#YOU COULD NEVER SWING THAT DAGGER

[batmanego]

Grins sinisterly

[yrlocalghost]

you. undertale fan. please

[irisintheafterglow]

kid megumi starts a fight. you and satoru finish it.

being fresh out of high school while simultaneously taking care of a second grader was an interesting experience, to say the least. today was no different.

"oh my god; he what? i'll be there in a second, fucking hell," you sputter as you all but shoot upward from your desk, sweeping the post-mission paperwork to the side and grabbing your car keys from the bedside table. the car makes strained vrooms while you impatiently pump the gas pedal, accelerating down the street like a bat out of hell. swerving into the nearest parking space you could find, you forcefully swing open the door to the front office to find satoru waiting in a plastic chair. he mutters an exasperated oh, thank god under his breath before standing and taking your hand, leading you down the hall to the principal's office.

"is he okay?"

"he's fine, i promise." you look at him skeptically, remembering all the times megumi was "fine" yet had scrapes that satoru didn't know how to clean up. "i'm serious. i saw it myself. the nurse cleaned up his nose and iced the hit on his face."

"he got hit in the fucking face?" your jaw drops in shock and you quiet your voice to a hushed whisper outside the principal's office door. "what the fuck happened that he got punched in the-"

"fushiguro's guardians, please come in. we're ready for you," an irritatingly nasally voice calls from inside and it takes all of your willpower not to blast the door open until it's shredded to pieces. megumi's principal sits behind an obtrusively large wooden desk, with the boy sitting by one end and two empty chairs at the other. you immediately drag one of the chairs over to sit by his side, but a wrinkled hand stops you. "please sit across from him, not beside him. he must receive proper punishment and that begins with accounting for his own actions," the principal instructs you and you catch satoru's jaw clench in restrained anger. he wanted to tear the principal's head off for telling you what to do, especially since it was regarding megumi.

"i'll decide where i want to sit, thank you," you reply with forced politeness, sliding the chair next to a defeated megumi. he scoots as close to you as he can and links his pinky finger in yours. it's small, but you know he's trying to manage his anxiety along with yours. satoru shrugs indifferently at the principal but shoots you a proud wink when no one is looking. "they cleaned you up, yeah?" you ask megumi softly and he nods, wincing slightly when your knuckles lightly brush the bruise on his cheek. "i'm sorry, baby-"

"fushiguro instigated a fight with three sixth grade students, all of them older than him. we believe he may have developed issues dealing with his emotions, specifically anger," the principal informs you and you make a great deal of effort to wipe the glower from your face. "student witnesses say that he struck first, and-"

"do you know why he started the fight in the first place?" your eyes narrow on the scrawny, shriveled man behind the oversized desk and he shrinks away slightly.

"no, b-but we believe that violence should not be-"

"violence or not, shouldn't you be responsible for understanding why this occurred outright?" your voice is strained and tense, slightly shaky with repressed anger. you stare daggers into the old man's sunken eyes and catch satoru watching the whole scene with pride. here was a man who knew nothing about a child you considered your own, trying to argue that he started a fight for no reason when you knew megumi would never harm a bee, even if it stung him. before you're able to start a physical fight with the idiot school official that probably saw more board meetings than actual students, satoru's voice cuts in.

"forgive me, but i don't appreciate your tone-"

"we'll be sure to properly discipline him at home, sir," he states emotionlessly, and you wordlessly thank him for wrapping the meeting up quickly. after a few more glares and aggressive signatures on paperwork waiving the school of any responsibility for megumi's injuries, you walk out of the office with satoru's arm around your shoulders and megumi's hand grasping yours. "alright, firecracker. you fizzled out yet or do we need to take you to a kickboxing class real quick?" he presses a tender kiss to the side of your head, clearly unbothered by the way you barreled through that ridiculous meeting.

"put me in an empty field away from people, and i'll make a kickboxing class look like a fucking knitting circle," you mutter vengefully as satoru chuckles under his breath.

"alright, megs. you gonna tell us what happened or are we actually going to need to get you a therapist?" megumi glances off to the side, irritated, but you squeeze his hand once in reassurance that, no matter what happened, you'd figure it out together.

"they were hurting tsumiki," he says quietly and both you and satoru freeze, looking at each other in careful understanding. "she was saying it was just a joke, but i caught her crying while we were walking home."

"so, you decided the best option was to fight them," you say slowly. satoru's hand rubs loving circles on your shoulder and you ask the question you've been holding onto since he called. "well, did you beat them?"

"i did, and that's why everyone is so angry," the boy shrugs and you huff a tired exhale. "are you mad at me?"

"no, megs. i'm glad you defended your sister, but i wish you'd told us what was going on before acting on your own."

"yeah, we could have helped you," your boyfriend whispers and you elbow his stomach lightly. not yet, you mouth to him. let's drop him off first.

"the kids said they were going to get my parents involved. is that why you're here?"

"yes and no," satoru says, opening the car door for you as you slide into the passenger seat. he could have warped back to the school, but he'd silently indicated that he wanted to drive all three of you back. "yeah, we're here to come get you; but, unfortunately for those shithead kids-" you turn to face him in the backseat, a conniving smile creeping onto your face.

"we're not your parents, and we're gonna need those kids' names."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Desert Bandit - DubCon

Yandere! Desert Bandit who rules his tribe with an iron fist. Heartless, he's called. His soul as unmoving and unkind as the desert itself.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who prays to no God but the desert and her bleached bones.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who dreams every night of a woman, a lover as dear to him as water in the hamada.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who finds your caravan by pure luck. People seldom travel this route - the springs are fickle and even one dried well is a death sentence.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who watches from a distance, dipping behind the dunes if anyone looks his way for too long.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who hears the desert wind whispering in its sibilant way and knows this caravan is special somehow. Who calls his band together to raid you, even though they've already hit three camel trains in the last week.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who waits for nightfall before he brings steel and fire and choas down on you. Who revels in the blood he spills, each drop an offering to the desert.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who sees a figure running from him, their cloak streaming behind them. Yandere! Desert Bandit whose blood is up, who wants nothing more than a good hunt.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who rides you down, his scimitar close enough to cut your cheek before you dive away from him.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who leaps from his horse without even stopping her. Who looks to you less a man and more a jinn. How else could he be so quick and so cruel?

Yandere! Desert Bandit who catches your wrist as you swing your dagger at him, laughing like you're nothing but a hare in his trap.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who sees your face and feels his blood turn to ice.

It's you. The woman from his dreams.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who realises suddenly that they were no mere dreams. No, they were a premonition, a promise. A gift from the desert herself.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who won't let his promised bride slip away, no matter how you twist and turn in his grasp. Who grips your wrist so tightly you have no choice but to drop your dagger.

Yandere! Desert Bandit with eyes rimmed in kohl, glinting gold with the reflected firelight. Glinting gold with lust.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who brings his sword to your throat and threatens to spill your heart's blood all over the thirsty sand if you don't come with him.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who forces you onto his horse and is quick to climb up behind you. One arm wrapped around your waist so he can savour the curve of your body. A woman in his arms, his woman.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who calls to his men to meet him at sunrise so that he can steal a few hours with you.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who feels your hips rubbing against him in the saddle, no matter how fast or slow he rides. Who has to grit his teeth against his desire.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who smells of smoke and musk and blood.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who rides almost half the night to bring you to an oasis.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who leads you to pool of water and commands you to drink. Who watches the water drip down your neck and catch on your collarbones.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who has never been more desperate to lap up spilt water, even with a reservoir to infront of him.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who sits down in front of you and unwraps his litham. His hair is dark and smooth as oil. It falls past his shoulders and he gruffly tells you to brush and braid it.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who wants to moan when he feels your nails running along his scalp and neck.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who slowly turns to face you when you're done. He's on his knees like a supplicant and he doesn't even know it.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who rests his hands on your thighs. You fear the heat of him - his hands, his eyes - will surely burn you alive.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who offers you a choice. You can stay here in the oasis and he'll leave you as you are - virginal, untouched.

Or he can make you his bride. On this night, in this place.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who watches your breath hitch, who sees the doubt creep across your face.

Why?  You ask. Why not just take what you want?

Yandere! Desert Bandit who plays with your hair while he speaks. Who does it so absent mindedly that it's almost proprietary. Like he owns you already.

I can steal gold and jewels. I can steal the breath from a man's lungs and the life from his body. But this, this one thing, must be given willingly.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who watches your heart war within you. The desert has you trapped more tightly than chains or bars. Even in an oasis, you can't survive on your own. You need him.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who holds perfectly still as you lean forward and kiss him. It's chaste almost, a shy press of your lips against his. And he's thinking that there'll be nothing chaste between you before the night is done.

You don't know it but a kiss given willingly is all he needs to appease the desert.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who lays his palm across the nape of your neck and pulls you back to him. Who bites at your lips until you give in and open your mouth. Who holds you in place when you try and pull away from his tongue and its ruthless advances.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who guides your hand to his cock and groans at just the touch of your fingers through his clothes. Who throws his head back and grits his teeth when you hesitantly stroke him, your hands so much smaller and softer than his own.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who watches you through the tangle of hair that's blown across his face. His little blushing bride. His desert prize.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who knows only roughness and cruelty. Whose first instinct is to throw you down and rip the clothes from your body. Who has to dig his hands into the sand to stop himself from doing just that.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who lays you down on the soft sand, the firelight casting his face in flickering shadow. There is more than lust there, though you can't see it.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who runs his hands slowly down your waist, grabbing the fat of your hips before moving lower. Your thighs are squished closed and he works his fingers into your flesh until he practically pries them apart.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who leans down and spits on your cunt and uses his fingers to work it in.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who clicks his teeth in irritation when you look away from him. Who grabs your jaw and guides you back.

Yandere! Desert Bandit whose fingers keep digging into your cheeks as he gets ready to enter you. He sees the doubt, the fear, the guilty lust in your eyes and he wants to drink it all in.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who tries so damn hard to be gentle and slow. But once he has the tip in he can't even try to hold himself back.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who slams himself the rest of the way in. Who snarls through his gritted teeth like an animal and digs his hands into the flesh of your hips.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who doesn't even register the way you scream or try and twist away from him. He has you now and he's going to fuck you hard and fast until he's satisfied.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who pounds into you with all those years of longing and lust and nights when he would have fucked just about anything because he dreamt of you.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who uses your hips to pull you onto his cock with every thrust. His escaped hair hanging around his face and his canines gleaming.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who hooks one arm around your lower back and literally lifts you off the ground so he can go deeper.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who leans forward and bites into your tits. Hard enough to leave bruises that turn purplish blue by the morning.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who deep down in his conscious mind knows he's hurting you like crazy. But it's all animal instinct in control and he doesn't stop even though you're begging him to please stop, please, it hurts.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who slams into you as deep as he can when he comes. Who forces a rough, biting kiss onto you even though you try and turn away.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who digs his hands into the sand next to your head and just spends a minute trying to get his breath back.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who finally pulls out of you. Who slowly becomes human again.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who realises his bride is a crying, bleeding mess under him. Who makes you wrap your legs around his waist so he can slowly pick you up.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who walks into the water and holds you close as the blood and tears wash away.

Yandere! Desert Bandit who coos at you until you lift your head from his neck and look at him. He looks apologetic almost, but his gold eyes are still filled with want, with devouring lust. You are the bandit's bride and there's no escaping it.

He truly was the worst of thieves.

[shy-writer-999]

hey friend! can i request a capital F FILTHY zoro x f!reader where they two of them are rivals/borderline enemies who fight all the time but after they both get a lil tipsy they end up hate fucking in the roughest most desperate way possible…

Ohhhh yes yes yes. YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND, ANON. anything filthy and with zoro i’m down. brace yourself because this is nasty. you told me capital F FILTHY and i gave you FILTHIER. this turned into a ~2.9k word monstrosity. i read it through like twice so plz excuse any overused words or typos...

everyone say it with me, now: "hate sex! hate sex! hate sex!!!!"

---

You and Zoro butted heads since the day you got on the ship. Zoro thought his tiffs with Sanji were super fucking annoying—but Sanji had nothing on you. Not only did you have an annoying quip in response to everything he said, but he heard you actively shit talking him in front of his face multiple times. He despised you—everything about you. He hated how you mocked him, hated how cocky you were around him, hated the way you fought, your morals, the way you spoke to everyone BUT him; he couldn’t stand you.

The pair of you had almost gotten to blows multiple times, but he just couldn’t bring himself to hit you. He’d threaten you with his sword but never use it, even though he thought about it more than he would like to admit.

Your asinine remarks would replay in his head sometimes. “Zoro, the amount of effort you put into working out and being stoic is fucking pathetic. Lighten up for once. You’re fucking draining to be around.” Your tone was vile and pitiful. He saw red any time you said stuff like that.

“Zoro, another bottle of sake? Like you haven’t had enough to drink for a whole year? Fucking alcoholic.” You would smirk and condescend, and he’d try to send it back your way but he felt like the couldn’t twist the dagger the same way that you could.

“Shut up,” he would respond, agitated and cold. “Mind your fucking business and go nag someone else, woman. You’re insufferable.”

What was the most agitating thing about you being an asshole to him was that you did it while looking so good. He hated that. He would actively mull the fact over—you were gorgeous, but you had such a rotten personality, it couldn’t be helped. You fought like shit, treated him like a child, mocked him, derided him… And he did the same to you. But he felt his cock twinge any time you got close and nasty with him.

“Yeah, Zoro? Going to go sneak back to your hideout and drown yourself with sake before swinging your swords around? Fucking weirdo.”

Sometimes he would get really intense about it. He’d seethe with hatred and respond with such loathing that it was a wonder he didn’t do anything about it. “If you don’t leave me alone, I swear I’ll slit your throat.”

“Yeah, jackass? I’m sure you like to dream about that, but you’ll never be able to do it because you’re 1: a pussy and 2: I’m your crewmate, idiot.” Sometimes you’d tease him for having the hots for you (which you thought was false), and he’d get so flushed and angry that you thought he would light on fire.

One night, a group of the crew was drinking on deck. You, Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Robin, and Usopp. Everyone was a few cups (or bottles) deep, and what started in raucous laughter ended with people splitting up into small groups or going inside for some snacks.

You and Zoro were unfortunately sitting next to each other, much to your mutual dislike. An offhand comment from Zoro (he was speaking to Usopp) vaguely alluded to you being bad at wielding a sword. It set you off. Your head whipped in his direction. He must have been sitting a few feet away.

“What the fuck did you just say, Zoro?”

He rolled his eyes and waved his hand. “What’s it to you? Can’t you mind your own damn business?”

You bit your lip and shoved the crude and despicable rebuttal back in your throat—it wasn’t worth fighting with him again. You already had a spat earlier that day, which left you both livid. Sometimes you’d goad him into it for fun and games. The added benefit was that he would get even hotter when he was angry. Sure, his personality was shit, but when he sneered and snarled at you he looked damn good. You were in denial about how much his scowls turned you on, but you ignored it because you couldn’t stand the man. He was just an atrocious person all around, and you let him know that every second that you could.

After you heard the comment, you huffed, snatched your bottle up and stormed inside. You were about to smack the shit out of him. When you stood up, the alcohol hit you—you were definitely tipsy, perhaps that was contributing to how enraged you were.

You went into the galley and you were about to grab another bottle when the door opened. Those familiar, maddeningly heavy, swaggering footsteps padded towards you. Presumably, Zoro was coming to grab another bottle of sake. Like he fucking needs one, you scoffed to yourself.

“Oh, great.” He was scornful and sarcastic. “You gettin’ more? Can’t wait to see how annoying you get after this bottle.”

“Zoro, you’re on my last fucking nerve.” You turned around and he was a couple feet away, arms crossed. Something in his eyes looked different.

“Is that so? When am I not on your last nerve? You’re so fuckin’ sensitive, get a grip.”

You bit your tongue, trying to not say something foul. You failed.

“Zoro, I’m so sick of you. Your presence is literally unbearable. I can’t stand you, seriously, not right now. And oh, by the way, you’re a shit swordsman.”

You knew that last part would infuriate him. You wanted to get him riled up. It was a sick form of entertainment for you. And anytime you told him he was a shit swordsman he went ballistic.

“Do you ever shut your damn mouth!?” He stepped forward, his voice angry. He was uncomfortably close. You were leaning back on the counter, trying to create any distance you could between your face and his, but he had you caged in. He put a hand on the counter behind you.

“Always looking to start a fight, huh?” His tone was contemptuous and belittling. “You’re about to bite off more than you can chew.”

The closer he got, the hotter he looked. You hated him, but fuck, he was a sight for sore eyes. When he was up this close, you felt even more intoxicated than you already were.

“And what would that mean?” You stared into his eyes, deadpan and annoyed. You placed it now, you could see what about his eyes looked different—his eyes were ravenous. He looked like he was starving for something. More liquor? You hoped he was hungry for something else.

“You’ve got such a big mouth and you never stop running it.” He was practically growling.

Your heartbeat grew faster, and heat started to bloom between your legs. He was so hot when he was angry. That was part of the fun. Especially when his voice got like that.

“And what are you going to do about it?” You raised an eyebrow at him, and your eyes were deadly.

“Might have to shut you up somehow. Maybe you’ll shut the fuck up if my cock is shoved down your throat.”

You actually laughed. “Oh, what is it? Like three inches?”

He drew his face closer to yours. The hand that wasn’t bracing himself on the counter came to squeeze one of your hips so hard that it hurt.

“I’m about to fuck you so hard I break you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fucking slut.” He murmured, his voice deep and hushed.

Your eyes were locked, eye contact blistering. He was staring into you so hard you thought he’d leave a burn mark on your irises.

“You’re an idiot, Zoro. Are you being serious? You’d cum all over yourself before you even got close to fucking me.”

“Mmmm, we’ll see about that.” He purred. You were speechless, your brain trying and failing to come up with something to throw back at him. It was short circuiting because he just said he wanted to fuck you.

In the moment that you were searching for an answer, his lips crashed into yours. His grip on your hip tightened; it was going to leave a bruise. As your bodies pressed together, you noticed his hard on rutting into you slowly.

The kisses were haphazard and sloppy, teeth knocking. He bit your lip so hard you almost yelped. A hand snuck up to grab a fistful of your hair and he pulled it so tight it’s a wonder he didn’t rip out a huge clump of it.

“You’re fucking useless.” He pulled away from you, murmuring in a husky tone centimeters away from your lips. “You talk all that shit but I know you want me to fuck you. Probably wanted it the whole time.”

“Shut up, Zoro.” You would have enjoyed every second of this if he just shut his trap.

He pushed you up so you were sitting on the counter. Sucking harshly on your neck, he bit it so hard you thought it would bleed. You let out a muffled whine in surprise.

