Steve Rogers, is met in an engulfing embrace by a striking brunette with bouncy curls, lips bright and red and grinning, brown eyes sparkling in the Nassau’s brimming sun. Truth be told, she was far too pretty to be a mere human, her beauty akin to a glistening ruby, and maybe it saddens you the littlest bit that she foresees you with eyes of weariness rather than friendliness.

Perhaps if she were a siren herself, you’d both have settled together rather fondly as friends - as bonded sisters. But alas, with her own treasure now ashore for now, she takes to him and welcomes him with moaning cords and absorbing kisses, Bucky chuckles slyly with a wink to his exhausted friend.

Weather-beaten tables score the large deck of the tavern, most of them being vacant outside, but given the beginnings of your skin drying out, Bucky takes care to situate you as close to a shaded spot. Something you are noticeably grateful for with your cheek nuzzling into the openly revealed space of his chest, the belted strips of leather strapped over his chest warm your skin as well as his skin.

Casting you in flittering shadows are the swaying palms, their long and prickly spine leaves howling in the sea’s constant winds driven ashore. While other members of the crew flee to their own affairs to relax, those of Bucky’s inner circle remain close, like cards held to his chest, and you being the winning ace of his games, are held the closest.

“Restock of the ship’s supplies will take all day, not to mention, the girl needs a few restorations herself,” says Bruce, spectacles resting low upon the bridge of his nose, eyes finalising his scrawlings as his voice confirms. His hand runs over the plump of his cheek with a drained sigh, middle finger pushing the brass loop of his glasses upwards.

“And that’ll spend us… half our funds.”

“Wouldn’t need to waste so much coin on crackers ‘nd other shite, had someone not snuck ‘round like a rat.” Clint’s eyes squint in his accusation towards none other than the master of maps and navigation, Stark, who partakes in defending himself behind a weak shrug.

“There’s actual rats aboard. T’wasn’t me.”

Clint’s upper lip curls into a sneer, the ship’s cook primed to render Stark into salted meatloaf, a dullened knife he took to using in both battle and kitchen is held in his nimble fingers.

“Fuckin’ thievin’—”

“Quit your squabbling,” rumbles your captain, “strike what isn’t needed for the voyage. Double on reinforcements and armoury.” His gruff voice sends tingles through your still connected cheek to his front, content in hearing its booming and steady beat. Bruce nods and returns his gaze downward to his leatherbound companion, quill resipping ink, he scribbles into his book once again, humming and murmuring to himself.

Bruce Banner, though quite brutal in the midst of battles, is a relatively quiet man who tends to keep to himself for most of his membership as a crewmate. Often he dwells below decks, counting stock, taking note of damages and overall engaging the skin of parchment rather than a woman.

Not to completely disregard the sometimes scarce glances between himself and the fiery, flintlock dancer herself, Natasha, eyes meeting between the wooden blanks separating their worlds from dark to light. If history is planted there, there is little to know in your knowledge - your hazy knowledge. From what you’ve gathered, Natasha has a tongue that leaves many of the males on board chest torn and heart bleeding, in dire need for her to bandage them with a moment of her time. Time that she rather spent either dancing in the heat of conflict, pulling the ship in order or occupy herself with you.

In comparison to the neighbouring woman often skulking silently by Bucky’s heel like a prowling animal on a leash, Natasha offered you what nobody else truly had; a connection. Someone you can maybe call friend.

By no means is she completely softened around you, she pushes you beyond your limits, but in her interactions with you, she layers herself with a bout of steadiness and calm to keep you level headed at best. She even takes the time to teach you letters and words of human speech. Too nervous to ask such a tedious task of your own captain, it had been Natasha called upon to teach you.

Under her mentorship, she had governed you away from the native tongue of your sea dwelling folk, and what had at first been mistaken as the ship’s adored feline, Alpine coughing up a fish bone, had just been you taking the first step in learning to speak the language of humans. Only then and afterwards did your captain also take part in your teaching, albeit through a more erotic means of lessons behind the closed door of his cabin.

Steve returns with a sway to his step, Peggy held snug to his hip, the two bound by invisible, sticky sap that glues them together. “We’ve drinks comin’, Cap!” He laughs with a clap to Bucky’s broad shoulder, jostling you forward with a startled whine, eyes stinging and dry in alertness.

