#Hind leg practice

[azulzfunniblog]

Oh shit anthro bunny puppy man

Yay I know how to draw hind legs now

@autistictweekz

[hulking-godless-child-beast]

sometimes I think I don't really have social anxiety, until I try to tell my friends that I think they're neat

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

What do you think of Legend being one of the bunnies in the trench coat?

-🐝

Oh that sounds kinda cute actually

[ranticore]

some thoughts about Clothes For Horses

out of practicality the average ironwall citizen wears a blanket made for horses (even if they are not horses). the blankets are bulk-ordered by specialist ironwall tailor shops and modified on the premises, sometimes while the customer is waiting. the modifications lengthen the straps so that they can be easily reached. this is considered okay for casualwear but tacky for formal occasions.

the upper body can usually just wear whatever mass produced human clothing they like. the only item of clothing which is made specifically for these guys is the waist sash (sometimes with an additional cloth drape on the front, which can smarten up an outfit). these are people whose culture has a deep seam of embarrassment at being part animal, and this fact should be hidden if at all possible even though it isn't possible but you just have to try. the junction between fur and skin is always hidden. the orange blanket pictured above is about as skimpy as you could get away with in public. mane hair is usually shaved off for practicality's sake.

for practical work where harnesses and tack are required, these are usually worn over blankets and modified to include no reins/other control apparatus. for those for whom it is possible, horse-shoes are worn on the front feet for daily city life, and on all feet for hard manual labour or any activities/hobbies/etc which require good traction on the hind legs. shoes are usually not made of metal but of a composite into which grip studs can be inserted if necessary. the imagery of hard metal shoes is associated with counterculture movements and sometimes if you wanna look hard you can have your shoes spraypainted to be shiny. barefoot is actually fine in most circumstances

dedicated centaur clothing is stupid expensive because very few manufacturers produce it and the fabric yardage is insane so it is a class signifier. the garment shape & purpose is unisex though due to influence from dominant human cultures in the area, there's still a difference between a Stallion's Manly Robes and a Demure Filly Dress. ideally the full body is covered and the overall impression is of a human strapped to some mysterious shape idk what could possibly be under there. normal human legs i bet.

[saerins]

°୨୧ INEVICABLY, UNDENIABLY

+ gojo satoru x f!reader | wc 3.3k | content: fluff, modern au, friends to roommates to lovers, timeskip thing; from high school -> adulthood, alcohol, implied sex, children, marriage, gojo is mostly clingy and annoying and we love him for it, the years and age correspond to his actual birthdate, take this as my birthday fic for him <3

summary: despite seemingly having it all, gojo satoru’s goal has always been the same all these years you’ve known him—all he wants in life is you, and only you. during his birthday this year, gojo counts his blessings.

2006; seventeen.

the day you agreed to be satoru’s partner in homeroom class is the day you signed away your sanity. not because satoru’s hard to get along with or that he’s rude or slacks off, but because it’s hard not to fall for a boy with such pretty eyes and even prettier lips who likes to say the most beautiful things.

getting to know satoru is like taking a deep in the clearest, coldest ocean after an entire lifetime of being dipped in molten lava. he’s annoying, refreshing and eye-opening all in one.

satoru shows promise in the first lesson, doing fairly well at cooking and sowing, although afterwards he just falls off because you end up having to teach him how to properly use alcohol in his cooking so he doesn’t burn himself or that you’d end up patching his fingers up since he accidentally pokes himself a lot more than the average human would.

still, it’s not his fault he isn’t naturally talented in the home economics department. he is in sports, you find out, after a few months of being in the same class as him.

“hey, y/n.” he’s leaning back on his chair, depending on its hind two legs for support. it’s become his habit during class to bother you whenever the teachers aren’t in.

you were assigned the seat diagonally behind him, and it’s become a habit for you to ignore him—mostly because most of the time, it’s nonsense that falls out of those lips, especially after you’d gotten close. it’s his sign of affection, you realise.

“hey y/n, i’m being serious this time, i need to talk to you,” satoru whines, pouting and sighing in that over dramatic way that only he can.

that’s also not the first time he’s tricked you into acknowledging him so all you do is look at him, a smile appearing that you failed to suppress, and bring a finger to your lips, signalling for him to hush.

unperturbed, satoru smirks and gets to scribbling on a piece of paper, folding it (annoyingly and quickly) into a swan before handing it to you. he winks at you, and you’re immediately driven not to give him satisfaction by reading it. instead, you bow slightly and stuff it in your pencil case, making satoru pout again and giving yourself the sweet taste of victory.

the rest of your sophomore year in high school, you find yourself growing closer to satoru, an unfamiliar feeling growing inside of you. you find that you like knowing what makes him tick, and even the way he says your name, or even watching him ace every kind of sport and then having him blow a teasing kiss to you after each win.

“y/n, i’m so jealous of you, how’d you manage to get gojo satoru of all people?” one of your classmates whine, swooning endlessly over him.

you only laugh it off, deigning to think too much of it.

it’s weird; he’s most of the schoolgirls’ crushes, but you’ve never considered him to be yours. maybe it’s just a fleeting feeling that will go away with the test of time.

yeah, that should be all that is.

2007; eighteen.

“why not? we’re practically going to the same college.”

with time, you thought that maybe satoru would become a little more sane. like how growing into adults, you slowly shed the ridiculous dreams you had as a child. but he’s not, if not—he’s even more insane.

“we haven’t got the results yet, satoru.”

“i’m pretty sure we’ll get in though.”

“and what’s your basis for that?”

“i’m never wrong about these.”

as always, satoru lives in his own little bubble and you can’t help but to sigh. in his head, both of you will get into that same college you applied for and he has it all planned out: “we get into college, sign up for whatever classes, and then rent an apartment together—genius right?”

that was satoru just moments ago, elbows leaned over the grocery cart as he grins at you, beaming like a dog waiting for their owner’s approval. now he’s still doing the same, except you’ve flicked him on the forehead before turning your attention to the aisles because apparently, he says he hates the food at home and would rather have what you’re cooking.

he’s made it his life mission to invade your meals over the weekend, squeezing himself into your family, bonding with your sibling and your parents and only then did you realise what you forgot in the first place: satoru is one of the most charming people to ever walk the earth. your siblings constantly ask about the next time he’s coming over, and your parents are just waiting for you to announce that he’s your boyfriend—which he’s not, but he sure likes to make it seem that way.

another thing you notice about satoru thanks to your now-weekly grocery runs: he likes to wander around way too much, and complains afterwards when he finds you after losing you.

“y/n!”

it’s like routine by now; the way satoru rushes over to you, putting his arm around your shoulder and sticking his cheek against yours, telling you how he almost died because he thought he lost you—like the drama queen he is. by now, all you can offer him is a ruffle of his hair before you carry on like normal, as though your heart isn’t beating right out of your chest from that simple proximity.

because satoru, despite his generally icy look, is always warm; his body heat, his cheeks, the way he looks into your eyes all the time, even his fingertips when they brush against you.

you think he’s especially warm when he falls asleep beside you after watching a late night movie, his head nuzzled in your neck, hands somehow rested over your own. your favourite thing about the friendship, though, try as you might to deny it, is how satoru’s hands always find yours when he walks you home, fingers lacing around your own as if it’s second nature.

ever since then, these routines have become a staple, and perhaps even does your growing feelings. the inexplicable one.

2008; nineteen.

satoru was right.

both of you did get into the same university, and the same course, with different minors so at least there’s some differences. so of course, satoru did not let the shared apartment idea go. though, of course, thanks to your initial hesitance on the matter, the only available apartment is a 4-bedroom, entirely too big and hence you’d convinced satoru to just rent the other bedrooms out for extra change.

and no, satoru does not need extra change because his family’s loaded (which you realised you didn’t even know before this) but at least this would allow you to not dwell on whatever you’re feeling too much. university is going to be stressful enough without the added consideration of your possible feelings towards satoru.

then enters geto suguru—your new roommate who, thankfully, steals enough of satoru’s attention so you have some breathing room. turns out, they’re like two peas in a pod. but while you and satoru major in business, suguru majors in psych. so that still means satoru’s around just you most of the time.

some routines change; like how movie nights are shared amongst the three of you in the living room instead of just you and satoru in your room. or how during grocery runs satoru still runs up to you when he finds you again except this time, an exasperated suguru is beside you sighing at him, always a “how do you stand this guy?” rolling off his tongue. the most surprising one for you might be how meals include suguru now and satoru’s the one who does the cooking now, and funnily enough, he’s absolutely great at it. no ounce of hesitation as he flips the pancakes, or stirs the fried rice—no whining about how it’s too hard because he’ll get burns on his fingertips and has to ask you to tend to his wounds.

but some change in a different way. they leave no room for someone else, like how satoru always finds your hands to hold on to, keeping you within a reach too close to pass as just friends but both of you refusing to label it anything else anyways. it leaves no room for other people to butt in and whisk either of you away.

and for now, at least, both of you are okay with just that.

2009; twenty.

participating in different activities and clubs inevitably mean that you and satoru wouldn’t be attached at the hip most of the time. and of course, while that leads to satoru becoming even clingier when you’re both home (not that you’re complaining when it’s nice to feel wanted from the very guy you’re completely not having a crush on), both of you are in separate social circles.

satoru occasionally has his friends over, the ones you don’t really know that well. the one where you can only remember names like haibara because he’s extra friendly and yuki because she’s one of the prettiest people you’d ever seen and nori because she’s a mix of the two. you’re nice, and cordial to all of them, although you can’t really say the same for satoru.

occasionally you and suguru invite your friends over, because nicely enough, you both have the same interests. it’s mostly shoko and nanami, a med student and law student respectively, but both of which satoru loves to annoy to no end. lucky for you, shoko is strangely naturally tolerant of his antics and nanami shrugs it off as white noise.

“y/n, surely you’d rather spend time with me rather than that blondie?” satoru always asks, pouting as he looks at you over his shoulder during breakfast—a constant whenever you have plans that involve nanami.

it’s kind of cute.

“mmm, that’s a secret,” you’d always tell him, knowing that satoru’s pouts won’t last all day anyway. it’ll relegate to an excited grin whenever you’re back after that.

you’d never really had to face your feelings, then, until all of you gather one night, before the holidays officially start. you should’ve known that something would be different this time, especially when there’s alcohol involved. naturally, in the circle you sit in, satoru asks people to scoot over, purposely sitting beside you, as close as he can, close enough that your arms and knees practically brush.

it’s just for a simple game of truth or dare, and it’s innocent enough until someone asks nanami and he says truth, and his truth is that out of everyone he knows, he’d most likely date you. beside you, while everyone else is whooping at the declaration, satoru clicks his tongue in annoyance, though he says nothing about it. and you’re not really emphatic about it until someone dares nori to kiss the guy she wants to date the most and she kisses satoru, deep and slow, in front of you, haibara letting slip that she’s had a crush on satoru for a while now.

satoru’s five shots in and tipsy and he was imagining that was you and maybe that’s why it lasted for five seconds before he pulls away.

and when it comes to satoru?

as though noticing his dilemma, suguru gives an amused smile as he states his dare, “kiss the girl you most wanna marry.”

he doesn’t waste a single second in pulling you close and kissing you, his alcohol-tainted lips pressing against yours, daring tongue teasingly prying open your lips, chuckling as he feels you kiss him back.

“not most,” satoru corrects right as the both of you pull away, his forehead still pressed against yours and both of your half-lidded pair of eyes still staring at each other.

“what?” you’re almost breathless, forgetting that everyone else is watching.

“the only girl i wanna marry.” and you think he’s never looked more handsome, genuine smile plastered on his face and pretty blue eyes threatening to pull you in.

while everyone moves on, satoru doesn’t—he keeps you there with him, telling you for the first time in four years since he’s known you, “i love you.”

the next week, after you get home for the holidays, the first time being away from satoru in a while, you manage to find your old pencil case, the folded paper swan satoru folded for you all those years ago still inside, somehow forgotten.

curious, you finally open it, finding his message enclosed inside, bringing a smile to your face.

i’m gonna marry you one day.

2010; twenty-one.

dating satoru is like finding a new hobby that you’re effortlessly good at.

despite living under the same roof, instead of finding out the ugly, you find the good in each other. even with suguru in the mix, you all live harmoniously like you have been since the start. except now, satoru likes to sleep in your room, both of you fooling around and occasionally forcing suguru to tell you to pipe down.

satoru is still full of surprises, sometimes pulling up with his car as though both of you don’t sleep under the same roof, telling you that he planned a date and to dress nice. he buys you flowers even if you’re not particularly fancy of them and surprises you by buying things that simply reminded him of you.

dating satoru is like finding out that the right person for you will always think of you and your feelings, no matter the circumstance. the way he makes sure to tell you if he has to hang around nori, or the way he asks if you need anything when he passes by the grocery store alone, or going so far as to memorise your cycle so he knows exactly what to show up back home with.

by the time it’s your one-year anniversary and his birthday comes and you ask him what he wants, all he can answer is “you” and for the first time, you can tell he isn’t trying to be annoying or cheeky or flirty—satoru is surprisingly simple and his answer always has been and somehow always will be just you.