“Are you already getting worked up and I’ve barely touched you?” His voice was poisonous.

“Holy shit, shut up, Zoro.”

“Say that one more time and I’ll put my cock in you.”

You doubled down. You hoped he was serious. “I said, shut the fuck up, Zoro.”

He let go of your hair and hips and proceeded to rip your pants and panties off in one go. He almost shredded the seams. He took in the sight for a moment.

Your eyes were bathed in lust, your breaths shallow and quick already. Your shirt rode up and your nipples were hard.

His fingers wandered to your now bare cunt and he let out a chuckle.

“You’re so fucking wet already. I know you’re going to take it all for me because you’re fucking desperate. Is that right?”

Your mouth went dry and you did the most miniscule of nods. You didn’t want him to know how badly you needed him.

He slid two thick fingers into your entrance then started to finger fuck you. Your walls tightened and pulsed around him, getting adjusted. Pushing them apart, his fingers roamed and prodded. It felt so good that you had to bite your lip to keep the moans back. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“You’ve been craving my cock this whole time like a depraved, touch-starved slut, haven’t you?”

His other hand grabbed a painful fist of your ass and then crept up to squeeze your throat. You let out a barely audible whimper and he felt his cock twitch.

You tried to squeak out words and you were barely successful. “You’re—the one—who’s hard—right now, Zoro.”

It was a lame comeback, but it drove him crazy. “Use your fucking mouth one more time and I’m going to stuff you so full you can’t talk.”

His fingers found your g-spot and pressed on it forcefully. You choked out a breathy “fuck you, Zoro,” and he went still.

“What was that?” His hand around your throat tightened. “Did you not hear what I just said, or are you fucking stupid?”

His fingers started to move twice as fast, and you squirmed. When he could tell you were about to orgasm, he pulled them out.  

He freed his cock from his pants and fisted it lazily for a moment before lining it up with your entrance. “You want this, don’t you? You ran your fat mouth too much, now I’m going to fuck the attitude out of you. Say I’m a shit swordsman one more time and I’ll choke the air out of you until you see stars, then I’ll stuff you full of my cock. But you’d probably like that. Fucking slut.”

“You’re—a fucking—shit—swordsman” you tried to get the words out as his fist squeezed your throat. You couldn’t breathe and you were so aroused that it was hard to focus.

He pushed his cock into your folds and through your slit, entering you inches at a time. You started seeing stars, as promised, and you could only focus on his vice grip around your throat and the sensation of his huge girthy cock stretching you out. He let go of your throat for a moment before bottoming out, and when his tip kissed your cervix he groaned.

“Just look at you. Drooling for my cock, you’re worthless.”

He leaned in so your foreheads touched and pulled out of you agonizingly slow.

“You want more? You want me to fuck you?”

You just looked at him, pouting. You didn’t want to admit it. But you wanted it, and you wanted it BAD. You nodded again and he plunged back into you forcefully. A wet squelching noise sounded into the room when he bottomed out again.

Zoro grinded his hips just enough so he could fuck you deep inside.

“What, the back talk stops the second I put my cock in you?”

You hissed air in through your teeth. “Fuck you, Zoro.”

His jaw dropped for a second and he lost composure, but he kept moving his hips all the same. “What was that?”

“I said fuck you.” You were glaring up at him petulantly.

He pulled his cock out completely and you gasped at the feeling of emptiness.

“Okay, if you hate me so much then I’ll just stop. Is that what you want?”

You could only shit talk for so long before the pleasure started to take over your mind in a haze. All that you knew now was that Zoro was saying dirty things to you and he just took his cock out. That was unacceptable, at this point.

“Zoro.” You whined. “Put it back.”

“Awh, you want me to put it back in?” He feigned pity while you nodded eagerly, throwing all dignity out of the window.

“If you want it that bad, then you need to beg for it like the pathetic little slut you are.”

Your cheeks smarted with blush. You couldn’t believe that you were about to beg for his dick, but you needed it so fucking bad you couldn’t hold back.

“Fuck. Please Zoro. Please keep fucking me.”

Now that he was getting carried away, he wanted to be cruel. You did have a habit of running your mouth, and he wanted to punish you for it.

“Hmm. That’s not quite good enough. If you really want it, say my name. Say my name and I’ll fuck you.”

“Zoro.” You pleaded, your voice strained. He snuck a hand back in your hair and pulled your hair so hard it hurt.

“No. I said, say my name.”

“Roronoa Zoro. Please. I need it.”

“Louder.”

“Roronoa Zoro. P-please.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He pressed his cock into you again with a groan. One hand was gripping your hip, and he moved the other down to rub circles over your clit. Your hips bucked.

You started to let out moans with reckless abandon—you needed it harder, faster, deeper, anything that he could possibly do with his cock, you needed it. The noises melted in his ear, but he was worried that someone would hear, so he kissed you. It actually felt tender at times—if you weren’t lost in pleasure, you’d have been able to feel his thumb rubbing a circle on your cheek. What was up with that?

Between his kisses, he said something filthier with each thrust. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“Fuck, Zoro. Feels so good. Your cock—feels so fucking good.”

His shaft and tip dragged over your g-spot countless times. Each time your moans got louder and the mess you were making on Zoro’s cock got juicier.

“Zoro, ‘m gonna cum.” You were at your wits end.

“That’s it, baby, cum on my cock. Cum for me. Just for me.”

That was all you needed to hear before you started to squirm and writhe with pleasure. Your fingers dug into his shoulders and your eyes rolled back in your head—it was that good. He fucked you through your orgasm and then pulled out to cum on your stomach. He wanted to cum inside, but he figured he’d save that for next time (if you were nice enough to let him).

Moments later, while he got you cleaned up, he admired how flushed you were and how lidded your eyes were with satisfaction.

“Baby, huh?” You giggled.

“What?” Zoro was puzzled.

“You called me baby.”

He turned crimson. “You heard me wrong, blockhead.”

“Mmmhmmm, sure. Now help me put my pants on. There’s no way I can walk after that, baby.”

He was speechless. He knew you were teasing him, but he liked it. Enemies to lovers, much?

You found out later that no one walked into the kitchen while you were fucking because Sanji almost went inside and got quite the eyeful through the mini window on the door. He almost puked at the sight then promptly told everyone “no one go in the galley because the two boneheads are doing something disgusting.”

[bunnyrafe]

𓊆ྀིrafe gets high before you two have very important plans𓊇ྀི

content / warnings -> 18+, MDNI. 600 f/kook!reader, high/mean!rafe, drug use, addiction, toxic relationship, light violence, angst (hurt & comfort).

Truthfully— you’ve never been this angry at him before.

You believe you both reached a new low the second he walked through your bedroom door with shaky hands and blown out pupils, a mere hour and a half before dinner with your parents. Immediately you pout, the light in your eyes dissipates, and then the rage takes over. You stand up from your vanity, finding yourself pointing and screaming before you can blink. You don’t allow him a chance to begin running his mouth or start spewing bullshit excuses you’ve heard one too many times already.

“You promised me you’d be sober, Rafe!”

He doesn’t seem to be bothered by your smaller hands smacking his own away or the tears collecting at your painted lashes. Rafe only cares about himself when he’s high. So he grabs up your waist, attempting to press kisses to your freshly blushed cheeks to calm you down—

“Princess...”

“Fuck off,” you sniffle between the words.

At that, Rafe’s eyes narrow. Fury pools in his irises, forcing a shiver down your spine and fear induced heat to prickle at the back of your neck. Your glossy lips part, staring up at him while he closes in on you. His handsome but contorted features a mere inch away from your own— you can smell it on him— a mixture of chemicals and weed smoke, some bourbon disguised by mint gum on his breath as the cherry on top. His teeth clench as he speaks, “You need to watch that fucking mouth of yours, do you understand?”

“Let go of me,” you squeal. Only for Rafe’s arms to tighten around you, practically swinging you back and forth as you try to escape him.

“I said— fuckin’ stop,” Rafe growls, trying his best to hold you right against his brick wall of a chest. Your squirming and fighting dies down just enough for him to keep you planted there while he continues on, a large hand gripping your jaw and giving your pretty head a little shake that makes a whimper crawl up your throat, “I asked if you understand. ‘Cause if my girl thinks she can keep runnin’ her mouth like that, we’re gonna— gonna have a big problem.”

It hits you then. A wave of shame and regret when you realize how stupid it was of you to ever question him. Let alone defy him… to start something you could never finish with the way you’re wrapped around his finger. You’re full blown sobbing now, sniveling and shaking, “But you promised me…”

Maybe there are a lot of bad bones in Rafe’s body. God knows that's true. But if there’s one complete and utter soft spot he has in this world, it’s you. Watching you so upset, even when it’s brought on by him, makes him nervous. Makes him weak at the knees and nauseous. He’s quick to shush you, whispering out sweet names and squeezing you in his hold while you hiccup pathetic noises.

“Oh, princess.” He breathes out. He’s guiding you to your bed, and you’re now pliant enough to let him lay you down. His fingers mess with the strings on your silk robe. They tug until the garment comes loose, barely covering your trembling body from him so he can nuzzle his face into the soft, perfumed skin of your chest.

“I’m sorry, okay? I-I’ll get ready right now— show your parents that their little girl has the best man, alright?”

You nod once. When you look at him with those tear filled eyes, he feels a dagger through his heart. Your lashes flutter and it slows down the drumming in his chest brought on by the drugs, knocks the breath right out his lungs. It’s enough to have him suddenly acting right…

©BUNNYRAFE 2024

[themultifanshipper]

So I read the your story about Logan, George, Max and paddock bunny reader. It was fucking amazing.

Could I maybe request a fluff one where some random man is very sexist and mean towards her. The drivers see it and become kind of protective. When she wants to reward them with sex, they are being like : No honey. You just rest and look pretty while we murder this idiot☺️👍

But please don't feel pressured to write it if you don't feel comfortable

You should have known as soon as the journalist approached you that this wouldn't end well.

“Would you mind answering a couple of questions, miss?”

You naively said yes, not expecting the line of questioning that was about to come.

Part 3 of One of the Boys

Warnings: a smidge of angst, lots of fluff, drivers being protective, a lil smut at the end but it's skippable, i've put a *** where it starts, dirty talk, sleepy sex, smut with Oscar and Lando, mentioned smut with Charles, Max and George just being good friends

“Care to comment on the rumour that you are in the paddock as a sexual companion for the drivers to use to relieve stress?”

Your breath got caught in your throat.

“Excuse me?”

The man cleared his throat and continued.

“Sources say you have slept with multiple drivers, is it because you have some sort of agreement or contract? Or are you just that promiscuous?”

You stared at him open mouthed, not knowing what to say.

“Or are you perhaps doing it for money? Do you have a sugar daddy in the paddock? Do you limit yourself to drivers or do you also let team officials have a go at you?”

What the fuck.

Tears prickled your eyes at the onslaught of invasive questions as rage filled you.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? What gives you the right to ask about my sex life?! What I do in my free time is none of your fucking business, and for your information, I do not receive money from any member of the paddock, and I am NOT just a toy to use for men whenever they feel like! Just because I'm a woman you assume I have an ulterior motive for being here but-”

Your voice was getting louder as each word left your lips and the shouting attracted the attention of George and Max that were passing nearby.

“What's going on here?” Max asked the man as George noticed a tear run down your cheek. “Are you okay?”

You wiped at it furiously and nodded “Yeah I'm fine!”

Max stared daggers between you and the man “What the fuck did you say to her?”

The man rolled his eyes dismissively.

“I wanted to know if the rumours of her being the paddock's whore were true… I guess I have my answer”

The sudden urge to swing at him almost overtook Max but he held himself in check. George put arm around you and lead you away, managing to spit out a ‘go fuck yourself’ to the man.

Max ripped the man's lanyard off and checked the name on it.

“Well done, Jonathan, you've successfully managed to get yourself banned from ever coming to a race again, good luck salvaging your career after I'm done making sure you never work in sports journalism ever again”

He stormed off straight towards the offices, ready to bribe the entire FIA top brass if it meant protecting you from ever living through that again.

You and George made your way through the paddock and ran into Oscar on the way, who noticed your distress immediately.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Another tear ran down your cheek as you all but threw your arms around him and squeezed him, tears dampening his team polo.

He widened his eyes at George in question, who ran a hand up and down your back soothingly.

“Some dickhead journalist was being a cunt and calling her the paddock whore. Max is sorting it”

“Shit, I'm so sorry baby. That shouldn't have happened”

George hummed in agreement. “One thing's for sure, it won't happen again if Max has anything to say about it”

You sniffled and let Oscar go, straightening yourself out before the next session as the other drivers had to go and get ready.

Qualifying was nerve wracking. It was Monza after all.

Oscar made you stay in the McLaren garage to stop any unwanted attention falling on you.

Him and George came to find you after, at least one of them staying by your side at all times like guard dogs until it was time to go.

You were still a bit shaky as you spotted Max waiting for you by the entrance.

“I've sorted it. That guy won't be coming anywhere near the paddock for at least 5 years, and I've sent a request for a GDPA meeting to discuss the need for extra security for drivers and their guests”

George made an impressed face and Oscar hummed.

“I don't know how to repay you guys for today” you fiddled with the hem of your top as your eyes shifted from one driver to the other until they landed on Max “At least let me do something for you”

Your hand went to Max's chest but he took it and squeezed.

“Absolutely not. That would be taking advantage of you and I refuse to prove that asshole right”

The other two readily agreed.

“You're free to stay in any of our hotel rooms if it will make you feel better, but we’re your friends and our priority is keeping you safe”

You started getting emotional again as you hugged them before swearing you'd be fine on your own and going your separate ways.

You once again ended up staying in the same hotel as the McLaren drivers.

And as you unwinded after your day you started getting a bit stressed out at the idea of something like this happening at every race and before you knew it you found yourself in front of Oscar's hotel room, on the verge of an anxiety attack.

It wasn't Oscar that opened the door however, it was Lando. And he was shirtless.

You stared at him as you tried to collect your thoughts.

“Hey baby, you okay? Oscar told me what happened earlier”

You surged forwards and hugged him, making the man stumble a bit.

He wrapped his arms around you protectively and squeezed while you inhaled the comforting scent of his cologne.

Oscar, wondering who was at the door, came to investigate and awed at the sight of you two cuddling in the doorway.

You looked at him only in his boxers, and were suddenly hit with the realisation.

“Wait, shit. Were you about to fuck before I knocked?”

Oscar laughed and patted you on the back. “Don't worry about us baby, if you need company we're always available for you”

You had to hold back tears as you asked to take a shower, which you did, before climbing into bed in a borrowed shirt, the other two climbing in either side of you.

Oscar turned the light off and you snuggled up to him.

As your beathing synced up with his, your hand wandered over his chest. “You sure you don't want a quick blowjob?”

He snorted and slapped your hand away as Lando cackled behind you. “Absolutely not! Go to sleep and we'll see what happens tomorrow, I'd rather earn it by beating the others on track”

He gave you a quick peck on the cheek before wrapping arm around you.

You fell asleep like that, Oscar drawing patterns on your arm and Lando snoring softly behind you.

***

You woke the next morning completely tangled with another body.

Turns out it was Lando's, and he was shifting around, letting out soft puffs of breath against your forehead.

And you couldn't blame him, you were almost panting yourself, both at how hot you were because of you being plastered against his body, and at the fact that his thigh was between yours and rubbing against your clothed pussy with all his shifting around.

You moaned softly and that seemed to wake him up with a start, eyes darting around until they focused on your face and he realised what was happening.

His hard cock was rutting against your hip and he shuddered when your hand went down to palm him through his boxers.

“Fuck baby, I hope you're feeling as needy as I am right now”

You giggled into his shoulder and nodded, hand slipping into his boxers to thumb at his wet tip.

He quickly stopped you, lest he come too quickly and kissed your forehead before trailing your own hand down your body.

“Touch yourself” he whispered “tell me how wet you are for me”

You slid a finger through your folds and your suspicions were confirmed as it almost slipped right in with how slick you were.

“So fucking wet, Lan” you whispered back, you didn't know if Oscar was still sleeping behind you but you didn't care.

“Shit you're right” Lando’s finger had joined yours “I could slip right in. Can I?”

You nodded and he lazily slid your slick panties out of the way and rubbed himself through your folds a couple of times before pushing in.

It was a tight fit, but he was right, he slid inside with no resistance and he groaned and bottomed out.

“Fuck. Shit. Hell, I'm not going to last long, baby” his voice was tight as he started rocking his hips gently.

You just got wetter as he went deeper and deeper, hooking your leg over his hip to drive into you with more force.

You bit into his shoulder to try and keep your noises at bay but it was useless when Lando used you to chase his pleasure and it didn't take long for him to start whimpering into your skin.

“Can I come inside you, baby, please?”

“Of course, Lan. Come for me, good boy...”

“Fuck” his hips slammed against yours twice more as he filled you up.

You quickly ripped the covers off you and breathed a sigh of relief as the slightly cooler air of sunny Monza hit your over heated skin.

He kissed you sweetly and it almost escalated into more but you heard a chuckle behind you.

Your two heads snapped to Oscar.

The fucker was laying on his side, head propped on his hand as he watched you with a smile.

“Well that was quick” he teased, eyes full of mirth “I'm glad you interrupted us last night if that's the performance I was going to get”

You giggled and Lando huffed “Oh fuck off. If you felt how fucking sweet her pussy is you wouldn’t have lasted either”

“Challenge accepted” Oscar said with glee as he slid towards you and leaned against your back.

“You can go shower while I take care of her” he unhooked your leg from Lando's waist and lifted it as he lined himself up and pushed into you slowly.

Your eyes rolled back at the stretch (because Oscar was slightly thicker than Lando) and the change of angle which made him grind into your g-spot dead on.

Lando rolled his own eyes, crawling out of bed to go and shower, grumbling on the way.

“That's not fair, you've got the better angle you bastard…”

Oscar chuckled and thrusted into you harder, ripping a moan from your throat.

You were about to move to get on top of him but Oscar held you firmly in place.

“No baby, let me do all the work”

He rolled over you and pressed your body into the mattress, his weight comforting on top of you as he jackhammered his hips into you at the perfect angle to make you see stars.

One of his hands squeezed itself in-between your body and the mattress to find your puffy cunt and rubbed calculated circles on your clit.

You came so hard you almost blacked out and you started begging for him to come inside you, knowing that always made him weak in the knees.

“Please Osc, fill me up with your come, make me carry a part of you inside me while you race”

Oscar let out a punched out moan and there's nothing he could do to stop it as he did just that, pumping you full to the brim with his cum as he growled into your shoulder, teeth probably leaving indents on your skin.

