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darlingdarkly · 1 month

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Negotiations with the Devil

Danny Johnson x f!reader smut

14k words

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Look at me. 👁️👁️ I need you to heed the tags. I am going to tag the hell out of this thing and if you don’t read the tags then you’re throwing yourself into a mixed bag of whatever the hell and that’s on you. The tags are there for your benefit. Not mine. You have been warned.

CW: noncon!elements, dubcon!elements (honestly this things a consent rollercoaster, strap in), stalking, obsessive behavior, home invasion, death threats, bondage, knifeplay, violence, minor bodily harm, blood, blood consumption, coercion, consumption of drugs (weed), breathplay, fingering, unprotected pnv climactic intercourse, spanking, praise, drug consumption (without consent), Danny is a whole warning of his own lmao

He can tell by the way you mime along to the lyrics, the rhythmic pattern of your head bangs alone that you listen to the same playlist everyday while you sweat it out on the treadmill. People tend to be pretty ritualistic as it is, even if they don’t know it, but this was just too concentric to be coincidence. He was right though, in the end. It didn’t take much, slipping into your room at night while you’d been sleeping and unplugging your phone from the charger on your nightstand beside your bed. Stopping to look down at your sleeping form, brush an errant strand of hair away from the frame of your face, watch you twitch in your sleep. He wonders what you dream of. Peaceful, listless, little dreams while you believe no one’s watching.

He airdrops your playlist from your phone to his, technology is such a fickle thing, making our lives easier, making our info easier to steal. He won’t be malicious with it, no, not much. Just invasive enough to strengthen the bond between you, now he can listen along while he watches you run, queue up your playlist at the same time you do, watch you up the speed and take your first steps while the first notes begin to sound through your ears and his.

It makes the subtle rhythm of your hips make sense, the timing of your poses and moves fall into place. You kind of half-dance-half-run. Fucking adorable by the way, he’s got more than one snap of you striking that same cute little pose for that half second between steps every time your favorite song comes around. He knows it’s your favorite by the way you disrupt the normal flow of songs in order to play it over again, a luxury you don’t afford any other song in the mix.

Scrambling to keep up with the tread as you snatch your phone from the cup holder where it sits while you run to start it over. You don’t even have the patience to slow it down so you don’t damn near trip every time. It’s a precaution you skip, one among many others that’s led him to be able to keep as close of tabs on you as he’s able. You really should be more careful, it's another lesson, one among many others that he’ll have to teach you.

He doesn’t mind, it’s a bit of an honor really, though he doubts you’ll see it that way. It’s a miracle you hadn’t been singled out before now with the way you so carelessly choose to lead your life. Prancing around your house half naked, windows drawn but not quite closed, tease. The ADT sign you planted in the turf of your lawn was a nice touch, too bad a sign was all it was, those security plans sure are expensive. He wonders, if you knew now what you’ll know then, would you have forked it over.

You come home with a migraine, it developed somewhere between the stoplight outside of work and the small traffic jam in front of a four car pile up two blocks from your house. You took some excedrin when you were finally able to get in the house. But not before pulling the trash can up from the edge of the road, gathering your mail from the box and going back to the car three times to look for your purse which you set down in the bathroom for some reason, god only knows why.

While they normally kick in within the hour, by the time three had come and gone you’d given up hope. It was a ‘lay on the couch, watch shitty tv and pray to whatever deity is listening to please stop tightening the invisible vice around my head’ kind of evening. All fore-planned events and activities had been canceled in lieu of lounging around like a sloth. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open half the time anyway, it’s how you knew when you called it an early night that you’d need the little, black silk, travel mask you bought precisely for occasions such as these.

Light is evil, light is the enemy, only darkness is your friend. You climb into bed after double checking the locks on the doors and windows. You've heard about “Roseville’s Ghost”. It was all over the news and in the papers. Better safe than sorry, though you didn’t worry much about those things. It could never happen to you, of course.

Settled into bed with your brain still under a full frontal assault you promptly pulled the soft black material over your eyes and felt just an inkling of immediate relief. It was both minuscule and monumental. It wasn’t long before you fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

“Wake up.” Your eyes spring open only to be met with the same resolute blackness you’d been familiar with before opening them. You are certain you’d heard someone. At least fairly certain, you don't have any dreams staining the backs of your eyelids to have heard that voice from but you’re certain you’d heard it. You go to lift the mask from over your eyes, light a match in the darkness of your uncertainty and quell your fears but your arms won't move, neither your right nor your left. The first thing to spring to mind is sleep paralysis, you’d dealt with it a few times prior but never after a migraine, never with you unable to open your eyes. You’re unsure if that makes it better or worse.

But you are sure it’s sleep paralysis. You know because there’s that tell-tale heavy, immovable weight on your chest. The only difference being you cannot see the terror that preys upon you, suspending you in this half-asleep-half-awake nightmare spell. You wonder how long you’ll have to endure it. You don’t get to ruminate on it long before that voice speaks again.

It absolutely has to be coming from the thing on top of you, although when he does speak again you can feel it as well as hear it and that’s new. Perhaps, with one of your senses removed, your others have grown more keen. Or your sleep paralysis demon is becoming more evolved, feeding off your fear and manifesting into something more physical. Your terrified mind gets so lost in its own demented circles you don’t hear what it says the first time.

“W-what?” Your eyes widen behind the mask, you’re fairly certain you’re supposed to be unable to speak in these situations, complete paralysis. It’s in this split second, with this single, small epiphany that you realize this isn’t a dream, or a nightmare, or something in between, but real. Actually happening to you in real time, with a real man sitting on your chest whom you can’t see.

“I said, I’m going to take off your mask. Don’t scream.” You’re sure that won’t be much of an issue, since you've realized this is in fact not a nightmare but indeed a real ongoing situation your vocal chords have locked up tighter than a drum. You’re unsure you could have spoken even if your life depended on it, even if your screams were to be your only saving grace, you’re fairly certain you’re currently incapable of sound, bound to compliance by sheer terror, obedient against your will.

You feel fingers at your temples and your eyes automatically shut as the silken mask is removed. You should keep them that way, resist whatever sick curiosity tempts your lids to lift but you can’t, you have to know, you have to see.

You wish you hadn’t. The man striding your lower half is large, dressed in black he appears as a solid block that blends his outline with the shadows. The one thing you can distinguish is his face. Pale white and elongated into an unending scream. Sunken eyes and missing a nose, it seems to mock you with something akin to pity, though the man behind the mask seems anything but sorry to inconvenience you.

“Good.” He praises as you stare up into his lifeless face, wondering how in the hell you could possibly have let yourself fall into a situation such as this.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. When I say, you’re going to get up and walk over to that chair over there.” He motions to your computer chair, pulled front and center into the middle of the room. “And you’re going to sit nice and still for me and if you move I’m going to make you wish you hadn’t.” He pauses like he’s waiting for a response. “Do you understand?” Surely you’re dreaming, this absolutely can NOT be happening right now.

The answer to your internal question is answered promptly as you feel him lean down over you and press something sharp, sinister and cold against your neck, you don’t dare shiver against its chill. His next words are a whisper, the overwhelming stench of cheap plastic clogging your nostrils as he leans down close. “I said, do you understand?”

You nearly choke on the dried strip of leather that’s become your tongue trying to say yes, not daring to nod. It comes out a ghost of the word, a breathy pathetic excuse for speech but it must be good enough for him as you feel him pull the blade off your neck and you begin to feel like you can breathe again, at least momentarily.

He lifts off you and your brain insists that you should take some sort of initiative, be brave, strike back. But one look at the man before you once he’d risen to his full stature abated all thoughts of bravery. Tall and lean, his choice of attire did a good job of masking much of anything else discernible of his appearance and of course the mask completely covered his face, the hood pulled up over the edges of it even made it impossible to see any of his hair either. For all you could tell the man was literally a ghost, though one with weight and presence and deadly intentions.

You realize he’s watching you analyze him, racking your eyes up his body and trying to size him up. Normally, in movies and such, the bad guys are always trying to get you to hurry, get what they want and get out of there. Not him, there’s an odd quality about him, the absence of rush, almost prodding his way through this, like it’s more of a game than a strategic offense. But that’s not to say he seemed amateurish in any aspect, quite the opposite. It was clear he was fully in control, so much so in fact that he could afford the leisure of toying with you a little.

“Like what you see, doll?” You can hear the cocky smirk in his tone, feel him oozing with it as he goads you in jest. He watches your expression shift from confusion to alarm and then one of hastily tacked on offense. “What? No fucking way you-!” Your sentence falls away, left hung in the air unfinished as you realize you’ve momentarily forgotten you’re in a home invasion scenario and not dealing with some normal asshole from off the street and any snarkiness you may have been ready to serve back to him dissipates as you switch back into survival mode. “Please I-“

“Get up.” He cuts you off, firm and authoritative. Fear fills your legs like lead and makes them uncooperative but it only takes a flash of the blade at his side, the promise of pain in the glint of the steel to make you pull back the covers and try. He’s patient with you as you amble out of bed slow and jerkily. Even though you only make it to sitting up, legs thrown over the edge and eyeing up the computer chair he’d centered in the room like it’s rigged to carry electric voltage. You knew once you were tied to it it’d be your final destination.

A wave of his blade recaptures your attention, with two flicks of the tip he motions you to rise. You did as he bid, without much other choice. Standing across from him that instinctive fight or flight urge rises from the marrow of your bones and makes your legs twitch with action’s potential but ultimately you end up meandering to the chair and sitting, resting your hands in your lap pliantly as you await further instruction.

When you still he comes to life, moving around behind you and gently pulling your hands from your lap and around the back of the backrest. With this time you have nothing else to do but observe, honing in on his individual boot falls, glancing down to register his combat boot clad feet, as blacked out as the rest of his fit.

Forced to pay attention to the way his hands move over your skin, the heat radiating off of his body warming to your back. The even, repetitive, lulling quality of his breaths in your immediate space. Even the faint sting of cheap cologne burns the hairs in your nostrils, making you lightheaded in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant.

There’s the shift of fabric and the sound of him unfastening something you can’t see from beyond your peripherie. You feel his gloved hands glide over your skin before the cord wraps around your wrists, binding them. He’s surprisingly slow and methodical; not overly rough until he has to be, the knots require a certain use of force that leaves you wincing.

He stands and moves about the room, silently adjusting it to his liking. Closing your bedroom door, drawing the curtains tight, pushing open your bathroom door to throw a little more light into the room. While he completes these menial tasks you pick up on something unsettling.

Just the ease with which he traverses the room. This house has a runner seam, a raised board that rides the centerline of its entire length. After moving in it took you months to stop tripping over it, to mentally identify the mapping of this new space in your brain that allows for an extra inch of clearance automatically. Over the span of your occupancy you’d had a few boyfriends and none of them lasted long enough to get used to that seam. Not even your parents who’d been over the most, helping you unpack and make a few minor repairs had ever gotten used to it. Everyone you’d ever had over has tripped over that runner seam, but not him, not once.