2013; twenty-four.

you still remember the day satoru got down on one knee, his handsome smile even more radiant under the golden hour glow, those still-beautiful blue eyes gleaming even from beneath his bangs.

just an intimate proposal with your closest friends, both shoko and suguru helping to distract you in order to create a successful surprise, while nanami and haibara helped with the decorations and photography.

thanks to them, you’re laughing now, at your wedding reception, looking at all the ways you nearly found them out that day, exactly one year ago, in the form of pictures. and thanks to the best man’s toast, you find out that suguru’s always known about satoru’s feelings, and just how deep his emotions for you ran.

“i won’t forget how much he whined about y/n getting close to nanami. that was probably the one time his whining got so out of control that i wanted to stuff a pillow over his face,” suguru divulges, garnering laughs around the hall, including from you, as your new husband pouts and squeezes your hand.

thanks to that, nanami finds the need to disclose during his speech, “i have never intended to date nor had such thoughts about y/n. my truth during that game of truth or dare was simply the result of a process of elimination—” and haibara cuts him off to give a more fitting speech, fits of laughter all across the room.

that day, you steal glances at satoru, wondering how you got so lucky to be with someone who loves you so much and continuously proves so with every passing day.

“satoru?” you call to him softly that night, as you both find yourselves completely bare in the bedroom of your new apartment, one to yourselves.

his piercing blue eyes flick up to meet yours, relishing how it feels like inside of you, every time as though it’s the first. “yeah?” it’s breathy, because he’s about to lose himself.

“i love you, satoru, and only you, forever and ever,” you tell him, finally knowing that in this life, it will always be gojo satoru for you, and that it’s the same for him too.

he only chuckles, pulling you close, “forever me and you, baby, only us.”

2023; present day.

“wow, more than ten years, i think i need to give you a trophy for that, y/n.”

satoru groans, rolling his eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

beside him, suguru laughs at shoko’s comment. this time, the six of you find yourselves at a round table in a seafood restaurant during satoru’s birthday, talking about how it’s you and satoru’s tenth year together too.

“i’m not too much, am i?” satoru teasingly asks you, although you only shrug in amusement before drinking your glass of water as an excuse not to answer.

you’ve always been like that, but it’s part of what satoru likes about you. scratch that, he’s loved every part of you since he met you. it’s like it was meant to be; or so he likes to think. there’s an undeniable pull that always lulls him back to you. to satoru, there’s never been question that you’re the only one for him, maybe that’s why it’s so clear-cut.

“you’re just so head over heels for me, huh?” you ask him, a smug grin on your face, the conversational context something he’s missing since he’s been zoning out in his thoughts.

since the first time he saw you, he’s been drawn to you every second of every day. maybe that’s why he did all those stupid stuff like pretending not to be able to cook and ‘accidentally’ burning himself to get you to tend to him, or purposely pricking himself with the needle and asking you to put a plaster over it just to feel you close. even those times at the supermarket when he purposely loses you so he can find you again and see your helpless smile and feel the way you rub his head affectionately afterwards.

maybe it’s stupid too, how he had to silently admit he knows how to cook all too well because he didn’t want suguru to taste your cooking when he first moved in. it was something satoru felt he wanted to himself, something he wanted to keep between him and his future wife. or how a wordless stare between him and suguru during that game of truth or dare was all suguru needed to know that satoru wanted to make you his at that very second, afraid that kiss between him and nori would make you hesitant.

he shouldn’t have underestimated you though, because you know him better than most people do. there were never any pointless arguments or unrecoverable friction.

as they sing happy birthday annoyingly loud like best friends do, chanting for him to make a wish—his hands find yours again as they always did, he can honestly say that there’s no other way he’d rather live his life. you’re made for him and he has you and the little mini yous at home so really, there’s nothing that he has to wish for.

except, maybe, one thing, if he could be selfish.

in this life, and every other life, he’ll want to be with you and only you, forever.

[charliemwrites]

Part 2 of Woof Woof Konig

Content: Animal Injury (Non-Descriptive)

The walk back to your home is slow. Johnny stays glued to the new pup’s side - as much as he can given how the other towers over him. Ghost pulls ahead to patrol the path, always circling back to press his nose to your hand.

The new dog is so big that his head nearly reaches yours. He keeps his chin down, though, almost ducked, eyes flicking shyly to you. His eyes are big, one sky blue and the other deep brown.

When you reach the house, you nearly have to push his big butt in the door as he hesitates on the porch. Ghost stands watch behind you while Johnny tip-taps on the other side, and you pat at flanks breathing like bellows.

Finally, he inches far enough inside that Ghost can squeeze in and you can close (and lock) the door. You take a deep breath once you do, feeling the last hour crashing over you.

“Jeez, bud,” you sigh, offering your hand to your newest charge. “What a day, huh?”

A quiet, almost shy “snarf”. You grin and scritch gently at his chin, then flick your eyes to the bloody cut over his eyebrow. You click your tongue sadly.

“Alright, baby. We gotta take care of that. Then you can be done for the day, okay?”

You should probably take him to the vet - big fuckoff sized dog with an injury. But you can’t imagine trying to bundle him into your reasonably sized car. Even getting Ghost in there is a struggle the two times you’ve had to do it.

So you leave the pup awkwardly standing, trembling, by the door and collect the dog first aid. You also grab the jar of dog-safe peanut butter. Even Ghost loves that shit.

When you come back, the dog seems to droop when he sees the kit in your hands.

“I know baby, it’ll be okay. I got something that’ll make it better.”

You approach slowly, carefully, watching for any signs of fear aggression. Issue is, there’s every chance he could snap without warning, but you’re praying he’s not one of those. Your boys would go ballistic.

Thankfully, he lets himself be bribed with globs of peanut butter while you clean up the cuts around his head. There’s a chip taken out of his ear that nearly brings you to tears. And the poor boy only whines every once in a while, pressing his face into your chest while you work as quickly and gently as you can. No aggression, no lashing out.

In the end, you press your face to his neck and scratch gently at his shoulders.

“No one is ever going to hurt you again, honey. Not here, not with me.” You press a gentle kiss to his muzzle. “I take care of everyone.”

You get him settled with some blankets and a fresh bowl of food while you check on your boys. Ghost leans into your side while you cry a bit, whispering that you love him and he’s been so good.

Johnny whines and licks the tears away (smelling a bit like peanut butter of course) when you turn to him, pressing his face up under your chin.

“Such good boys,” you sniffle. “Dunno what I’d do without you.”

They practically baby you for the rest of the evening. One with you, one with the new pup, who’s resting and warming up by the heater, bowl empty. They don’t even bark too much when you decide to order food and the delivery comes - perhaps sensing that you’re too drained for their overprotective antics.

When it’s time for bed, you cross over to your new boy and scratch at his hind leg.

“You wanna come to bed, sweetie? You don’t have to, but I don’t want you to be alone out here.”

He stares at you, mismatched eyes way too big. You make one last kissy noise at him and then head to your room, Ghost and Johnny following as usual. Just as you’re about to turn off the light, a big form lumbers into your doorway.

“Hi bud!” you call softly, patting the mattress. “You wanna try coming up?”

He seems to consider it, eyeing the bed and the space available between you and the other two dogs, before politely walking to the dog bed. It’s technically Ghost’s bed, though he only uses it when you’re getting ready to go out.

“You can sleep there, sweetie. I’m sure Ghostie boy doesn’t mind.”

You glance at him as if to confirm, but Ghost is predictably pretending that you’re not talking. Grumpy boy hardly ever responds once he’s tucked into bed.

You smile as the new dog carefully climbs onto the cushion.

“Alright, good night boys. I love you.” You pause, make eye contact with your new pup. “Even you, bud.”

Late in the night, you could swear you hear voices. The low rumble of men talking. Even dream of someone kissing your forehead.

Main Story | Konig pt. 1 | Happy Birthday!

Masterlist

[astralnymphh]

why is it always about ellie pleasuring us and never about us pleasuring her??? like I wanna edge then and then overstimulate her till she cries 👉👈

right?? like.. ugh especially with a vibrator !! mdni. mama petname used. sub!ellie. bratty behaviour. blah kind of a lazier drabble focused more on dialogue im just practicing for pccb (pretty cunt central, baby: a fic) 1.5k+ wc.

⤹ edging ellie with a vibrator ⋆ . ☣

Hung like a vignette upon her lain body, Ellie was vulnerable. Accelerated in the pump of her blood. Cold of her sweat, beading clammy condensation on her cheeks, a single bang strews itself across that muggy biome of skin— somehow looking darker as it soaks up her wet frustration. The bedspread, however, drank up a lethal amount of her crying sweat. A dull radiograph beneath her, turning lilac hue of her blanket—mauve, marking her body with a vignette of her own.

Ellie on her back, thighs broadened on each side of you, and you fully kneeling with cold toes wedged into the chub of your ass, is your position. Skimpy end of her pubic bush tickled your belly button whenever she scoots closer, eagerly trying to rub her greedy pussy on you— fuck, you cherish those little antsy movements.

"Fuckin'— unhhh— nuhnonono babe, baby.. fuck, c'mon!" her words drove on a groan, snapping into an upset whine when a certain toy was drifted from her beaming cherry clit.

Fun. Fun is what you gain from this, and it fed you with hormones to perceive it in that light. Your thumb planes plumb on a flat button, the surrounding indentation kissing your print as you let it sit softly, no vibrations to numb it.

Ellie chases your detach with her hips bucking and legs arisen, sticking out her cunt for that damn toys' bulbous head, "Mama— please, fuck.." the whine leavens, straining in her clench of stress.

She is so fucking handsome, cute— alurring with that glassy daisy nose. Buttony and speckled like a daisys lemony pistil, but glossy as a pearl washed upon a rocky cove, orb of luster on the tip to prove it. Fairest terra of her skin, has gone scarlet against the pale sand of her cupids bow, which she rolls inward to her bottom lip in even more neglect of her edging. Too fucking cute.

"Yeah, you fucking like that?" you flipped the toy on and jabbed it into her clit, provoking her hips to jerk in regret and her legs to clamp in on you— to which you dug your free hand into the plush hind of her thigh, stretching the web of your thumb and pointer, and craning that shit 'till her knee nearly kissed the mattress. Sprawled like a bitch in heat.

"Fuck fuck fuck! N— ohhh my guuh, haah—" Els bolted her eyelids to a creasing shut, scrunching up to her nose as you sunk that vibrator head in vertical drags, watching her pretty pussy lips swallow the ridge of it, "uhhhnn t'can't, cuuhh— uh!" blabbered she.

Your blabbering mess. Jolting up her pussy for you, the bulge of its aroused state really catching your eyes.

"Can't what, baby?" you coo belittleingly.

A nubby mass pushes your nude hips into her butt, thereafter you realize her heel was nudging you close, because she longs for your closeness, to be near when she cums.

Strias of breath warble from her throat, panting in dainty breaks, "Huhh— ha, uhh babe, m'wanna cum for you, cum with my pussy all over y—you, y—yeah.." her tune turns squeaky, enticing you with that weak coo, only to grow pouty and sassy, "stop be— uhhn, being a dick.."

A brow arches in amusement, "What was that?" you curl in feigned curiosity, lifting the whirring bulb with a webbing of her slick gluing from the verge of her hole to the plastic tip.

"Fuck—" a dramatic pulling of pants rise again, chest aswell, vocal chords calming, "you're just getting me back for teasing you, hmm?"

"Yes.." you spur from lying, sounding proud.

Rose buds of her lips curl in as she chugs air, gazing so doey—eyed at you through lashes sodden in faint tears. Those fucking brows curved in at the base of her nose, making her look so— dizzied, like she was about to pass.

She hikes up onto her elbows, pressing her hot buttcheeks harsh into your thighs until they splat. Ellie just knew, by the twist of your words and the crescent carving below your nose, you enjoy this. "God, you.." a sigh leaves her, cheeks inflating, "you fucking like this."

You frill, "Mhm."

"Fuck you."

Faking offense, you dusk your lids to a slit, glaring, "Scuse me?" stern with a smile, you winch a hand behind you— wrapping around another toys girth, "wanna talk t'me like that?" you press the vibrator back to her clit, swerving your other hand 'round and dipping the spade of a purple dildo into her hole— fast, stretching her lips open and bottoming 'till the small silicone balls squished her perineum.