Once his brain had stopped melting he landed a sharp slap to your ass.

“That wasn't part of my plan. Fucking witch.”

You laughed as he got off you to go join Lando in the bathroom.

“I know my way around my boys' kinks, what can I say?” you laughed as he flipped you off.

“Yeah, yeah. I want a rematch, tonight if I win. I'm not stopping until you're crying”

Fat chance, you thought.

You giggled and got up to follow him in, also desperately needing a shower.

Well, he didn't win, so you didn't get to see him that evening (though your celebrations weren't anything less than extraordinary, after all, it wasn’t every day that Il Predestinato won at Ferrari's home race).

What you did get however, was a video the next day.

As you lay in bed with Charles, you clicked on the icon curiously and almost spit out the coffee he’d gone and bought in an attempt to nurse your hangovers.

It was from Oscar's point of view, fucking Lando missionary, and the older man was covered, and I mean covered, in what you assumed was his own cum. He was whimpering as Oscar fisted his cock in time with his hips' movements.

“See? I told you I could last longer. Made him come so many times he can't even speak” Oscar growled into the microphone

You (and a curious Charles) watched in silent horror as Lando came again with a sob, completely dry.

It was an unhinged thought, but you secretly hoped Oscar would win the next race, and every single race until the end of time.

[nvirskies]

it's getting hot in here - c. la rue

warnings: reader is like half-naked? just no shirt on is all but reader is wearing a sports bra, nothing sexual just like a tad suggestive?, clarisse is a gay mess, kinda ooc clarisse, i know next to nothing about blacksmithing please hang in there with me, fem reader, no use of y/n, self-conscious reader, not beta read

summary: clarisse goes to pick up a custom order dagger from the forge when she's met with an unexpected sight.

hephaestus!daughter!reader x clarisse la rue

word count: 1.3k

taglist: @lvrue @azrielsdiary @b0ok-lover @star-girl69 @petitegavotte

from this post !

a/n: tbh might make this a multi part thing, at least a second part. also, so sorry this took so long to finish- i got sidetracked with a couple other things irl. hope you enjoy! men, nsfw, non-sapphics, 16- / 19+ dni

It was no secret the kids of Cabin 9 ran a side business to make some extra cash. It was pretty lucrative, given that there would always be a line of demigods waiting to have their weapon(s) of choice customized. Custom engravings, patterns cast into handles, ergonomic handpiece add-ons, and so much more. Name it, and it would be done for the right price, forged with impeccable quality.

And that was how Clarisse La Rue found herself heading to the forge just east of the strawberry fields with a thin paper in one hand and a small bag of golden drachmas in the other. The edges of the slip were just barely singed, and the writing on it looked nearly incomprehensible to many eyes, scribbled notes of her order confirmation and gods only knew what else. It didn’t matter to her, she just needed it to get her dagger and go.

Crowds parted for her like the Red Sea, once-lively conversations coming to a grinding halt as she walked straight through crowds and groups with nothing more than a glare and a sharp look in any general direction. 

In no time at all, the familiar sounds of machinery clanking, fire hissing and crackling, and hammers striking metal filled the air. It was the forge, the singular place where one could guarantee there would be at least one child of Hephaestus in there at all hours of the day. 

She pushed open the heavy metal door, swinging it wide open soundlessly despite its obvious weight. And what a sight she was greeted with. You were there alone, hunched over a piece of blisteringly hot metal, pounding away at it with a hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other.

Something about you entranced her. 

She didn’t know if it was the way your hair was pulled into a low ponytail, some loose strands clinging to the sides of your face, the way you subconsciously bit your lip as you focused completely on the red-hot metal in front of you. Or perhaps, it was the way your muscles rippled in the dim firelight as you struck the metal again and again, a thin sheen of sweat covering the exposed portions of your skin from both the heat and the exertion. 

Maybe it was a combination or something else entirely. 

As she gazed at you, a light blush dusted her cheeks as she came to the realization that you weren’t wearing much while working. The heat of the forge had led you to forgo wearing a shirt entirely, said shirt reduced to a tiny, crumpled gray bundle of fabric in the corner of the room. You were left wearing a sports bra, dusted with ash and soot and a pair of baggy sweatpants resting just above your hips.

It wasn’t as if Clarisse had never seen people dressed in less before. Hell, she’d seen her own fair amount of skin for various reasons. But this time, it seemed different. The slip of paper and bag of coins in her hands were forgotten momentarily as she simply stared at you from the doorway.

The way the dim light of the roaring furnace illuminated you from behind gave you an almost ethereal glow, the edges of the flames flickering around your moving silhouette. 

She could see the muscles in your arm and shoulder tensing and relaxing with every ever-so-precise swing of the hammer, and she found herself silently watching you work from the doorway. 

Ultimately, it was the soft clinking coming from the bag of drachmas Clarisse held in her hand that drew your attention away from the project in front of you. Your head snapped up, tense and a tad startled from the sudden sound, having been so zoned into your work that you hadn’t noticed her presence. 

The hammer in your hand dropped to the metal workbench with a loud clang, the sound reverberating throughout the forge, ripping Clarisse from the glossed-over, hazy look in her eyes as she watched you move just moments ago, having been completely and utterly under your spell.

“Shit-!” you exclaimed, jumping slightly and wincing at the harsh sound, eyes widening further as you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed far too casual compared to how she normally treated campers, especially given her outward distaste towards children of Hephaestus. 

And all of a sudden, you’re all too aware of your lack of a shirt and your cheeks flare with an embarrassed bright red flush.

Flushed the same color as the heated metal in front of you, Clarisse noted absentmindedly. It wasn’t a look she didn’t like. But of course, she would never admit that. The big, bad Clarisse La Rue flustered over something as insignificant as muscles on a girl? Impossible.

Her attention is drawn back to you, observing as you scurry to the other side of the room to grab your stashed-away shirt, slipping the loose grey fabric over your body, any and all views of the muscles she had seen just moments prior completely disappearing in a matter of seconds.

After having taken a few calming breaths, you steeled yourself for a barrage of snarky remarks that you were sure would come spewing out of the Ares cabin counselor’s mouth like acid out of the myrmeke’s mouths, but they never came.

Instead, you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed to be a bit flustered? Her eyes didn’t meet yours for a moment before she straightened herself out. Before your very eyes, you watched her cool and collected facade slip over her like a mask, and that trademark smirk of hers tugged at the corners of her lips.

“I’m here to pick up an order, under my name,” she remarks, holding up the bag of drachmas and thin slip of paper in an outstretched hand. Her gaze seemed like it was scrutinizing everything about your appearance from the baggy grey shirt that hung loosely over your frame to the soot just barely smudged on your forehead. Whether it was a good or bad look you had no idea, subconsciously shrinking into the shadows of the dimly lit forge.

“Right, right, La Rue…” you trail off nervously, scanning the room for the rack that held completed orders and leafing through the tags attached to each object. “La Rue, La Rue, La Rue, where is it-?” you muse to yourself, repeating her last name in a hushed tone until the sight of it comes into view. The dagger she had ordered was at the edge of the table, with the request for a heavyweight handle and an etching of her initials into the butt of it.

Normally, Clarisse would have found your behavior annoying if it were coming from anyone else, but oddly enough, she quite liked the way her last name rolled off your tongue. It felt almost natural, too natural. Quickly, she brushed away the lingering thoughts about how you had looked almost god-like with the flame from the roaring furnace glowing behind you, the thoughts of what your skin would feel like under her hands. 

After a beat of silence, you grabbed said dagger, placed a little ball of clay over its razor-sharp tip, and slipped it into a small drawstring bag, pulling it closed. 

“That’ll be five golden drachmas, La Rue, or fifteen silver ones. Whatever works for you” you say as you hand her the bag, other hand outstretched for the paper she held and to take the coins. She dropped the five golden coins in your palm and grabbed the bag to turn on her heel and walk out without another word.

Or so you thought.

“Thanks for the weapon. I’ll see you around, pretty girl.”

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Training Session

luke castellan x reader

A/N: had a cutie little request for this so i hope it delivers everything you wanted

WARNINGS: SMUT!, semi-public sex, knife kink, jealous luke, getting caught (oopsie)

WORD COUNT: 1,073 words

“You know, anyone in this camp would be bloody grateful to train with me.” Luke says as he shoves you to the ground with his shield after you cursed him out for about the fifth time during the sparring session.

“You’re an arrogant dickhead.” You snap at him as you pull yourself back to your feet.

“It isn’t arrogance if it’s backed up.” He states as he swings at you, barely giving you a chance to block the attack at your throat.

“Gods, Luke. You nearly took my head off!”

“I didn’t though, did I?” He continues on the offence before you see your chance and swipe at his feet. It was a good move but you don’t make any contact. “Finally.” He murmurs. “This was starting to get pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” You scoff, your anger rising. “If I had a dagger in my hands, you’d be dead in seconds.”

“At least I can handle a dagger. You look like a clumsy toddler wielding that sword.” He laughs, attacking you again and knocking the steel from your hands.

Was he just toying with you?

“I don’t know why I even put up with your shit.” You start to reach down for your sword, planning to collect your things and leave before you’re stopped by the feeling of the sharpest part of his blade against your throat.

“Training with me makes you better.” He says assuredly as he lifts your head with the tip of his sword until you’re standing straight. You don’t think he would cut you… but he might.

“I could also train with another man to make myself better.” You say snarkily.

His eyes darken and he grabs your arm to pull you closer to him, his sword is still held to your neck like he might slit it. “You won’t. No other guy can do what I can.”

“I could always try one out.” You say, sensing the possession in his voice.

“I won’t let you.” He growls.

“What are you going to do to stop me?”

Silence for 1… 2… 3 seconds and then his lips are smashed against yours. He carelessly tosses his sword to the side. It doesn’t matter nearly as much as what he is going to do to you right now.

“Luke,” You murmur as you pull away. “Someone is gonna see.”

He smirks. “You must really wanna kiss me if all you’re worried about is privacy. Besides, everyone is at dinner by now.” His lips chase yours as he tries to pull you in for another kiss.

“And we should be at dinner too.” You protest.

“No, we should be laying you down on the bench and getting out all this pent up tension.”

You have to admit that his strength from before was turning you on. What girl doesn’t like to be pinned down with a sword pressed to her throat… and another one pressed to her thigh.

“Someone will catch us.”

“Not if you’re extra quiet.” He keeps pecking tantalizing kisses to your lips that distract you as he lies you down on the bench.

“I swear to the gods, if someone sees us, i’ll kill you.” You murmur as he pulls off your pants.

“As is your right.” He smirks as he pulls down your panties, eyes zeroed in on your sticky sweet cunt. “Can I?” He asks, looking into your eyes eagerly and you nod.

Your cheeks flush at the way he eats you out. You can feel the absolute yearning in his tongue as your fingers thread through his curly locks.

“Good girl, baby.” He murmurs against your pussy as you try to keep the whining mewls from falling from your lips.

You know you have to be quiet but you’ve never felt such pleasure in your life. You end up biting down on your tongue when you hit your peak so you barely let out a sound.

“Fuck, you taste so perfect.”

 He moves back up to kiss you, looking ever so pleased with himself as he palms at your tits. You feel him pressing against your thigh once again.

“Let me fuck you now?” It’s phrased as a question but you hear the dominance in his voice.

“Hmm… I guess so.” You say playfully, as if you don’t need him so achingly.

“You think so? I’ll have you begging by the end of this.” Luke says and you feel his cock sliding through your wetness, collecting it as lubricant. 

It doesn’t even sting when he pushes into you, not with how desperately you want for him. He looks into your eyes again, gaging how you’re doing before he begins to thrust. You feel as if you’re being sent to heaven and back with each movement.

“You think another guy could fuck you this good?” He says as he starts to pound into you.

“No, Luke.” You whine with each slam of his hips.

“No man will ever train or take care of you as well as I can. I’ll kill the bastard who thinks he can match me.” He fucks into you so hard that you start seeing stars. “Say it. Say no man compares to me.” He commands.

“No guy compares, Luke… there’s only you.”

You squirm a little as he lifts one of your legs to hook over his shoulder. You aren’t sure if you can handle how much deeper he gets in the new position. His hand slips up your shirt now so he can feel your skin on his and the look on his face is angelic. Mortals compare beautiful men to Greek Gods all the time but Luke doesn’t look like just any half-blood; he truly does look like a god. You swear that if you saw Eros in person, he would be imaged after Luke himself.

“Mmm i’m gonna cum.” You breathe out.

“I know, baby. You can cum.” He coos, giving you the last thrusts you need before you’re squeezing around him. The pressure alone is enough to cause him to spill himself inside of you. “You did so well, princess, so well.”

He presses one more soft kiss to your lips before helping you to get dressed, whispering kind words into your ear as he does. All would have been fine and well… If Luke had a chance to pull his jeans back up before Percy walked around the corner.

“Hey guys, everyone is wondering whe- oh what the fuck.”

taglists (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi @ravenclawprincess33

Luke Castellan: @amortencjja @urmomsbananabread @kissingyourgrl @vikimontethegirlblogger @maryann2013 @stark-head @remussbitch @ever8ea @batmandabest @jennapancake @junos-web @tanifsblog @stupidtween  @10ava01

[giuliettagaltieri]

One of Them

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Lovesick!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Rafe, middle name: SIMP, Cameron, at your service

Warning: None

Word Count: 1196

Ficlet from Lovesick Little Thing

As young men of Outer Banks are to inherit the family names of their fathers, to become the sole proprietor of their multi-million businesses, possibly run for office, to someday become the leaders and catalyst of change, they made sure to become acquainted with each other and to never fail to attend the meeting they hold in a random house they elect every first Friday night of the month.  And there was only one single rule that none of them can ever break.  No girls allowed.

It started with their fear of cooties, and then their fear of hormonal mood swings of budding women, and none of them got over it as they grew older.  It was the leader of the pack, Rafe Cameron, who came up with the stupid idea.  He was so strict with it that he threatened to kick out anyone who tries to bring a chick to these meetings. 

They were to wear formal clothing, completed with ties, polished shoes, and crisp suits like the fine gentlemen that they are.  Anybody who fails to come in the expected outfit shall be refused a seat at the table.

Imagine the look of surprise when they arrive in Tanneyhill with you sleeping snugly, cuddling with Rafe, who is dressed in linen pants and opened button down shirt, with his bare feet visible for everybody to see!

They all halted their steps.  Eyes wide and questioning as they look at you and then at Rafe and is that a plushie tucked under his arm?

All of them stood by the doorway, some struggling to stick their heads in to see what’s holding everybody up. 

“Is the monthly meeting canceled?”  Somebody asks and Rafe rolls his eyes.

“You guys coming in or what?”  Rafe snaps, making you stir in your sleep but Rafe puts a hand behind your head to let you rest against his arm again.  You hook a leg over his and as soon as you’re knocked out, Rafe turns to the huddled men over the doorway.  If it isn’t for Topper, nobody would have dared to cross the threshold.

It was uncomfortable for them.  There was music playing but they didn’t have the usual Vivaldi and Paganini that boomed around the room.  It was some stupid lullaby that Kelce played, because Rafe would have their heads rolling if they dared to disturb your sleep.

They weren’t used to the usual hushed way of talking but Rafe glared daggers at anyone who wasn’t whispering.  Nobody played billiards or cards in fear that they might get too excited and wake you up.

But like a good host, Rafe let them drink Tanneyhill’s stash of alcohol. 

Problem was he made Topper and Kelce the fucking baristas.  No more than two crystal glasses of the vintage liquor.

When you finally stirred awake, they were relieved, finally they could get the party started.

Or so they thought.

You were suddenly craving fries and sundae.

Rafe had to go. 

Of course, you felt bad, and even insisted that you go alone.  His guests nodded at Rafe, hoping he’ll listen.  As much of an asshole Rafe is, they didn’t feel like partying without him.

But everything you say goes over his head as he gathers his keys and wallet.

You were still talking when he put a hand on the small of your back, you were looking at his guests apologetically and the jackass didn’t even spare them a glance.

“What an asshole.”  Somebody in the crowd murmurs sadly and all of them nod in agreement, the dampened mood worsening.  “I even brought his favorite cigar.”

Kelce glances at Topper and they sigh in unison.  They’ll have to excuse Rafe.  He has been without your attention for a while, he just had to hog you for himself.

“Rafe, that wasn’t so nice.  You are hosting the party, you should stay behind.”  You refuse to get inside his car and he looks at you blankly while he keeps the door open for you.  “I can go to the diner by myself.”

Rafe rolls his eyes and before you can say anything else, he is lifting you up on the passenger seat.  You talk his ear off, lecturing him as he works on fastening your seatbelt for you.

“You will leave a bad impression.”  You fume, cheeks slightly bubbled, and he sighs, bowing his head before glancing at you, his corded arms are gripping the sides of your seat, trapping you in.  The atmosphere suddenly grew thick, making your voice die in your throat.

Gulping, you shut your mouth and averted his gaze.

“You done?”  He spoke lowly.

Not able to find your voice, you just nodded at him, eyes busy studying the gems on your watch.  Rafe nods back and heads over to the driver’s seat.  He looks at you one last time before revving up the car, roaring the engine just the way you hated before speeding off.

You weren’t talking to him and Rafe decides to leave you for now.  But he does place a warm hand over your knee to let you know he’s willing to talk as soon as you are.

The trees are getting pretty boring, so are the enormous mansions in your neighborhood.

“Should we get them burgers?”  You spoke softly, nimble hands playing with the seatbelt.  You eye his pretty hands and reach for it but he had to move the gear shift.  A pout formed on your lips but Rafe places his hand on your bare thigh now.  His grip makes your heart beat uncontrollably.

“If you want, baby.”  He says while he rides his hands upwards. 

His hands were getting dangerously close to your heat that you had to clear your throat.  Rafe grins and lowers his hand back to your midthigh.  He doesn’t make a comment when he hears you breathe out a sigh of relief.

The downturned faces of Rafe’s guests brighten up at the sight of you and the bags and bags and bags of burgers you insisted on carrying just for them. 

Rafe saunters behind you, face passive as he twirls his keys on his finger.  Rafe’s eyes are trailed on the back of your thighs as you pass around the burgers to the now grinning men.

They didn’t like your intrusion at first but you got Rafe wrapped around your finger and they can for sure use that to their advantage.

“Oh man, I’d love to have something sweet after this.”  Somebody sighs as he looks at his burger.  You perk up at that.

“Should I get Rafe to order dessert for all of us?”  You wonder out loud, a chorus of cheers echoes around the room and Kelce taps Rafe’s shoulders in sympathy as the latter groans but fishes his phone out of his pocket anyway.