He pulls one of your kitchen chairs up from out of the shadows, the legs squalling against your hardwood floor until he sets it in place right in front of yours and sits. Scooching up nice and close to you, your knees bumping against each other as he settles in. You try to avoid touching him but his legs are long and he spreads them out wide so both your knees are bracketed by his, his plastic face regarding yours with that same mock-pity expression as the cold fingers of fear rustle up your spine, making you shiver.

You need to get this man out of your house in any way you can. Your first instinct is to try and scare him away, maybe you are no real threat but perhaps the idea that there will be more people added to the equation will be enough to get him to reconsider.

“Please!! Please just go! My roommate’s gonna be home soon a-and she.. she’ll see you and scream and- and-“

His head cocks just so, like he’s staring at a picture frame that’s askew, off in a way he knows just at a glance is wrong. “Let’s skip over the bullshit, shall we? I already know everything there is to know about you, babygirl.”

“She works late but she’s gonna be back any minute now!!” You reaffirm, trampling over his unsettling comment.

“You don’t have a roommate. You’ve lived in this house by yourself since your last roommate moved out some… hmmm..” he pauses, you can almost see the numbers fly past the whites of his eyes as he, no doubt, flips through the calendar in his head. “14 months ago.”

Horror floods your veins but you push past it, insistent. “My parents, they’re coming over first thing tomorrow morning.” He chuckles, a knowing sound filled with humor like you’ve just made some kind of inside joke, but it leaves you nothing but bloated with dread.

“On a couples retreat to Acapulco. Left a month ago, won’t be home for another two.” Your throat tightens, it makes your next try come out less confident and more shriekish.

“My brother-“ You rebuff.

“Lives in Michigan.” He interjects.

“Sister!” You scramble to refute.

“Don’t have one.” He adds confidently.

“My boyfriend!” A last ditch effort, even you can hear the desperation leaking into disbelief as you say it.

“Oh, sweetheart. Stop. You’ve been chronically single for how long now? Nine? Ten months?”

Your mouth plops open like a fish out of water. Your eyes the size of saucers as he expertly thwarts every attempt to deter the inevitable. How could he possibly know? Oh my god! Who cares! You’ve got to get this guy the fuck out of your house and now! Fucking think! You’ve seen this stuff on the news over and over. What do they always say? Don’t fight. Just give them what they want. Give them what they want and they’ll go away. Now you’ve just got to figure out what it is he wants.

“I-I- I’ve got money. Y-you can have it. All of it. It’s-“

“Nine hundred and forty five dollars even in the little black Sentry fireproof safe. Hidden under your floor, under the board that creaks in front of the closet.” He says matter of factly and there’s a hidden smile in his tone, like he’s waiting for the praise that comes posthaste with answering a problem promptly and correctly. When he doesn't get his immediate gratification he antes up.

“It’s even because any change you have you save up in a jar for the end of the month when you carry it up to the bank and exchange it for bills, which you add to the safe after you pull out the board and put in your passcode. 974703.” Your mouth hangs open in speechless horror. How could he know that? You always go to the bank at the end of the month, you figure he could deduce that but your passcode? You’ve never even written that down. How would he know your passcode? “Ohhhuuhhhghh my god.”

The floor feels like it’s dropped out from beneath you. He’s speaking but you’re not really registering the words, lost in your own spiral towards insanity. This man knows you, he knows things about you, approximate information about your life, your relationships, your schedule. And yet you don’t have any idea who he is.

His voice is not familiar to you. He has no accent nor any unique qualities or lilts that you can discern or recognize. He’s well spoken and intelligent, cocky and in a way you won’t admit outside the safety of your own thoughts, oddly charming. He doesn’t want money, can’t be bartered or bought. There seems to be no clear motivator for this man’s actions. You’re running out of bargaining chips with which to trade for your life.

If you can’t tempt him then maybe you can reason with him. Perhaps it’s not too late to get him to change his mind. Part of you reasons that if he’s wearing a mask it’s because he wants to keep his identity from you, which must mean he plans to leave you alive. There’s all kinds of potholes and washouts in your theory but under the influence of fear the mind can bridge gaps in logic that rival the Mariana Trench. That’s when it comes to you and you’re almost giddy with the realization. Your reaction is animated, making you nearly jump up in your words’ enthusiasm to escape your lips. You laugh at the simplicity of it, a nervous little sound that’s half relief, half insanity. God why hadn’t you thought of that sooner!

“I haven’t seen your face! I have no earthly idea what you even look like! You can just go! Like for real, just leave! And we don’t have to do this.” There’s a rumble from his chest. A deep, dark laugh like a resounding rock slide from above and it means one thing and one thing only, danger. To your horror, one gloved hand begins to rise to the cusp of his mask and you wrench your eyes closed, titling your head back until your neck is jacked and your face lifts to the ceiling above, screaming all the while. “No! No, no, no, no, NO!” You feel one hand reach up to grasp your chin, pulling it down. You fight, but he ultimately wins, his leather clad fingers anchoring your chin to your chest. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

You chant no like a mantra. Like if you say it a certain amount of times fast enough, if you try and believe hard enough he will disappear from existence, like some kind of reverse childhood mirror game. You can not see him, therefore he cannot see you, therefore poof! Begone intruder! You shake your head back and forth, yelling it louder and louder all the while. He can drag your head down to his heart's content but he can’t possibly open your eyes for you. That’s impossible.

You feel the knife before you ever see it, slipping along the curved flank of your bare thigh. It’s steely edge biting just ever so slightly into the plush flesh, as if sampling an offered morsel of meat to determine its rarity.

Your eyes fly open of their own accord in reaction to the pain and stare right into his own dark, dark, brown orbs. There’s a sick warmth in them, something sinister masquerading as compassion, as if they don’t belong to the same man who’s digging a knife into your leg as your eyes lock, but rather to a man feasting his eyes upon his bride for the first time dressed in chiffon white. “There she is.”

You don’t maintain eye contact for long, yours sliding off his to register the huge knife he’s casually dragging the edge of along your exposed thigh, your first good look at it up close. It sports a wicked tip, glimmering dangerously in the diffused light shifting in from the bathroom.

He eases his downward pressure but your leg still stings like hell. His thumb finds the wound in the dark and laves over it soothingly, though it has no soothing effects, just leaving a dimmer, muted burn in its wake.

“Is it all falling into place yet, sweets?” He leans forward into your personal space, like the answer is just on the tip of his nose and you’re somehow still missing it, like this revelation should have been obvious from the start.

You can’t think, mind drawing blank after blank. You try to rationalize this crazy man’s actions in your mind. Why would he do this? Why me? Have I wronged him? Have you wronged anyone at all in the last week? Month? Year? How far back should you be retracing your every step? How long would a person sit on a grudge before exacting this level of revenge? What could you have possibly done to make this man angry with you?

But is that true? Your mind glosses over the fact that he seems anything but angry with you. Menacing? Yes. Threatening? Demanding? Absolutely. But angry? No. Not in the slightest, though you’re so worked up it leaves you blind to these facts.

It dawns on you then. How could you be so stupid? The killer. This is the guy behind all the murders. Your sleep clouded brain shouldn’t have been any excuse for you to oversee what was right in front of you all along. Your face instantly falls as you come to the second realization sitting just behind the first. You’re going to die, this is it.

You switch gears and immediately begin to plead with him, the individual words streaming out of your mouth so quickly they’re stumbling over each other. He watches you like that, watches as you crumple into a desperate subhuman right before his very eyes. You peer up at him from below, done attempting to form coherent sentences as your brain is unable to handle them, now reduced to the simplistic but hopefully moving enough, “Please.” Though repeated over and over and over in rapid succession.

You’re hoping to appeal to this mystery man’s better nature, if there’s one inside of him to speak of. But the next words out of his mouth make you really doubt it. “As much as I love the sound of hearing you beg, I need you to stop so I can speak.”

You’re unable to. It just keeps falling from your lips like someone left a faucet on in your throat and it’s starting to overflow, filling up the swell of your cheeks and beginning to leak out as hot, briny tears from the waterline of your over blinking lashes. He starts shushing you, oh so gently, until your tears begin to ebb and your sobs begin to hitch. You look up into his deep brown eyes, your chin trembling with the might of your fear as your hands wriggle against the cordage wound tight around them behind your back.

“Please.” It’s your last plea, begging him one last time not to do this. His head tilts as silence fills the space between you. “Please!! I don’t understand why you’re doing this!!”

“You want the truth, doll? Want me to just come out and say it?” No, not really. What you really want is for him to just disappear or better yet for you to simply wake up from this living nightmare to find you’d never even made it to bed, just fell asleep in front of the tv and the awkward position you’d fell out in on your lumpy couch plus the remnants of this terrible headache had given you night terrors so real they were beyond anything you’d ever experienced prior, vivid beyond your wildest imaginations.

But it’s not a nightmare because no matter how hard you try, you can’t wake up and he’s still here sitting in front of you and it just keeps on going. “I came here to kill you. But I couldn’t…” Now this is a turn. Did he just say he couldn’t?

“I’ll be honest, babygirl. I can’t decide.” He begins to explain it to you but as he goes on it becomes less and less apparent he’s even talking to you at all. “I watch all my intended targets before I make my design, it’s standard procedure. But the longer I watched you the more invested I became. And then three months came and went and I knew your schedules, your routines, your patterns.. you.” His tone begins to lighten as his eyes lift to meet yours, like something out of some twisted romantic comedy. At least you’re hoping for a comedy, anything other than a tragedy at this point would be just fine with you.

“But I was oddly conflicted.” He continues, dropping your eyes again. “Typically I get visions, increasing in intensity. It starts out mild. Breaking in when they’re isolated, sneaking up to them while they sleep, plunging my knife into their chests, watching their eyes spring open to meet mine before death consumes them. Then, as I watch them more and more, they get more violent in scale, more visceral in nature. The longer I watch, the stronger the blood lust gets, until I’m slicing them open by their stomachs and dragging their intestines out to hang from the ceiling.”

His fists clench and you catch a glimmer, just a passing glimpse of what this man is capable of. His whole body tenses as he’s briefly consumed by his afflictions as he recounts them. His shoulders tense and you can hear the squeaky protest of his leather gloves as he balls his hands into fists ever tighter. The fabric around his forearms bunches and tightens against the muscles straining beneath.

“Sometimes I think about really taking my time with it. Maybe I don’t go straight for the heart, maybe the first strike is less than lethal. Leave them alive a little longer so I can play around a bit. When their lungs start to fill with blood they become less and less capable of screaming and I do love a good scream.”

He smiles up at you with a sharp, toothy grin. The whites of his eyes burning into yours as you try not to look as horrified as you feel. Try and hide the disgust germinating in your gut. But as his eyes meet yours his expression changes. His smile remains but shifts from one filled with humor to one shy and adoration filled, almost bashful in its softening. Your ears perk as he starts to go into more detail regarding his experience with you.