You miss catching it at first, the sharpened glare of ice in his eyes towards Steve for his abrupt disturbance of you, the blonde haired man, lass-drunken already, clicks his tongue with a grimace of offered sincerity, uttering a quiet apology under his heated breath.

Bucky is only willing to let his scowl go after you assure the quartermaster that there is no harm done, excusing yourself that your fatigue had gotten the better of your guard.

Flared tempers now cooled, Steve leans back against the rickety stage of the deck’s plank railing. The ruffled skirts of his companion’s dress ride a little higher on her thigh as she rests it over his lap, drawstring bag visible… and fattened with coin. Paid very early in advance. Paid full with at least three weeks worth of salary strapped to her leg.

A chorus of cheers spill out into the open air when tankards of foam-headed refreshments are delivered. Tony’s chapped lips bend around a cigar stick, catching a flame to his match by the heel of his boot, he lights it and puffs a smog that brings your nose to wrinkle and lungs to jump.

“Right,” he says, the end of the word lost in its pronunciation, “Down ter business.” The master of maps of navigation procures from his coat rolled parchments and lays them flat to the wooden rot, he knocks a knuckle hard in indication of the pirate’s haven.

“We’re here, Lassy. Show us where it is.” Silence falls over those of the inner circle, each pair of eyes lace between the strewn papers and your expression, gauging the lines around your eyes that speak of your concentration. In wait for either your truthful answer or another lie.

The tips of your fingers run the inked lines that describe the landmarks of islands, points of interest, known ship routes and x marks, whilst your captain’s own fingers trace along the outer of your thigh teasingly beneath the cover of your robe and the table. His touch is distracting you, but could you be to blame for their failure in search of the ancient treasure? After all, your memory wasn’t of best quality these days.

Tony rolls his fingers in a drumming pattern, each minute it grows louder and pounds in your eardrums, the wafting curtain of thick, cigar smoke clouds your senses.

Your captain, scowling at this, shoots his metal arm forward and plucks the cigar from Tony’s mouth and pushes the burning ash and tobacco into the veiny hide of his bare hand. Tony bites a string of curses as his hand retracts.

“Next time, it’s shoved down your fuckin’ throat, got it?”

“Aye, Cap…,” mutters Tony. He shoots you a seething glare but nevertheless, relinquishes his attempts to intimidate you into answering.

“You forget, sirens speak a certain way.” Comes the low purr of his lilt, breath hot against the shell of your ear, the encouragement of his hand snakes your thigh over into his lap, leaving your core, though hidden to others, exposed to his addictive touch. Your breath becomes latched in your lungs, struggling to be free and your toes curl as his flesh hand slips between your parted legs. “You just need to know how…”

You barely hide the hiccup in your erupting breath. His thumb, rough and firm, toys with the delicate bud that spurs the welling of arousal to moisten your folds. Behind the sealed line of his lips, he breezes a rich chuckle that courts you with promised, devoting attention to your clit, circling it slowly as the long, thick body of his middle finger runs further down your folds. The chill of gold grinds into your skin gently, the pearl hums lowly in the deep reverie of your mind once more, grazing your skin with a harmonic resurgence against the combating of Bucky’s explorative touch.

If the air had been thick with the sun’s heat before, then it was downright unbreathable now, your skin aches and itches to be submerged in the tranquil waters. You all but claw a single rocky formation on the far edge of the map. All eyes zero in on the point, taking in the towering form of inked rocks.

“You’ve to be jokin’,” Clint hisses quietly. Sam Wilson is the next to speak with a sigh, “That’s a death wish, Captain.”

“Siren, you’re sure?” Your head bows slowly to Bucky’s question and his thumb ceases its movement. Your finger situated over the landmark trembles, your throat is dry, saliva collects in thick rivulets and makes it difficult to swallow your despair.

Hushed whispers fall over the crew as Bucky’s smouldering eyes darken in thought, contemplating the high stakes. For your finger lands not just on the precise location of the temple harbouring the world’s greatest treasure horde any pirate or king alike could dream of.