Topper swings an arm over Rafe’s shoulder.  “Yeah, you definitely should, Y/N.  Tell him to get us those overpriced cookies they sell on the other side of the island.”

Rafe accidentally jabs an elbow on Topper’s rib but as soon as you heard, your eyes lit up and Rafe knew he just had to do it.

“Anything for my girl.”

Lovesick Little Thing • Coming Soon

[cameronspecial]

cpuld u do an angst to happy ending with rafe where like there could be a bet that he dates the reader kind of like the plot of ‘after’ if youve seen or read it and when she finds out shes like “youre breaking my heart” like that scene from padme and anakin but it ends up happy? MEERY CHRISTMASSS

You're Breaking My Heart

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.8K

A/N: Merry Christmas to you too! I'm so sorry this is late.

Masterlist

Y/N should’ve known he was going to break her heart. He isn’t meant to be in a relationship; he isn’t one to be tied down. What she heard just proved it. “I bet that I can have her wanting me by the end of the year,” he says in the video coming from her phone. It was sent from an unknown number to her and Rafe, yet it doesn’t matter because the damage is already done. The front door opens and he comes through the door with the takeout he went to get. His grin is wide as he looks at her, setting the bag on the table. He notices her sombre mood and hurries to her side. “What happened?” he asks, holding her face between his hands. She steps out of his grasp and escapes his touch every time he tries to approach. “Baby, what’s wrong?” he repeats. She lets her tears brim at the corner of her eyes, refusing to look at him. “Tell me what happened!” Having enough of his questioning, she whips towards him with anger. “You’re breaking my heart. That’s what’s wrong,” she yells, staring daggers at him. His frustration grows as he tugs at the end of his hair, “What are you talking about? What did I do, Baby?” She shoves his phone into his chest. “You went down a path I never thought you would. You are a liar and a cheat and I hope I never see you again,” she mumbles, picking up her purse and storming out. 

His phone screen lights up and he sees a text notification. He opens the video attached, not needing to see more than a second of it to know what it is. It’s a video of the night he said something he never should’ve said because now, it ruined the best thing he ever had. 

———

The tears haven’t stopped pouring in hours and she doesn’t know how to stop it. The knock at the door pulls her from her bed cocoon. She pads towards the door and swings it open, immediately trying to close it when she sees who it is. His strong hand stops her and he pushes his way in. “I don’t want you here,” she sniffles, turning away so he can’t see her vulnerable state. His heart aches at her pain, “I know, but we need to talk.” 

“I don’t want to talk to a liar and to someone who doesn’t even love me.” 

By now, he has cornered her against the wall and she has to crane her neck to look at him. His fist slams against the wall, “Don’t say that.” He takes a deep breath when he sees her small jump in fear. He brings his hand up to place on her cheek but second-guesses himself at the memory of her removing herself from his hold. The new tears that begin to crop up make him hate himself even more. He runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sorry. Can we please just talk?” “Okay,” she mumbles, a little afraid of what he may do. Although, deep down, she knows he would never hurt her. She holds her hand up with her palm up for him to begin. He takes a step back and lets out a breath. “I do love you. And I know I should say the bet was a mistake, except it wasn’t,” he begins. She chuckles, “That is a horrible way to begin.” He rests his warm hand on her cheek. “Because without it, then I wouldn’t have been able to get to know how amazing you are. And that is a thought that kills me,” he states, drawing a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Why would it kill you?” she mutters, letting her heart lead the conversation. He lowers his face closer to her, “Because you are the only thing in my life that has ever made me feel alive. I will understand if you can never forgive me and I will forever be sorry for the pain this bet has caused, but I will never be sorry for making it because it gave me my time with you.” Her heart tells her to jump into his arms and forgive him, yet her brain tells her to slow down. Sweet words don’t mean all is alright. So, she settles for something in between. She holds him above his elbows and looks into his eyes. “If you really feel that way, then I guess we can try again,” she offers. The excitement he shows is cut short by her continuation. “However, you have a lot to do to gain back my trust and we can’t pretend you never hurt me.” He nods like a madman, “I’m fine with that. I would rather have to walk on broken glass without you if it leads me to your trust than to lose you forever.” She wraps her arms around her waist, bringing him down for a kiss. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[delaber]

To Let You Win (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: a sparring match between you and your best friend turns into something you’ve both been keeping under the surface when he refuses to let you lose the game

Words: 2K

Flufffffff 💖 (with a squint towards a smuttier theme hehe)

"Holy fuck it's hot in here," Bucky wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and resumes the fighting stance he'd been occupying before exclaiming that he was sweating balls.

"Alright," you laugh and flip the makeshift knife in your hand, "just tell me if you need a break to regain your strength, old man."

"Oh doll, I don't need a break," he grins and threateningly takes a step towards you without blinking, "I can take you with both arms tied behind my back."

There it is again...

One of those ill-timed comments that you try and laugh away in a poor attempt at hiding just exactly how bad they make your stomach churn and the back of your neck prickle.

Pretending that you do not have a major crush on the man standing in front of you has become full of feeble attempts, and to avoid embarrassing yourself, you settle on an equally threatening "I'd like to see you try," accompanied by a playful smile that you cannot hold back no matter how much you try to.

He winks at you before he, without warning, lurches forwards, swinging his fake dagger mere inches from your chest.

He's quick, but you're quicker, and while he's focusing on touching one of the spots you in unison decided would be considered a kill-zone, you jump as high as you can while wrapping your legs around his hips.

Immediately thrown off balance, he falls backwards and lands on the white felt floor with a dull thud followed by a grunt as your weight lands on top of him.

Before he can even move, you've pinned him to the floor with a knee placed on each side of his torso.

"Surrender?" you grin and lean forwards as you press your wooden weapon to his bopping Adam's apple.

"Okay, you got me," he laughs and raises his hands above his head to capitulate.

You know that he can easily flip the two of you around and turn his fake demise to his own advantage; place his entire weight between your legs as his thick thighs glue your hips to the spot, ready to devour you as he sinks his teeth into your neck, filling up the empty hole inside you that's constantly begging for his touch.

God, he smells amazing!

"Sweetheart," he chuckles from far away and you realise you've done it again; become lost as you daydream about your best friend fucking you into oblivion.

"Not that I'm not enjoying this," he places both hands on your hips and gently pushes you back with a stomach-flipping grunt, "- but my back is killing me, and I really need to change out of this shirt."

Your gaze falls to the hand you have carefully placed on top of his sternum, suddenly aware of the wet stains of his t-shirt and the heavy heartbeat drumming below your fingers.

"Of course," you immediately pocket your fake knife and release the grip you have on him as you stand up. "Sorry," you mumble, embarrassed by yourself and your inability to play it cool whenever you're around him.

"No worries," he winks at you from the side of the ring and reaches behind his head, grabbing the fabric of his t-shirt and pulling it off with one swift movement.

You've seen him shirtless countless of times before, but it never ceases to amaze you just how good he looks. He has angry scars extending from his waistline, zig-zagging and digging into the skin lining his entire stomach and chest, reaching all the way up to the torn flesh of his shoulder and it makes him look so fucking beautiful. You know he hates the bare-chested sight of himself in the mirror, but you doubt there could ever be a single facet of Bucky Barnes that you would not love.

"You've been working on your takedown," he eyes you impressively, either ignoring your obvious stare, or choosing not to believe that you actually like him shirtless. "I can't wait to see you break Sam's back with that move," he chuckles, "I love when he's having his ass handed to him."

"I highly doubt that'll happen seeing as Sam doesn't let me win," you mock Bucky while adjusting the strip of cloth that is wrapped tightly around your knuckles. "He actually fights back when he's down."

"Come on, you had a knife pressed to my throat!" Bucky chuckles but you merely raise your eyebrow at him, well-aware that he stopped fighting for the sake of your keeping your confidence intact and not because you'd beat him.

"Okay, okay," he laughs at your dead-pan expression, "maybe I let you win a little. I want it to be fun for you too - so sue me."

"Buck, we're supposed to be training," you sigh, holding your hands out to the side, "how am I ever gonna get better if you won't give me a fair fight?"

"Sweetheart," he licks his lips and squints as he considers how to put his next words in the most delicate way possible. "I bench press more than you weigh... It's never gonna be a fair fight."

"Well if I don't get to practise on you, how do you reckon it'll go when I'm up against a guy your size for real?"

"A guy my size with seventy years of combat training and serum running through his veins? Sure, that's likely to happen..."

You ignore him. "Get down on your back and continue fighting me like you normally would."

He crosses his bulky arms over his chest while arching his eyebrow.

"I'm serious!”

"I don’t care," he shakes his head, “I’m not doing it.”

"Well if you don't, you can consider this our last training session."

"Come on - this is ridiculous!"

"Lie down, same as before."

"You've got to be kidding me," he mumbles under his breath as he rolls his eyes but he still ends up doing as you say. "Happy?" He defiantly throws his arms out to the side when he's once again lying with his back against the white felt.

"Can't say that I'm not enjoying this more obedient side to you," you laugh and sink down on top of him, straddling his chest again, "didn’t think you had it in you - where do you normally keep it?"

"Shut up."

"Then fight me."

"I'm not gonna fight you," he shakes his head.

"Bucky, do me like you normally would!"

His grin broadens in a boyish smile as his hand twitches near your thigh. "Really?" he laughs while licking his lips, mockingly slipping his eyes down to your chest and back up again. "You want me to do you like I normally would?" He winks.

Another stomach flip… You have to suppress a gulp.

"Shut up," you chuckle and lightly smack his arm to get his mind out of the gutter. "You know what I mean."

"Sweetheart," he sighs with serious eyes, his smile still perfectly in place, "- are you sure you really wanna do this?"

Now it's your turn to roll your eyes. "Yes, Barnes..."

"Alright - just remember that you asked for it," he shrugs before he quickly grabs your hips and shifts the position around.

You don't even get to yelp - you barely have time to register what the hell just happened before you're lying on your back with Bucky's lower half pressed to yours, trapping you in place.

His dog tags are dangling in the air between you and you can feel the heat radiating from off his bare chest that is panting enticingly right before your eyes.

"Now, are you happy?" He asks and makes a point of his statement by pressing himself closer to your body, so you're completely sandwiched between him and the floor with no means of escaping.

"Goddammit!"

To further underline his superiority, he pins your wrists together and forces them above your head, holding you steady with one hand only.

"Surrender?" He asks in the same mocking tone of voice you used before, his plump and grinning lips suddenly mere inches from yours.

You can feel your entire body stretching below his, how he drives his hips into yours to keep you in place.

"Fuck," you mumble in frustration and start wriggling your hips to try and get free. "Bucky!" You groan to get him to release you, but even you can hear how your struggling sounds come out almost moan-like, and you see how the smile on his face is suddenly replaced with small, almost inaudible gasps.

Immediately, you stop moving, suddenly aware of the excitement growing tight in his pants while the rest of his body is completely frozen above you.

"Sorry..." you gulp as you slowly look up at him, finding the panicked blue that is half-hidden behind long chestnut strands falling sinfully over his eyes.

You've never been in this position before; on rare occasions you have cuddled long into the night, arms and legs entangled on his bedsheets to the tune of a long-forgotten movie playing in the background - but this? This is different. It's not cute and cuddly.

The look in Bucky's eyes has shifted in a heartbeat, and it's not teasing anymore. It's raw. It's passionate. And when he quickly shifts his gaze down to your mouth and up again, you give in to what you've been wanting to do for months now.

Without thinking, you strain your neck upwards touching the side of his nose with yours, placing a soft kiss on his lips for the first time ever.

He's perplexed - still completely frozen - but when you let go of his mouth shortly after, he wrinkles his brows in silent frustration.

He's panting hard, digging his lower half into you as he looks at you with a fire ignited in his eyes you've never seen before.

You put your hand on his neck, pulling him down towards you, throwing your pillow-soft kisses out the window by placing your thumb on his chin, slipping your tongue inside his open mouth while you move your pelvis rhythmically against his.

"Sweetheart," he whispers with swollen and wet lips as he slightly pulls away. He's breathing hard but his entire body is heavy and relaxed as he looks down at you with lust written all over his warm face - and you choose that exact moment to attack.

Quickly, you wrap your legs around his body as you flip the two of you around so you're finally sitting on top of him again.

"What are you doing?" he pants, confused about your sudden movements.

"Winning," you whisper back with a grin.

It takes him a minute to register your words and set them in connection with the conversation you'd had just before your friendship had passed the point of no return, but when he does, he throws his head back with a frustrating grunt at your dirty trick.

"Not cool," he shakes his head with a chuckle, half-amused, half-annoyed. "Not cool at all. You had me all excited," he groans and puts his hands on your hips, pressing you down on his hard erection.

"Tell me I'm winning," you chuckle as you run your fingers down his chest, suggestively arching your back while he's turning into a mess beneath you.

"Fuck," he groans and rubs circles over your thighs as his erection grows a little harder. "You better not be doing this to the guys you fight in the field."

You put your hand atop of his sternum and slowly start rocking your hips back and forth against him, arching your back while rubbing yourself along the tight bulge underneath you. "Tell me I'm winning."

"You win! You win!" he pants and traces his fingers down your throat and cleavage, laying his palms flat over your stomach as he angles his hips upwards. "Just... don't stop. Don't stop."

"Kiss me, Bucky," you whisper and pull on his dog tags so he can only inch closer to your craving lips.

"Oh doll, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this!" he groans sensually with pink cheeks as he finally reclaims your mouth.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Guilt

Character: Mob!Bucky x Police!Female Reader

Summary: "Of all the women in the world, does she have to be a cop?" Bucky, a gangster, fell in love at first sight with a policewoman.

At the golf course, two outstanding men in the mob world are playing golf together to have a quiet time, to forget the worst day at the club they owned.

Steve, the second person in charge, still feels frustrated, while Bucky, the leader, is the only one enjoying the game.

"Of all the women in the world, does she have to be a cop?" Steve, his childhood friend, asked as he watched Bucky hit the golf ball.

Bucky clenched his fist in frustration as he made the shot. Turning to Steve, he replied, "I can't help it. She just took my breath away the first time I saw her."

Steve sighed, recalling the first encounter between Bucky and the policewoman when their club was unexpectedly visited by the narcotics police force.

Steve sighed, "She's known as a scary person, even among her colleagues," he said, relaying what he had learned from his connections.

"And from what happened last night, I feel like she holds a big grudge against people like us," Steve continued, reflecting on the recent events. Most of the cops he knew turned a blind eye to their business dealings, never getting involved with drugs.

Bucky remembered how composed you had been last night, effortlessly throwing punches and giving orders to make arrests. He even recalled the moment you pushed him to the ground and handcuffed him.

At that instant, he knew you were different from other women.

Bucky took another swing at the golf ball, causing it to fly too far. With a smile, he declared, "I will make her mine."

Steve sighed deeply, realizing that once Bucky had made up his mind, no one could stop him.

As Bucky began his courtship, he tried various approaches to get closer to you:

1. He sent you flowers with cryptic notes, hinting at his admiration and interest.

2. Bucky strategically positioned himself at events where you were present, making sure to catch your eye without being too obvious.

3. He orchestrated chance encounters, bumping into you at coffee shops or restaurants, always ready with a charming smile and a casual conversation starter.

4. He even went as far as anonymously sending you a gifts or helpful tips related to your work, trying to show his support and understanding of your profession.

But you didn't give any reaction; you consistently ignored him.

Bucky didn't mind your game of "playing hard to get." He was confident that in the end, you couldn't resist him.

However, his confidence wavered when you finally spoke to him, your words cutting through the air like icy daggers. "In 2022, Bobby Smith died because of a gunshot. He was my fiancé."

Bucky's face drained of color, his body going rigid with shock. The revelation hit him like a sledgehammer, the weight of guilt crashing down upon him. His mind raced as he realized the implication: Bobby Smith's death was because of him.

After the revelation, would Bucky give up his pursuit, or would he persist despite the overwhelming guilt?

[fandoms-writings]

Little Shadow

Pairing: Halsin x Half-Elf!Reader (fem intended)

Word Count: 6.9K (oops)

Summary: You can always count on Halsin to heal the group when needed, going out of his way to make sure you're in the best care. And he's always been a flirt, but that's all it is, right?

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY, mentions of injuries, blood, bruises (they're adventurers they're gonna get hurt sometimes), p in v, fingering, oral (fem receiving), mentions of Halsin having the potential to shift during sexual acts (iykyk)

A/N: thank you so so much to @banana-cheese-cake for beta reading for me and letting me talk about this so much ❤️ Also Happy Easter to those who celebrate ❤️

Halsin had always been impressed with the way you fought, the way you trained. You were so meticulous in the tiny details, the things no one else in your little band of misfits would notice. But it was those details that kept you alive, kept you the least harmed of your entire camp. Most of the time. 

The way you danced with your blade was unlike anything he'd ever seen before - and he'd been around for a couple centuries, so he'd seen his fair share of sword wielders and dagger throwers and magic casters. But you - you moved with such fluidity and lethal steadiness in your swings. 

The strength he'd seen in you while traveling with you these past weeks was something he marveled at. Especially with how young you were. 

You'd never told him directly, but from what he could gather, you were a half elf, which meant you had at least another century before you started to appear "aged" as the humans called it. That also meant that you had unbounded potential to grow in your skills. Though, he wasn't sure how much more you could learn. 

There was a rustle in the woods next to the camp, pulling him from his thoughts of you as he looked up. You'd gone out this morning with Karlach, Astarion, and Shadowheart to scout and clear the roads to move your camp closer to the city, so he figured you were finally returning. But you were making so much noise. You were usually quiet on your return to not startle those who stayed behind or attract any unwanted attention. 

As you barreled through the brush, Shadowheart limply hanging between you and Astarion and Karlach protecting your backs, Halsin's heart plummeted. 

You were covered in blood and your knees were shaking as the two of you dragged Shadowheart through the camp. Halsin ran for you, coming to a stop in front of you and taking the girl from your and Astarion's arms. 

He took Shadowheart to her tent, laying her down and beginning to heal what wounds he could see. You'd followed him, though he could sense the exhaustion pulling your body down as your feet stumbled after him. He watched as you began removing her armor, tugging the pieces off of her with shaky hands. 

He'd never seen your hands shake. He'd never seen you so calmly distraught. 

"What happened?" He asked, moving to a wound in the girl's abdomen. A gnarly gouge, likely from a hook horror or a gnoll. Shadowheart's body shifted as you tugged her boots off, throwing them in the pile of armor in the corner. 

"Gnolls," Your response was clipped, as usual, eyes locked onto the several cuts and gashes along your friend's skin. "I tried to protect her, but there were too many." He tried to show his surprise at the continued explanation. You usually stuck to one or two word answers around him, no matter how hard he tried to get more. "We almost didn't make it out with her." 