“It was the same with you at first.” His eyes lose contact with yours as he appears to be diving headfirst into another daydream.

“Imagining myself slipping into your bedroom in the dead of night. Finding you deep asleep as I stand over your bed. Burying my knife into your chest.” The way he so casually describes to you his fantasies regarding your murder at his hand makes you short of breath and you wonder just how out of touch he has to be for him to not consider this to be, at the very least, extremely uncomfortable for you.

“But then it changed. Things took a more provocative turn.” Your veins flood with alarm and your eyes widen but he doesn’t look back up at you to catch it, too enthralled with the memories of it. “I saw myself walking up to the side of your bed and climbing over top of you, telling myself it was for a more intimate, close-up kill. Or maybe a better angle in which to plunge the knife into your chest.”

He looks distant, troubled as he speaks. “But that never happens. Now when I enter your room and climb up over you.. you always wake up and look up at me and it’s like I’m frozen. It’s like you see right through me, right through the mask. I know what I should do, I know what I have to do, but I can’t. So instead I always envision myself slipping off the mask and leaning down to kiss you.”

Your cheeks flare with heat at what he’s describing, it only gets worse as he continues. “And I thought it was a fluke and over time everything would go back to normal and I’d dream about killing you again. Except it never did, it just got worse. All I could think of, all I’d dream about was climbing over top of you and grabbing fistfuls of your comforter and ripping back your sheets. Running my hands through your hair and yanking your head back just so I can lean down and place my lips against your neck, finally getting a taste of your skin.”

Your wrists had begun to ache in your binds and it’s only then do you realize it’s because you’re restless in them, pulling at the cordage to distract yourself from the impossible. Your thighs squeezing together against the familiar yet unwelcome sensation of arousal. It’s not real, not a genuine reaction, this means nothing. It's the bizarre circumstances, the adrenaline, the way he’s vividly describing these incredibly intimate actions in such close proximity to you. It doesn’t make you some kind of degenerate, it could happen to anyone in similar circumstances. If anyone was to blame it was him, he’s sick, he’s obscene.

He stops living in his mind for a moment and comes back to you and for once you’re grateful for the distraction. It’s easier to fear him than process your body's reactions. He notices, because of the deliberate way he’d centered the chair so that the light from the bathroom would be cast upon your face, that your eyes are now slightly dilated. And while he knows, through research and personal experience, that the human eye certainly will dilate in response to fear, he also knows that the same reaction occurs when aroused. But the key difference between the two responses is that only one typically makes an individual rub their thighs together and now you won’t meet his gaze.

The thought thrills him, but he lets you keep your secrets a little longer as he continues. “I can’t kill you… but I can’t let you go…” Your brows furrow and you seem to be becoming increasingly distressed. “Why?”

“Well for one, you’ve seen me now. That part was all you. It wasn’t my initial plan but you tempted me and I couldn’t resist. But you see my dilemma, cupcake? You make me do things that are not in my best interest and I never act out of my own interest. Everything I do is planned, methodical, purposeful. But not with you, ever since I singled you out things have changed and they must go back to normal, do you understand?”

You don’t. None of this makes any kind of rational sense. You’ve already begged him to go, begged him not to do this. What does he want from you? Some kind of essay on why he shouldn’t kill you? Two pages front and back double spaced with standard margins? “No.” His eyes bore into yours as he imparts the task with which you’re responsible.

“I need you to convince me not to act within my best interest.” He flashes you a smile that’s meant to be winning as your ears try and fail to process what he's just told you. He wants you to convince him… not to kill you. He can tell it’s not setting well with you.

“You need to relax.” He says nonchalantly, like it’s as simple as taking one big breath and counting to three. Like he didn’t just dump this huge yet vague responsibility onto your shoulders. “Well excuse me if I’m a little riled by a fucking psychopath in my bedroom at three in the fucking morning!!!”

His mouth twists in an annoyed grimace. And for the first time you feel as though your foot has been lodged firmly in your throat. You’ve angered him and now you’re fucked. Way to go, in three seconds flat you’ve made his mind up for him.

“Firstly, I’m a sociopath, not a psychopath. Psychopaths are unable to form emotional bonds or even struggle to feel real, human emotion at all, and I think we both know that’s not true with me. Secondly, it’s midnight, not three a.m, silly. And lastly, this is exactly what I’m talking about, honeybun. You’re stressed out, high strung. I can fix that.”

You lean back as far as you can in your computer chair, the shittily constructed plastic and screws squalling in protest of your weight as he reaches for something your petrified mind can only conjure up worse and worse images of being.

You instinctively recoil and then dumbly relax as the flick of a lighter sparks to life a tiny flame in the otherwise dark of your room. It illuminates him for a moment, the whites of his eyes focusing on something other than you for a change. The dim light throws irregular shadows across the planes of his face. It’s the first really good look you get at him, though you know you shouldn’t. You should be taking every opportunity to forget you ever saw him, only a vague shadow in the dark if you ever wish to make it out of this nightmarish situation alive but you can’t help yourself. He’s just a few feet away and the lighter keeps drawing your eyes like moths, fluttering over his features in passing flight.

He’s got that smoldering, troubled look. Dark eyes, dark hair. Angular jaw, strong chin. There’s a fat joint precariously clenched between his plush lips that he brings the flame up to the end of, taking two quick puffs to light as the end blooms a cherry head and smoke begins to voluminously rise from.

He’s pretty, you begrudgingly have to admit. Naturally attractive in a way that unsettles you to say, the fact worms under the skin at your nape and stands the thin wisps of hair growing there on edge. Especially now that he’s imparted his great secret with you. It would be easier if he were revolting, but he’s not.

It makes you wonder how different the situation would be if he’d just approached you naturally. How easily you’d have fallen under the spell of this man’s witty charm had he had the good sense to try and court you normally. It horrifies you to think how easily you could imagine yourself falling in love with a man holding back a secret as dark as this, a man capable of this level of debauchery. He speaks and snaps you back to the present.

“I won’t untie you. You seem like the tricky type, my love. You’ll have to get your fix another way.” You glower at him to hide your disappointment. As much as you hate to admit it, you’d love a hit right about now. If you’re to die, there’s no better way than high.

“Don’t pout. You’ll get yours.” You instinctively pull your arm towards it for a pass but you’re stopped short by your binds. He must notice, letting out a dark chuckle you hate to admit sends chills down the column of your spine.

“Oh that’s fucking adorable. Hold still.” Before you can move he snaps up a camera you hadn’t noticed dangling from his neck and the bright flare of a flash momentarily blinds you.

When you can see again, he’s staring down into the screen of his, suffice to say, really nice ass looking camera, though you’re no tech expert by any means. His smile widens, flashing a toothy grin down at the image of your face and then up to your real and present one.

Satisfied with capturing the moment, he drops the camera back down to hang from his neck as he eyes you precariously before taking a long, slow drag from the joint. He pulls away and motions you forward with two fingers. You hesitate and get to watch his eyes darken in real time, watch him shift from being personable to something much less tolerant in an instant.

He exhales and a plume of smoke permeates the air in your vicinity, saturating it with the funky, pungent odor of bud. The space between you is noticeably thicker and not just from the smoke. His voice drops that cheerful quality and you suddenly understand that this whole time he’s been being nice to you. He drops your gaze and scoffs to his lap. “I lit this just for you. If you don’t at least indulge me you’ll hurt my feelings.”

When his eyes take hold of yours again they’re anything but friendly. “And you wouldn’t wanna hurt my feelings, now would you doll?” There’s an unspoken threat, an underlying message left unuttered but nevertheless fully understood by both parties.

You are now at a crossroads, humor him or face the alternative and the choice is yours, for him it seems, it wouldn't really be a bother either way. Ultimately you lean in, you’re not exactly in any kind of position to refuse.

He takes another hit, larger than the first, a punishment perhaps for your inhibitions the first go around. Though you know what you’re doing, he still takes a moment prior to coach you, a single word that sends a surge of need shooting down your spine, making you shiver in what you tell yourself is disgust. Without choking or sounding even remotely bothered he orders you around a lungful of smoke.

“Suck.” It’s all you get before his lips push up against yours. They're soft and warm and you feel his hand lift up to cradle your cheek. Intimate, sweet, in a way one could call almost gentlemanly, though you know better. It helps steady you in place before you feel his lips part slightly and blow warm, thick smoke into your mouth that you suck down deep into your lungs. His lips linger long after the smoke is gone, ghosting over yours in casual chase, almost like a lover’s would.

With the hit exchanged, he pulls back from you suddenly and lifts his hand to cover your mouth and nose, his thumb wrapping under the curve of your chin, the pad digging into the soft underbelly and locking your jaw shut.

Your mind can’t help but register the way he easily covers the bottom half of your face with the breadth of one gloved hand. A move that makes your eyes widen and gaze up into his own as he stares you down intensely. “Hold it.” He instructs as your lungs burn, it’s been a hot minute since you’d smoked and the hit is warm and stinging to your fresh, unabused lungs.

A moment passes.. and then two.. and you begin to internally panic. It’s then you realize he means to kill you like this, there’s no other explanation for such cruelty. He intends to asphyxiate you with one hand, force you to choke on the poisoned last breath he’d personally fed into your lungs. You hitch and nearly sputter behind the suction of his gloved palm but his eyes hold yours hostage as he watches you struggle through it, relishing in it.

You had angered him with your earlier comment, it seems. Made up his mind for him and now he’s going to end his issues single-handedly. You’d always heard the old adage “I wanna watch the life drain out of your eyes as you take your last breath.” You’d understood it before at face value, a thing said to provoke, to strike fear, to rattle. You’d never dreamed of the moment it’d happen to you, to experience it first hand, to stare into the eyes of your unmaker.

You’d imagined, in your last fleeting moments, the space behind your eyes would be filled with memories. Life’s intrinsic moments. People, places, family, friends. That’s what people always say. But it wasn’t like that. In those moments you believed were to be your last, all your brain could fixate on, all you could think about with the last of its magnificent power, in all its infinite wisdom was his eyes.

The deep sedentary shade of his twin orbs, the flecks and streaks of paler and deeper hues. A spectrum of browns infinitesimal in the pools of his irises. These are the eyes who’ll witness your last moments, the transfer of your consciousness from the here and now to wherever it is we go after this. These are the eyes of the reaper.

Just when you believe you’re on the cusp of passing out; your focus doubling and then tripling and then beginning to recede all together, to be followed close behind by the cold embrace of death, he releases and your lungs follow suit. Purging themselves in a last ditch effort for survival. The residual smoke puffs up from both your nose and mouth simultaneously, as you fight to expel it and drag in fresh, cool air.

It sends you into a coughing fit that doubles you over as far as your binds will allow. He catches your chin with his gloved hand and pulls you upright by it, keeping your head above your shoulders and shushing you through it as you are violently pulled away from the brink of death and after a minute, begin to quiet down. “That’s it. Breathe, doll.”