"Shit!" yelped she, sudden lunge of her large mitt now grappling the hand on her thigh and burrowing bowed nail marks deep in your wrist, second hand clawing the cotton sleeve of her pillow.

You smack the balls hard on her wet skin, draining every bit of precum from her filthy gaping pussy— which landslides in between her ass. Drawing strings and strings from her cervix, the squelch arouses your ears, flushing them in heat.

"Yeah?" you silken a muse at her choked and elongated moans, dazzling the front of your knuckles in slick with your speed, "slutty fucking pussy, lookit' her— clenching that cock in."

It hadn't even washed over you that she was already cumming, bubbly sounds of her piped squirt swelling into your ears— thenn the little spurts come and the pooling of white cream licking up the pumping veins spatters your belly, riling you the fuck up. You didn't let up, nuh—uh, not when her raised brows, banshee—wailing mouth and ghastly eyes made you feel hot inside your own cunt, striving for overstimulation.

"Ohhh my god— huhhnn.." Ellie groaned, tatted arm flexing it's veins and yielding pigment from her fingertips.

You slipped the dick out like butter— her labia kissing closed, and slap it down on her swollen folds, noise coiling, getting her to jerk and push out more slicky finish, "There you go— good girl, cummin' for mama?" you steady the vibrator, letting it torture her convulsing clit for an.. untold range of time, whatever floats your boat.

"Uh'huh.."

Nimble as ever, you glissade the dick up her torso, crushing her slobber webbed lips with the pussy—reeked tip, "Mhm, that's right, open up babe.." asking of her with a satiny softness taking over that cold voice.

Spit drools down her chin as she caves her gob over, pupils colliding as she crosses her eyes in, "Ghh— uhhhahnn.."

"Don't talk.." you enlist a ruder tug on her clit with the vibe, forcing all that sweet syrupy cum down that throat of hers in droplets off the dick, "suck that fucking cock.."

Obeying, she rumples the plump coral skin around the thickness and drags them over the texture, pulling them out slightly. Cream white began to build at her pie—hole, cherry pie lips, a la her scarfing gags spitting everything that wanted to travel down. Little 'guh, guh, guhhs' bounced off her larynx, a fucking angel soprano to your ears.

However, she just couldn't stop thrashing. Past her point of please, were her non—verbal pleads of relief. Relief from that whirring device, rolling her butt deeper into the mattress now opposing the chase.

Ellie's quivering right arm fleets up and grabs your wrist, shanking the hell—sworn cock out of her mouth with spit connecting, messy girl, "Nonono, fhck— too much t'much 'tmuhh— ahh~" she gabbles, locking her butt up and humping up into the air void of intention.

Too much.

Too much..

Not enough.

"You know this baby," a bastion of even more pride instills your craving cunt, winding your knees smushed into the bed and crawling over her, body casting dark in your vignette, chastising "Ellie doesn't get a break 'till I cum too, 'kay?" you whisk the toy away, just for a second.

The bitter burn of tears piggyback over her bottom lids, squeezed out like orange juice and glossing like her wet and mucky slit did, both squinting at your actions. A snotty sniffle flows into her woozed words, "C—can I at least tou—uhh, touch you.. babe?" red puffy eyes gazing into yours with such want, skipping momentarily to search for any expressive sign of a reply.

"Sure baby, sit up— but don't close those fucking legs." you accept her ask, watching that ruffly—haired girl scoot up with such excitement.

Ellie sits vanward still, slouching with widely spread legs and a timid hand reaching for your cunt, the contrary paw dropping and fondling the cushion of your butt cause she just couldn't help the urge, tucking her head in the warm hearth of your neck— latching a bite so she may distract herself from what you're about to do.

You take her hand and invite it in, feeling her fingertips divide and tease your folds and her teeth nipping tiny spots of flesh into her dried chuckling mouth like a goat grazing, giving you the green light to creep the toy on her bloated bud, once more.

"I fucking love playing with you."

[avatar-anna]

Just, like, a little crazy

this...is absolutely ridiculous, but i'm here for it. jealous hockey player!harry everyone! based on this tiktok

Hockey Player! Harry Styles x Figure Skater! Y/n

*.*

"What's that face, baby?"

You stepped off the ice with a furrowed brow, approaching your boyfriend once your skates were properly covered. His arms were crossed, a scowl marring heis features as he waited for you to finish your training session. Your students were long gone, as you usually stayed back to skate freely before heading home.

Harry didn't always pick you up, but he had a bye week, which meant he spent every moment he could with you. Date nights, casual evenings on the couch, late mornings in bed, breakfast in bed if Harry managed to untangle his tired limbs from yours. It was safe to say that bye weeks were your favorite weeks. And Harry's, though he'd never admit it around his teammates.

Shrugging, Harry took your hand and pulled you closer to him for a kiss. You were used to greeting kisses, but this was different, deeper, his tongue pushing into your mouth before you had a chance to even process it. Not in the mood to argue, you kissed him back, dropping your duffle bag at your feet so you could grip the thick fabric of his sweatshirt.

Harry's hands gripped your ass, pushing you closer to his front, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. "Baby," you murmured, trying to catch your breath, but your boyfriend was rather insistent for a Tuesday afternoon. "We—We're in public."

"There's no one around us," he replied, nipping at your jaw. "And since when has that stopped you? Remember your grad party? Or the away game in Boston? Or—"

"Okay, okay, big shot." You pulled yourself back from him, holding his chin in place when he tried to go for your neck. "Let's go home anyway. There are security cameras, and I happen to like working here."

With a little resistance from Harry, you eventually left the rink hand in hand. In the car, his hand was on your leg, his thumb tracing along your inner thigh in a way that made it hard to think straight. You tried to keep still, for no other reason than Harry's earlier comment and you were inherently stubborn, and maybe because you knew if you stayed still you might be rewarded for it. It wasn't a long trip home, but you knew he would make it worth it.

"So, who was that on the rink with you?"

When his hand dipped below the waistband of your leggings, you knew you were right. Sighing, you settled deeper into the passenger seat, eyes fluttering shut.

He started off slow as if to warm you up, drawing lazy circles and spreading your wetness around until he eventually slipped one finger inside. Just the one, pumping slowly. He waited until the first stoplight to add another.

"Hm?"

You weren't sure if it was a moan or a response to his question, but you didn't really care. You hadn't really heard him anyway.

"You were skating with someone at the end of practice," Harry said, though his voice was secondary to the sensations provided by his fingers. "I thought you just taught the younger age groups. Not...young adults."

You peeked an eye open, glancing at your boyfriend's profile suspiciously. His eyes were still trained on the road in front of him, hind fingers still pumping leisurely but slowly picking up speed. It's nothing, you thought, or told yourself to think. The only thing you wanted to focus on was finishing before you got home. This was probably some sort of game to see how well you could hold a conversation while his fingers were inside you.

"Winter showcase," you sighed, clenching around Harry's fingers to distract him from his questions. "I'm doing a little performance with the senior coach."

As his fingers pumped a little faster, he asked, "Oh? So you're—Have you been training with this person often?"

Groaning, you shoved Harry's arm away, pinching his skin for good measure. Yelping he pulled his hand back, cursing slightly as you crossed your arms. And your legs.

"Ow! What the hell was that for? You weren't finished!"

"Did you really try to butter me up into an interrogation by fingering me?" you accused. You'd be impressed if you weren't so annoyed. "All because you're...jealous of my coworker?"

"I'm not—"

"He's my colleague, Harry!"

"Oh, so now I'm just Harry? What happened to baby?"

"Baby is reserved for my mentally sound boyfriend who doesn't try to finger me into submission! And I thought you just loved me."

"Come on, don't be like that. I just saw you...and him...and you looked—you looked..."

Your annoyance ebbed, but only a little. Harry's thoughts were irrational, but you also tended to not see reason when he was around other women, so could you really blame him?

That didn't stop you from teasing him, though.

"I was thinking about you, idiot," you said, shoving his shoulder lightly.

There was a considerable amount of acting when it came to figure skating. It wasn't just about executing tricks perfectly, but telling a story through the lines of your arms, the bow of your head, the emotions on your face as you performed. Partner work wasn't something you were used to, but you'd been asked to fill in when a senior coach's partner got injured last minute. It was all strictly professional, because he was a colleague and you were happily involved with someone else, and everyone you worked with at the rink knew that.

You often thought of Harry when you performed. For years, he was the person who drew the most emotion from you. From anguish to love to desperation, he'd made you feel everything over the course of your relationship. It was the easiest way to tap into emotions for a raw and real performance.

"You—You were?"

You rolled your eyes, refusing to answer him as he pulled into the parking spot in front of the apartment you shared. Harry tried to rest his hand on your lap again, but you twisted your body to face the car door in a huff.

"Don't be like that," he said. "You know how I get, I'm sorry. Let's go inside and I'll make it up to you."

Silence was your greatest weapon at the moment. It drove Harry crazy when you didn't talk to him, even moreso when you didn't forgive him right away. You supposed you both knew what made each other tick.

"You're really gonna be like this? When we have a whole week together?" he asked, his lips brushing against the curve of your ear. "What can I do, princess? Tell me."

Excited chills curled down your spine. You tried not to let it get to you, but you could practically feel Harry's grin as he realized he was wearing you down.

"Let's go inside. I wanna finish what we started, and then some."

You wanted to wait, to not give in, but, "Like what?"

"There she is," Harry murmured, kissing your cheek. "I'll let you sit on my face."

"You act like that's a punishment for you," you scoffed.

"Can't blame me for trying," he said with an unapologetic shrug. "Handcuffs?"

All that got him was a raise of your brows.

"Handcuffs on me? No, that's too much work for you," he said, laughing when you swatted at his arm. "Give me a little help, princess. I'm dying to get my hands on you. Dying, princess."

His praise filled you with warmth, just like it always did. You loved to hear him beg, to hear how much he craved your touch, and he loved to see you preen and blush and melt beneath the sweetness of his words.

Unbuckling your seat belt, you opened the passenger door. "Dying, you said?"

Harry nodded, his eyes tracking your every move as he quickly got out of the car, following you up the steps to the apartment. When you got inside, he lifted you up, and your legs went immediately around his waist, but when he tried to kiss you, you pressed a finger to his lips.

"I want to hear you say it."

"Say what?"

Fighting a grin, you said, "That you were a jealous idiot and that you know I would never make moony eyes at a coworker."

"That's what you want?" he asked.

"That's what I want. And that you're sorry for trying to finger the truth out of me."

Harry sighed. "It sounds crazy when you put it like that."

"It does, doesn't it? It's almost as if it was crazy."

Harry grinned, not even the littlest bit sorry. "What can I say, princess? You make me do some crazy shit."

You only looked at him with raised brows. "My pants stay on until I hear you say it."

"Fine, fine, if my proclamations of undying love aren't enough," he said, shaking his head as he chuckled. He kissed your neck a couple times before you hugged him back by the curls that flopped over his forehead. After a deep exhale, he said, "I was a jealous idiot."

"And?"

Harry narrowed his eyes to green slits at you. "You're enjoying this too much. Fine, I was a jealous idiot and I know you would never make, what did you call it, moony eyes, at a coworker. And I'm sorry for fingering—" he sighed, rubbing an exasperated hand over his face, "for fingering the truth out of you. There. Satisfied?"

You beamed at him. "Very. You may now lead me to the bedroom please and thank you."

He shook his head, but did as you asked, commanded, really, anyway. "You think you run things around here, huh?"

"Think?" you asked, giggling as Harry tossed you onto the bed, following closely behind. "Baby, I know."

You held him close as he peppered your neck and cheek with kisses, laughing a little as he nuzzled you relentlessly. Your clothes and Harry's were quick to come off, both of you eager to finish what was started in the car. At the last second, you paused, a small grin gracing your lips. "So, about those handcuffs?"

Harry's eyes lit up. "Really?"

Nodding, you said, "Gonna make me feel good?"

"The best," he promised, kissing you once before scrambling off the bed.

You got into position, readying yourself for Harry while he rooted through your shared closet for the handcuffs. When he came back, he smiled, the gaze that roved your body nearly as powerful as his touch. When he climbed back onto the bed, he kissed your forehead. "Good girl," he murmured.

You beamed as he clasped the handcuffs around your wrists. God, it was good to be in charge.

[hitomisuzuya]

Hi Suzu! Hope you’re doing well! Can I request a Scara x Catgirl reader with a breeding kink? Have a nice day!