It spans over into dangerous, uncharted territory. Territory that resides as a mass graveyard for ships and souls. The Misted Song Isles.

A bedded corner of the world untouched by sunlight, forever shrouded in a mist that never falters in its opacity, leaving many blinded to the ambushing predators that await them.

These cousins are the cause of your repulsion. They are not sirens. They do not possess the ability to sing beautifully anymore. That which haunts the mists are not curated melodies to turn a heart soft and a man stirred in longing, no, but devilish shrieks and wallowing howls that scream in revel of their kill.

“Captain, think about this for a sec—” The quartermaster, as is everyone else, silenced within an instant. You yelp and pull your hand close to your chest as the sharpened point of a blade punctures right where your finger had been. Your heart races against your ribcage.

“We set sail at dawn.”

His command goes unchallenged and hangs in the eeriness of uncertainty. His lips formulate into that smirk, daring of the course ahead, ready to face whatever thrilling adventure awaits him and his hardened crew.

“Prepare yourselves. We’ll soon amass a fortune like no other. Riches beyond belief,” Bucky preaches with a deepened, growling cord, thumb reviving the pleasing buzz between your thighs. Your head presses back into his shoulder, arching your core slightly into his hand. “I’ve never known those of my crew to shrink away from glory and plunder. So what of it, mates? Are you lot ready to take what’s ours?”

“Aye!” erupts a booming throng of cheers and hollering, tankards fly skyward with trickling, foamy ales, and fists pound the tables enthusiastically. From you, Bucky draws a softened, pleasured whine only captured by his ears, a musical note he licks his teeth in savouring delight.

“What a rousing speech, Captain Barnes. Touches my own heart.” The inner circle becomes disrupted, parting into a narrow corridor to give their captain sight of the outsider. Bucky’s thumb comes to pause again, much to the displeasure of your quiet grumbling, your eyes seek out the intruder and gape with widened eyes.

“Rumlow,” growls Bucky. His hand bares upon your thigh a tightening squeeze.

Brock Rumlow, captain of The Lady Strike, stands present, brown coat beaten and done in by the rough life at sea, tricorn equal in match to the rest of his dishevelled attire. Dark, matted and oily hair is swept behind his ears, stubble very much unkempt and in need of a shave. His brown eyes take in the near bareness of your form, your hand pulls the robe’s fabric over your already covered breasts, and Bucky curls you further inward, protecting you from the fowl leering of Rumlow’s dark eyes. His jaw is set hard as a deep, possessive growl emits from his large chest, the storm of his jealousy on the rise.

With a cock of his head, Tony shoves the plans back into the confines of his coat with a huff, missing the tangy flavour of his cigar.

By now, those of Rumlow’s crew move in behind him, a battle of glares and curled snarls, only one amongst the opposing crew brings a grin to fall over your face, eyes brightened in relief. Long, raven black hair sweeping down the curve of her back, strips of plaits are decorated with beads and small shells, A tall and lean build of a woman a few years older of your age, eyes the shape of almonds and disguised as kindly, sparkling hazels of greens and browns.

Her thin lips form a smile to match her tender features. You barely have another chance to second guess your next move, taking care to keep the intricately patterned robe around to protect your modesty, you push yourself away from your captain and fly into her open arms, her embrace a welcomed one after all these weeks.

“Mina!”

She greets your name with a softened breath, the calming lull of a siren’s power. The prodding of shells poke into your chest, but you pay little heed to them, too much absorbed into a fellow siren’s hold. To be held and nurtured by one so connected to the sea as you, and who is also held prisoner above its beckoning tides.

“My dear, your skin!” she gasps. Her lithe fingers skim the lengths of your exposed shoulders, shoving under the flowy sleeves to do the same along your arms. “How long has it been since—”

“She does not speak that way anymore.”

The voice of your captain is sharp, cutting right through to the bone, it chills you. You know you did wrong by your actions, caught in the flurry of your excitement to meet Mina. He hadn’t expressed his permission for you to leave his side.

Her eyes forecast the irritated slits, the ridge of her mouth shifting. You shake your head quickly. “Don’t…”

She listens to your plea and directs her gaze aside, retrieving back a more composed appearance. “Apologies, Captain Barnes. I forget her tongue falters and is now consumed by human speech. Please, forgive me.”