Your vision blurs around the edges, shadows drawing into shadows as you recover and there’s spittle on your lower lip from nearly coughing up a lung. He notices and swipes his thumb across the expanse of your lower lip, dragging the pliable flesh clean. You go to express your gratitude, for his chivalry, for his restraint, for your life. It seems there’s perhaps some humanity in him after all.

“Thank yo-“ It dies in your throat as you watch him, without even skipping a beat, bring that same thumb up to his lips and suck your saliva off his digit, a devious glint in his dark, guile-filled eyes. “So sweet.”

You’re dizzy, whether it be from the hit, or lack of oxygen or just him, you’re unsure. You’re at a loss for what to say next but it seems he isn’t finished. “I could fill a million SD cards with just your expressions, babygirl. You’re awfully photogenic, has anyone ever told you that?”

You’re unsure what to say, you’ve never been good with compliments in the best of situations, let alone one given under duress and you’re still reeling from, well, everything that’s happening to you.

It seems he still hasn’t decided what to do with you after all. Your head spins from the whiplash, it’s impossible, after all, to try and make heads or tails of the hairbrained decisions of the mentally ill and if there’s one thing this man sitting across from you is, it’s mentally ill. Though you have the comfort of saying so in the safety of your thoughts you won’t dare tempt him by saying it aloud again, unpredictable as he is.

“I love all your little marks and moles, birth or stretch, they’re all perfect.” You give him a look of violated disgust, you believe at this point you’re beyond surprised at anything he could say to you, it’s clear he meant what he said when he told you he’d been watching you.

“Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t like, strip you bare and thoroughly examine you with a magnifying glass or something. You just toss and turn a lot in your sleep.” And he says it like simply ‘watching you sleep’ is somehow kind of tamer, more justified, noble even.

“At least.. not yet.”Just when you believe you’d collected your thoughts you feel the tip of the knife grazing your skin again, riding the curve of your thigh upwards towards their apex, not hard enough to cut, but just rough enough to keep your attention fixated upon its ascent.

You stiffen, taking all of the relaxed lean he’d cultivated out of your posture and pressing back into the cushion of the rigid computer chair. He skips up your abdomen, passing over the skin of your navel. The sharpened point catches momentarily on the silky hem of your nightshirt before tension meets drag and then it’s cutting, a brand new part ripping right down the center rising ever higher up towards your sternum.

For a moment, both of your focuses eclipse on the tip of the knife, yours erratically panicked, his lasciviously engrossed. The roaring purr of the fabric shearing apart is loud in the otherwise quiet room, the only other sound the backdrop mix of your combined, labored breathing.

When the sea parts, the thin straps of your nightshirt slip from the slumps of your shoulders as the fabric, now separated, falls away from your chest and comes to rest as a useless bunch around your waist. His eyes fixate on your newly exposed flesh, locking acutely on the swell of your breasts, your nipples pebbling at the weight of his heated gaze upon them.

You instinctively hunch forward, your shoulders and back contorting their best to cover as much of you as humanly possible. Without so much as tearing his eyes away, he brings the tip of his blade forth and presses it into the valley of your chest. “Don’t hide yourself from me.” The stabbing pain of it becomes too much and you bow back reflexively, effectively revealing yourself to him again.

When he pulls back, a dark red spot forms in the knife’s wake, lengthening into a slow, smooth trickle into the valley of your breasts. His mouth parts and as he leans in you lean back, until your back is straining against the chair, until you can’t possibly back away any more.

And then you feel it, the hot, stiff, flat of his tongue, trailing up your crimson streaked skin. He feels you stiffen and hears you whimper in what you want him to think is terror, but at the same time he feels the full body shudder that quakes through you, feels the way your back arches off the chair, bucking back into him, chasing the sensation. You want him to believe you’re opposed to this, but he knows better than that, he knows you better than that. It’s just about getting you to give into your urges and stop leaning on your morals. He shed himself of the burden of his a long, long time ago.

He hardly pulls away, speaking into your skin as your lungs heave air and you squeeze your eyes shut at the restraint you’re exerting, straining against the questions swirling in your head you can’t bear to answer. Why is this affecting you so greatly?

“I don’t want to kill you, sweetheart. I will if I have to but I’ll be honest, it’d be a real bummer.” He pulls back and your eyes crack open, hoping against hope that maybe he’s done. With an audience he makes a spectacle of pulling off a glove, slipping the tip of one leather finger in between his teeth to pull his hand free of it. While his eyes never leave yours, you watch as it closes the distance between you to finally make contact with the exposed swell of your hip.

“Give me a reason, babygirl.” A spark of something like electricity runs through you upon your first skin to skin contact and you inhale sharply at the sensation. He drags it up your body, mapping your curves and planes like he’s setting it into memory.

Up the lattice of your rib cage and over the swell of one exposed breast, your nipples harden under his palm as it glides ever higher. He passes over the expanse of your heart to feel it beat in real time, just as fast and as forceful as hummingbird wings under the surface of your skin. He continues over the structure of your collarbones and stradles the column of your throat, his fingers conforming to the contours and dips along your jawline. All the way up til his palm cups your cheek, his thumb resting softly overtop the pucker of your lips, brushing along their part and lathing over the soft, thin skin. When it stills your eyes flick to his again and there’s a searching, hopeful quality to them that makes your stomach twist up into knots. “Give me a sign.”

Your eyes read his lips as they mold and form around his words, soft and cooing. Your mind races, you don’t want to die, don’t really want these to be your last moments. Would it be so bad? One night stands aren’t a new concept to you, men the likes of whom you wake up next to without an inkling of their identities or even the circumstances behind your acquaintance. Is this really all that different?

As he leans forward you decide that it is and turn your head away at the last possible moment. He stops and his head drops, a little disappointed sigh sounding from between his lips and your eyes close as your insistence on survival quarrels voraciously against your rigid moral upbringing. Like he’s somehow read your thoughts he speaks them.

“Is that what’s holding you back? Cause I know you want this. But it’d be too… improper. too.. unladylike to let a stranger break into your cute little home, tie you to your cute little computer chair and be forced to admit to me that I’ve got you flustered, wouldn’t it? It’d be just downright shameful if I slipped a hand into these cute little sleep shorts..”

His words narrate his actions, as one bare finger slips the last few inches left between him and the heat of your sex, shifting past the hem of your crotch on one side and sliding against the soaked gusset of your cotton panties in a firm, exploratory sweep. You have to bite your cheek against the moan it threatens to elicit. Bucking against his hand, it’s unintentional but damning all the same. And the smile that pulls at the corner of his lips is predatory in its victory, prideful in your defeat.

“and found you absolutely fucking soaked for me.” The last of his sentence comes out in a growl, ground between the grit of his teeth and spat out in a rumble that does nothing to ease the burn between your legs, burning brighter as he pulls away and brings his hand up to the light, both of your eyes drawn to the way it glistens in the lowlight.

“I don't mind playing the bad guy, babygirl.” His voice coils around you like liquid smoke, wrapping warm around the base of your spine and pooling low in your belly as his head dips into the crook of your neck, breathing in the heady scent of your fear and sweat. “If that’s what you need from me.” You feel his lips grazing ever so lightly over your pulse point, feel him grinning wicked at the way your heart quickens just for him. “If that’s what it takes for you to keep that moral, good girl image that’s so, so precious to you in your pretty little head.”

He whispers against the shell of your ear and you have to squeeze your eyes shut against the heavy, lascivious weight of him. You fear you’ve read this one before and you’re fairly certain you know how it ends. Eve and the snake in the garden all over again, just a taste is all it takes, indulging sin.

“Does it make it easier for you if I force you into it?” He brings the knife to your neck where he just was, planting the blade firmly up against the soft, soft flesh of your jugular, less than an inch from your carotid artery. You stiffen against him, keeping stark still, not even daring to breathe.

His tone falls into a hush, words whispered closely against your thrumming flesh. “If I take away the illusion of choice?” You can feel the heat radiating off his skin even through the glove, the roiling coals in the palm of his hand as it rides further and further up your thigh, leaving trials of fire in its wake, closing in on where you weep for him. “If I just choose to make you mine?”

He’s leaned in so far he’s standing above you and with your back against the wall and his knife to your neck there’s little else for you to do when his lips close over yours than to just take it. It’s intense, no warm up, no gentility or ceremony, just overwhelming, sweeping desire that you feel in your bones. He’s done waiting, done giving you choices, he’s had enough of the games.

You move with him as best you can in fear of his control over the blade slipping. His tongue wants to lick past your lips but your jaw refuses to budge. He lets out a sound of displeasure against you before you feel the hand that had been resting against your thigh push forward again to rub roughly right over top of your clit and you gasp inwardly in response. An opportunity he takes full advantage of as his tongue breaches your mouth to gain dominion over yours, the knife slips in lieu of his desperation, much more eager to roam your skin than keep up the threat. You feel the blade pull free only to be replaced by his ungloved hand a moment later.

His palm wraps around the expanse of your neck and squeezes, just enough to make you lightheaded and pliant as he ravages you, not that you could do much to resist him tied to the chair as you were. His hand between your thighs grows bolder, slipping down to where you’re wettest and pressing inwards with the pads of two of his fingers as far as the fabric would stretch, pushing into your entrance. The sensation had you groaning into the kiss, a surrender he rewarded with a nip to your lip as he continued his onslaught against your senses.

He pulls away from you, leaving you flustered and short of breath as he drops to his knees before you, coming up level with your chest. You hardly have time to register his change in position before you feel his lips ghosting over one of your nipples, planting them over one of your stiffened peaks and pulling it into his mouth. You arch up into the sensation, hardly stifling the sharp cry in the back of your throat. With you distracted, he pulls his blade from his sheath once more and makes two quick cuts, sliding his knife between you and the fabric of your panties to cut them away from your body where they cling like a second skin without so much as nicking you.

It’s only when you feel the cool air, chilly against your warm sex that you realize you’re now completely naked in front of him, this stranger, this invader. He lives up to his namesake as you feel his fingers at your entrance and he wastes little time as you feel him sinking in with two up to the first knuckle. You can’t stifle your moan this time, it bubbles from your throat and out of your mouth like sweet siren song.

He’s cocky about it too, boisterous in his boasting. You can feel his smirk against your skin as he licks up your chest to tease your breasts once more, reveling in the way he can feel you tightening around him in response. “Mmm.. So fucking wet for me, doll.” He moves the fingers inside you slowly as he stretches you open for him bit by bit, gentle and coaxing. “I don’t know, baby. From where I’m sitting, I’d have to say it seems like you’re enjoying yourself a little.”

Your head tips back and your eyes squeeze shut as your thoughts reel, unsuccessful in forming a shred of any kind of coherent thought. No rebuttals or quick witty quips to refute his claims. His fingers are thick and he keeps nudging something inside of you with each inward thrust that scrambles your brain and leaves you blank. You see, even through the opaque veils of your eyelids, the telltale momentary glare of his camera flash. Taking full advantage of the opportunity to capture your fall from grace, searing it into palpable visual proof he’d left his mark on you. “Please.”