He hummed in response, watching as the wound stitched itself back together, the discoloration beginning to leave her skin. Once all of Shadowheart's armor was removed, you stood, mumbling about how you'd return quickly and you left. 

You were back only seconds later with a rag and a bucket, and you began cleaning the blood from your companions skin in the areas he's already healed. 

The two of you worked in silence until you were sure he'd healed every little scratch on Shadowheart before you both walked out of her tent, allowing her to rest until she woke on her own. You sighed and rolled your neck, your shoulders drooping as if you had weights tied to your arms pulling them down. 

"Are you injured?" Halsin asked, stepping toward you, but keeping his hands to himself. Through all the blood on you, he couldn't tell if any of it was yours, and if it was, where it came from. 

"I'll be fine, go help Astarion and Karlach," You demanded, your eyes looking past him at the setting sun. 

He moved to argue that you also needed attending to when you held up your hand, pushing it into his chest and giving him a weak shove. 

"Halsin," You whispered his name and his mind froze as you looked up at him, "Please." 

He let loose a breath before dipping his chin in a nod. The corner of your lips twitched up before falling back into a hard line. 

"Thank you." He watched as you turned from him, heading for your own tent as you began undoing the buckles of your leather armor, preparing to remove it. 

He'd do as you asked - he would go check on the others, make sure they were alright. Then, he'd check on you. He'd even have Astarion hold you down so he could heal you if he needed to. 

~~~

You huffed as you dropped your bloodied leather armor on the bank of the river near camp, kneeling down with a grunt as you began rinsing the blood from your clothing. The water of the river began to darken, reddening as you held your shirt in the stream, attempting to push out the blood before it dried. You were still covered in it, but armor was never cheap, and you weren't one to parade around in bloodied clothes any longer than necessary. 

Once you were satisfied with how clean you were able to get your clothes, you hung them on a tree branch hanging over the embankment to dry before removing your undergarments. The blood had soaked through to those as well. When they were hung next to your armor, you stepped into the river, hissing as the cold water bit at your ankles. 

It was a rather deep river, the water coming up to the bottom of your ribs once you reached the middle. You tried to scrub as you went, watching as it flaked off your skin and disappeared into the stream, revealing injuries you hadn't dared to acknowledge until now. 

There were gashes on your legs and arms, bruises littering your body, more coming to light as you scrubbed the blood and mud away. 

"Will you allow me to heal you now?" Halsin's voice sounded from behind you and you fought against the embarrassment of him catching you naked in the river as you folded your arms over your breasts. 

"I'm fine," you looked over your shoulder at him, the worry evident in his eyes as he stopped right at the water's edge. 

"You're bleeding."  

"I said I'm fine." You growled out, watching as his lips pressed into a hard line and he squatted down, picking up a twig to fiddle with as he looked at you.

"Why won't you let me help?" 

"Because I didn't ask you for it." You scowled, turning away from him and lowering yourself into the stream, holding in the hiss as the water rushed by, cleaning the cuts and scrapes along your arms. Before he could respond, you dunked your head, letting the cold water run through your hair, the current pulling as much of the blood and dirt out as it could without you scrubbing it. 

When you emerged, wiping the water from your face, Halsin had moved. 

He was maybe two feet from you, standing in the river still clothed, the water up to his hips and his trousers soaking it up, clinging to his muscled thighs. That worried look still plagued his face as he looked down at you, his brows pinched together and a heavy frown on his lips. 

"Why can I not offer my help to you?" He asked, his voice a low rumble. You fought the rush of nerves that flooded your system, using the day's anger to push them back down into the pit in your chest they'd crawled out from. 

"Because I am not in need of it." You sneered. You just wanted to be left alone, left to wallow in your self hatred and frustrations. Left to tend to yourself. To suffer. "I can take care of myself," You held his gaze with a glare, "Always have." 

"But you do not need to," He muttered, taking a small step toward you, "You are allowed to lean on your friends for assistance." 

You scoffed, looking away from him. "It was that type of thinking that cost us today." 

"I believe it is what saved you today." 

"You weren't there." The sound of Shadowheart's scream as the gnolls ripped her open would not be a sound you ever forgot. Or forgave yourself for. "They relied on me, leaned on me, to lead the way, to find a way to win and I fucked up." The anger bubbled in your chest, simmering as your eyes grew blurry, "I got cocky and moved too far too fast. A small group of beasts circled around to Shadowheart. I failed them." 

You were waiting for him to agree, to shout at you, to yell. But there was only silence. Hell, you weren't even sure he was still standing there as you continued, "I failed them, and I almost failed in getting them out. They relied on me and I let them down." Your hands came up to your shoulders, grazing over the injuries that had clotted there. 

"Is that why you refuse to let me heal you?" Halsin asked, the sounds of splashing water telling you he was moving. He appeared in front of you, kneeling down and letting the river wash over him without so much a shiver.  "Because you think you deserve it? As some sort of punishment?" 

You held his stare, your vision blurring as your anger bubbled in your throat. 

"Yes, you made a mistake, everyone does," He closed the distance between the two of you, but still not touching you, "but you still all made it out. You relied on each other to escape alive. You got them out." Your brows pinched as he spoke, "I talked with Karlach and Astarion, they told me how you fought tooth and nail to get to them, to help them.They credit their survival to you." 

"They're fools to do so," You whispered and he shook his head. 

"They are not," He stated, "You saved them today. You took care of them," He reached a hand out for you, waiting for you to take it, "Now let yourself be cared for. Let's not add to your collection of scars." 

You took a deep breath, trying to will the tears in your eyes to vanish before they fell. The words wobbled as they left your lips, "You're not going to leave me alone until you heal me, are you?" 

"If you truly wish for me to leave you alone, I'll go," His hand was still held between you, open and waiting. "But I don't believe you deserve more scars marring your perfect skin, or any sort of punishment." 

You took a deep breath, blaming the shuddering in your breath on the chill of the water as you lifted your hand out of the water and rested it in his own, palm up so he could see the cut there. "Okay." 

"Your skin is like ice," His warm calloused hand wrapped around yours as it glowed, your skin stitching back together, "Should we move to a tent?" 

Before you could deny him, your body shook with a harsh shiver running through your spine and you sighed. "Yes, please." 

He looked back to your clothes hanging over the tree, still dripping pink water. "I'll go get you a towel and some dry clothes." 

~~~

You sat in Halsin's tent, your damp hair clinging to your skin, his extra shirt drowning you. He hadn't wanted to go through your things, so he'd grabbed you some of his clothes and you didn't argue as you'd  slipped them over your head at the river bank. Your legs were bare, his shirt practically a dress on you, and it took all of his will power not to stare when you shifted where you sat across from him, the fabric of the shirt riding up your thighs. Your thighs that were burnt and bruised and sliced. 

He’d decided when finding you in that river, injuries on display, the blood leaking from your skin washed away by the freezing water, that he was going to leave tonight and let the bear inside him hunt down that pack of gnolls. 

He cleared his throat before gesturing to - well to all of you. “Where would you like me to start?” 

Your eyes, heavy with exhaustion, lifted to his. Your skin had grown paler by the hour and your body had become sluggish. He’d have picked a starting point himself but he knew not to rush or push you. 

You gestured to your arms as you held them out before him, palms up showing him the clotted slashes on your forearms. 

Halsin took your arms in each of his hands, the area glowing as he healed you. The next hour went on like that, you silently giving him parts of you to heal and him healing them without hesitation. By the time he’d finished, your normal tone had mostly returned to your face, but you were mostly asleep. 

Healing was not only tiring for the healer, but exhausting for the injured. He’d noticed your grit teeth, your subtle controlled breathing as your skin closed and knitted back together. He couldn’t blame you for slipping into a deep slumber as he finished the last wound on your shoulder, gently removing his hands so as to not wake you. 

Seeing you so relaxed, so calm, it was new to him. You’d always had a stoney expression, your lips set in a thin line and your brows settled almost permanently in a subtle scowl. But the lack of anger and sorrow in your feature now - well he wasn’t sure which version he was in love with more. 

Halsin pulled a blanket over you, stepping out of the tent to let you sleep. The rest of the camp had mostly retired for the night as well, only Astarion reading in his tent with the flap open. 

The vampire looked up at him with those red eyes, nodding in acknowledgment before returning his attention to whatever text was in his hands. 