His eyes stare point blank akin to the barrel of his flintlock, finger locked ahold of the trigger and primed to fire a metal ball right between her eyes. He takes into account that her voice is dry in its sincere case that begs forgiveness. A case he finds unmoving.

And so it falls to you. Her arms fall from around you reluctantly, you press on towards Bucky, hands caressing the carved shape of his jawline. “Please, Captain… forgiveness?”

For a moment he is silent, his stare unwavering and unblinking, it churns your innards unassuredly. “Aye.” His response brings you to breathe again with a smile. You swallow thickly, steadying yourself with the words you have become accustomed to, at first rehearing it over in your thoughts before you speak.

“May I go to the Pools? My skin… is dry.” As if to further accentuate, the inflection of your voice matches your statement, having to clear your throat gently.

He nods. “Very well, Love. Hour’s half.” Ingratiating yourself in his good graces, you capture his lips in yours, his own chase after your brief kiss but the embarrassment that they give away just how parched your body is steers you away quickly.

You are blind to the narrowing of cold, steely eyes following Mina who walks at your side, arms encircling around you protectively, her own eyes meeting the ferocity of Bucky’s glare, her own hardened stare watered down to save you from being caught in the crossfire for her temper. She knows that you would suffer just as well as her if Bucky turned his decision around.

The conversing crews are drowned out noise in the back of your head, Mina guides you along the dirt path towards the haven’s centre.

The Pools, a central hub that extends low into the island’s heart, and a system of interconnected tunnels for sirens to rejuvenate their exerted bodies, confining them to an enclosure with no means to swim directly back into the ocean. By all means, it was a natural formation turned into a cage.

Peering over the rocky lips, the inviting waters below reflect minute glimpses of the sun, a portion of it concealed under the shrubbery and towering palms. The hue of bright blue blankets the surface before the long stretch of abyssal black that cascades down the rock walls.

The waters, as expected, are vacant of any other sirens, and those scarce few could only be seen in flashes of shining scales and shadows moving beneath, dipping into the mouths of the tunnels. Hidden from sight.

You shed the covering of your robe and set it aside, its luxurious fabric smelling of yours and Bucky’s intermingling scents, the decorative stitchwork and colours flaunt it as one of a kind, a nabbed piece from a Japanese merchant schooner Bucky and his crew pillaged, and which your captain presented to you as a gift. The first of many he would later present. Intriguing artefacts.

Mina didn’t have need to discard herself of human-given clothing, plunging into the heavenly waters before you, her attire made with the natural ingredients of the sea, leather strips and woven cords stretch around her chest and back with rings of shells to fasten over it, keeping her breasts pushed together. The wispy lengths of her skirt flows with sheeted seaweed, circling around her slim waist as a ghostly curtain. You follow not long after with an eager dive, your nude skin is soothed by the cool waters. Your legs morph together into the singular, powerful tendril of your trail, the webbed fins attached to your lower back flutter like the wings of a dove finding freedom on the winds.

Your bodies take refuge below the surface, skin no longer assaulted by the lacerations of the sun’s light and blazing scorch. How sailors could idle by whilst under the cruelty of it, you will never understand. Your back arches into a spiralling twist, a high pitched chirp bouncing from your throat and coursing through your gills.

You bask in the excitement with Mina who twists and bends, circling you with a teasing swish of her tail, she gargles a sweet note that bubbles around her lips, her forehead presses to yours affectionately.

She intends to regard you with the native speech of your kind but stops, brows falling into a firm, saddened line over her eyes. In shame, your head bows.

Those of your crew may have stripped you of your right to recollect the siren dialect, but if she can count on anything, it is the motion of her hands and arms. The common communication of one’s body.

In a sequence of expertise, her arms rotate and her fingers stretch and curl.

What do you remember?

Your eyes analyse her movement, careful to decipher her code. Not as fluent, given the occasional puzzled twist of her head, followed by a nod of understanding and correcting signal, she encourages through your hesitation, wanting for your answer.

I… remember a necklace. Bound to my Captain’s wrist.

And what did this necklace look like?