And worse yet, without any context he defaults to your original opposition and stops which you find is actually the opposite of what you were begging for. With the last of your resolve you smother the whine that threatens to spill from your lips.

Without the mind numbing distraction of his ministrations you finally have a moment to breathe. “Wh-wh-“ You squeeze your eyes closed, the only way you can manage to pull your thoughts into some semblance of order in such close proximity to him and after a shallow, shaky breath, begin again.

“What do you want from me?” When your eyes reopen his bore into yours, pupils blown from more than just the weed. “I want you to give in to me.” He dips below your line of sight as he brings the knife up to your throat again, preventing you from following his lower descent. You feel him where you can’t see, pressed up close and personal with your neck, speaking his words against your flesh.

“I want to feel your little.” Kiss.

“Fragile.” Kiss.

“Sense of reality.” Kiss.

“Fucking shatter.” Kiss.

“As I make you come.” Kiss.

“All over my cock.” Kiss.

He wages war on your holy shores with his sordid tides. Corrodes your resolve with his sulfuric touch and it’s working, you’re beginning to slip. Can feel yourself losing this long, drawn-out battle of wills he’d pushed upon you. You’d been on a downward slope since the start and you’re nearing your wits end when it comes to fighting him. A victory he’s pulling from you one kiss at a time. “I wanna fuck you til you scream.”

You gasp inwardly as he sucks hard against your pulse point, teeth nipping into your supple skin, staking a claim you’ll no doubt be able to see in the morning, if you live to see it. You have to stifle the moan that follows, pushing at the cusp of your throat like a bird bound to fly the coop. He moves you then, no longer content with your quaint little cat and mouse game. Taking the reins for himself and pulling away from you, it’s like an oppressing weight has lifted from your shoulders but by that time it’s much too late.

He’s already moved around behind you, strategically cutting away the section of rope anchoring you to the chair, making you able to move but keeping your wrists bound at the small of your back. He tugs on your wrists and forces you to rise, coming back around your body and towering over you as you’re helpless but to move as he directs you. His legs bump yours, bullying you back until your calves hit the bed and you fall backwards onto the plush surface.

You catch one last glimpse of his eyes, possessed by lust before he’s flipping you over onto your stomach and pulling you back by your hips until your ass is perched at the edge of the bed. Panic begins to set in, like a buzzing in the back of your brain you realize you’re nearing a point from which there is no return.

You squirm and writhe, trying to flip yourself back over or slide off the bed until you feel him socket himself between your legs and plant a knee into the cleft of your ass, stopping your struggles. He applies downward pressure and your legs are forced to spread to accommodate the girth of his still clothed knee, grinding your heated sex up the length of his thigh as yours part, until his knee meets the bed.

“Still resisting me, doll? After the show you were putting on for me earlier, I can’t say I’m convinced.” He talks but all you can focus on is the jingle of his belt as he undoes it as he speaks. You feel him pull his leg away followed by the rustle of fabric and you know he’s undressing behind you.

“Wait! No, no! Wait!” But it’s too late, you feel the head of him pressing against your lips, sliding the blunt head of his cock up your slick seam, getting it nice and wet. Your body betrays you, salivating at the thought of finally getting fucked after such a long and unforgiving dry spell.

“I don’t think you really want me to.” And with that he pushes forward, sinking in inch by slow agonizing inch. He’s thick and any quarrels, any kind of protests or reservations you may have had dissipate with each newly fed inch. Unfortunately for you, you’re coming to terms with the fact that he may be right.

“Goddamn, babygirl.” You take in a sucking breath just to immediately expel it as a broken moan. When he’s buried to the hilt he stills there for a moment, enjoying the feel of your walls twitching around him, silently begging him for more.

He obliges, pulling out halfway only to plunge back in, his hips slapping against your ass, driving his cock deep in one fluid thrust. He picks up a steady pace like that, slow methodical thrusts while you both adjust to the stretch. “For all the fuss you made for us to get to this point you sure are gripping me awful tight, sunshine.”

You bury your face into the sheets to try and save some last shred of dignity, he may have invaded your walls but he will not hear your cries. That is, until he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls, hauling your head back and forcing your moans to be heard by the heavens. With each thrust he pulls a noise from you, punched out of your lungs by the force of his cock alone. “And all these sweet little noises, all this for me, doll?”

You whimper and whine but it’s true. He’s fucking you so god damn good, so toe-curlingly thorough that you’re barely holding on. You told yourself that while he was busying himself inside of you, you’d come up with some sort of a plan, some kind of brilliant plot to get loose or get away or just get back at him. Twist and writhe in your binds until they’d have enough wiggle room to maybe save yourself but since he’d penetrated you all thoughts of escape plans or revenge plots had been put on hold. It had been so long since you’d had a real man in your bed that you lost yourself to it a bit.

He was handsome and confident and he knew what he was doing and on top of all that he’d made it his personal mission to see to it that you succumb to this. You’d fought, and fought as hard as you believed you could have and still gotten away with your life, and you were tired of fighting.

He lets go of your hair to get a better purchase on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh and yanking you back into him on every thrust, forcing you to take every inch of him as he splits you open from behind. Your back is forced to arch for him like this, pushing your head back into the sheets, lucky for you because you nearly start to wail with the devastating pleasure this new angle provides him, to your chagrin. Though little it matters, you’re beyond the ability to hold back anything from him.

You groan out a low and defeat-addled “Fuck.” into the sheets and he knows he’s got you. He speeds up a bit as you feel a dark, victorious chuckle quake out of him and into you. “Yeah, doll? Just like that, hmm?” He pounds you into the mattress, the frame of it knocking loudly against the wall and you can’t comprehend how he’s still so damn cocky, how he’s even still coherent when in two seconds flat of being buried inside you he’s rendered you stupid.

If he’d meant for you to answer he’d be sorely disappointed, as all you could manage were a range of moans, whimpers and whines. It seemed to suit him though as he continued on without any response, taunting you while laying waste to you from above. “Just think, babygirl. We could’ve been doing this so much sooner if you’d have just given into me from the start.”

“All that resistance, all the fight and for what, doll? Just to end up cockdrunk beneath me in the end just like I knew you’d be.” You feel him lean down over you, dwarfing your hunched frame with his as his mouth hovers just behind the shell of your ear to whisper.

“I told you from the start, I know you. I know everything about you, I know the things you never tell anyone, things you’re too embarrassed to speak of. I know about the things you won’t even admit to yourself. Every filthy, depraved thought you’ve ever had. All your darkest fantasies, all your most shameful desires. And you know what else?”

There’s gooseflesh rising on your skin and you can feel it building, pooling low in your belly. His steady thrusts, the weight of him overtop of you, his silky deviant voice in your ear. He’s driving you insane and closer, ever closer to your impending climax.

He’s got you held raptly on the edge. Clinging to his every word, his every move, his every whim. He nips at the shell of your ear as he continues to fuck you while fucking with your head. “I can tell by the way your breathing is picking up, the way you’ve gone almost totally silent, the way you’re clenching down on me...” He groans in response to your body's immediate reaction, seemingly tightening on command as he speaks so obscenely of you, his voice dropping into a low, strained growl. “…that you’re getting so close for me, aren’t you, doll?”

You feel one of his hands sliding off your hip and snaking down your body into the crook of your thighs, your eyes widen as you feel the pads of his index and middle finger make contact with your swollen clit and start to make slow, tight circles. The contact has your already sensitive nerves sparking and you seize up beneath him as you careen violently towards coming, your eyes squeezing shut as you completely surrender yourself to him. Release the last of your resolve and give into the potent, raw euphoria that threatens to envelope you and swallow you whole. “Fuck, yes!!”

You arch up into him from below, pressing your hips up into his as you race towards the tidal wave of pleasure rushing towards you. “That’s it, babe, just like that. Fucking come for me, come all over my cock.” Your orgasm crashes through you, drowning in its intensity. Your hands tighten into fists, nails digging into the palms of your hands as your toes curl where they rest overtop of his combat boots. He fucks you through it, dragging it out and grinding into the hot, tight clutch of your spasming walls.

You vaguely feel him shifting behind you through the fog of pleasure. Your eyes open when he nestles in just beside you, one arm outstretched, his camera clutched in his grasp. You hardly have a second to register it before it blinds you with its flash. You turn your head to the side only to be met with the dark endless pits that are the eyes of his mask. At some point or another he’d slipped it back on, leaving you the only identifiable person in your impromptu little photo shoot.

“This one’s gonna be the best of the lot. When baby finally broke.” Humiliation swells within you, sobering the high you’d just climbed down from. The horror of what you’ve just committed to falls over you like a dark cloud and you begin to squirm in place beneath him, but still sheathed fully inside you as he is, there’s little you can do.

His arms clamp down on either side of you, restricting your range of motion as he pipes up confidently in your ear. “I never took you for a selfish lover, babe. You got yours, now it’s my turn.” He pulls off of you and you take the opportunity to flip around, it takes you a few tries before you’re facing him again.

The mask stares down at you with its sympathetic gaze, his shirt is rucked up and his pants and boxers are pulled down low, revealing his chiseled abdomen and toned waist. He looks deliciously devilish above you, the mask adding an all new element to the allure that you hate to admit stirs the remnants of your arousal, especially when you recall how hard he’d just made you come. No matter how hot you must admit he looks, you’re done playing nice with him, readying yourself for a fight as he looms overhead.

He drinks in the sight of you. He must have angered you, whether from his words or his actions or a combination of the two, somewhere between your sweet surrender and the flash of the camera you’d flipped the script on him. It seems to matter little as you glare up at him from your place on the bed, your arms still tied uselessly behind your back, your legs pulled up in a semi-fetal position, feet poised and ready to strike and kick and block him at a moments notice, from below he still gets peeks of your glistening pussy, still wet and glossy from your very intense orgasm only moments prior. But he can tell by the way you’re eyeing him up you’re not entirely offput.

He laughs cruelly from above and it shakes your spirits a bit but serves to only ground you in your defiance. You wanted nothing more than to claw his eyes out of his head. “Oh doll stop, I can only get so hard.” And he is, the hardened length of him, coated in a sheen of your arousal is still held in one hand, stroking it idly as he peers down at you from behind the mask. You bare your teeth up at him in anger.

“That’s the way you wanna play it then? Fine by me.” He strikes, grabbing onto your ankles with both hands and pushing them up towards your chest. You push back with all the strength in your legs, calves and thighs straining against his weight and there’s a moment where you do counter him, where you’re able to hold off his advances but it’s only momentary as he doubles his efforts and you’re forcibly rolled back until you’re laid flat on the bed and your knees are smushed into your chest. His mask leers down at you, sad as ever just inches away.

He’d bested you again, and it wasn’t much of a struggle, despite the might of your anger. You feel him at your entrance again, cold from the time you’d spent separated. “NO!” You yelled up at him from below, still intent on fighting a battle long lost.