Scaramouche x fem!Hybrid reader. Smut. Cunnilingus. Orgasm denial. Breeding kink. Riding. Ear pulling. Degradation.

I hope you all can forgive my slow ass😭

Scaramouche's fingers caressed teasingly over your hips as they jerked up to grind shamelessly into his mouth. He smirked, holding them down on the bed, swirling his tongue around your throbbing clit. Any second you were going to whine that you were going to cum.

He couldn't wait to hear your pathetic mewl, your fingers tangling in his hair as you push his mouth down onto your cunt. You'd been such a pest all day, on your knees in front of his chair while he tried to work.

You rubbed your head against his thighs, his hips, and pelvis as you looked up at him with needy eyes. You were always so cute in heat, your eyes practically begging for him as you kitten licked the head of his cock outside of his shorts.

Every prod and agonizingly slow lick of his tongue make your legs shake as you struggled to grind up against his mouth. His hands tightened on your hips, enjoying seeing you crumble above him as he held your hips down.

"Scara, I'm gonna.." Moans spilled from your parted lips, your body on overload from how extra sensitive it was when you were in heat. Your body was tense and twitchingfrom pleasure, writhing in his grasp as you chased the high that he'd kept dangling there right in front of you.

Scaramouche soaked in the mewl he'd been craving to hear before chuckling huskily as he took his mouth off of your clit. Seeing your face crumble with such erotic despair, drool rolling from the corner of your mouth made him harder.

"Please.." You began breathlessly, looking down at hind with teary eyes. This was the third time he'd denied you, "I don't think I can--"

He cut you off with a slow flick of his tongue over your clit. "What's wrong, slut? You begged, and whined all fucking day for me, and when you finally get what you want, you whine that you can't take it," He smacked two fingers on your clit, making your back arch off the bad as you cried out. "Be a doll, and let your Master enjoy himself before he breeds you."

Before you could respond, Scaramouche latched his lips back on your clit. His tongue coaxed more wet between your legs, slowly winding up your orgasm again. He took extra time sucking and prodding his tongue on your more sensitive spots.

As much as he wanted to fuck you, there was such a power rush denying you your orgasms. It always made you plead louder for him.

Once Scaramouche decided he was (hardly) satisfied, he marvelled at how light and submissive your body felt when he sat up and maneuvered you to straddle him, the head of his cock hovering under your entrance.

He groaned feeling your pussy immediately clenched as he teased the head of his cock at your hole. You trembled in his hands, your drooling cunt sucking his cock inside of you as he lowered you down on it. Your back arched as you rolled your hips, letting out a moan that sounded like you'd finally received something you'd waited for years for.

Scaramouche laughed, settling his hands on your hips. He offered you no help as you bounced shamelessly on his cock. "Look at my kitten," He cooed, reaching up to tug on one of your sensitive ears. "Reducing yourself to a cock drunk slut."

His tug on your ear sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your throbbing clit. You mewled in bliss, leaning in to lick at his mouth submissively. His cock pulsed inside you from the action.

His fingers tightened on your hips, your walls squeezing around his cock felt too good for him to keep his composure. The way you hips looked when you bounced made it hard for him to resist pressing possessive bruises onto your skin.

Picturing your stomach swollen with his child made his cock throb harder. With how much life mistreated him, he felt he deserved to spit in it's face and leave another part of him on this god forsaken earth.

"Say it," Scaramouche hissed, pulling your ear again before taking total control of your pace. He made sure you felt every drag of his cock on your walls as he stretched your apart and buried the head into your sweet spot, "tell me how much you want me to cum inside."

"Please, please cum inside of me!" You whimpered, tears welling in your eyes. The pleasure was dizzying, your head spinning as the high you'd been chasing all night built up again. It was right there, you could feel it. "It's all I want!"

Scaramouche never felt so satisfied when he watched his cum seep out around his cock.

[darkdemeter]

MY SUMMONING

⚤ College student!Wanda Maximoff x GN/Female/Male demon Werewolf!Reader 18+ SMUT, MDNI — (gn/f/m) reader with a dick — monster fucking — female oral receiving — long demon monster tongue can do many things — unprotected p in v sex — some profanity — *cough* laundry mutt!reader — I think that's it? ✎ 4.5k Reincarnated love can be a bitch when you're stuffed into an ancient pocket dimension for thousands of years because the peasants reviled and scorned you. How you've yearned to return to her, promising that one day you shall join her side again as her faithful, shadowed acolyte. Now awoken to reunite with your master on the night where her magic is most potent to release you from your prison, you're summoned by her... but not her. No matter. A lover is a lover, and your love is eternally devoted to her. Now to consummate it at long last.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

No. There was no way this is happening. No way! This was all meant to be some stupid little joke… 

Alright, maybe dabbling in the assortments of witchcraft and old leather-bound tomes written in an ancient language wasn’t the best of pranks to pull, but it was Halloween and Wanda wanted to have her own fun tonight. 

She doesn’t have to read the room hard to know she was practically fifth wheeling through her Halloween night. Steve and Peggy, the all-dream couple on campus, while Bucky and Nat were in the beginning prime of their relationship. Yes, both were pretty popular and many people thought their couplings adorable — if not envious of the partner — but Wanda couldn’t help but feel like an outcast all night long. She’s been following them around, attending a party or two, getting up to crazy shenanigans that ought to land them all a night behind bars until bail.

No. Wanda Maximoff, one of the brightest students in her major’s class, likes to dabble in… odd things. Peggy and Nat both knew of this certain attraction of hers, but it had been a rather closely guarded secret until now.

Breaking into the old burnt down chapel off the corner of Main Street, surrounded by the old, white picket fence, hadn’t seemed like a half-bad idea. 

All fun and games until Wanda approached the podium where a dusty casing of leather sat, singed but untouched by the long forgotten fire. The yellowed, toughened skin of parchment paper crackled and rumpled with each turn over, her green eyes almost glowing with renewed fascination. She stopped at the book’s center when something caught her attention. Her eyes slip to widen a little at the sketching of a large, looming form of a wolf creature whose entire head bears only its skull, standing on its hind legs behind the regal figure of a loosely-clad robed woman. The image itself was intimately intoxicating to look upon. Something about it was pulling her to silently read over the daggered calligraphy. The woman’s illustrated body conveys what her drawn features lack; a postured body of contentment. Security. Lustful wanting. 

And the tall creature before her stood proudly. Protectively. Equally wanting and willing. 

The soft pad of her finger runs over the drawing, stroking the blackened detailing of the fur and skull face. Blooming deep in her abandoned, she feels that awakened need that begins to throb between her thighs and forces them to push together quickly, embarrassed with a warm glow in her cheeks. 

While Peggy had urged that she leave the book and its ominous being there alone, she had been outranked by the other three who egged her on.

How could she say no? What harm could come from an obvious prop of the occult? As if a place so holy could harbour anything dangerous. With a cheeky grin, eyes slowly moving back and forth between her friends and the page she read from, she began to read aloud the incantation. 

Before the very collective eyes of four witnesses, the surrounding candles sizzled with rekindled life, a singular flame dancing on each blackened wick before it would throb dimly in their warm arousement. A copied sensation Wanda felt herself able to relate to. 

“Wanda…” Peggy whimpers, unsure. Steve only pulled her closer to him but made no intent in stopping Wanda as she continued to recite the chant. 

The old chapel is awakened with a deadly, hollow breath, howling ominously in a deep and thunderous wind that travels through the marrow of bones and tenses the muscles. The air eagerly lapped and ravished at them, as if tasting them on its non-existent tongue. 

The rattle of the ancient, relic urns chattered on their shelves beneath a baritone of a rumble that became suspiciously familiar to a growl, that of a predatory beast. Wanda’s hair whipped around to almost blinding her vision but she feels like she’s incapable to stop, that whatever force pulled her in the first place has full control over her, that even if she wanted to — and she doesn’t — she couldn’t stop. 

Not until her words and voice enunciate the final lyric of whatever summoning spell she reads. 

“Come hither, loyal acolyte, silhouette and blackened, come back to your vengeful pedestal upon the earth — I beckon you from your voided prison, answer my summoning!”

Behind the knowledge of Wanda’s awareness, the visage of an animal skull formed in a smoky apparition finally pushed her friends to flee.

“Fuck this!” Bucky shouts, pulling Natasha with him until his grip is white knuckled around her wrist. Steve mimics the action and sentiment with Peggy. Each of their screams joined the territorial growls and roars as they ran to the cellar’s exit. 

“Wait��!” Wanda’s hand stretches out, gripping for her friends pleadingly only for the cellar door to boom loudly as the doors slam to a close. 

The air feels cold around her yet so thickly laced, it shrouded her in darkness despite the many candles lit around her. Behind her, tendrils of grappling mist form into spiraling columns that wrap and weave together into a crafting tower, silent with a voice she hears as a mere whisper. Your fur manifests in this realm with a bristled motion and your ears immediately twitch, perking up at each minute breath she utters in her shell-shocked state. 

Your master.

Oh, how long it has been since you last graced her beauty, her powerful aura and taken her into your enveloping hold. For too long she has been away from you. A tiny, coiled rasp akin to a curious, predatory purr emits from the chasm of your large chest. 

Wanda’s voice feels raw, stretched thinly by the grimoire’s spell and her hand delicately moves to pet and stroke it but a figment of lithe, cold clawed fingers beat her to it. 

A gasp hiccups in her throat as her head is tilted back slowly. Her eyes meet glowing balls of flame within the hollow frame of shallow eye sockets. A chiseled and grizzly face of a skull decorated with small cracks and a gaping maw revealing the serrated blades of teeth, moistened with an oily slick from a long, black limb of a tongue. 

No way…

You make the sound of that grinding, off-note purr again, louder to reach her ears. “Milenec…”

Odd as it was to feel an inkling of acknowledgement to the term. It sounds so… endearing. Like she’s heard it before but not in this lifetime. The aspect of a time before her existence here and now is brought into question immediately. 

“Y-you can talk…” she chokes out through a whispered breath, “What are you?”

“Milenec…  it  is  me.” You let her slip from your grasp where she stumbles back, the rise of her heels clobbering against the cellar flooring like loud cracks of thunder. Your body moves unlike any natural thing on this earth. It contorts, twisting and bending in places that shouldn’t. 

You body arcs and crosses over the podium with slinking ease, the wispy nature of your fur bellows in airy streams akin to the warp of fire and your long tail follows you as a trail of smoke; your body pushed and pulled like a magnetic charge between this realm and the next, there are forces at work that attempt to banish you and hold you grounded here. 

“Don’t  you  remember  me?” 

“I don’t understand,” Wanda mutters. With a tilt of your large head that furls your ears with a flop, you speak with a guttural enunciation. “You  freed  me,  Master. For  so  long  I’ve  waited,  trapped  in  the  void. But  you  kept  your  word. You  summoned  me.”

“I-I… that was… that was just a joke, I d-didn’t mean to—”

“But  you  did.” Low and unwavering is your tone, musing to and fro within the fabrication of vocalisation. 

You stalk closer until the bony bridge of your skull bows down to meet her at eye level. “And  now  we  can  finally  be  together…”

“Properly…  consummate  our  love.” 

What?

Wanda stumbles back, nearly caving in on her heel in her blind stun but the shadowy appendage of your tail wraps her and draws her in closer so that her breasts meet the glistening grotesque of your tongue. 

Long and expressive, it explores the exposure of her cleavage, tasting the warm dew of her skin and a thrumming growl rattles in your ribcage like bones being shaken in a hollow encasement. 

With a quivering breath, Wanda sighs, caught in the midst of this awakened desire and her need to get away. “I’m not—Ah… who you think I am…”

Pulling away and bumping the skinless mouth of your face against her cheek, you huff. The tattered, darkened rings hidden deep within the sockets of the skull move like muscled skin. A cursed deformity? 

An indication that you were once something more? 

The visceral shade of glowing amber shines ominously bright like a flame tempered angrily.

“A  reincarn…” The words speak as an echoing drawl that overlaps together. “But  my  Milenec  all  the  same…  my  mate.”

“M-mate?” Wanda stutters and you nod with a low purr. 

Had her dabbling in magic really cost her this time? For all her friend’s pleading to reconsider her less than tame rituals and practices, she truly opened the genie bottle on this one. And that genie happened to be a mystical entity hellbent on her being someone someone it knows. A reincarnate. 

Wanda cannot exactly place it within herself, but there is a certain cadence of allure in your words. Your profession that you and her are meant to be together. She’s felt so lonely as of late after her messy breakup with her ex. Feeling unwanted and pathetically isolated, believing that nobody else wanted her because of her taboo hobbies. 

But to think that this… creature wants her. She feels like it’s a sort of lust yearning to break free of herself. That this is right. That you’re meant to be. 