Again, it takes you a moment to find the rhythm of your response, her eyes narrow in their deep seated concentration, almond curved eyes that widen upon realisation.

You tell her of the golden chain, sleek and elegantly thin yet strengthened, the many, tiny crystallised pearls that line the gilded netting over one larger pearl, with a finer shaped one looped beneath it that dangles.

Given her momentary pause, you nervously motion.

What is it?

She raises her hand over her head, webbed fingers fused together, she rotates her wrist in circles.

Royalty. Pearls represent royalty.

The sudden confusion presently blinking in your eyes gives Mina reason to continue. She moves quickly, it’s hard to exactly understand, you motion for her to pace herself, that you’re struggling. With an apologetic chirp, she starts over.

You must get it back. That necklace is more significant to you than you realise. Undoubtedly, a gift from your late mother—

I don’t understand! What… of my mother?

Mina truly sees the sickening infection of your hazy memory, all too aware that it’s the doing of that scarlet witch, tainted by the dark magics that spawn from the mangroves, the teachers there no strangers to utilising sirens as part of their rituals. And all by the order of your captain. A crew lacing you with deceit.

Her waterline is touched by tears that form into uplifting bubbles. She organises her words slowly. Each one brings a sharp pang to your chest and your stomach to drop further and further down into the abyss below.

Your mother - the Queen - is dead.

Your heart is scored by the penetrating daggers of Poseidon's trident, the creeping of unnatural coldness sweeps the back of your neck and down over your shoulders, you huddle into yourself. You shake your head and it ensues into a maddening display of denial, your body trembles, the water grows increasingly troubled, once a calm settlement over the surface now laps at the surrounding edges of the enclosure.

This cannot be right, this cannot be the truth. No, you don’t wish to believe it. A weight is crushing around your chest, you want to resurface. For the first time, you crave to be out of the water. All you seek now is the scent of your captain washing over you, drowning you passionately in his possessive devotion, to be treasured by him and him alone, bathed in his dominating presence. His shadow.

At this point, you’d happily let him fuck the knowledge out of you.

In your abrupt desperation you take to moving swiftly, your head breaches through the barrier with a sputtering fit of coughs and gulps, but Mina follows you. Her webbed hand catches your wrist, her voice plucks through the ripples like the baritone string of a guitar. She calls for you to wait. Gently, she coaxes you to delve below once more, her eyes imploring you to remain, to not go running off to the very same man who wants for you and holds you captive.

The milky glaze of your eyes brim with tears, tiny bubbles run to the corners before they float upwards.

She rests her head to yours, silky thumbs caring over the form of your cheeks, running smoothly under the bend of your tearful eyes. When she believes you have calmed, she asks another question.

What else about this necklace can you tell me?

I hear… voices. A-a melody. I don’t– don’t understand the words. It plays faintly.

If the crew who harbours you stays for the festivities tonight, get the necklace and bring it to me. I may be able to appraise it.

A lump catches in your throat, eyes bearing your terror, the harrowing thought of being caught again. You aren’t sure if the potential of another scarlet mist is worth the risk.

Steal it? I-I can’t! He’d know if I stole—

You cannot steal what’s already yours, young one. Besides, you know just the way to get it from him. I saw the softened regard in his gaze for you.

What she suggests is laughable, and your disagreement shows, your head shaking and throat bobbing in motion akin to a scoff. But still, her insinuation brings warmth to bloom in your cheeks. Her brows furrow at this display, tail idly swaying, the length of her hair creating a dark, winding halo behind her. She dissects the gestures of your words.

His gaze never softens to me…

In spite of this, she rolls her eyes, but they are hopeful in their stare towards you. You were done with the search… before. Now, you want answers.

“Siren!” A familiar voice booms, tone muffled by the watery barrier. Answering his summons, you return to the world above, sighing a deep breath of air, the few faces you recognise are mere blurs, unfocused in your vision. Your eyes meet the wintery cold of his eyes, not softened, and clouded in their ever present desire to have you under him - pinned skin to skin to him - and his beautiful lips shaped into a smirk. His stance high above you dominates you in his darker shadow that casts over the water.

“Hope you’re in a festive mood, my little Siren.”

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