And then he’s pushing inside you again, driving the air out of your lungs in one fluid thrust and just like that he’s balls deep in you again. Hovering over you, buried deep and still just to stare down at you as you adjust to the girth of him again, just to watch you keen around him as the light of your defiance burning in the flames of your eyes begins to dim. He starts to move, planting an arm along either side of you as he pushes you down into the mattress.

He watches your internal struggles play across the features of your face. Your lips part and your brow furrows as you fight to stave off the treacherous part of you that already wants to turn cheek and submit to him again. With your eyes scrunched shut you only realize he’s shed himself of the mask again when his lips crash back to yours, ruthless in their reclamation of you.

You know from experience this is how he’d pulled you under the first time. So this time you fight it, pulling back your lips from his in order to bite into them. He’s quicker though, pulling away just a split second before you’re able to sink your teeth in. But your actions have consequences and, still supporting himself with one hand, he lifts the other and smacks it down firmly on one of your conveniently exposed flanks hard with a firm, open palm, making you cry out.

“If you wanted it rough doll, all you had to do was ask.”

He does it again and then one more time for good measure all in the same spot, until you’re wriggling underneath him and letting out sweet little sorrowful pleas.

His lips find yours again and you don’t dare lash out a second time, letting him have his way with you. You’d imagine, after making such a show of force to keep you in line he’d be domineering in his control over you, brutish in his kiss. But he’s actually rather gentle, almost playful and coaxing with his teeth and tongue. A stark contrast to the nature of his thrusts, eager and unrelenting in the snap of his hips to yours. He’s once more driven all coherent thought away, reduced to nothing more than a passive pile of dough below him, able to be kneaded and shaped in his image.

He lifts up and pulls your knees apart, peering down into the newly made gap, his eyes glued to the spot where the two of you are joined. Watching himself pull out and then drive back home into your soaking wet heat, mesmerized by it. Your head tips back as his dips down, capturing a perky nipple in between his teeth and suckling it as he feels you clench down around him in response. He knows just how to touch you, months spent watching you do it to yourself to know just what you like and now he’s intent to use this litany of knowledge, his area of expertise, to break you into submission.

Your arms begin to ache where they’re pinned beneath you and you squirm and shift to try and ease some of the pain. He takes notice and trails kisses up from your breast to your neckline where he speaks softly. “If you promise to be good, I’ll untie you.”

Any thought of being good in any sense of the word has refusals gathering on your tongue but the thought of being let loose is rather enticing on its own, your arms and shoulder shriek at you to jump at the chance but you hold your tongue and twist away from him.

“Oh come on now, you can’t stay mad at me forever, doll.” You feel one hand slip down over your navel and press, applying pressure to both the bulge of him nestled deep inside you and the bulk of your wrists tied behind you. You groan low at the mix of discomfort and shooting pleasure that has your already fractured mind splitting at the seams.

Your mouth cracks open but reluctance keeps you quiet. “Say it with me. ‘I swear I’ll be good.’ Just five little words and I’ll make the pain go away.”

“I s-swear.” It’s a start, but not exactly what he’s looking for. He pushes down just ever so harder, rutting into you and making you howl out. “All of it, babygirl.”

“I swear! I swear I’ll be good! Please!” He ceases before wrapping one arm around you and lifts, pulling you up and against him. You’re pushed up into the warmth of his chest, your chin jutting out over the cliff of one broad shoulder, leaving you neck to neck. You can feel the heat of his skin against yours, the scent of his sweat mixing with his cologne fills your sinuses, pungent and stinging and intoxicating all the same, you find yourself breathing it in as he makes quick work of slicing through your binds.

With a final tug your arms are free and you immediately pull them back around towards the front of your body to alleviate the ache but somehow they wind up wrapping around him, almost clinging to him as he lets you down gently to fall back to the bed. You go, reluctantly and before you can come back to your wits to come up with what to do with your hands, he’s grabbed them, one in each of his. He presses them down into the bed as he resumes fucking you.

The pleasure starts to build again but as much as you detest it, there is no stopping it. You can feel him losing himself to it too. He becomes less watchful, less coherent as his head dips down next to yours and he plants kisses like flags, marking over the territory of your skin. He starts talking into your skin. Rumbling out sweet, nonsensical, outlandish declarations between kisses as he draws closer to his release. Promises made into the sacred altar of your flesh as he fucks you both senseless.

You hear scraps and bits, torn between being lost to the euphoria and coherent enough to make out his pleasure drunk ramblings. You hear him promise to never let you go, never to make that same mistake again, never to stray from the path if he’s granted just this one thing. It becomes increasingly clear he’s talking to someone or something, holding a conversation you can’t keep up with as you’re privy to only half of it, and only bits and pieces of that half are discernible in your present state.

You feel him pick up speed with a renewed vigor, thrusting in and out of you at a frenzied pace as you both near your release. You feel one of his hands slip from yours and the next time you’re aware of its presence it’s holding a knife to your neck for the umpteenth time of the night. No matter how many times you find yourself in this position you can’t get used to the shock of the blade, the feel of the edge of it so very close to the soft skin of your neck, that little leap your heart does in your chest.

“My name’s Danny. And I wanna hear you say it when you come, or you won’t live to come down from it, do you understand?” Your eyes squeeze shut as you draw closer to the edge, even despite the threat of death. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” He feels you buck up into him, chasing his thrusts at his praise and doubles down on it. “Such a good fucking girl for me.” Your head tips back away from the blade but also inadvertently exposing your throat to him in the process, a sight that only spurs him on. Like a sacrificial lamb you give yourself to him willingly and it’s almost too perfect for him to bear.

“Fuck me.” He growls, feeling his balls tighten as you start to clamp down around him. “Come with me, doll. I wanna feel you come again.” You do, his command pushes you over the edge and he follows right behind, just as soon as his name falls from your lips in a desperate, pleasure drunk whine. His hips stutter against yours as his climax rocks through him. Your eyes open in time to see his head tip back and his eyes glow a deep, ominous, crimson shade. Your mouth drops open as you feel his seed fill you to the brim, hot and heavy and deep in your belly.

You blink and it’s gone, his eyes are the same brown they’d always been, they fall to yours abruptly and a smirk as wicked as sin tugs at one corner of his lips. You blink again and then once more trying to replicate what you’d seen but you can’t. He bends down, still sheathed inside you but softening by the moment and recaptures your lips in a searing kiss.

One you give into, at this point you figure whatever hell you’d woken up to, whatever ill will you’d stumbled upon must be almost over, best to end it on good terms and leave this horrible nightmare scenario with your life intact. The sooner you get him out of the house the sooner you can get up and get dressed and run to the store. It’s unclear in his haste to have you if he’d stopped long enough to consider protection but you really doubt it.

He doesn’t make it hard to enjoy, the way his lips graze passionately over yours, his tongue slipping along the line of your lower lip teasingly before sucking it in between his lips. You get lost like that, intertwined and still falling from two of the best orgasms you’d had in well over a year.

You come to terms with that as he pulls out and climbs off of you, his knife still held in one hand. “You thirsty?” He asks politely and you find that you are, indeed, very thirsty. You nod at him and he points the tip of the knife in your direction. “Don’t move.” You nod cutely, hoping to stay in his good graces as he turns and heads into the bathroom. You hear the tap and after a moment he returns, glass in hand.

He hands it over as you slide to the edge of the bed, sitting up to accept it. You drink eagerly, it isn’t until the last drops slide down the back of your throat that you register the bitter aftertaste. Your eyes snap to his immediately, untrusting. “Sorry, doll. I couldn’t just leave you as is. It’s not something I wanted to do, especially after all the fun we’ve had, but it’s a necessary step to ensure our future.”

You drop the glass and it shatters on the hardwood, fragments of glass spreading far and wide in all directions and he quickly moves forward to catch you as you begin to fall. You fight him at first, intent on making good on your desire to see his eyeballs ripped from his head in your last breaths but your limbs soon lose their prowess as your body loses its strength.

You try to speak but only slurs come out, the room spins and tilts wildly. He shushes you and slides you into bed and under the covers. “Shhh, it’s ok. It’s just to help you sleep. We’ll figure everything out in the morning. I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”

As you drift off you feel him pulling the soft, silk mask back over your eyes just as he’d found you and hear the distant, dreamy call of him saying. “Sleep tight, babygirl.”

#dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dbd danny johnson #dbd ghostface #dbd x reader #dbd x you #dbd ghostface smut #danny johnson x reader #ghostface smut #ghostface x you #dead by daylight #dead by daylight fanfic #tw noncon #twdubcon #tw dark content #tw dark themes

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mypoisonedvine · 10 months

Text

𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙯𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙨 | helmut zemo x reader

@radmerrmaid requested a drabble with zemo and enemies to lovers. what happened is a whole oneshot. don't ask me how.

word count: 4.3k

warnings: DUBCON SMUT, enemies to lovers/hate sex, rough sex including hair pulling, degradation and name calling, restraint, a slap, and overstimulation, touchstarved reader, unspecified age gap, very mild violence (hand-to-hand combat and a mention of a previous gunshot wound), kidnapping, soft!dark zemo?

"It must drive you crazy," he purred, wrapping his fingers carefully around the crystal glass before picking it up. "Seeing me like this."

He smirked around his sip of bourbon— at least you figured it was bourbon— as you tried to keep a poker face. You didn't like the idea of being seen as crazy at all, let alone because of him. "Like what?" you pressed instead of admitting to it.

"Free," he shrugged. "Out of that cage you worked so hard to keep me in."

"Getting you there was my job," you corrected with a frown. "If keeping you there was mine, too... you'd still be in it."

He laughed lightly, if briefly, and shook his head. "Still so prideful. You're young, and you have something to prove."

"I have nothing to prove to you," you asserted, shifting your weight on your hips— it was sort of uncomfortable to keep standing, but it felt wrong to take a seat even though he'd offered you one when you entered. It seemed like a sign of trust. Not that he should be surprised by you acting aloof, when he'd offered to meet you here without even explaining why.

"No, not to me," he agreed, setting the glass down again and taking one step closer to you. "To your friends at the CIA."

He seemed to emphasize every letter of the acronym, a playful condescension in his tone. "Friends is a funny way to say it," you rolled your eyes, "like I do what I do because I want to be popular, and not because I want to keep the world safe."

"Safe from me," he added, "the evil terrorist. Right?"

You ignored his question, not really wanting to dignify it with an answer— or start some spiel about how you don't really believe in evil people, just actions that merit punishment, bla bla bla...

"Yet, you couldn't keep yourself safe from me," he went on, raising one eyebrow as he examined you. "Or, you can't. Here you are— alone, as I asked."

Obviously, you had tried to imagine some way you could have back-up for this, even just tell someone where you were going. But this was Zemo's turf, and he had eyes and ears all over the city... he would know if you tried to turn this into a sting. Instead, you only hoped to gain some sort of information tonight that you could use to track him down when he tried to run again.