Your hands move to cradle her jaw, her visage cutely small compared to your hands. Her breath comes in light pants. “May  I…  kiss  you,  Milenec?” 

When Wanda had arrived back at her dorm room, she mostly expected it to be barren of her roommate after what occurred tonight. No doubt staying with Bucky. Her plump lips still reside with this vibrating tension after the kiss you shared. It was exotically powerful, submissively contained despite the ravenous hunger she could all but feel course through your materialised body. 

The grimoire sat on her dresser, a foreboding piece of occult just laid out in the open. You advised her to take it with her.

“It  was  yours.  Take  it.”

From the vessel of her sleeping form, you emerge as the figment moving through the shadows, a tainted mass like water in oil. The native, lesser darkness submits beneath your imposing will, threatened by you. As a wayward spirit now marking your haunting claim to this new territory, you drift around your surroundings under an inquisitive note to investigate. 

Your master is… different. She must be that of a reincarn. The loss of her memories — the loss of you — and in the matter that the world has changed so much since you were last summoned to this realm. Only the telltale sign of your presence leaves your shadow out in the open view, under the protruding light of the moon painted over the wall. 

Before you, your hand muses between the phases of existence, taking care to be gentle when your claw pokes and plucks at a button eye of a stuffed toy of a bear. You recall young village girls who made their comforting friends from old straw, ragged scraps of hemp and linen thread. Witches of the craft also used similar ingredients to create dolls, giving them onto you to then find and slaughter them. Ah, those were the days you were admired as a god. A deity of the dark and the shadows, where your name was uttered on the faint whisper of fear and gasped aloud in seek of repentance. 

Then your beloved summoned you, bound you in the sustained chains of her servanthood, and despite your nature to feel angered because of your entrapment; you admired the raw power she held. Together, you both would be unstoppable. In pledge of your divine protection and loyalty, she would bed you and settle your every carnal desire. She announced her soul yours to take in exchange that you would in turn serve as her faithful acolyte, the fonted source behind her increasing magic. 

A woman after your own heart. No other witch of her time had made such an offering so appealing. Usually they slew a few mortals as a sacrifice or the odd bassinet that cradled a babe surrounded by small, dead birds; all to ask your favour and to surrender a portion of your power to make them powerful.

You’re not sure why these women thought you’d have such need for innocent, infant souls. But you made their treachery pay for their disgusting insinuation. Nor did you ever condone the contracts over the young. A foul entity of the void but one with a consciousness. That was what your true followers came to understand. 

Brought back to the present you stand before the mirror of Wanda’s vanity. Small framed adornments hang by an invisible force that you decree is faulty magic, based on how easily it wanes upon touching it with the graze of a single clawed finger. Your mistress smiles in each one, some with the company of who you presume to be her followers, and others she is alone; in wait for your shadow to loom hazily in the next frame. 

This modern age still confounds you but you will learn it. And with it, you will have all knees bend before your master. You will finally sate one another as you both promised for an eternity. Beside the vanity sits a woven basket. You come completely from the cloak of your phantomhood when the smell hits you. A strong odor exudes from it and you curiously click the lid open. The scent wafts higher, more intense and your core awakens with arousement. You can smell the intensity of her on the used clothes. The nose hole of your skulled face inhales  deeply, sharply with a wheezing crackle. Your tongue laps at the soaking patch of her recent loins, groaning at the way hunger consumes you. 

Your ears rattle with a perked flicker at the piercing chord of Wanda’s softened whine. Your head swerves to peer over your shoulder, a penetrative gaze of two smoldering fires set upon her. How beautiful she looks, the blanket pooled to her stomach, revealing the sculpt of her form, a less than orderly top clinging to her loosely and barely concealing the spill of her breasts. 

As a misted cluster of wavering smoke, you saunter towards her until you stand over her at the side of the bed. Your head cranes on a tilted axis as you examine her closely. Her brows scrunched together, troubled and her body struggles and writhes pathetically, more so as she whines and moans breathlessly under the stir of her slumber. A low rumble vibrates in the chasm of your chest that it echoes deeply. 

Her hips jerk and she lets out another pitiful sound. She’s needy…

She  yearns  for  us…

She’s  ready…

It’s  now  our  time…

With one hand you cup her at the apex between her thighs and she shivers, hips jumping forward into your palming embrace. You growl with a low-edged timbre, desire taking hold of you. You feel the cool dampness soak her panties much like the ones in the basket and her smell… it takes every single sin of yours to remember not to ravish her outright lest you tear her open. 

She continues to move against the wide spread of your hand, rubbing herself on you. Her muscles go rigged with each needy roll of her hips and her throat constricts around her mumbled phrases and wanting sounds. 

She  needs  us…

You intrude two long fingers beneath the thin fabric of her panties, your thumb having sought out her clit. You run along her folds with tantilising motion, teasing. Your master gives a low, sulky moan in turn. Her legs spread further apart to welcome you, accommodate your invading advancements and her breath quickens that her breasts become strained against her top. How you’ll tear it off her in due time. Nothing will keep you apart an longer, nothing else shall hinder you from bearing witness to her naked body pinned beneath you or when she takes her place above you; to spear herself on the throne that is your cock. She will come to remember her manners, her power and then… nothing will remain in your path. You two shall be unstoppable. 

You push the two fingering appendages past her moist folds and she gasps curtly, her spine arching beautifully from the mattress. Finally, she’s embracing that which is long overdue. Your thumb rolls her cli in slowly drawn circles, pressing with a touch of firmness to let her know your toying is an act to please. 

Her name parts through her agape lips and her dark lashes beat with a sleepy flutter, unaware completely to what transpires. 

“Milenec…” you purr. The darkened dart of your tongue slides over the maw of your bony teeth, wishful to savour her taste. You lower yourself at her side, your other hand moves up, caressing the temple of her body until it reaches the nape of her neck. Your jaw cracks and pops, a wiry whisper of breath lashes through the hollow of your throat and your tongue extends further from your mouth. Still fingering her velvety insides until she’s coating you with her arousal, her clit thrumming with a lively pulse, your tongue becomes integrated into the pleasurable mix. 

You grunt and moan with a thousand resounding echoes bouncing back and forth between the walls. You taste the sweetened dew of her skin, its slight tang of salty residue. It slides over the slim plane of her stomach, caressing the creased threshold of her legs right near her navel and then upwards. The damned fabric offends you in your aroused exploration. Your tongue slips beneath its material hem and travels between her breasts, rippling for a moment before tearing the top down its middle. Her nipples become stiff, erected by the sudden chill that riddles her skin with goosebumps. 

Her chorus of moans spurs you on. The inky tendril of your tongue glides over each breast, playful with both nipples until you leave a shiny gloss behind. It has her mewing in a way that makes your cock throb and stand between your legs. The thicker portion of your tongue slides and fondles over the curve of her breasts, its extension moving back down her body following the natural weight of her belly until your tongue prods at her clit. It’s cold to her, she lets out a shivered sigh and a softened mewl of your name. 

Along with your fingers, your tongue divides the lips of her slickened pussy apart, becoming a third instrument that strokes her from within. Her walls are hot around you and it clouds your mind with a clouded lust, her snug walls that are flushed with a velvety feel that’s moistened; a precious cove where she beckons your entreating defilement. You groan with a slurping lap in indulgence to her taste finally on your tongue. Sweetened like a honeyed wine, the taste of a feverish delight. Greedily, you sink your tongue further inside of her. 

She arches her back further and your hand supports her at the backend of her skull as she cries out your name, her breath panting and concealing that of a blissful scream. Her eyes open to the dimly lit world around her, the lamplight having flickered in warning that its lighting will expire soon the moment you laid your hands on her. Terrorised by a series of gasps and hiccuping moans, her hands fist and clench at the chilly spires of your misty fur, just thick enough to grab onto but the fainter portions slip through her hold. 

“Y–Y/n… ah—ahh! My acolyte…”

You give a mused whine at the teetering edge of her voice, a bended inflection as she now balances horribly on the verge of her own orgasm; a heavenly relief. “Right there… please, r–right there!”

Your thumb becomes aggressive on her clit and you pull her to sit up slightly. The widened base of your head forces her legs to remain open no matter how much she clenches them against you, she pulls at the mane of fur around your neck as she begs you. 

With a few more strokes of your fingers and tongue, she cums. Her body trembles violently as she’s taken by the white, hot flush that blinds her for a moment and her juices reward you; allowing you to devour it with gulping eagerness. As a last effort, your fingers work to stretch her walls out and she winces before you withdraw both appendages. 

Her chest extends with each large breath and her eyes drown with a deepened pool of lust, the sparkle of scarlet dancing within them. Her power grows with digesting effort through each powerful exchange of your sexual endeavors. Your tongue retracts slightly back down into the unknown and pitless depths of your gullet and you growl deeply. 

Wanda’s hands become fixed at your shoulders and pull at you, inviting you. With a serpentine movement, your tongue moves slowly over the mound of her clit, eliciting a sharpened gasp from Wanda. Further, it moves up her body again, wrapping as a band around her breasts and squeezing her; a mouse caught in your trap. The thinner flare of your tongue is a wonderful muscle all its own when it balances merely of its own accord before her lips, like a snake risen up for the strike. 

Just from the burning amber of your eyes she understands you want her to taste herself. Her plump lips open weakly and you push the inky, slick covered tip into her mouth. Her tongue moves forward and flicks at the slitted divide of your forked muscle; and your body ripples with an unworldly, loud hum. She will come to understand such an area is akin to the sensitive tip to your weeping cockhead.

Your cock twitches and you move until your widened gate sits between her legs. Her soft, delicate thighs are forced to rest against the strong, muscled limbs of your own, just barely meeting at level with your hips and where her awaiting cunt lines up with your cock. 

You move your tongue as a secondary thrusting muscle. Wnda moans a muffled song around it, her own tongue stroking the underbelly of the blackened length and your hips pitch forward with an eager roll. Your tip notches between the capture of her swollen pissy lips and you push forward.

Her body immediately tenses up and your hands hold tight to her wrists, ensuring her grip that claws at your remains there. You’ve never been opposed to pain mixing with pleasure. 

The pronunciation of your name vibrates through your tongue and you growl. Her walls constrict around you with that hot flushness, fluttering as she eases her body to relax. Your size is one she hasn’t experienced before, not even her ex could compare. You pick up your thrust promptly, shoving your cock in and out, in and out. When you withdraw your tongue, the coiled muscle tightening around her ribcage with each thrust you force to penetrate her deeper, she lets out a sighing moan. Her lashes beat fast and her eyes roll back, lulled by the backward crane of her head that falls back against the pillow. 

“Y-yeah, there, right there…”

“Mmm—mhph, so deep!”

How you’ve waited so long to hear her pleasure all to yourself. It’s intoxicating to be praised by your master and your pace quickens. Your hips snap faster and harder with a harshened force that rocks the bed back and forth with a grinding squeak, the headboard splintering a straight line into the wall from the pounding brunt. 

“Shit, shit— I’m gonna—ah!”

You can hear her deep within the recess of her soul. Her reincarn a physical vessel that harbours your first and only love. Your beloved mate. She sings out to you; summoning you. 

You see her within the blind of a memory, seeing the woman beneath you as you do your master. 

You see two different branches of her soul. 

And the thought that your master in this life has faced so much judgment, that her previous lover left her — not that he would have been around much longer if he’d been in the picture still. 

A new quarry to hunt once your consummation was complete. A prize to bring back to your mate. Her first sacrificial offering you’d present to appease her.

Her legs lock around your sturdy hips to drag you further inside of her, kissing the delicate plush of her cervix that has her keening, her lips parted with deep and loud moans that would disturb the neighbouring dorms for sure. 

“Milenec…,” you rattle with a purring growl, “My  Milenec…  release,  let  go.”

For a second time, Wanda bends to the bliss of her euphoria. Cumming around your cock, her walls hug you tightly and her body trembles again with a feverish tingle. It feels like her insides are boiling but her skin is plagued by the wave of coldness. 

Your ears and back with a sharp howl as your knot swells before erupting with the spurting ropes of your release, listening to the rhythmic and moistened glide of where your bodies lock together now. It’s a sound you want to hear for eternity. 

Your tongue loosens around her bust and slinks back down into your gullet, concealing its impressive length for another time. 

“I feel…” Her words come out as a faded exhale. She’s unable to find the words as she stares up at you, a hand caressing the bony curve of your jaw that pops back into place after hanging so low. 

“Whole.”

No longer will your darling master feel the shaded cloak of neglect and disregard. She will feel what it means to truly be loved. Desired. Worshipped. As your mate she falls under your protection and you will guard her fiercely. You will protect the witch who summoned you all those years ago and you shall forever pledge your service to the witch before you now.