The Druid slipped into the woods, walking for a while before he deemed he was far enough away. Far enough to not wake the camp, before he shifted, letting the bear begin its hunt. 

~~~

Leaves rustling nearby woke you, your eyes opening to see the unfamiliar inside of a tent. Your brows pinched as you sat up, a groan escaping your chest at the effort. Your body was exhausted, and as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, you started to remember what had happened. How you got to be in this tent, in the shirt that hung from your frame. 

You remembered who put you there. 

Glancing around the tent for Halsin, you found you were alone. You didn't want to be the reason he didn't get to sleep tonight so you stood quickly, climbing for the entrance flap, reaching to push it open, when it slipped from your fingers. 

You peered up into the shadow looming over the entrance, and your body prepared for a fight. Their features were in heavy shadow as the campfire lit them from behind and there was a familiar iron rich smell coming from them. Blood. You just hoped whoever this was hadn't gotten to anyone else in your camp yet, that they were still alive. 

Your muscles tensed and you took a breath to shout, to wake up your companions if they were alive and warn them. But the figure held up a hand, his voice a low rumble that calmed your nerves instantly. 

"It's just me," Halsin said, slowly lowering himself into the tent, "I did not mean to startle you." 

You backed up, allowing him into the tent as your eyes traveled down his shirt, the red splotches hiding in the shadows. When you looked back up, you saw he had already figured out what you were looking at, and he could read the question on your lips.  

"It's not mine," He whispered, "I'm alright." 

"Whose is it?" You demanded, watching as he rummaged around for clean clothes. He pulled out a new pair of loose trousers. 

"The gnolls." He grunted, standing to leave. Your hand shot out to his, gripping his large fingers before he could leave. 

"You went after them?" 

He looked down at you, a slight smirk on his lips before his fingers squeezed yours back and he said, "Of course I did," as if it was the only logical thing for him to have done in the first place. His hand slipped from yours and just like that, he had slipped back out of the tent. 

You tried to follow him, but when you ripped the flap open, he was gone. You would have settled back into the warmth of the tent, shut that flap against the chill that pricked at your skin. But you stood, exiting the tent, and followed him down to the river. 

If he was going to wash up, that's where he'd go, unless he really wanted to hike another 3 miles to the next lake, which judging by the exhaustion in his eyes when he'd come for clean pants, you assumed he wouldn't. You hadn't bothered with shoes, and you cursed yourself for it as you tried to step around jutting up sticks and rocks that could slice your feet. 

Soon enough, the moonlight reflecting off of the river's surface was visible through the trees and you could hear the splashing of the water. Pushing the branches of the trees away, you finally broke free of the forest line and had river rocks beneath your feet. 

Halsin was in the middle of the river, scrubbing blood from his hair, just as you had done only hours before. 

"You'll catch a cold out here like that," He called to you, turning around to face you. 

"Why did you go after the gnolls?" You asked, crossing your arms across your chest, the movement reminding you how bare your legs were when the shirt shifted across your thighs. You tried not to bring attention to it, ignoring the chills that ran up your skin.

He looked down at the water as he rinsed his hands, "Does it matter?" 

"That depends entirely on how you answer the question." 

He glanced at you for a moment before dunking his head under the water, only to come right back up to the surface only a moment later. He sighed as he walked to the embankment, his dry pants hanging up on that same tree your earlier clothes still hung from. 

"Then it does not matter," He said, climbing out of the river, the water sliding down his chest, to his stomach, to his - you averted your eyes. You should've assumed he was naked, and you weren't sure why it made your heart start racing the way it did as you suddenly found the boulder next to you very interesting. 

"It does to me," You muttered, not expecting him to have heard you, to have been trying to hear you over the sounds of the river. 

Once his trousers were on, he turned to you, walking to stand at your side. "Would it be hard for you to believe that I did it because I wanted to?" 

You turned from the boulder, glancing at his feet to make sure he was clothed before your eyes trailed up his body, landing on his face. "You wanted to go on a midnight gnoll hunting spree?" 

He grunted in agreement, his head inclining to the side. "Is that hard to believe?" 

You scoffed, "Yes, actually. Especially because you went alone." 

"I can handle a pack of gnolls." He said the words with such certainty, his voice low and rough, it had your stuttering to respond. 

"It was reckless," You meekly muttered back, "You could've been hurt." 

"But I am not." Neither one of you had moved since he came to stand beside you, both of you remaining a mere few inches from the other.

"But you could have been." 

"Is that worry I sense in you, little shadow?" The nickname wasn't new, it was something he used to recall how you seemed to slip between darkness going undetected when tracking down leads or targets, but it also wasn't commonly used. He liked to use it when teasing you, flirting with you. But you were in no mood to flirt, and the only way to get him to see that, was to be honest. 

"Yes, it is." You stated, and the slight smirk that had grown on his lips fell as his eyes widened. "Why did you think it was a good idea to go hunt down those beasts without the rest of us, in the middle of the night? Hm?" 

He blinked once, twice, before sighing and looking at the ground beneath his feet, his hands finding their way to his hips. "I went because they harmed you," he said, and your world stilled. 

"What?" You asked, willing him to look at you again. He wiped a hand down his face before looking at you, his eyes full of nerves that he kept well hidden. 

"They hurt you," he sighed, reaching for your hands, "They almost killed you, and it angered me. It angered the beast that lives in my soul. I had to do something, and taking out on them the anger they caused was the only thing to do." 

Something in your chest melted at the conviction in his words, the utter dedication. You wanted to wrap your arms around him, to tell him he didn't need to do that, to fight for you. But in your experience, people only did these sorts of things when they wanted something in return. 

Your fingers tightened around his own, squeezing them as you took a breath, pushing down the swell in your heart at the look in his eyes. 

"What do I owe you?" You asked, trying not to cringe at the confusion in his pinched brows. 

"Why would you owe me?" 

"Because that's how the world works," you muttered, "Everything has a currency, whether it's gold, silver or favors. So what do I owe you? "

"You owe me nothing," his voice rumbled through your bones to your core, "I did not do this to gain a favor from you. I did this," He stepped closer, his breath mingling with yours, "because the thought of those beasts getting away with harming you is not something I can peacefully live with." 

"Why?" You read the confusion on his face and asked again, "Why? Why am I so important?" 

His hands dropped yours as they cupped your jaw, those large thumbs stroking across your cheeks and his fingers settled on your neck. 

"Because you are magnificent," His eyes were darting around your face, taking in every little detail while you allowed him to be this close, "You are the leader of this camp, everyone here follows you more than they follow themselves. You are the heart of this adventure we are on. You are fancied by everyone here." 

"I doubt that." 

"Well," He said, "I know I do." 

"No you don't." You whispered and his face pinched. "You don't, you might think you do, but you don't."

"Why don't I?" He asked, refusing to step away from you, your face still in his hands. 

You refused to look at him, your eyes locked on the water of the river just behind him. "You can't," You whispered, "Anyone who ever has ends up dead, if they don't leave me first." 

His face crumbled at that, hearing the ache of the past years of your life in your words. 

"Why would they leave you?" He asked, his voice barely audible over the river. 

You told him. You rambled about the horrible childhood you had, the early death of your human father, and the resentment in your elven mother when you were left on her doorstep. How you raised yourself, hunted for yourself, since she refused to have any hand in the way you were raised, including feeding you. You told him how you ran away when you were just a teenager and had been on your own ever since, for nearly two decades. 

Continuing your endless babble, you told him about the times you'd been captured by strange monsters throughout your travels, trying to leave out the details of what happened when you were held captive, but you knew he could piece it together. You explained how these things happening had made you cold, and shut off from the world, damaged, when you were silenced by something soft pressing against your lips. 

Your eyes were wide when Halsin pulled away just a second later, his lips parted as he looked at you. There were a million things either of you could've said, but your mind was blank now. The lingering pressure of his lips on yours distracting you from the wetness you now felt on your face. 

When did you start crying? 

You tore your gaze from his lips up to his eyes, where they watched you with such gentleness it frightened you. The want - no, the need - to have his lips on yours again was the only thing you could focus on now that you'd had a taste, and you would jump up to take it for yourself if the intensity in his gaze didn't root you to your spot. 

"I know what I enjoy," He whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed against yours as he spoke, his breath fanning your face as his wet hair fell around you, "and I know what I want." 

He didn't close the distance, instead letting your lips faintly brush while you tried to say something, anything. 

"And if you'll let me," He continued, "I'd like to enjoy what I want for as long as you'll allow." 

"Why don't you just take it?" You whispered. 

"I'm waiting for your permission." 

Silence settled over the two of you for a moment, the only noise between you being your mingling breaths. You took the moment to consider it, letting him have his way with you. You hadn't planned on fucking any of your traveling companions, attempting to keep it professional between all of you, but you couldn't deny that you'd at least thought about it. Not just with Halsin either, but that was something for another day. 

You'd thought about his hands on your skin, how large and safe they'd feel, how his fingers would feel in your cunt, in your mouth, wrapped around your neck. All you had to do was say yes, and he'd give it to you. 

So you swallowed your nerves, your voice barely audible as you whispered, "You have it."  

Halsin instantly closed that tiny fraction of distance, pressing his lips against yours. One of his hands left your face, going down preferring to pull your hip, tugging you into him as his lips parted, his tongue brushing against yours. You swallowed his groan as his large hand pushed the edge of your shirt up so he could cup your ass, grabbing all he could and squeezing. 

His right hand left your face, reaching down to mirror his left and he tugged up, grunting what sounded like "jump" between kisses. Your hands wound around his neck as you did your best to hop, letting him catch you and pull you up his body, pinning you between his chest and the smooth boulder at your back. 

The hair on his stomach brushed against the insides of your thighs, tickling in the best way, the pressure from his stomach pushing into your cunt, only separated by the thin fabric of your panties that were already wet.  

Halsin's lips left your mouth and he trailed open kisses down your neck and what he could reach of your chest, biting and sucking as he went, lighting your nerves on fire at the same time. HIs hands easily pushed you further up the boulder, bringing your dripping core up to his view and putting your legs over his shoulders.

His eyes were hungry as he glanced between you and that soaked spot in your panties. His lips attached to your leg, working their way up your inner thigh, each bite he climbed higher earning more and more desperate whines from you. He chuckled at the noises escaping your throat as he looked up at you, his eyes glazed over with lust, but also so so clear at the same time. 

"Is this okay?" You'd never heard his voice so rough, so raw as he looked up at you. "We can always go somewhere more comfortable." 

Something in your chest melted at the concern in his words. Even when his hands were shaking and his pupils were blown, your comfort was priority. But you didn't care if he took you in his tent or a bed or against this damn boulder, you just needed to feel him. 

"It matters not to me," you were breathless as you told him, "I just want you to show me how much you say you want me." 

He smirked at that, one of his hands dragged over your skin as he slid it under your shirt, reaching to grab your breast as his other pulled your panties aside. 

He laid his tongue flat against your aching cunt and licked a languid stripe up, flicking it across your clit before going back for more. Your hands shot to his hair, still wet from the river, carding through it and gripping it at the roots. His hand on your breast pulled and played with your nipple, the sensation caused by his rough fingers shooting through you to your core, soaking his face even more. 

You watched him from up on that rock, his face buried in you, his eyes closed as if he were savoring it. A moan vibrated from him, through your cunt that left you gnawing on your lip to keep quiet. You weren't close to the campsite, but who knew what or who else was out in these woods. 

Your breath started to quicken, your grip on his hair tightening further, and his eyes opened to look at you. You could barely see the hazel in his eyes as he watched you panting and writhing above him. The pressure building was familiar and you knew it wouldn't take long for you to snap if he kept going the way he was

It seemed he knew too. 

Because suddenly, his mouth was off of you and your skin was met with the chilled air. 

"Can't have you cumming just yet," He declared, his hand leaving your chest and trailing down to your cunt, lightly dragging through the folds and slick. Your hips bucked into his hand and he chuckled, "Eager?" 

Your skin heated at his comment and how focused on your dripping entrance he was. When your breathing had somewhat evened out, two of his fingers circled your cunt, spreading your slick around and around before he finally looked up at you, and slid them in. 

Your mouth opened in a strangled moan that you had fought to not let out, the stretch just from his fingers alone enough to make you dizzy with want. They slid all the way in before they curled, stroking that perfect spot to make your back arch and your moan grew louder. 

Halsin grinned, "Oh I love that sound you make." He angled his head down again, watching his fingers get swallowed by your cunt over and over again as he pumped them in and out. "And I love watching my fingers disappear inside you." 

His head dipped lower, and his lips wrapped around your clit, his tongue tracing tight circles over it in time with his fingers. That pressure from earlier began building again, quicker this time as you struggled to stay somewhat quiet. You tugged on his hair and your hips rocked, grinding into his mouth and fingers, his name a whisper on your lips. 

"Don't stop," You panted, release so close your muscles began tightening, "please don't stop." 

He groaned into you, the vibrations shooting through everyone of your nerves and your head fell back with a soft thud against the rock. The band that had tightened in your core was so close to snapping, to sending you over the edge.

But before you could go over that edge, Halsin released your clit and pulled his fingers from you, chuckling at the truly pathetic whine that left your lips, tears starting to gather in your lashes at the sudden loss. 

"Don't worry," he muttered the words into the skin of your thigh before moving both your legs off his shoulders, wrapping them around his waist, "You'll get to cum," He leaned forward, catching your lips with his, and you moaned at the taste of yourself, "I promise." 

He wrapped his hands around your thighs, telling you to wrap your arms around his neck and he picked you up from the boulder. He didn't take you far, just turned and leaned down, laying you on the river bank before sitting up, his hands going to the ties on his trousers. 

"I've dreamed of this since I met you," he declared as he untied his trousers. Your eyes traveled down his chest to the large bulge he was working to free, and your cunt clenched around nothing in anticipation. "I've been wanting to take you for weeks." 

A shiver of excitement raced down your spine, "So have I." 

His eyes darkened at that, his hands quickening their pace and he finally removed his pants. He reached for your hips, pulling your panties down your legs and tossing them to the side. He grabbed the edge of your shirt, but stopped, looking at you. 

"It's a bit cold out, do you want to leave this on?" Your heart melted at his concern, at his ability to still worry even when he was so close to getting what he wanted. 

"I want to feel all of you against me," you said, a thought taking over your mind, "but I also want to be on top. I want to ride you." 

He grinned down at you as you shifted to sit up, "You can do whatever you wish to me." 

You smiled, crawling over his legs as he sat and lay on the ground, sighing when your legs settled on either side of his hips, your core hovering over his aching cock. He slid his hands under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head, tossing it to the pile of clothes before his hands dragged down your shoulders and over your breasts before resting against your hips. 

"Gods, you're beautiful," he said, his thumbs stroking circles into your hips as your hand reached down, wrapping around his cock. He groaned at your touch, his head tipping back as you stroked it up and down. 

You angled your hips and lined him up with your cunt, swiping him through your folds a few times, relishing in how his grip tightened on your hips. You went to sink on to him, to finally have him inside you, when he startled. 

"Wait." His eyes snapped open. "I have to tell you something first."  Your brows pinched, but you let his cock go, and you settled on top of it, sliding your hips back and forth over it while you waited for whatever he had to tell you. "Fuck, you're not gonna make this easy are you?" He smirked. 

You shook your head, swallowing your moans as you waited. 

"If I get too worked up, I have a. . . a chance to shift," He said, eyes avoiding yours. You angled your head to the side, as your heart stuttered at the sudden anxiety rippling off of him. You'd never seen him so nervous, he was always so sure of himself, of what he did.

"You mean," You whispered, "You could change into a bear?" There was shame in his eyes as he nodded. 

"I understand if you change your mind about this, I won't be hurt." He still wasn't meeting your eyes as he spoke, his hands unnaturally still before they started to pull away from you. 

Your hands snapped out to grab his wrists, pulling his hands back to your skin as you lifted your hips up. His eyes finally lifted to yours in surprise when you reached down to again grip his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance. 

"Are you too exhausted to heal if necessary?" You asked, your voice low and sultry as you waited for a reply. 

The corners of his lips twitched up, and the worry for him in your heart ebbed away for now, "I'm never too exhausted to heal you." 

"Then it matters not," You pushed down on to him, moaning at the stretch, "I like a challenge." 

He moaned as you sank down, inch by inch, his eyes locked on to where his cock disappeared into you. When you were all the way to the base, you began slowly rocking your hips as you adjusted to his size, watching him as his eyes closed and his head tipped back again, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. 

"Gods," he sighed, "You feel so good wrapped around me like this." 

When the sting of the stretch turned into a burning need, you lifted your hips, dragging off of him about half way before sinking back down. You braced your hands on his chest, gripping the hair there as you angled your hips and drove them down, hitting that spot that had you unable to bite down your moans. 

"You're going to wake up the camp moaning like that, little shadow," He grunted below you, "Do you wish to be found out here like this?" 

Your cunt clenched around him, and he moaned a laugh. 

"Oh, you like that idea?" He asked, his breath coming in hot pants as you leaned over him. "You like the idea of one of them finding you like this? Maybe they'd want to join, hm?" 

The thought of one of your companions finding you two, and wanting to join you, the thought of another pair of hands on you tore a loud moan from your throat and he grinned, his hands helping your hips keep their rhythm. 

"You do like that," he mused, his eyes starting to glow gold, "Oh fuck - " He grit his teeth, pushing down that need to shift as you fucked yourself on his cock. But he couldn't hold in all of it. 

His body grew a bit, the muscles stretching under your hands, but you didn't stop. The rhythm of your hips faltered as your climax grew closer and you were thankful he was helping you keep it, his hands lifting and slamming your hips down for you. 

You felt the stretch before realizing what was happening - his cock grew as he tried to hold in the shift. The sudden added length and girth sending you over the edge, everyone of your muscles tightening as your vision went white and your blood roared in your ears. You were sure you screamed, but there was a hand over your mouth, one that smelled of your own arousal. 

Halsin kept slamming your hips onto him, hitting that spot over and over and over. You felt his legs shift as he planted his feet on the floor and suddenly you were tugged down. His hand wrapped around the back of your neck, holding your face in his shoulder where you bit down to keep quiet, and his other arm wrapped around your back. 

He slammed up into you, chasing his own release but also ripping a second one from you. You bit hard into his skin, your lips vibrating against his shoulder as you shouted at your second orgasm, your cunt clenching his cock as he stilled, spilling into you. 

Halsin’s body twitched as he shouted into your neck, his hold tightening on you, squeezing the breath out of you. Your mouth released his shoulder, instead placing gentle kisses along his skin as his body began to shrink back to its normal size. 

"Are you alright?" He whispered into your cheek, dragging his lips over what he could reach of your face. You hummed and nuzzled your nose into his neck. 

"I'm alright," You mumbled, exhaustion beginning to weigh heavy on you. "Just. . . just tired." 

He chuckled, stroking the back of your head and tracing patterns over the expanse of your back. "Go to sleep, little shadow, I'll dress you and carry you back to camp." 

You let out a sleepy giggle, "What if I woke them?" 

"If they'd heard your scream when you came, they would've run down here already," He pulled back so he could try to look down at you. "But I think I caught it in time." 

"I guess you did," You words started to slur as sleep started to take you. 

"Maybe we should ask one of them to join next time, just to keep you quiet," He murmured, smirking at the way you moaned at the thought, your hips trying to grind down on him. "Oh yes, I think next time we'll see if one of them will join us." 

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[mistriavalley]

Fields of mistria request! Do you think any of the bachelors and bachelorettes are prone to jealousy? How would they react to the farmer getting flirted with by an out of towner?

Who'd get jealous

Note: I only write for up to 6 characters so I picked out the ones I think would be jealous🤗❤️ ALSO I'M SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG WITH THIS

Gender neutral

TW: none

Masterlist

Of course I picked March out, because let's face it. He would absolutely have an issue with anyone (he doesn't know and trust) even breathing in your direction. The blacksmith isn't big on PDA, but once he notices someone hitting on you he's basically all over you. March is wrapping his arm around you while glaring daggers at the person, not even trying to keep it low-key or anything. How dare they think they have a chance with you while you're dating the number one blacksmith in the entire goddamn country. This person looks like they can't even swing a hammer properly. What a disgrace! And when you try to talk about his jealous overreaction? Deny, deny, deny. Get Olric on the tease train with you and bully the shit out of him.

Juniper pretends to be all cool and calm and swears she has never been jealous and never will be. Bullshit. Someone could be laughing a bit too hard at your jokes or touching your arm for too long and that woman has already a poisonous potion on her mind. Of course she will deny any jealousy no matter how obvious she is with it and Valen teases her for the rest of the week once she notices. "Who is this peasant? OH HO HO!" She'd say while giving the person a bombastic side-eye. "Oh no, darling, they touched your arm? We will get you all cleaned up in my bathhouse." Juniper, please, that is so rude.