"You're more trusting than I suspected," he smirked, gaze darkening a bit. "Or, more desperate."

"Maybe the right word is 'curious'," you proposed. "Clearly, you have something to discuss with me."

"I do," he nodded. "A question to ask you-- one I feel only you can answer."

You waited for him to ask it, but even just the way he sucked in a sharp breath made you realize he was going to bore you with some preamble first— just like him, really..

"You see, after evading you so many times—"

"Narrowly," you interjected.

"Maybe some times," he shrugged, smiling, "other times, I think I had plenty of room. But that's besides the point... the point is, here I am. I've probably bested you for the last time—"

"That's not—"

"Ah ah, no interrupting, please," he scolded gently. "I know you know that if I can keep a low profile here, your organization has no hope of getting me back. I simply have too many resources, and your superiors know my risk is relatively low. No?"

Again, you refused to answer, but the way you crossed your arms tighter and glanced away seemed to serve as enough of an agreement.

"So that's it— I'm free. It should be so simple," he sighed. "So, why am I disappointed?"

You furrowed your brows, staring at him in confusion. You were waiting for him to say something to give context to that, but he didn't— he only waited for your response with an earnest look. "Why... are you asking me that?" you wondered.

"Because you're the person who knows me best."

You'd never thought of it like that, and it was such a jarring idea that you began to shake your head almost instantly. "No, that... that doesn't seem right..."

"I figured you would take pride in it," Zemo grinned. "You tracked me for years, studied me, learned my habits... I had to do the same to escape you. I must know you better than anyone else."

"That's ridiculous," you scoffed. "What are you trying to say?"

"I just hoped you could tell me why I feel this way— why I feel so wrong about never seeing you again."

Your chest tightened. You couldn't bear to meet his gaze; your stomach felt sick and strange and you just wanted to run out of there, but what good would that do? You needed him to tell you something you could use, one last chance to catch him before it was too late.

"If I didn't know you so well, and hate you so much," he went on, "I wouldn't have the energy to keep running. And me? I'm your biggest case. Sometimes you act like I'm your only case. What is it about me, that you need to win against me so badly?"

"It's not you," you insisted instantly, "it's me— it's who I am."

"Maybe that's how it started," he suggested, "but you can't spend so long hunting someone without becoming a little obsessed with them— trust me, I would know."

You grimaced at him. "You— you can't be serious."

"Who will you be without me to chase?" he pressed anyways, matching some of your anger as he stepped closer again— almost too close. "Without this... passion, between us?"

"Don't step any closer," you warned.

"Or what?" he challenged. "No weapons, no soldiers— it's just the two of us here."

He stepped up again, nearly pressed against you, and you couldn't let him get away with that... you had to prove you meant what you said. You weren't armed, and you knew he wasn't someone you wanted to go up against hand-to-hand... but at the same time, it was one thing you'd always secretly wished for. A chance to wage this war the way it should be, the way it had always been: personal.

You stepped back at the same time as you swung your fist, giving yourself just enough room to gain momentum— but you weren't quite fast enough, and he blocked you. From then on it was fast, instinctual: he was stronger but you were quicker, and on the offensive.

You never quite landed a hit, but neither did he— which felt like a good sign, until you realized he wasn't really giving it his all. Dodging and blocking, yes, but he wasn't trying to win, just keep you at bay.

"Come on!" you yelled in frustration as you finally got in a kick to his chest, forcing him to stumble back and nearly fall. "What are you doing, pitying me?"

"Hardly," he wheezed, a little affected by the hit, which made you smirk. "But I don't want to hurt you."

"Please," you rolled your eyes, putting your fists up and stabilizing your posture. "If we're going to do this, let's do it right."

He came at you, and finally, there it was... his real strength. That passion he'd been talking about, you could feel it.

Both of you were flushed and panting, exhilarated by the sport of it all. Unfortunately, right as you thought you'd found your moment— the weak spot in his form— it was a trap. When you moved in closer, he grabbed you and spun you around, holding your back against his chest so tight that you struggled to breathe.

But he didn't shove you down, didn't put you in a chokehold, didn't even threaten you or gloat about pinning you. Instead, he only held you tighter, and soothed you with a gentle 'shh' in your ear when you tried to squirm out of his grasp.

"Wh-what are you doing?" you whispered, your whole body shaking as he ran his tongue up your neck.

"If it's curiosity that brought you here," he purred in response, "I can satisfy that."

"You can't be fffucking serious," you hissed, though a moan tainted your words as one of his hands ran down your body, the other still effortlessly holding you still.

"I know you so well," he went on, a deep growl in his voice as your eyes fell shut. "I know how lonely you must be. That's one of the things we share."

His hand was heavy and warm against your leg, even through your pants— and it was moving higher, petting your inner thigh as you shivered. Though your mind longed to resist him, your body was desperate for any affection; because he was right, you were lonely. You couldn’t think of the last time someone had touched you like this, and yet you remembered it didn’t usually feel this good. His touch was precise and careful and teasing— not too awkward but not too cocky. And the heat of him wrapped around you, his hot breath on your shoulder, his wider form encompassing you… how could it feel so good?

“And I know you’ve thought about this,” he added. “That’s something we share, too.”

He couldn’t know that— he might be rich and resourceful, but he wasn’t omniscient. If you were any more logical in that moment, you would’ve realized he was just guessing and denied it. But his teeth brushing over your pulse didn’t exactly provoke your critical thinking skills. “Fuck, I— fuck,” you choked out instead, shuddering when he chuckled proudly.

“You might hate me, draga, but you need me,” he explained. “Your mind needs me, just as much as your body does.”

Something about the way his fingers traced up your side, teasing your breast before pulling away right before getting to anything too exciting… it seemed to bring you back to reality, at least partially. You absolutely couldn’t do this— you couldn’t let him do this. “G-get off me,” you choked out, struggling against him again.

“That’s what you want?” he taunted.

“Get the fuck off me!” you yelped.

“Make me,” he challenged.

Bringing your foot down hard on top of his, he winced and you managed to break away, spinning around and shoving him back— he actually lost his balance that time, falling to the floor. You were ready to deliver a firm and swift kick between his legs, but rolled over and grabbed your leg while it was up, bringing you down to the floor with him.

He laughed breathlessly, sounding a little frustrated, as you flailed for purchase against the floor— only for him to grab your wrists and pin you down, positioning himself over you with a grin. His hair was shaken out of its style, hanging around his face which was flushed from exertion. “You keep me on my toes, I’ll give you that,” he offered. You tried to writhe again but he had you properly trapped now, with absolutely no way out.

“You wouldn’t,” you sneered incredulously.

“Wouldn’t what, dear?”

“You wouldn’t force yourself on me,” you completed.

He seemed a little surprised, hanging his head and shaking it. “Oh,” he breathed, “no, I wouldn’t.”

A little relieved, you started to catch your breath.

“I don’t need to.”

He brought his lips down to yours suddenly— the collision was almost too rough, and yet it was the only thing that made sense for the two of you. You groaned in protest yet submitted instantly, opening your mouth wide for his desperate and dominating kiss.

Your back arched up off the floor, and his weight seemed to sink down on top of you in response. Though you hated yourself for it, you spread your legs a bit, just enough for him to rest his hips between— and fuck, you could feel it. The hard, throbbing heat, you could feel it pressed against you and the most horrible moan was nearly lost to his lips.

He hummed back proudly, running his hands over your body, kissing you faster.

You were gasping for breath when he broke away, which only worsened when he latched onto your neck. “God, I hate you,” you blurted out, just to remind you both that if this was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“You hate me for all those times I embarrassed you?” he assumed, hands holding your waist and starting to slide up your shirt. “For when I eluded you, wasted your time, made a fool of you?”

“And that time you shot me.”

“I winged you,” he corrected— like that was any better.

He tugged your shirt up and you raised your arms, letting him slip it off; he spotted the scar right away, a line across your arm just under your shoulder. He cooed for a second before kissing it softly— too gentle a moment for you to let lie. You shoved his jacket back next, helping him slip it off his shoulders before pulling him down to kiss you again.

Your sports bra had a clasp in the front, it was a bit unique in that way, yet he had no trouble with it. Freeing your chest, he of course had to tease you a bit more— instead of groping your waiting breasts right away, he guided your arms down from where they held onto the back of his neck, lifting you up from the floor a bit so you could slide the garment off and toss it away.

When you laid back down, the floor was cold, but the hiss you let out was more a response to him rocking his hips against you, teasing you through these stupid remaining clothes. “You know why I hate you?” he returned as he started to unbutton your pants, even though you’d entirely forgotten that last part of the conversation.

Before he answered the question, he yanked your pants and underwear down to your thighs— and swiftly got his own out of the way. Your heart raced; you weren’t totally convinced this was really happening, not until he pushed into you in one painfully sudden thrust. You cried out, yet he took no mercy on you. He was ruthless, in fact.

Choking on your broken cries, you arched up off the floor again as he hammered into you, rage and relief and desperation evident in every movement. He had to hold your legs tightly just to keep you from sliding across the floor, which only ensured you took every stroke as deep as it could go— which was already too fucking deep.

“Say it,” he ordered, “tell me why I hate you.”

“I caught you,” you said— but you knew that would just make him angrier. Maybe that was kind of the idea.

Stopping just long enough to tug your pants the rest of the way off— and leaving you naked while he was still mostly dressed— he descended over you and looked right at you, far too close, with a rageful stare.

“You trapped me,” he corrected gruffly. “You played dirty.”

Before you had a chance to retort that all’s fair in love and war, he started to pound into you… harder and meaner than ever. You didn’t surprise yourself by crying out, considering how intense and nearly painful the feeling was, but you were a little confused that the word you said was a needy yes!

"Those years in prison," he snarled, "you could barely call it living, life in that place— you put me there. I thought every day about how you put me there."

He yanked your hair, making you whine loudly and exposing your neck for his lips and teeth to explore freely.

Finally, a hand latched onto your chest— a hot palm encompassing your breast and skilled fingers pinching lightly at your nipple. You couldn’t believe how composed he was through all this— in many ways, he wasn’t, but he seemed to be deliberate with every way he touched you and that was far more togetherness than you had.

You weren’t together at all, actually… something about the heat of the moment, the way your body responded to him, the way he glared at you… you could already feel tension building inside you. It wouldn’t be long, not if he kept going like this.

“I thought about you every fucking day, draga— that you were free, and I was trapped in that cell,” he growled. “You missed it, didn’t you? Chasing me.”

When you didn’t answer, he struck you across the face with the back of his hand; the shock of it made your walls clench on him, or at least you could blame it on that, but you had no way to explain the way you moaned a moment later.

He moved even faster, a sickening wet sound echoing through the room which you hated to acknowledge was your own body. “The worse I am to you, the wetter you get,” he noticed, smiling for just a moment. “What a filthy whore you are.”

“F-fuck you,” you stammered roughly.