She is one and the same. A lover is a lover even through ages past. Nothing will change the bargain you forged long ago. Not the eyes that spear her to the pyre that burned her in ages old, nor the imprisonment of the void, or even the grades she appears desperate to achieve — though you believe she should turn her studies to that of the grimoire: her true potential.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ no note from the author

[queen-of-reptiles]

𝙼𝚈 𝙶𝙸𝚁𝙻

description: y/n is out of club play with an injury, potentially a big one, luckily england felt they could breathe again once they knew their captain hadn't suffered the three letters - but barcelona did not feel so lucky with an el classico around the corner.

smut

minors dni

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lucy bronze x female reader

disclaimer: this is all fiction do not take any of this seriously !

warnings: swearing, oral, light choking, slightly soft dom lucy, dom lucy, cunnilingus, strap-on fucking, dirty talk, slight cum play (like the smallest fucking bit) fluff, cuteness

smut

minors DNI

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y/n hummed along to the music which played softly from the radio, Narla was swirling through her legs, the dog licking her naked ankles every few minutes to demand a quick pat, which y/n happily did.

She was cooking breakfast, bacon, fried eggs, mushrooms and toast, Lucy's juice was already blended and waiting for when the woman woke up, though y/n didn't mind letting her sleep in.

With it being matchday -1, the team always had a late practice and y/n knew Lucy needed a lay in, her lover having to do a lot of work without her in midfield to bounce off.

Just as y/n plated the food up, two arms wrapped themselves around her waist, the taller girl burying her head into her lover's neck and inhaling the sweet scent.

"Morning baby." y/n hummed softly enjoying the warmth Lucy provided as she snaked a hand into the older woman's hair and scratched at the scalp.

"Always is with you." Lucy murmured, y/n laughing at that as she switched the hob off and turned to face the woman who was grinning.

"You Miss Bronze, are such a sap!" y/n giggled. Lucy chuckled, unable to help herself as she grinned lazily at her lover.

"It's your fault." She denies, before leaning in and placing her lips firmly on y/n's her hands gripping into the curve of her waist as y/n relaxed into the kiss.

A bark broke the two, Narla jumping onto her hind legs to press her paws against Lucy, pushing her away from y/n for a moment before the dog curled around y/n's ankles.

"You little shit!" Lucy grinned at Narla as y/n crouched down and cooed at her, running her hand over the dog. "She's mine Narla." Lucy adds as y/n stands back up.

y/n rolls her eyes at that, grabbing the plates and walking them over to the table while Lucy put Narla's food down, her dog licking her ankles in thanks.

"Yeah know you love me." Lucy scoffs, y/n chuckling as her lover walked over, the woman pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips. "How's the knee?" Lucy asks, sitting down next to her lover and running a cautious hand over the injury.

"Okay, only another few weeks and I am back to training." y/n promised, the injury was luckily not the three dreaded letters, but when she went down, both women thought it could be.

Lucy hummed, nodding her head as she began to push food into her mouth, her eyes zoning out as she replayed the injury and tackle in her head, the instant being something she blamed herself for.

Lucy had wondered out of position, having chased a loose ball and when she missed it, y/n covered her position and intercepted a key pass from their opponents.

However, as she pushed the pass out, a player had come flying in, the girl's studs pushing her knee back and dislocating it as y/n went flying back and knocked herself unconscious from slamming her head on the grass.

Lucy hadn't been able to remember a time where her heart hurt as much as it did then, watching her lover crumple to the ground, she was such a shaking mess she was even subbed off, being told to go be with her lover.

Lucy and y/n's relationship wasn't unknown, just private, only anniversary photos and the occasional snapshot of their love had been caught, but in that moment the cameras caught the worry of being in a five year relationship.

Lucy had been there when she woke up, holding her hand and running her fingertips over the skin, but she couldn't look y/n in the eye, and y/n could tell why almost instantly.

Lucy chased after the stray ball, y/n noticing she had left a gap and quickly filling it as she watched with a wince as the Levante player hammered it toward the player y/n had dropped back to mark.

Lucy turned, cursing herself for her mistake but sighing in relief when y/n brought the ball to her feet and passed it out to Ingrid.

But Lucy's relief turned to horror in a moment as she watched the Levante player tackle y/n late, the studs embedding into her knee and pushing it the wrong way.

With the strength of the player's tackle y/n was pushed harshly back, falling and smacking her head against the ground going motionless.

Lucy's stomach lurched as she felt truly sick, not even waiting for the whistle which echoed as she raced, grabbing her girlfriend's hand, holding it as the medics and team swarmed.

Lucy had paled, not even hearing Alexia asking her to move and Keira's response to the captain saying it was no use to try and move the woman.

Alexia made a sign at Jonatan switching for two instead of one. The man sighed but nodded his head, sending another player to warm up as he watched the stretcher be run on.

"Please baby, wake up." Lucy said softly, y/n groaning as the medics looked over to Lucy, understanding the woman was not moving.

The cameras followed every step of Lucy who followed the stretcher, tears being wiped away as she disappeared in the tunnel, heartbreak the only word near enough to describe her look.

"Don't do that." y/n warned her girlfriend as she took their empty plates.

"What?" Lucy asks, following her like a lost puppy as she watches y/n put the plates in the dishwasher.

"Blame yourself for my injury. It wasn't your fault Lucia." y/n promises, sliding onto the counter so she can bring Lucy in-between her legs.

"But if I..." Lucy began but y/n shut her up by pecking her lips. "But..." Lucy tried again, y/n cutting her off with a longer kiss.

"But nothing. It was a bad tackle, that was all." y/n promised Lucy who sighed.

"You just crumbled, your body just sagged, god it was horrid." Lucy denies, wrapping her arms around y/n's waist to pull her closer, y/n's legs automatically curling around Lucy's torso.

"But I'm fine now, I'm on the mend and I am all energised." y/n promises, running her hand through Lucy's hair, pulling it down and around her shoulders.

Lucy sighed her forehead connecting with y/n's as she pressed herself into y/n, inhaling the sweet smell she gave off. Lucy's hands stayed tight around her waist, her finger tips dancing across y/n's back.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you in my shirt?" Lucy asks, an innocent hum coming from her voice.

"You might have mentioned it." y/n nods, a small smile on her face as she lifts her hand, cupping Lucy's face and rubbing her thumb along her cheekbone.

"I love you in my shirt." Lucy tells her, tilting her head so their noses brush. "I love my last name on your back." She continues.

"You should hurry up and make it permanent then." y/n whispers cheekily, her lips brushing over Lucy's as she wonders whose resolve will break first.

"Patience baby. Patience." Lucy hums, before swiping forward and taking y/n's plump bottom lip in between her teeth, tugging as she bites down on the skin, needing the groaning reaction she receives.

Lucy pulls her lover closer, the two finally meeting in a heated kiss which both seemed determined to dominate, however, Lucy's hand raised, enclosing around her lover's neck and y/n instantly let her have all the control.

Lucy's tongue wrapped around her own, her hand squeezing y/n's throat just slightly before Lucy's lips pressed along her jaw and she bit at y/n's earlobe.

"Either I eat you out here, or I fuck you in the bedroom." Lucy all but groans out into y/n's ear, Lucy pulling her away from the counter slightly so y/n can rest on her bucking hips, Lucy sighing at the grinding friction she was creating.

"Bedroom." y/n gasps out and Lucy grins and moves back toward the bedroom, she places her lover down on the bed and moves upward.

The two meet in a deep kiss, Lucy quickly taking control when her hands bury themselves into y/n's hair, tugging the woman's head back to expose her neck.

Lucy kisses downward, nipping at the skin where y/n's collarbone and shoulder meet, the woman gasping out as Lucy fixes her top back onto her frame once happy with her marks.

"Knee okay baby?" Lucy asks as she fixes a pillow underneath y/n's bad knee.

"Fine. Don't worry about it." y/n whines out needily and Lucy can't help the dark chuckle which slips from her throat.

Ever since the injury, Lucy had tried to be less rough in bed though it did nothing to limit her dominance, she simply found other ways to keep y/n in line.

"So needy for me, aren't you baby?" Lucy asks her. "So needy to have me use you." She continues, her voice dropping to mock her lover.

"Please." y/n gasped, having no issue with begging for Lucy.

"Okay. Okay." Lucy nods, shuffling down so she was level with y/n's thighs, resting on her elbows.

y/n watched with baited breath as Lucy slowly kissed down her thighs, nipping at the skin when she felt like it, y/n gasping at every scrape of her teeth.

Lucy grinned as y/n's breath picked up, her hand trying to reach down to tangle in Lucy's hair, but y/n's hand is caught by Lucy's the woman pinning it to the mattress.

"No touching." Lucy whispered, blowing air onto the soaked fabric which covered y/n's aching pussy.

Ever so lightly, Lucy pulled the wet fabric down y/n's legs and threw them behind her, deciding they were a problem for later as she licked a stripe up.

y/n let out a gasp of relief as Lucy began to lick faster, as if tasting her was more in her brain then pleasuring her. Finally, Lucy's tongue circled her clit and y/n let out a moan.

"Luce." y/n whispered as Lucy repeated the action. The woman sat up briefly, tying her hair back as she stared at her lover.

The woman had a hand in her own hair, eyes filled with pleading as she tried to moved her hips, Lucy's eyes were dark, almost predatorial as she looked down at her shirt on her lover.

"I can't wait til I can fuck you from behind again. See our name on your back." Lucy says lowly, her voice gruff with arousal.

At the use of 'our' when talking about her name y/n moaned, unashamed of how aroused the word made her. Lucy grinned, moving down and wrapping her arms around y/n's hips, pulling her closer.

y/n groaned as Lucy licked again, her tongue flat as she swallowed the juices which smeared her lips as she licked once more.

"Could die between these legs." Lucy groaned before she pushed forward and darted her tongue into y/n's hole, the woman groaning and Lucy pushed her head closer, pressure pushing down on y/n's clit.

"Lucy." y/n moaned, having to bring her hands onto her head so she didn't touch her, because Lucy would stop if y/n disobeyed the rules.

Lucy's hand moved as her tongue continued pushing between y/n's walls, her thumb coming up to rub quick and harsh circles against y/n's clit.

y/n moaned out, her back arching as Lucy's actions became quicker and rougher, the woman groaning out when the snap in her stomach came quicker than expected, her orgasm pushing through her.

Lucy's hand stopped but her tongue didn't returning to it's lapping motion while she cleared the orgasm from y/n's pussy, groaning at her taste and going back once more to continue her motions.

Only when y/n was gasping weakly, begging for a moment from her over-stimulation did Lucy pull away, a smug grin on her face when she saw the state of her lover.

y/n's head was covered in a light sheen of sweat, her hair messed completely at the orgasm, her plump lips parted as she panted out as Lucy stepped away, only to step back over her moments later.

"One more for me, my good good girl." Lucy hummed, she moved down the strap between her legs pushing against y/n's sensitive clit which made her jolt.

Lucy moved forward, lips connect with y/n's as she pushed in, gasping as the pull on her own clit hit her. Her tongue swept through y/n's mouth, gagging her moan which tried to escape as Lucy eased into her thrusts.

"That's it, taking me so well." Lucy groans, her leg hooking over y/n's good one and putting the rest of her pressure on her knee and forearms which were either side of y/n's head.

Lucy's thrusts picked up, the strap hitting a perfect spot on them both as she continued to push into y/n's insides. Lucy moved her arm, pulling y/n's good leg around her waist.

Her thrusts sped up, y/n letting out constant moans which made Lucy bury her head into y/n's neck so she could groan as she chased her own high.

"Feels so good." y/n whined, hands clawing down Lucy's back, not thinking about the mess it would leave as her nails dug into the skin.

"Who makes you feel like this?" Lucy gasped out, her teeth pulling at y/n's earlobe.

"You do Luce." y/n moaned out, the slapping sounds which echoed from the thrusts becoming louder as Lucy somehow sped up.

"What are you?" Lucy asks.

"Yours. Only yours." y/n moans, knowing exactly what Lucy wanted to hear.

Lucy's breath halted for a moment, a sign she was close and y/n moved her hips up slightly to meet Lucy's which caused the woman to moan into y/n's ear.

"Can I?" y/n whined, knowing her asking for permission would push her lover over the edge.

"Cum." Lucy demanded, groaning as she did so, leaning down to bite into y/n's shoulder as the woman's back arched and she let out a breath as she orgasmed.

Lucy slowed her thrusts, not stopping for another minute as she rode out her high, ignoring the over-stimulated whines coming from her girlfriend.