The way Balor gets jealous is not really anything you notice at first unless you know him like the back of your hand. Which you do. PDA isn't something he struggles with, but when he sees an outsider flirting with you, he tends to get even more touchy. Caldarus forbid the person is a salesman like him though. Then it's on. Welcome to the petty Olympics and Snicklefritz is absolutely diving for that gold medal. "Your gems are so unpolished." "Did you really think this rusty spoon counts as an artifact?" "We obviously have an amateur at work here, huh."

Adeline needs to be protected at all cost, because when she's jealous she gets insecure about herself. The festival she planned together with you and the other town members is a full success and attracted a lot of people from outside, but unfortunately you seem to attract a lot of attention as well. Not that you want to of course. She is a mess once she takes notice. Reina and Celine have to convince her that you don't feel neglected and that she isn't too focused on her work. Meanwhile the person hitting on you slowly realizes that they walked into a landmine, because you can't stop talking about how your beautiful girlfriend organized this festival and what amazing work she's been doing to repair the town and-

Eiland's reaction to you being hit on is almost as petty as Balor's. More even and he doesn't seem to realize one bit. Someone is hitting on you? Let him assess the situation first. Okay, he's there, being more than clear that he's your partner, but the other person won't stop their advances. Eiland wraps his arm around the other person and offers to tell them some fun facts about the history of the town. What, they can't tell the difference between the artifacts and that they're all in fact not from the same era? His reaction is the equivalent of "All marathons are the same length. That's like common sense, I fear." and he says it in a way like he's talking to a toddler.

Valen feels incredibly secure in your relationship and rarely gets jealous, but dammit, Juniper, stop telling her about how this new, cute salesperson from abroad is hitting on her partner. It's all fun and games for the witch, because it's a sight to behold. The usually calm and composed doctor isn't calm and composed now? Valen walks over to you guys (very casually and not stiff at all) and plants (again, very casually) a kiss on your temple. All the insecurity and jealousy vanishes into thin air once she hears your giggles and feels your hand reaching out for hers. Dammit, Juniper, she will get her revenge after this.

[revasserium]

do you right series/multiple parts for zoro opla X reader. If you do could you write something angsty n maybe reader was a part the butlers crew before n stuff. A lot of angst but also fluff n cute zoro X reader moments. Thxxx

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

catch.

opla!zoro; 9,224 words; fem!reader, no "y/n", slowburn, disgruntled companions?? to lovers, fluff and banter, so much banter, nicknames ("kitten", "pretty boy"), semi canon-compliant, tiny bit post!opla, more plot than not

summary: zoro calls reader "kitten", reader calls him "pretty boy" back. story ensues.

a/n: ha. i have no excuses for this... it's not a series/multipart, but i do hope that the sheer length of it kinda makes up for that lol; tagging @dira333 and @bby-deerling

The first time he sees you, it is over daggers and bared teeth, a hiss working up your throat as you glare at him from the balcony of Kaya’s expansive estate.

“You’re gonna need a lot more than that, kitten.” Zoro’s smirk goes slanted as you leap off the thin railings to land noiselessly before him, your curved daggers striking against the edge of his swords with a metallic spray of sparks.

His smirk fades after that, replaced by a wild, jagged grin as he swings both swords around his body in a wide arc — but you’re backflipping up, too high in the air to be fully natural, your feet landing perfectly on the backs of his blades before you’re kicking off again, forcing the blades down and throwing him off balance.

“I highly doubt it,” you bite out, skimming by his cheek with a savage smile as he jerks to the side just in time to avoid having his face split open. But you whip back around and it’s all he can do to parry your blow.

The discordant clang of metal on metal rings out in the otherwise silent room as you both flicker around each other, him as steady as the tide, you as quick as the flutter of a sparrow’s wing.

“Where was that fake butler hiding you, kitten? You’re much better than those other two —” Zoro grunts as he narrows his eyes, digging in his heels as he parries another flurry of your quicksilver blows. Your lips curl in contempt as you swipe for his stomach and catch on the edge of his white-hilted blade.

“He wasn’t hiding me anywhere —”

The world blurs in a whirlwind of flashing metal — it ends with you hissing as you find you and Zoro on opposite ends of the cavernous room, amidst wood splinters and slivers of shredded upholstery. There’s a thin slash oozing blood down the side of his face and a long gash along your arm where his sword had nicked your bicep.

“Then why’re you with him?” Zoro asks, grimacing as he wipes blood from his cheek.

“Because, pretty boy,” you smirk at the way his eyes narrow, “the old tomcat owes me something. And I never forget a debt.”

Zoro’s eyebrow quirks, and for a single second, you can see the cogs turning behind his darkened eyes, “So… you’re only with him until he pays you.”

You grin, Cheshire wide, and a second later, you’re right in front of him, pressing up into his personal space with a finger trailing up the length of his neck. Zoro’s breath catches, and he’s acutely aware of just how open he’d been, how easily you might’ve decided to end his life had you replaced your finger with the tip of one of your curve-bellied daggers.

“That… and I happen to enjoy slicing things up, y’see…” your voice is syrup sweet and sharp as poison even as he jerks away from you, instinct thrusting his swords forward before he can stop himself. But you’re already dancing away with a soft, ringing laugh, shaking your head.

“Gonna have to be faster than that if you wanna catch me… pretty boy.”

You slink into the shadows, giggling even as Zoro grimaces and tries to chase after you, slashing at whispers and shapes in the dark. He makes it all the way down the hallway before Luffy’s voice catches his attention and he doubles back with a final look over his shoulder, an unsatisfied knot tied tight in his stomach.

The second time you meet, it’s over a barrel of dried sardines.

“We pick up another stray?” Zoro asks, frowning as you grin cheekily down at him from the bow of the Merry. He could imagine the way your ears might flick if you had them, the way your invisible tail might twitch from side to side, snide and all too satisfied.

“Yeah! Didn’t I tell you? She’s coming with us!” Luffy grins wide as he climbs up onto their new ship, giving you a hard pat on the back, “Welcome to the Straw Hat Crew!”

“Thanks, Cap!” you smile, slipping off the railings to help with the extra supplies.

Nami sighs as she joins Zoro on the docks, “Sad, desperate souls, like I said — but hey, at least she helped us escape.”

Zoro frowns, “She did?”

Nami rolls her eyes, “Who do you think undid all those locks on the metal shutters from the outside? Geez…”

Zoro grunts, catching another barrel of dried food as Nami tosses it up toward him.

After that, things… do not get better. You’re too quiet, too quick, and Zoro can never quite tell when you mean what you say or if you ever say what you mean. Your laughter sends shivers down his back, and he finds himself watching you, even when he doesn’t mean to.

By the time you’ve all reached the Baratie, it’s become second nature for him to keep his eyes trained on you, to take stock of where you are, to seek you out the first thing after he wakes and the last thing before he sleeps.

“Ah — apologies madam I didn’t see you there —” Sanji smarms as Nami’s eyebrows inch up her forehead. You bite back a grin as Zoro scoffs to your right.

“And… for you?” when Sanji finally turns his eyes onto you, you’re ready for him, leaning forward, your tongue slipping languorously across your bottom lip as you peer up at him from beneath your thick lashes.

“Got any Déesse? Ah, but you must have — an establishment as fine as this?”

Sanji takes a long breath; Zoro feels the air turn sour in his lungs.

“Of course we do — a woman of taste, hm? And… for the rest of you?” Sanji’s voice flatlines as he looks over the rest of the crew.

Zoro snorts, rolling his eyes, “A beer for me and… a few for my friends.”

Sanji shoots a curt nod his way before recounting the table’s orders, “A few beers, a milk —” he dips his head in Luffy’s direction, “a normal water in a normal glass,” a smile at Nami, “and… a bottle of Déesse — any preference on year, miss?” He twinkles in your direction.

“Oh… surprise me.”

Sanji sweeps into a theatrical bow, “Right away,” before gliding away from the table.

Everyone starts talking all at once —

“Why’re you ‘miss’ but I’m ‘madam?’”

“Great fighter, that guy — did you see him roundhouse that other guy in the face —”

“Wow… don’t tell me that worked on you?” Zoro scoffs as he turns to look at you.

You shrug, “Sometimes, it pays to meet people on their level, hm?” Then, your smile turns saccharine as you tilt your head, eyes flickering towards the triplet of swords caught in the small gap between the plush seats and the pillar to Zoro’s right.

“Right. Whatever.” His lip curls. Nami sighs, leaning her head back against the studded velvet seat backs.

“The two of you are gonna be the death of us…” she muses, laughing as you curl back into your seat with an exaggerated pout and Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, feeling heat crest up into his cheeks.

And later, it’s you who tries the hardest to talk him out of his duel with Mihawk, a dull, feline glint to your eyes as you glare at him from across the wide kitchen counter —

“You couldn’t even beat me in single combat — what makes you think you’d be able to best Dracule Mihawk, huh?!”

Zoro snarls as he rounds on you, “It’s not like I was really trying.”

“Seemed like you were doing a lot more than trying to me!”

“You were the one who ran away.”

“Yeah, because I didn’t have a death wish!”

“So you admit that you would’ve lost to me.”

Your eyes narrow into slits as you hiss, “Yes, just like you’ll lose if you go through with this.”

A muscle feathers in Zoro’s jaw as he slowly peels his eyes away from you and turns back to the methodical work of polishing his swords.

Later that night, you find him sitting in the Merry’s kitchen with his eyes closed, arms crossed, his swords lined up just so on the suspended table in front of him.

“You can stop sulking. I know you’re there.” He opens a single eye to peer at you as you melt out of the shadows near the door, your own arms knitted tight across your chest.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“I’m meditating.” His eyes slip back closed.

You leap deftly onto the table and cross your legs, looking down at his row of swords.

“You’ll need more than a good meditation session to beat that old hawk.”

Zoro’s eyes snap open, his words taking on a hard, metallic edge, “What would you know about it?”

Your grin is crescent moon sharp as you tilt your head; you reach forward as if to tap a finger against the sheath of one of his swords. There’s a dull thump as Zoro makes to tug the sword away, but a second later, you’ve got his wrist pinned to the table’s marred surface. Your face is half an inch away from his and he can taste the heat of your breath on his lips.

“See? Not nearly fast enough,” you tut, still grinning as Zoro yanks his arm away.

“If you’re trying to change my mind, you’re doin’ a shit job.”

“No,” you sigh, jumping off the table, your feet eerily silent as always. You make it all the way to the door before turning to glance at Zoro over your shoulder. There’s an inscrutable look on his face as he watches you, and you allow him one last, little smile.

“I just… thought you should be well-rested for your own execution.”

The next morning dawns too bright, too early, the sky too blue and perfect. It’s a blood-hungry day, so your grandmother used to say, the kind of day that aches for disaster. You shiver as you walk silently behind Usopp and Luffy, trailing in Zoro’s shadow as he makes his solemn way to the docks to face Mihawk.

There’s a quick exchange of words before Mihawk’s eyes slide onto you; the faint upward tick of his eyebrow is the only indication you get that he recognizes you. But then, he’s cocking his head, and musing aloud —

“They say it’s good luck to have a cat on a pirate ship, but I’m afraid this one won’t do you any good today, Roronoa Zoro.”

“Oh god… he’s really doing this, isn’t he?” Nami’s hand slips into yours, squeezing tight, her voice nothing more than a terrified whisper.

You give a brief nod, squeezing back. On your other side, Usopp swallows hard, but Luffy doesn’t seem all that worried.

It’s a quick, brutal, and decisive fight, but you watch as Mihawk pulls back at the last second, Yoru slicing through the air, much slower and softer than you knew it could. Nevertheless, Zoro’s blood splatters the creaking wood beams below as he collapses. You feel your lungs slowly calcifying as everyone rushes to Zoro’s side but you stand there, frozen, the world tunneling around you, the wild thumping of your heart echoing in your ears as Mihawk slates you a single look before turning and strolling off back toward the Baratie.

You slip away in the chaos of everyone trying to get Zoro back onto the ship.

“Come to seek revenge for your little boyfriend?” Mihawk asks, casually leaning up against the near-empty bar in the Baratie’s mouth.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you reply, voice clipped. Your fingers are curled into fists at your side, nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Mihawk gives you a single once-over before tutting.

“I see you’ve been sharpening your claws.”

“I see you haven’t,” you bite back. Mihawk rolls his eyes.

“Dear, dear — if even you’ve noticed something then I really am getting rusty. Though it has been hard to find a good sparring partner ever since Shanks lost his arm. Careless man.”

“Why’d you really let him live?”

Mihawk pauses in his rather thorough inspection of his nails to look up at you, lips twitching.

“I meant what I said — the world needs a few more wildcards and… I have a feeling he’ll be coming to find me soon enough.”

“You don’t take on students.” You don’t quite manage to keep the bitterness from your voice even as Mihawk shrugs.

“Just because I haven’t before, doesn’t mean I won’t ever. Now run along — I think your little swordsman friend might need some help, hm?”

You open your mouth to argue, but you hear the distinct sounds of Luffy’s voice echoing out from the kitchen, high and desperate, followed by the base rumble of Zeff’s voice. You slink into the kitchen between the flapping doors, watching as Sanji scrambles to gather Zeff’s knives.

“I’ll get the fish,” you offer, making nearly everyone jump as you reach for the freezer box.

No one has the time to ask any more questions as Luffy leads the way back to the Merry.

Nami’s eyes are wide and over-bright when you set the yellowtail on the table next to Zeff, and the whole room watches with bated breath as the old chef starts to work. Wordlessly, you tug out the large curved needles and place them at his elbow. He spares you a grateful grunt as he grabs them.

You take three steps back, letting out a long breath as you press your back to the cool wood of the doorframe, watching as Zeff stitches Zoro back together.

You spend the next two and a half days curled up in the small chair next to Nami’s bed, dozing every so often, at other times humming, or keeping still as Nami, Usopp, and Luffy take their turns next to Zoro’s sleeping form as well. You’re reciting a childhood nursery rhyme when Zoro finally wakes up.

“I thought cats were supposed to be quiet…”

“— and all the king's horses and all the king’s men — oh… you’re awake.”

“What about the king’s horses and men?” Zoro’s voice is thick and gravelly from disuse, but there’s that familiar twist to his mouth as he turns slightly to blink blearily up at you.

“It… it doesn’t matter — I should go tell Luffy —”

“No, finish the story, kitten.”

Your voice catches in your chest, and after a second, you sigh, dropping back into your seat with a resigned little laugh.

“All the king’s horses and all the king’s men… couldn’t put Humpty back together again.”

Zoro hums, “Wow, cheerful little kitten, aren’t you? You always pick such nice things to say at a sick person’s bedside?”

“No, just the ones that really deserve it.”

Zoro laughs, the sound a base rumble that makes him wince, his hand shooting up to clutch at his chest. You lurch forward, catching yourself before you actually touch him, hovering there as Zoro opens his eyes and a strained sort of silence thickens in the air around you.

Like this, you’re acutely aware of the heat rising off of Zoro’s skin, the fact that his shirt is still pulled open to accommodate the thick bandages wrapped around his torso, the taut skin of his stomach, flexing as he takes in shallow breaths. Like this, you can count the freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose and see the pinprick black holes threatening to take over his eyes as they dilate.

It isn’t till you both hear the clatter of footsteps and Usopp flings himself into the room that you jerk back, blinking as Usopp gasps for breath, gesticulating wildly, rambling about Luffy and fishmen and a fight that’s broken out at the Baratie.

You glance down at Zoro, who sighs, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Go.”

“You stay put.”

“Right, like I’m goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”

Zoro grunts, and you spare him one more sharp look before following after Usopp.

Three days later finds you all back at sea, with a newly minted member in tow, chasing after Nami’s shadow.

It does not take long to track her down, and when you do, the fight is — if not quick, then at least decisive. You’re not the only one who notices the stiffness in Zoro’s limbs as everyone eats and drinks their way through a whole night of merry-making.

“Back for seconds — must’ve liked it!” Sanji crows, slapping another spoonful of food onto Zoro’s plate.

“It was okay.”

“That plate says different.”

“Not hungry?” you jump slightly at Nami’s voice, and you lift your eyes just in time to see her eyebrows kick up. She cocks them at you before settling down by your side.

“Not often that you’re caught off guard — something must really be bothering you.” You can hear the edge of forced lightness in her voice, and your eyes flicker to the fresh bandage on right arm.

Events of the past few days flash behind your eyes and you cast her a small grin.

“Just thinking…”

“Sounds like trouble.”

“It does seem to follow me around, doesn’t it?”

Nami regards you with a curious look before scoffing, “Don’t you mean ‘us’?”

You frown, turning towards her. She slates you a glance before darting her eyes back to the party.

“In case you haven’t noticed… ‘Trouble’s kind of our middle name. If you don’t like it, then…”

Her voice trails off then, and the playful smile flickers like a flame caught in a sudden gust of wind. You press your lips.

“Never said I don’t like it.” You return her smile and see her firelight catch again.

“C’mon then — no more sitting around —” you let yourself be pulled to your feet, the pair of you stumbling towards the large bonfire where several of the villagers are strumming at battered instruments, though the music they make is no less brilliant for it.

“Ah, now there’s a sight for sore eyes,” Sanji says, tapping a bit of ash off a freshly lit cigarette as Zoro scrapes the final bites of food from his plate.

“Hn.” But his gaze lingers on the light-caught shape of you, a black dress hugging the curves of your waist and the bend of your hip, cascading out as you spin beneath Nami’s arm. There’s a softness about you he’s never seen before — something more than the damnable feline grace with which you fought or the steel-lined quickness and skill that forever nipped at his heels like a hungry dog, reminding him that he still had so much more to master, to learn — no, this is something else entirely.

Something lissome and light, something tantantalizing and sweet.

Something… lovely.

And it stirs something inside him too — something not at all sweet and light, though… no less tantalizing.

A semi-inebriated Nojiko manages to pull Sanji into the fray, and a moment later, you glance over to meet his eyes. A line catches then, hooked from the center of his chest to the dark, mesmerizing flash of your eyes, Zoro feels himself tipping forward.

Until he actually is, and there’s a bottle being pressed into his hand by a stranger he doesn’t even glance at.

He finds himself at your side, somehow, everyone spinning around the bonfire like marionettes on a massive stage, his limbs loose and a smile tugging wide his lips. At some point, he thinks he might’ve felt your hands in his, but then again, waking up the next morning face down in a pile of hay, a headache pounding behind his eyes, he thinks it’s probably just his imagination.

They set course for the Grand Line proper then, and everyone settles into a kind of routine. Though despite everyone’s initial protests, Zoro can be seen at the bow of the ship every sunrise and sundown, running through katas, grunting and wincing occasionally when his wound threatens to reopen, at which point you’d appear like a vague, disgruntled shadow, and shoo him back to bed.

“I’ll never best Mihawk if I don’t get better —”

“Exactly.” You pin him with a hard look; he can almost see your hackles rising as he huffs and slumps down into his hammock. You relax slightly, perched atop a rather precarious pile of barrels, but Zoro knows better than to doubt your balance.

“You’ll never beat him if you don’t get better first,” you repeat, narrowing your eyes as Zoro scoffs, pointedly twisting to face the other way. The ship rocks the hammock to and fro, and after a while, Zoro feels himself drifting off into that ever-familiar limbo of half-sleep, his mind wandering through the avenues of his memories, images coming in watercolor flashes, seeping into his vision.

“Tell me something,” he says, his voice low, his eyes still closed.

“Hm?” you barely make a noise, but he feels your presence in the corner of his room, has memorized the specific size and shape and weight of you such that he could pick you out of a moving crowd with his eyes closed, his face turned the other way.

“What do you want to know?”

“You had plenty of stories when I was unconscious — don’t you have more?”

For a moment, you don’t speak, and the silence is filled by the rhythmic creaking of wood, the soft splash of water against the ship’s hull, the occasional cry of seabirds, and the dull, muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from above deck.

“Once upon a time, a kitten was left by the roadside in a tiny village by her mother, who was sick and didn’t have enough milk to feed all her children, but it just so happens that a great big hawk was soaring overhead and took a liking to the kitten. The hawk picked her up in his great talons and brought her to a castle on an island, surrounded by thorns and briars and the most beautiful roses the kitten had ever seen. There, the hawk set her the task of hunting down mice so he himself could go after bigger, juicier prey — for you see, the hawk had long dreamed of becoming the greatest hunter in the whole wide world.”

At this, Zoro shifts to turn back towards you, peering open one eye to watch as you leaned back against the wall of the small storeroom he’d claimed as his own, one of your knees propped up, your arm hanging loosely over it, your other leg dangling down over the side of your barrel, your heel occasionally knocking against the wood with gentle little thumps.

You take a deep breath and glance down at him, a sad, faraway look in your eyes as you continue —

“Eventually, the kitten got very good at catching mice — she grew faster, stealthier, learned to sharpen her claws and teeth, learned to hide amongst the beautiful roses in the garden until the mice grew complacent before she struck. But no matter how much she begged, the hawk would never let her hunt bigger things. And then one day… the hawk took her up in his giant claws again and tossed her onto the beach — told her that there was nothing more he could teach her, and that she ought to find her own way in the world.”

You sigh, shaking your head, “What a liar…” you murmur, almost to yourself as you lower your eyes to your hands, “he never really taught me anything…”

And this time, it’s Zoro who remains silent, letting the quiet seep through the floorboards like the thick, morning mists, rising off of the water’s surface before the sun bakes it all away.

Then, he swings himself off the hammock and makes for the door. Before he can reach it, you’re in front of him, blocking his path with a bright glint in your eyes and a challenge in your smile.

“I’ve rested,” he says, plainly, taking half a step back.

“You’ll never get better like this —”

“Exactly,” he throws the word back in your face before sighing and looking away, “so… help me.”

You blink, staring up at him as he stares right back at you.

“Help you how?” You resist the urge to look away, swallow down the bitterness crawling up the back of your throat — I can’t even help myself —

“Mihawk trained you —”

“No,” you spit out, your shoulders tensing as you glare up at Zoro, “he didn’t — he did everything in his power not to —”

“Tch — you lived with him on that island and he trusted you with keeping the — the mice away —” a vein ticks in Zoro’s jaw as you watch him stare down at you, your heart thumping warm and wild in your chest, “just because he didn’t personally hold your hand and teach you his technique… doesn’t mean he wasn’t training you in his own way.”