Slowly Lucy pulled out, fingers dipping into her own pussy to scoop up her orgasm and pushing it into y/n's oversensitive hole.

y/n groaned and Lucy couldn't help but smirk as she watched y/n catch her breath again. Lucy unclipped the strap from her hips, moving to rest next to y/n as she let out a breath of content, throwing the wet strap on the bed.

"We're going to have the wash the sheets." y/n sighed out as Lucy pressed a loving and soft kiss against her lips.

"In a minute, just lay with me." Lucy said softly and y/n smiled, moving her head onto Lucy's hot shoulder.

"Always." y/n sighed out and Lucy moved down to bring y/n closer.

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y/n just posted on her story

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y/n and Mapi sat side by side, the two both out due to injuries as they look out on the Barcelona game currently happening. It was twenty minutes in and they were two goals up, curtesy of Aitana and Caroline.

The two friends were sat happily chatting, Aleixa who was next to y/n chiming in every so often as they talked. y/n was enjoying the warmth from the Barcelona evening.

Her beige cargo trousers kept her warmth while her arms were out due to the 'Bronze' Barcelona shirt she wore on her body, many people taking photos when they saw the woman able to WAG her lover.

As the clock ticked over, y/n watched as Lucy raced down the wing, Real hardly standing a chance against her as she defended with skill.

Lucy sent the ball through to Keira, switching through and receiving the ball back which she sent Caroline's way, the player getting her head on it as the keeper just pushed it wide for a corner.

Mapi and y/n groaned, both sitting back down with a sigh as Alexia chuckled at their child-like behaviour, the two pouting for the friend as Salma raised her hand to take the corner.

y/n watches as Salma sends the ball in, Lucy at the back post un-marked as she jumped and the ball flew in. y/n screamed in excitement as she clapped for her lover, the woman laughing as the team swarmed her.

Lucy pulled away from her team, looking for her lover as she raised her hands in a love heart shape, one which y/n did back causing the crowd to go crazy.

El Classico's were always something else, but for Barcelona to be three goals up before half time and missing their captain, a key defender and a key midfielder was a special game.

And suddenly for the fans things were so much better, because they had seen a y/n and Lucy interaction, which in game was a rare thing to truly see.

The game restarted, Lucy quickly blocking run from Del Castillo, she passed it to Ingrid, Del Castillo turning to run at the player, but Ingrid sent a ball through her legs and back to Lucy, who then did the same back to Ingrid.

"I would kill myself." y/n says as she and Mapi begin to giggle at their partners playing with her.

"She has been mothered." Mapi agrees which makes Alexia snort.

"By our girls as well." y/n says with a smile and Mapi pretends to wipe a tear as Lucy sends a ball into the box, Ona smashing it into the goal.

"VAMOS ONA!" Mapi shouts, y/n cheering for their young friend for scoring in her first classico.

y/n clapped excitedly, grinning at the sight of her girlfriend running back, the woman running a hand over her hair as she grins at Ona, the two high fiving.

"She's so hot." y/n sighs without thinking and Mapi snorts teasing her with mocking kisses.

y/n laughs shoving Mapi away as the whistle blows, y/n grinning as she and Mapi move down the stadium, the former trying to move as quick as possible.

Mapi and y/n part the latter quickly rushing into the Barcelona corridor, grinning at the sigh of her girlfriend leaning against the locker room wall waiting for her.

"You just had to score a goal when I wasn't on the pitch." y/n says, a jokingly hard looking in her eyes as Lucy chuckles, pulling her closer.

"Hmm, had to give my WAG a good game to watch." Lucy says quietly, leaning down to press a soft kiss against y/n's lips.

y/n chuckles against the kiss, pulling away to lift the hem of Lucy's shirt, the woman tensing slightly so the line in her abs was carved out in her toned stomach more.

"That's all the show I need." y/n teased, her hand running over them before dropping Lucy's shirt. "Keep that down though, don't want any more clips of you for people to thirst over." y/n adds.

Lucy smiles, a sense of pride always rushing through her when y/n got jealous, she pulled the woman in close to her chest, hands wrapping around her waist to keep her close.

"They're yours baby, those people thirst over something that's yours." Lucy promises and y/n chuckles leaning up to press a longer kiss against Lucy's lips, the woman running her tongue over y/n's mouth in the hopes of deepening the kiss.

"No." y/n says as she pulls away, Lucy huffing as her hands move down and squeeze at y/n's ass. "Lucy, go get ready for the second half." y/n laughs.

"But I want to stay here and kiss you." Lucy huffs like a child.

"After." y/n chuckles, leaning up to kiss her girlfriend again before turning, as she does Lucy's hand darts out slapping her butt with a wicked sound. "Lucia!" y/n calls but she is just answered with a laugh as Lucy walks into the locker room.

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It was the 87th minutes, Barcelona now 6-0 up, Lucy sneaking another assist and a clearance off the line which made the crowd scream her name for the next few minutes.

Vicky was on the edge of the box, sending the ball in as y/n watched Lucy run in, jumping and heading the ball into the bottom right corner as she slid on the ground slightly as she landed.

y/n covered her mouth as she shouted, trying not to let her emotions get the better of her as the fans erupted around her, Lucy's name being screamed amongst the crowd.

The game ended soon after, the songs echoing the stadium as Mapi and y/n moved to the side-lines, waiting for their team to finish signing auto-graphs.

Lucy finished quickly and raced toward y/n, the woman giggling as Lucy swept her up and spun her, the sudden shout of excited fan screams echoing.

"Scored 2 just for you." Lucy told her, putting y/n down and couching. "Up you get." Lucy says.

"Lucy your knee." y/n tries but the huff from her makes y/n aware she will not give up.

y/n sighed and climbed onto Lucy's back, the woman standing back up and gripping the underneath of y/n's thighs as she fixed her onto her back.

"Riding Lucy Bronze, a familiar happening." y/n muttered and Lucy snorted.

"God I can't wait until your knee is better." Lucy states as she walks them over to the team talk.

y/n listened to her manager's congratulations, head resting against Lucy's, pressing occasional kisses to Lucy's hair as the group congratulated her as no doubt player of the match.

The group eventually trudged off, waving one last time to the remaining fans, Lucy eventually let y/n clamber off her back once they arrived at the locker room, all the girls already inside and celebrating.

y/n was sure there would be a small party tonight, and she smiled at Lucy as she planned for her own celebrations beforehand.

"Shower quick." y/n tells her pecking her lips and Lucy raised a brow.

"Why?" She asks.

"Wanna celebrate my girl before we go out." y/n whispers against her lips and Lucy was through the locker room faster than she had been all game.

y/n heard the cheers of the team and smiled, assuming they were cheering for Lucy's work during the game, however as Keira walked out five minutes later with a smirk, y/n assumed she had been wrong.

"Maybe cut those nails." Keira tells her with a smirk, just as Mapi came out and made a claw with her hand, making a hiss as Lucy - now showered exited behind her.

"Someone gets scratchy in bed." Mapi winked at y/n.

"And they're about to get worse. See you guys in three hours." Lucy says, before picking up y/n and rushing off making her laugh.

"Gross." Mapi says wrinkling her nose.

"Try rooming next to them on England camp." Keira says, causing Aitana to snort and fall into Keira laughing as the English woman shivers.

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END

a little late after Valentines but I tried my best 😔😔

let me know what you think! xx

- Queenie xx

[sherwees]

cw: oral (fem received.), dumbification (both), embarrassing (haechan), corny stuck under the bed scenario, practical smothering from.. *reads from sticky note* ass, dubcon, you're embarrassed by haechan, haechan has a nickname, haechan is a loser.

side note : it was really fun making haechan's name pink for some reason, I got all giggly and this is a makeup for that stupid nonsense haechan drabble from months ago.

apart of the corny nct porn plots series !!

you just couldnt fucking find it!

you searched, high and low and around the town for your fucking keys! your roommate, haechan was just on the couch; ogling at your frantic figure running in and out of rooms. he didn't even move a muscle or say a word of concern, he just gazed.

maybe it was the skirt you wore? I mean, the pink nike dunks you wore were pretty cool too. it was definitely the skirt, the rear of it would raise from the dash of wind from your retreating feet. when you would bend over and he'll get a tiny view of the taunting miniature cherries but once he looked closer, they were actually heart shaped and a few of them were carved with the word, “pink”.

but it'll only be for a second, he always sighed in defeat and you would look back with confusion each time.

you were running back to your room again before your hand reflexed to hold the white doorframe to bring your legs to a collected stop. once you finally processed the miniscule slip of silver from under haechan's bed, you squinted.. searching for your palm tree key charm..

your head angled lower before you noticed the familiar edge of a leaf.

they were your keys!

your heart and feet leaped and bounced with joy into the male's room, mindlessly. falling to your knees, you rub them in anticipation with a bite to your lip. “I finally found them!” you lilted with a sense of relief in your soul but they were too far.. they didn't seem that far before?

“uhm, channie?! can you reach these?” you yelled but silence only answered. mumbling a little curse, you crouch and shove your body into the cramped orifice.

little did you know, he was standing right there. he leaned on the wall quite comically, his face expressed a light smirk as he watched you unconsciously wiggle your ass, shoving yourself in there. he could now see the view of your waistband, there was a slogan of some sort on it but he couldn't make it out, quite yet.

haechan found you beautiful, pretty, vulnerable.. he'll compliment you for every little change just to make you all flustered and stuttering. when he would give you the smallest touch or even a caress and you would nearly collapse to your hinds.

the little things do truly count.

you rolled your eyes, huffing a “whatever,”; dragging it out purposely to make him somehow summon. but he didn't, so now you were stuck to an unfortunate circumstance. you were relieved on the fact that there was nothing but maybe some shoes, dust or jewelry that fallen through the cracks, he was fairly clean..

the base of your spine ached, the charm of your heart necklace dangled against the hardwood; it's clanging setting as a reminder of your special valentine's day outing with your “friend” yangyang, your boobs also uncomfortably bulged out of your bra cups.

the scritch–scratch of your nails reaching for the hook of the key became an obnoxious rhythm that just tantalized you like a game of cat and mouse but the key would just slide further to the other side. I mean you could just get from under the bed and go to the other side, matter of fact, you were able to do that since the beginning but you were already here.

also... you really didn't feel like it.

before your wrist could dislocate from your arm, you sighed and rested the joint. your finger unconsciously brushed the key to the other fucking side. you gotta be serious.

you prayed that if god loved you right now, he'll push that key right into your hand. to your avail, nothing happened and even when you stretched out your hand once more, nothing happened. you tried to scooch your way out, your patella frictioned and crackled against the ground uncomfortably, the heels of your feet couldn't flex to the ground.. were you stuck? oh shit.

you sighed before trying to rub your palms against the ground, attempting to slide yourself out but they only slid against the hardwood because of the sweat and dust collected from the ground.

you shut your eyes, contemplating absolutely everything. why wouldn't he just help you? why didn't you just go to the other side? are you late? what the fuck? are those footsteps? is someone here? there was a deep chuckle, causing your eyes to shoot open. haechan liked when you were scared.. confused, just simply unaware.

“hey! I know you're there!” the toe of your shoes bumped against the ground when you wiggled again, your skirt bunched up once more. the air hitting the backs of your thighs only adding more of a cloudiness to your nausea from the clustered atmosphere. your armpits were sweaty, ruining your attractive long sleeve white crop top.. you were a hot mess in your imagination.

hair clumped with balls of lint and dust that'll take hours to comb out, lip gloss smudged on your top lip along with the sweat clinging to your miniscule mustache hairs, mascara possibly not smudged to your hopes.. you didn't really realize how high your skirt was raised, it felt like it was initially ridden up maybe enough to see the underline of your ass but you were full on mooning haechan.

“can you help me..?” you cut yourself off with a cough. “I'm stuck and it's really.. dusty down here!” you whined, tapping the front of your shoes on the ground. you probably creased them but it's whatever. haechan chuckled lightly before walking over, now he could read the waistbands full slogan: “love pink” in a sewn white cursive.

“oh really?” he had that sarcastic surprising tone to his voice that he always teased you with.

“I'm fucking stuck!” you rebutted immediately, trying to use the palm slide out method from before but it only arched your back more, like a cat; the prominent bulge of your pussy poked out a bit more.. he could even make out the small, smooth bump of your labia. he kneeled beside your struggling figure, your wriggling stopped once you felt his hand massage your lower back, his index tracing along your spine until it rested on your ass cheek.