You swallow hard.

“So what? It’s not like I can ever beat him.”

“You might. Or I might. If we help each other.”

You ball your fingers into fists, “What makes you think either of us stands a chance against him?”

At this, Zoro’s smile goes slanted — a raw, wild, blood-beat thing.

“Because I’ve seen you fight and I think you’re good. And… I know I’m good. Or at least, I know I’ll get there.”

There’s a certain quicksilver edge to the shape of his words that makes you look up, your eyes meeting his like the colliding cores of two tidally locked stars — something terrible and magnificent, a catastrophe of gravity and inevitability.

Your mind spins and for a second, you can almost see it, that distant future in which Roronoa Zoro becomes the best, better — even — than the best. The greatest in the world. You lean back, your gaze appraising.

“Tell you what — if you get good enough to catch me once… I’ll take you to him.”

Zoro frowns, “What do you mean?”

Your grin quirks and you lilt your head, “Exactly what it sounds like — you get fast enough to catch me, and catch me properly then… I’ll take you to his island.”

Zoro stares. And then, his own grin stretches to match yours.

“Deal.”

Things change after that, the mornings and evenings no longer finding Zoro alone at the bow of the ship, but always with the shape of you flickering around him, the bright, hungry gleam of sun on steel flashing around you.

“Too slow —” you gasp, dodging beneath one of his swipes as he grunts and swings downward, nearly catching the tips of your hair as you spin away.

“But — you’re getting there,” you grin, holding up a hand as you lean back against the side of the Merry, your other hand pressed to your chest.

“Outta breath, kitten?” Zoro asks, smirking as he slowly sheaths his sword, sweat glistening along the planes and grooves of his chest.

“Hardly.” You flick him a disapproving look but there’s a tiny smile that threatens the corner of your mouth as he scoffs, reaching for a rag to dab at his forehead. You can’t help the way your eyes linger on the strong, sturdy ripples of muscles that flex along his back and shoulders as he straightens up either, and when he catches you staring, it’s all you can do to hold his gaze.

You don’t give him a chance to gloat. Instead, you swing your knives around your fingers and cast him a grin.

“Breakfast,” you say.

“Mm,” he agrees, just as Nami comes padding up onto the main deck, stifling a yawn and squinting at you both with a mildly disgusted look on her face.

“How the hell are you guys up so damn early all the time?”

“Ah, they say that cats are diurnal creatures — so they’re most awake at dawn and at dusk. As for the moss-head… I’ve heard that idiots don’t need as much sleep. Not as much brain to rest, y’know?” Sanji remarks, smirking as he brushes by Nami with a wink.

Zoro scoffs, wiping off his blade with a rough cloth, “It’s called bettering yourself. Not that you’d know what it means. All this time and your congee’s still runny as f —”

“Says the guy who can’t tell the difference between sunny side up and scrambled eggs —”

You sigh, ducking around the squabbling pair with a long, sinuous stretch.

“So… how goes the sparring, hm?” Nami asks, her voice dripping with innuendo as she follows you into the kitchen, her sleep-blurred eyes now sharp, her grin moon-sly and teasing.

“It goes,” you say, opening a cupboard and rummaging around for anything that catches your eye.

“I see… and is it going somewhere in particular?” Nami drapes herself across the long couch, her eyes tracking you as you move from cupboard to cupboard, and finally stopping in front of the fridge.

You hoist yourself up onto the suspended table, a glass of milk in your hands, “Depends on where this particular place is.”

Nami shrugs, “Dunno… just seems like Zoro’s spending a lot of time following you around like a lost little puppy these days. When was the last time he’s left you alone for more than say —” Nami makes a show of checking her watch, “15 minutes?”

“We’re just training together — and he doesn’t follow me around all the time —” but even as the words leave your mouth, Zoro ducks into the kitchen, his eyes skipping from you to Nami and back again.

“Waiter said we’re on our own for breakfast.”

“I’m good with milk.” You hold up your glass even as Nami snickers and Zoro nods, rummaging through a few cupboards until he pulls out a bag of jerky. At this, Nami’s eyes slingshot between the pair of you one last time before she sighs dramatically and saunters back out of the room, muttering something about conning Sanji into making proper breakfast.

The quiet twines around your ankles, soft and familiar. Zoro leans against the counter, the small bag of jerky untouched as he watches you sip at your milk. Heat curls along the curve of your spine as you feel the weight of his eyes tracking your lips, the bright pink flash of your tongue.

You swallow.

So does he.

“You’re getting faster.”

“You’re getting stronger.”

Your words overlap like the pages of a book, flipped through too fast.

You blink, and then — laughter. Your’s startled and shy, his soft and… you turn just fast enough to catch him duck his head the other way, shoving his hand into the bag of jerky. He clears his throat.

“Thanks.”

“What for?” you work to press some of your usual purr back into your voice, but it sounds strange and tinny in the wane morning light.

“For…” Zoro hesitates, and for a second, you find yourself leaning into the smooth weight of his voice, as if you might be able to catch his next words in the palm of your hands like bruised fruit.

“Alright — outta my kitchen, mosshead — lovely ladies like these should always start the day with a well-balanced meal.”

Sanji kicks open the door and Zoro glares. You’re already hopping off the counter, quiet as starlight, grinning behind Sanji’s back even as Zoro sighs.

“It’s not your kitchen, waiter. I’ve got as much right to be in here as you do.”

You try to slip away but Nami’s hand darts out to catch your wrist.

“Not so fast… kitten.”

Your entire face flushes at the word.

“I don’t know what you’re —”

Nami’s satisfied smile is more Cheshire than cat but you allow her to drag you up to the bow of the ship, half-concealed by her tangerine trees. Up here, the air tastes briny and sweet with morning air. Up here, you have you squint against the sea’s shattered glass light, cast up towards the dawning sky.

Nami leans against the railing and casts her eyes out towards the distant horizon. There’s always been a sun-kissed quality about her, the brilliant orange of her hair, the darkening patches of freckles scattered across her nose-bridge. You let her press her arm to yours and feel the warmth and soft of her skin.

“So. Zoro, huh?”

You sigh, looking down towards the dark emerald of the waves below. You watch as the water froths against the ship’s hull, peeling away in roils of white lace.

“A little cliche, if you ask me — y’know, the swordsman and the knife-girl? But… I guess it makes sense.” There’s a lightness to her voice that makes you laugh, a solidness to her words that makes you powerless to contest them.

“They say it’s good to have hobbies in common,” you offer, hoping to match the playfulness in her voice. Nami chuckles, making a noise at the back of her throat.

“Oh yeah, I bet ‘bodycount’ means something totally different to the two of you, huh?”

You let a real laugh break though then, your head tipping back and reveling in the sound. The rapidly rising sun casts everything in a dreamy, slant-wise glow — golden hour, you think you’ve heard it called. But you wonder if it’s might just be more amber than gold, standing here, laughing with Nami, you feel for the first time, a weight shift and slip from your shoulders. Like shedding a thick coat after a long day’s travel.

Then, the light shifts, a thin fog of clouds dulling out the sun’s light as Nami fixes you with her too-sharp eyes.

“He’s going after Mihawk, isn’t he?”

You sober as well, wetting your lips. “Eventually, yeah.”

“And… you’re helping him.”

You nod.

Nami sighs, dropping her chin onto a the heel of her hand.

“You… really think he can do it? Beat Mihawk?”

You take your time scanning the horizon. Without the transcendent glow of the rising sun, the waves are cooler, darker, and you know better than most the monsters lurking just beneath the surface.

“Mihawk’s only human,” you say. To which Nami scoffs.

“Right. That makes it loads better.”

You instinctively reach for where you knives would be, the empty loops on your belt like a persistent itch in your fingertips.

“At least it means he bleeds red just like the rest of us.”

Nami nods as you push away from the rails, retracing your steps into the kitchen where you’d left your knives.

Sanji is halfway through grilling mackerel with a steaming pot of miso soup bubbling on the stove. He gives you a wink and a knowing grin as you wander in, jerking his chin towards the hanging table where Zoro is running an oiled cloth along the length of his sword.

“In case you were lookin’ for your knives,” Sanji’s voice is silken tofu smooth as he turns back to his cooking.

Zoro doesn’t look up as you reach for your knives, laid out perfectly, already cleaned and oiled.

“I was doing mine anyway,” Zoro says, by way of an explanation.

You smirk, reaching out to tuck each one into its spot on your belt.

“Thanks, pretty boy, altruism looks good on you.”

You slink from the room before you can hear Sanji’s witty taunt or Zoro’s biting retort, a satisfied heat stirring steady at the base of your stomach.

The languorous days slip into sun-soaked weeks, and though it takes longer than anyone would’ve liked for Zoro’s wound to heal, it does. And the scar, well —

“I think it looks awesome!” Luffy says, clapping Zoro on the shoulder as you tug away the gauze to inspect the long thin strip of puckered skin, a few shades lighter than the rest of Zoro’s chest.

“Yeah, real… manly-like,” Usopp adds, arms folded, leaning against the far wall, fighting an expression between impressed slightly queasy. He backpedals immediately as Zoro casts him a dark look.

“N-not that you’re not real or manly already or anything like that! It just uh — adds to the allure, y’know?”

Nami makes a face, “Yeah, I don’t know about allure…”

Sanji grunts.

“When did this become a museum exhibit?” Zoro snaps, frowning at the entire crew, gathered around him as you unstick the last of the bandages from his now healed stomach.

“We just wanted to make sure you were alright, Zoro!” Luffy says, rummaging around for a snack now that he’s satisfied his first mate is properly healed.

“I’ve been fine for weeks,” Zoro says flatly as Usopp joins Luffy and Sanji wanders towards the window to let out a puff of smoke.

“Can you lean back a bit — I think it’s still not completely healed by your —” you frown as you try to press Zoro back, your palm splaying against his stomach as your free hand traces at the waistband of his pants towards where the large gash tapers into his right hip.

Zoro hisses between his teeth and the room goes deathly quiet.

You look up to find everyone staring, and then half a second later Nami leaps to her feet, talking loudly about a part of the East Blue map she wants to finish, Usopp stuttering after her about checking the knots on the main mast, and Sanji dragging Luffy by the scruff of the neck, insisting that they set up the fishing lines for the day.

The door slams behind Luffy and somehow, the room feels more full than it had been just a few seconds prior. The silence pulses between you, thick and pitched and expanding.

You clear your throat delicately, lowering your eyes back to the task at hand, doing your best to ignore the uncomfortable heat now creeping up the back of your neck.

“Can you —”

Zoro leans back wordlessly, propping his arms against the table, his hips shifting forward to allow you access.

You gently tug down the material of his waistband several inches to reveal the tip of the wound, still a bit raw and red, possibly from the friction of his clothes, or just his general lack of regard for his own recovery.

“Yeah, it’s still not all —” your voice cuts off as you look up to find Zoro staring, and the burgeoning hunger you find there stills your heart in your chest. It’s a strange, base, animal thing, caught in the swirling darkness of his irises, but he holds his breath, and so you do yours —

“Healed…” you swallow hard, reaching for the thick, pungent balm sitting by his left hand.

With slow, methodic movements, you uncap the balm and dip your finger into the sticky surface, reaching forward to run the tip along the soft redness of Zoro’s skin. Thinking back later, you might’ve been thankful for the sharp herbal fragrance of the balm to distract you from the deeper, muskier smell of Zoro’s skin, salted as it always is with sea and sweat, tempered with the unmistakable scent of steel.

But right then, all you can think about is the sharp cut of his hipbone as it slants down, and down, and —

You pull back when you’re done, making to wipe your hand on a piece of washcloth when Zoro catches your wrist in one smooth movement, pulling you up till you’re chest to chest, your body slotted between his spread open legs.

“Zoro, what —”

“Caught you —” His voice is nothing more than a whisper, but you feel it rumbling through his chest to yours.

“— You’re losing your touch.”

You narrow your eyes, “Not a chance — I was distracted, that’s not fair —”

You try to tug your wrist away only for him to tighten his grip. A fist-like something clenches inside your stomach along with his fingers. Fire licks at the base of your belly before climbing up your spine.

“Hn. All’s fair.”

You watch in near slow motion as his eyes flick down to your lips and back up again; you’re helpless to do else but mirror the movement. With your wrist still caught in his grasp, it’s almost too easy for him to pull you forward, to tip you into him till you’re nearly spilling over, till you’re scrambling back with half-caught breaths and wide eyes and your other palm pressing firmly to his chest, where you can feel the fluttering beats of his own heart caught just beneath your touch.

“I-if you’re gonna make a move, at least wait till I’ve finished wiping off my hands,” the words come tumbling out, more a reflex than anything else, but it makes Zoro blink and lean back just a few inches. His grip on you eases ever so slightly, and you tug your wrist from his grasp, expecting him to snap to, to jerk away, to blush or apologize, but instead, all he does is watch you mutely wipe at your hands with those dark, hungry eyes.

When you’ve finished, he quirks an eyebrow as if waiting for you to make the next move.

At this, you huff, rolling your eyes, “Come on*,* pretty boy — you can’t expect me to dress your wounds and make the first —”

The kiss is quick and searing and over all too fast, as most first kisses are. The second kiss is more patient, a slow easing in, a teasing of lips and and a testing of tongues. The third is breathless, hedging on urgent. The fourth — well the fourth is cut short by Zoro pressing his forehead to yours, the both of you panting.

“Wh — what the hell was that?” you ask, gulping down great lungfuls of breath as Zoro scoffs.

“C’mon kitten, don’t go gettin’ shy on me now…” Zoro smirks even as you lean forward to try and nip at his bottom lip, eyes flashing. He tilts your mouth back to his, and words are lost for a few more moments before you find them again.

“Who said anything about getting shy? I just wanted an explanation.”

Zoro makes an abortive noise at the back of his throat as you nose into the place under his jaw and graze your teeth along the skin there.

“C-can’t a guy say thanks for someone dressing his wounds?”

You pull back with a soft hiss and a sly smile; it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter.

“Don’t tell me this is how you’ve been thanking all your savoirs. I’ll have to go compare notes with Zeff —”

At this, Zoro grunts, wincing slightly as your belt presses against the inside of his hip where his wound is still raw. You pull away, startled.

“Sorry — I didn’t —”

“Hey.”

Zoro tugs you back with soft hands and an even softer smile, “Not sure I liked having you talk about Zeff while we were…”

You break him off with a helpless laugh and he joins you a second later. And then, before either of you can say more, Usopp’s voice echoes down from above deck.

“Land ho! Land ho!”

You glance back at Zoro, who slips off the table and has the decency to rearrange his clothes. You share a meaningful look before trying to pull away but Zoro once again catches your wrist.

This time, his lips are set and his eyes are just a tad bit harder than before.

“Don’t forget, kitten, you still owe me an island.”

You pause, peering at him beneath half-lidded eyes as your head lists first to one side, and then the other.

His eyes track yours before ticking down to your lips once more, where your tongue traces a path his own had run along not so long ago.

“You should know by now, pretty boy, that I never forget my debts.”

And just like that, your wrist slips from between his fingers, and Zoro’s left with nothing more than the taste of your mouth and the flicker of your shadow as he steps into the dim hallway.

Loguetown is a bustling place, a bleached button pressed into the chest of the East Blue, bright as a Marine’s new uniform. People blow through like fall leaves on the wayward wind and ships of all shapes and sizes dot every bit of tangible coast, their masts foresting the skyline until it’s barely visible from the docks.

“Need new swords,” Zoro announces as the crew all gather on the creaky boardwalk.

“Same. Could do with a few more knives,” you nod.

Nami tuts, rolling her eyes, “Well I’m getting a new wardrobe.”

“I’m gonna get some lunch!” Luffy grins widely as Sanji sighs, digging in his pockets for a fresh light.

“Looks like we’re stuck with the grocery shopping,” he says, nudging Usopp.

“Uh… I was actually gonna go check out some tech shops to find some parts for…” Usopp trails off as Sanji pins him with a look before shrugging, “Or… I mean, I don’t mind doing groceries first and then looking for parts.”

“Good man!” Sanji smiles, clapping him on the back as he frog-marches Usopp towards the market.

“No getting into fights, got it?” Nami looks between you and Zoro, “we need to be discreet.”

You bat your lashes, “Us? Never! We’ll be sweet and soft as kangaroos.”

Nami frowns, “Wait — kangaroos aren’t —”

You laugh, flouncing off towards town, “Never said they were!”

Zoro sighs before following after.

“It’s not your first time here,” he says after a while. It’s not a question, so you don’t provide an answer, contenting yourself with looking around at all the new shop fronts that had popped up since you were last here, and all the old haunts that have been here since what you’re sure is the inception of time itself.

“Where are we going?” he asks after several more minutes of turning down seemingly random streets.

You flash him a grin, “I know a place.”

When you duck into the arms shop, Ipponmatsu glances up from over his bulbous nose before doing a double-take. His eyes narrow to slits.

“You! You nearly robbed me blind the last time you were here! Get —”

Drop a bag of clinking Berry into one of the sword bins with a feline smirk, drawing a long finger against the hilt of some unnamed blade.

“There. That should set us even. And… you did try to swindle me first. Plus, I’m here on proper business today — my friend is in the market for some swords.”

Ipponmatsu’s eyes remain slits, but his fingers twitch as he edges toward the bin, snatching the sack from it and clutching it to his chest.

Zoro glances around at the various blades hung and displayed around the surprisingly spacious shop. The distinct unctuous tone of your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by the shopkeeper, but he seems too distracted by the sack of Berry to snipe any further.

“Well,” Ipponmatsu gruffs after a few more seconds, “I’m watchin’ you… oh…” his eyes slide from you to Zoro and then to the Wadou Ichimonji at his side. Zoro almost feels the man’s jaw go slack for a second before he slams it back into place.

“E-esteemed swordsman, sir! That blade — at your side — if I might just take a look —”

You’re perched on the cashier’s counter faster than either of them can blink, one leg crossed over the other, feet hanging idly off the side, a palm pinning Ipponmatsu’s greedy hand to the surface, an almost bored expression on your face as you squint down at his fingers.

“Hm… don’t they say that swordsmen ought to take good care of their hands? I could feed a whole family of mice with the dead skin of your cuticles.”

Ipponmatsu yelps and tries to jerk free but your hold is firm, and Zoro has to fight down the amused grin twitching at the edge of his mouth. He’s felt first hand how strong your grip can be, how unnervingly quick the pressure is there, slicing off circulation with the precision of a blade.

“W-what do you want?!” the shopkeeper looks wildly between the pair of you.

You shrug, “Like I said, we’re in the market for some swords. I’d just like to make sure we keep all the dealings above water, hm?”

Ipponmatsu glares at you for a second longer before all the fight goes out of him and he slumps against the counter.

“Oh, alright alright! Look at the damned swords — it’s just… you’ve got a mighty good blade there. You’d do well not to lose it, ” he jerks his chin towards Zoro’s blade, “or get it stolen,” his eyes flash back to where you’re now cheerfully perusing a collection of knives in the far corner, the space you’d inhabited on the cashier’s counter static with your absence.

Ipponmatsu rubs as his wrist. Zoro nods.

“Yeah. I know.”

“Don’t worry — I’ve got no interest in katana’s. I prefer more subtlety myself.” You swing a pair of serrated claw knives around your fingers as if testing them for weight before putting them back.

All in all, it takes half an hour, a cursed blade, and some groveling on Ipponmatsu’s part before you and Zoro stroll out of the arms shop with two brand new katanas strapped to his side, and a fresh set of throwing needles tucked into your belt.

You take off in a random direction and Zoro follows after. You pass through a wide open square brimming with people and slip into a dark alley between two buildings made of carved marble so white it almost hurts the eyes.

Zoro is quiet as he walks behind you, until he isn’t.

“So, what’s the story?”

“Oh… just something from a past life of mine,” you answer offhandedly, fluttering your fingers through the air.

“Yeah? And how many of those have you got?”

You shoot him a piercing look and a crooked grin, “Some number between one and nine — take your best guess.”

Zoro falls silent again as a pair of drunken sailor careen by, arm in arm, belting a sea shanty.

After a while, you turn, “Hey, how’dyou know there was even story to begin with?”

Zoro ticks up an eyebrow, his hands resting one on top of the other over his newly obtained sword hilts as the pair of you wander through the tributary streets, ducking under awnings and slipping through crowds.

“With you, there’s always a story.”

He feels your eyes on him first, and he lets you watch him for a while, his own eyes slipping from store fronts to shop windows. Occasionally, he lets himself linger on the reflection of you and him — him made of so many solid, hard shapes, and you, soft as water, quick as light, elusive as any shadow.

“Then… how do you think this one ends?” you ask, your eyes meeting his in a reflection of a window across which you can see the a vague Nami-shaped pile of expensive clothes.

“This one?”

“Yeah. Ours.”

Zoro grunts, letting his gaze flick away, “What makes you think it’ll end anytime soon?”

He catches your smile and you let him, “Who said anything about soon?”

He feels the prickle of heat as it crawls up his neck and clears his throat.

“Well then, maybe when I become the World’s Greatest Swordsman.”

You frown, suddenly contemplative.

“So… it’ll end when you beat Mihawk?”

Zoro shrugs, “Might. Or it might not.”

Your frown deepens as you turn to face him proper. Through the glass, Nami catches sight of you and is waving you in, pointing at a rack of clothes glittering in sequins and patched in colors you’ve never imagined putting on your body before today.

“No? Won’t that be when you become the greatest in the world? When you beat him?”

Zoro turns, and there — just there, caught in the light of his eyes, the spark of something as he looks down at you. There’s a smile pressed between his lips that’s part mischief, part hesitancy, and all earnest truth.

“World’s a big place. Might have to check around to make sure there’s not a better swordsman out there, somewhere.” His voice is low, hope twisting beneath its rippling surface.

You feel your heart skittering your chest, the warmth in your stomach crystalizing into something more than simple curiosity and harder than desire.

“Ah… right. That does pose a problem, doesn’t it?”

Zoro makes a consenting noise.

“So,” he says, with a tone of light finality as he turns back toward the window behind which Nami is now twirling in front of a mirror in a truly lurid dress of hot pink.

“So…” you say, feigning an air of defeat as you sigh, “I guess you’re stuck with me for a while yet, pretty boy.”

“Hn.” Zoro, for his part, doesn’t sound too upset with the proclamation.

Just then, Luffy’s voice shouts from behind you both and you turn to find him waving.

“Zoro! You have to come look! There’s a guy at the market selling Sea King Meat!”

Then, Nami finally pokes her head out from inside the clothing store, now sporting a pair of blindingly bright disco pants.

“C’mon! There’s like a million dresses I put aside for you to try!”

You and Zoro turn back to each other in a single, stolen breath. Your eyes collide, and Zoro smiles. A small, brilliant, unguarded thing.

“Go on, kitten. I’ll catch up to you.”

You toss him a wide, lingering grin.

“Right. You’d better.”

Zoro waves as he turns towards Luffy, “Don’t worry. I will.”