“relax, I'll help you babe..” he reassured, his hand moving to your hip to maneuver your ass on his swelling crotch. you couldn't help but wince at the heat emanating from his growing erection, “haechan..?” you questioned but it came out like a squeak. his hands squeezed on the backs of your hips, his weight pushing you firmly down. “you're so pretty..” he purred whilst gyrating his erection, the tip coincidentally hitting your clothed clit.

“what are you doing? just help me!” haechan just snickered, you tried to look back but you only had view of his grey sweatpants. “you'll be fine.” he said nonchalantly. his hands moved from your hips and slapped on the floor, his head tilted playfully. his eyes were filled with glee along with his lips that tugged into a mischievous grin that made your insides churn with unease.

“besides, I know you'll love it..” he added on to his tease, setting a light slap on your ass. suddenly, his fingers hooked under your waistband; pushing your cherry embroidered panties to your knees. waves of shivers ran through your body as the cool air hit your sodden, pulsating hole; his eyes zoned on the wetness sheened on your plush pussy lips.

“you're so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he growled, his nose prodded at your clit unexpectedly. his large hands groped your cheeks; a resounding clap echoed throughout the room, “I'll be gentle.” you only whimpered before you screamed at the sensation of his tongue darting into your hole, right at your g-spot.

I mean, he was literally smothering himself in your cheeks. you tried to move away from him but his grip was too tight and he wouldn't let go to your prevail. “haechan~ please..” you mumbled whilst blinking constant tears away, your hands balling into fists. he only responded with a slap to your ass, “did I tell you to speak?” he taunted you with a presumed grin.

his hands traveled up your legs, caressing your thighs until he smushed your buttocks in his face once more; you cringed at the disgusting grunt or moan he let out. his tongue worked relentlessly, probing and teasing the warm muscle with a jarring consistency. your back and calves strained, trying to meet with his tongue but he'll only stay at the shallow end; his fingers ghosted and poked at your clit.

“taste s’fucking good..” he groaned once he pulled away, voice husky with desire and drunk from your delicate juices. your stomach swirled with arousal and a weird tension of pleasure that built up at your clit. his hands moved until the waistline of your shirt to cup your breasts; slapping, pinching and squeezing them with vigor.

haechan couldn't bare the tightness of his pants any longer, the mounts of precum that saturated his underwear wasn't ideal. “tell me you want it.” he demanded hoarsely, moving his hand from your clit to readjust his neglected length. “fuck– you taste so good, princess..” he muttered, smacking your ass once again in that same spot.

the pain was less thrilling, the sensations became sore and irritable and even on your tan skin, his handprint will surely visible. with your jaw laying slack on the ground, a puddle of spit evolved on your cheek and your lips grew dry. your throat was beyond irritated from the speckles of dirt and debris that flew and seemingly attached to the back of your throat in lumps.

there was then a pressure, your body trembled and shook; representing your incoming high. “oh fuck–” you slurred, your fingers clenching and unclenching.. really wishing you could just fucking strangle him. something about this made you enraged but it was quickly over thrown when a harsh stinging rushed through your lower region; the warmth of haechan's tongue far gone causing you to shriek and whine, like a child.

“be patient, babes..” you shut your eyes, somehow finding the energy to bite your lips. the corny pet name threw you off so fucking bad, you then realized.

you were fucking, no.. getting TONGUE fucked by your annoying–borderline–obnoxious–hamster–look–alike roommate. not the sexy–maybe–vampire guy that you planned to go out with, and today was valentine's day! and you were spending it, UNDER A BED, sweating, fucked out, hyperventilating, dust everywhere etc etc..

“what the fuck!” you sobbed in real embarrassment, tears welled up in your eyes. he clicked his tongue in mock frustration, you could imagine his jaw clench; “be embarrassed all you want,— there was a shifting of his fabric against his skin before his pants and underwear presumably fell to the ground with a light thud— but I know you want this..” he rasped whilst tugging at his lengthy cock, eyes boring into your heat.

fuck he wanted to taste you again.

his finger spread your moist lips before he attempted to position himself against your indigent hole but the muscle suctioned around it immediately. “fuck, you're a needy one, huh?” he teased, already you could imagine the shit-eating grin on his face before he shoved his quite.. ample cock into you. your body tensed from the unexpectancy and the pure pleasure that coursed through your veins like you were on crack or something..

“you love this, huh? being treated like a fuckin’ slut..” haechan pestered, his hefty tip nudging against your cervix with every shallow thrust. “aw– fuck, channie.” you heaved, your knees nearly buckled; trying to meet his impetuous thrusts.

haechan's hands gripped your hips once again, his gyrations became shockingly and yet excitingly quicker. the back of your hand (which you now realized) covered your mouth, muffling your moans and sobs; tears free falling from your eyes. his torso sheened with sweat, dripping and accumulating between the connection of your moist skin. “oh– fuck please..” you muttered, your tongue slightly lolled out at the familiar pressure building between your legs.

haechan's thrusts of his cock only quickened at the familiar pulsations of your walls, a long groan launching from his throat. “keep– fuck–” his tender bottom lip popped out from his teeth once he stopped his thrusts abruptly; a slip of his precum leaked out of your hole. he was trying to keep his composure but

holy shit.

he eventually resumed, trying to totally keep it together which was totally not working. your beautiful whines, cries and pleads threw him off so bad and your fucking pussy was like.. like..? he couldn't even fucking explain it. “I-I wanna cum inside of you–” he pleaded, he bit his lip and held back a sigh from his embarrassing comment.

“then fucking do it!” you remarked with a whiny pitch to your tone and an unintentional clench. haechan was overcame by that small ministration and took your comment seriously and came immediately, letting out a guttural groan before pulling out. haechan now noticed his bedside mirror, the reflection of him had ruddy cheeks, pupils dilated and plump raw lips. he tried to convince himself that wasn't him. damn he was a loser and he came too fast.

but meanwhile, you laid slack. in shock, confusion and regret; that was such a fucking waste of time. at least you tried convincing yourself that, but you were free! you realized once you slid yourself from under the bed, haechan's back was slumped once he looked at your face; similar to his.

why the fuck did he start crying? before you could even process, you were in his warm embrace. his semi-hard cock laid between your abdomen's uncomfortably, he was mumbling and blabbering about how it was embarrassing that you were his first time and how he didn't even make you cum and how he came too fast and hyperventilating about SEX.

but it's whatever.

“we could always try again..” you clarified, pulling away from him slightly.

he was kinda cute when you noticed his puffy lips and cheeks before the snot running from his nose, he sniffled.

“wait really..?” he asked, eyes filled with wonder and relief.

“yes, really..” he smiled along with you, your heart fucking bursted.. he was so adorable.

“yay! teamwork makes the dream work!”

😽 😽

[tired-fandom-ndn]

"So you're telling me that the two dogs we saw get shot with Adrenanoxinil were actual dogs?"

"Were real dogs."

"That pumped them up enough to run to the sidelines, get tagged in by humans that are dressed as dogs, that also had Adrenanoxinil."

"Yeah."

"And then the dogs dogs left."

"You see those two dogs run out to a car that is inside the warehouse. They get in, the doors close, and the car smashes through a wall, drives away, and blows up."

"The dogs are dead."

"No, the dogs are alive. Because that was a hologram. The dogs are sneaking out the back never to be seen again. Let me be clear: The dogs are wearing tan trench coats, tan fedoras, huge sunglasses, walking on hind legs, bouncing in that way dogs do when they're hopping on hind legs."

"They gotta go to their flipping practice."

[bebx]

Our Lord Salmon Updates; Salmon learning how to stand on his hind legs.

it’s also appeared that he has found his own little witchy broom just in time for Halloween!

p.s. it is unbeknown to me what spell he’s practicing here, but I fear it’s a dark magic to make those who see him fall in love with him!

[revasserium]

butterfly lovers opla zoro screaming crying throwing up

butterfly lovers

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

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

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

false start.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the cost of ambition.

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

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

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

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

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

“my friend is dying…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh, zoro…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you sigh, wiping down your hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

sanji frowns, “and the scotch?”

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

the cliche of the morning after.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

smooth sailing.

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

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

“how’re you healing?”

“fine.”

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

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

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

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

something, something, something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“there. all done.”

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

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

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

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

ink, skin, and bullets.

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

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

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

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

“i don’t like it,” he says.

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

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

arlong park.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“s-sorry — i — i couldn’t —”

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

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

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

finding neverland.

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

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

“mnph —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“z-zoro, please!”

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

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

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

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

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

“shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“r-right — right there —”

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

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

“r-right here —”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

an irony of hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no,” you shake your head.

“not even a little?”

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

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

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

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

“i — i couldn’t kill him.”

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

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

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

“they were made for saving lives instead.”

confessions, part i.

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

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

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

confessions, part ii.

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

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

he nods, squeezing your hands in his.

“i love you too.”

false start (redux).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

opla!zoro requests are open!

[hallowpen]

Episode Eleven has a lot to unpack... including some cultural nuances that even I wasn't too knowledgeable about (so I had to ask my mom for clarification)

We're heading to Chao Fah Palace (คุ้มเจ้าฟ้า) in the province of Phrae (แพร่) for this episode... which is derivative of the old Lanna Kingdom and its culture. (We spoke a little bit about Lanna traditions when referencing the hairpins in episode five). Lanna territories are now part of modern-day Siam. In Lanna tradition, women were known as ช้างเท้าหลัง (pronounced 'chang tao lahng') which would literally translate into "the hind legs of the elephant". What it meant was that the direction of a woman's life and family were to be guided by the authority of a man, ช้างเท้าหน้า (pronounced 'chang tao nahr') "the front legs of the elephant". The woman must learn to accept her place. Lanna Buddhist tradition would preach that being born as a woman in this life meant you had not earned enough merit to be born a man, and to pray for better karma in the next lifetime. Ironically, before the rise of Buddhism, Lanna was one of the few territories to practice matrilineal succession... where lineage was passed on from mother to daughter.

Both of these beliefs were somewhat knit together for TLP's narrative in regards to Uangfah... which we'll talk about later.

ผ้าซิ่นตีนจก (pronounced 'pa sin tin jok') is a traditional skirt worn by women in Lanna. The skirts are known to have elaborate borders with strips of precious metals woven together, with spun gold or silver threads, by using a traditional loom. This technique emphasizes the beauty and value of the weaving, as well as the social status of the person wearing the skirt. The garment was generally reserved for high-ranking members of society.

Another practice steeped in Lanna tradition, is the art of making ตุง (pronounced 'toong'). In the northern dialect, this refers to a type of flag used in Lanna art and Buddhist ceremonies. The flags, adorned with various patterns and designs, are used to mark the boundaries of sacred sites as a symbol of the pathway toward enlightenment.

The series highlighted the Phra That Cho Hae Temple (พระธาตุช่อแฮ), which has rich history as a spiritual center and the most sacred Buddhism site in Phrae. Its highlight is the brass wrapped pagoda that stands 33 meters tall, which enshrines holy relics of Lord Buddha.

The Peacock Feather Dance (รำฟ้อนหางนกยูง - pronounced 'ram faan haang nohk-yuung') is a cultural piece of entertainment that sees dancers move in a circle and change positions in order to imitate the movements and courtship "dance" of a peacock. The dancers wear traditional northern costumes while holding peacock feathers. Known for its striking appearance, the peacock holds deep cultural and religious significance in Thailand. It is often associated with the ideas of beauty, royalty, prosperity, and spiritual awakening.

We are introduced to Uangfah's mother this episode. Princess Dararai holds the title of หม่อมเจ้าหญิง (mom-jao ying or M.C.) for being married to a descendant of the king. Princess Dararai wishing for her daughter to remain close to her after marriage has inklings of matrilineal customs, where the husband would typically come to live with the wife's family... and not the other way around.

The suitor Princess Dararai has chosen for her daughter to marry is Lord Muang-Rahm. Muang-Rahm holds the tilte of หม่อมราชวงศ์ (mom rat-cha-wong or M.R.) as a child of one "commoner" parent, but whose ancestry can be traced back to the king.

Uangfah has accepted the fact the she must submit to her mother's wishes and marry a man she does not care for (he's truly terrible... lesbi-honest). It's a bittersweet moment where we realize the realities of a woman who cannot openly pursue the love of another woman, given the views of society.

The proceeding conversation Uangfah has with Muang-Rahm is subtlety indicative of Lanna women who were in charge in their own relationships. Uangfah quietly inserts her authority over their future courtship by informing Muang-Rahm of her intentions to not wed straight away AND by addressing him by his nickname in front of Pia. Given his behavior, Muang-Rahm knows he cannot say anything untoward in order to save face... such a fun scene.

SHE KNOWS!!! The facial expressions 😂😂😂... you have to laugh

Anil and Pin have become more reckless the more comfortable they have become in their relationship... and that spells trouble ahead.