“Actually, why don’t you?” he offered, grabbing you by the hips and rolling both of you over until he was on his back and you were straddling him. “Show me how bad you need it.”

As much as you wanted to not do what he told you, your hips were already moving— your body was on its own mission now, desperate for pleasure and friction and heat. Desperate for anything he would give. You whimpered as you grinded down on him, feeling his cock go so much deeper than you imagined was possible. “God,” you sobbed, tossing your head back and trying not to picture the way he must have been looking at you then.

His hands moved all over you, up your thighs and over your breasts, even wrapping around your neck once though they didn’t put on enough pressure to really choke you. “Pretty girl,” he praised darkly, making chills dance over your skin.

But when his hands settled on your hips, trying to guide you the way he wanted, you’d had enough; you grabbed him at the wrists and leaned forward, pinning his hands beside his head. He smirked up at you at first, but when you bounced your hips up and down while hovering over him, his eyes fell shut and he let out a deep groan. “I’m close,” you panted sharply.

“You can make yourself come like this?” he realized, sounding a little impressed. He opened his eyes and lifted his head for a moment to get a better look at you, before almost instantly giving up again and dropping his head back to the floor with a moan. “Fine, take it— just take what you need, draga.”

You held tighter to his wrists, mostly to keep yourself stable, and you felt his own hands ball into fists as you bounced faster. “Oh god, oh god, oh god— yes!” you yelped, legs quivering as it struck you. It seemed to come and go so quickly, perhaps because your strength gave out halfway through and you felt weak and paralyzed. It had been ages since you’d felt pleasure like that… actually you weren’t sure you’d ever felt pleasure like that, at least not so much all at once.

If only he were satisfied by that. With your grip weakened, he easily pulled his hands away to wrap his arms around you, holding you tightly and bucking his hips up into you rapidly.

“Fuck, wait, s-slow down,” you panted, whining weakly as he shook his head against the crook of your neck.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” he purred. “I won’t be able to slow down at all until you’re full of come, draga. I want you dripping.”

You were all numb and limp now, so raw and sensitive inside— he put you on your back again and didn’t struggle at all to pull another orgasm from you. The third, though, was a little more hard fought: he rubbed your clit with an almost painful amount of pressure, watching through dark eyes and with a sneering grin as you screamed and shivered.

“Not too loud, darling,” he warned, “the people in the streets might hear you, the window’s still open—”

“Fuck!” you shouted, high-pitched and shaky, and he covered your mouth with his other hand as he laid on you with a growl.

“Just one more, then I’ll fill you,” he promised. “I only need to feel you come one more time. You want a rest, don’t you?”

You nodded weakly, biting down on your shaking lip.

“Then give me what I want.”

Your final cry was stuttered and helpless, every final ounce of energy in your body being taken from you by the final forced peak of ecstasy. But it wasn’t until you sighed out his name, barely audible under your breath, that he groaned against your neck and pumped himself deep inside you— every drop, leaving you full to the brim and then some.

You didn’t even have the strength to hold onto him, but he held you far too tightly as if to make up for it, and didn’t let you go for quite some time.

It had only gotten darker and colder out, and the draft through the window eventually danced over your sweat-slickened skin. When you shivered under him, Helmut lazily reached up to the couch nearby, pulling a throw blanket off of it and wrapping you both up in its soft embrace. You sighed with relief from both the cold air and the hard floor, not even realizing you were falling asleep.

Even when you woke up, you didn’t really notice that you’d been asleep— except that Helmut was gone, and the fireplace was going. Sitting up as little as you could get away with to look for him— since moving at all was quite a task given how tired you were— you heard him coming around the corner and turned back to look at him.

He was in a robe now, and carrying two crystal glasses of water. He smiled at you as he sat back down on the floor, laying beside you on the blanket and handing you your glass. “Figured you would need this soon enough,” he explained with a soft voice as you sipped carefully at the water. You weren’t really ready to talk to him yet, but you wanted to thank him for the water, so you just nodded and hoped that would get the point across.

The silence was probably only awkward for you— he seemed totally at peace, getting through most of his drink before setting it down on the floor and cuddling up to you again with a contented sigh.

You quietly drank the water, staring forward at the crackling fire, hardly believing where you were. It actually sounded sort of romantic on paper: a dashing and wealthy older man, a penthouse apartment in a foreign city, a fire, a blanket, a crystal glass…

If it weren’t for the wanted terrorist, it might make for a good little fantasy.

Yet, you set your glass aside and laid back down with him. He slipped an arm around you, holding your shoulder and petting it with his thumb, even kissing the side of your forehead sweetly. “I don’t understand how you can… be like that,” you whispered, glancing down at his arm crossed over your chest.

“Not everyone is so afraid of their feelings as you are,” he countered, and you snorted a little.

“I’m not afraid of my feelings,” you denied half-heartedly.

“You’re afraid of me, then?” he wondered.

“Not… quite…” you murmured your answer, not even sure yourself what you felt. “I mean, I drank the water, so—”

“I wondered if you would,” he laughed, “but I’m glad you did.”

“I mean, only half the glass, technically,” you noticed.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ve had enough,” he shrugged.

“Enough?” you chuckled. “After that, half a glass of water is hardly enough. I won’t be recovered until I have a protein-heavy meal and probably a couple painkillers— if I wanna, you know, sit or jog or whatever in the next few days.”

“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” he chuckled, “but I didn’t mean enough to recuperate. I meant enough for you to sleep until we get there.”

“...what?” you asked, turning over your shoulder with knitted brows to look at him.

“If even you know where you’re going, you might find a way to get out is all,” he explained flippantly.

“What… what are you…?” you started, shaking your head— but it didn’t shake off that funny feeling, that heaviness in your head.

“You see, I did think about you every day in my cell,” he went on, “and I thought about how, someday, I would lock you away— so you’d know how it feels, to be a prisoner.”

Whimpering as realization dawned, you sat up quickly to try to fight whatever was in that water… but it only seemed to make it worse, spots forming in your vision like when you stand up too fast— except they didn’t fade, just multiplied.

“I’ll treat you much better than I was, though,” he assured, “in fact, I think you’ll be better off than you were before… you’ll be mine, draga. No one else will ever see you again.”

You tried to speak but it wasn’t really coming together— you tried to push him away but you only limply held onto him, looking up at his eerily blank expression with your fading vision. As it all turned to black, he caught your head before it hit the floor, cradling it rather tenderly before kissing your cheek.

“Now,” he whispered to you, though you couldn’t possibly hear it, “let’s get you cleaned up— the plane is waiting to take you to our new home.”

#baron zemo x reader #baron zemo smut #dark!zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut #daniel bruhl smut #dark!zemo smut #helmut zemo dark fic #baron zemo dark fic #WELP. oops.

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bluecollarmcandtf · 1 year

Text

Hypno-Drafted

NFL all-star Luke Novak wasn't happy that I drafted him. He swore he was going to reject the offer, so I pulled him aside and whispered in his ear. The quarterback's snarl stretched into a smile. He realized he couldn't wait to sign the contract. He belonged to me, now.

Luke wasn't the first player I hypnotized since buying this team. I brought all 53 of my players under control the second I could, suppressing their old habits, aspirations, and personalities to replace them with an attitude that better aligns with my vision for our team.

They don't speak. They don't joke around or slack off. They only shout "Yes, Coach!" and obey commands to push their bodies harder and harder each night. It's grueling, and they don't have any time outside of football, but the NFL has never seen a more god-like group of dedicated athletes.

My men are ruthless against their opponents, but they must be restrained when it comes penalties. Each player is programmed to know what happens if he messes up and gives the other team an advantage.

Luke Novak messed up tonight when he caused a false start. He let me down.

He knows he needs me to teach him a lesson.

Luke Novak marched over to me after the game, still clad in his sweaty match gear. His heavy steps echoed through the empty stadium as he stomped through the mud. His face was as emotionless as the day I first drafted him, but a raging boner strained against his tight uniform pants. His unblinking eyes were locked on me his owner.

"I am an embarrassment to you, sir," he stated monotonously with his deep voice, "Please, let me make up for the penalty."

"Go ahead," I encouraged, excited for what would happen next.

The quarterback slowly began peeling off his sweaty jersey and pads, stripping down to nothing but the damp underwear beneath his soaked uniform. The harsh stadium lights highlighted the pounds of muscle he'd gained under my control. His eyes vacantly stared into mine as he undressed, and the indifference on his face didn't flinch as his knees dropped to the squishy turf.

"Fuck some sense into me, sir," he begged without any emotion in his words.

His massive package was still rock hard as he stared at me; something I programmed into all of my athletes. All my football players got hard the second they saw the team's owner.

Pro-athlete Luke Novak swiftly turned on his knees and dropped to the ground, carelessly shoving his handsome face into the muddy ground as his bulky arms laid limply by his side. He raised his perfect muscle-butt in the air for the entire empty stadium to behold.

"I hope you learn your lesson, Luke," I moaned, pulling his underwear down and mounting him like a dog, "I don't care that we won. Next time, I expect a perfect game. You hear me?"

"Yes, sir!" a muffled reply came from somewhere between his smushed face and the grass.

I spent the next hour or so teaching my lesson to completion before hopping off him and telling him to hit the showers. The football pro didn't seem anymore upset or expressive than he had when he first marched over.

Luke Novak just stood, collecting his discarded clothing beneath a muscled arm. His face and chest was covered in grass and mud, but he didn't seem to notice or care. His dick still rose to full mast when he looked at me.

"Yes, sir," he answered and turned, marching back to the lockeroom like the obedient football boy he was.

He seemed to waddle a bit awkwardly as he walked, but his bare ass was perfect, even from 50 yards away. I'd never been a sports man, but this football team was easily the best investment of my life.

#gay hypnosis #gay mind control #hypno story #hypnotized #gay ai art #gay ai

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twit-ter-pa-ted · 1 year

Text

Yes, Ma'am. – Final Part

pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x afab!Reader

warnings: flirting, kissing :O, swearing, reader lore, mentioned events from the anime/manga

overview: 5 times you accidentally run into sanji, and 1 time you plan to meet; or – 5 times you rejected Sanji and 1 time you finally gave in.

a/n: this has about an 8.3k word count! ⊙⁠.⁠☉ i tried revising and making it shorter and wound up with more words instead,, anyways, eat up! <3

p.s. requests are open for anyone interested!

part one — part two

You drank your fifth bottle of beer despite not having enough Berries for even one. It had been a bad day – the worst, you think. It had been less than a year since you started as a sea merchant, and here you were now, not a Berry to your name thanks to a band of thieves. Thankfully, they left most of your products alone, only grabbing what they needed.

You tugged your father's jacket closer to your body and pulled out the stack of wanted posters that a News Coo bird had dropped off for the town you docked at. Most were new faces, some were pirates whose bounties increased.

You had asked for another bottle when the bartender questioned how you would be paying for it. You didn't answer. He rolled his eyes and muttered as he moved onto the customer a few seats away from you.

As you looked through the bounties, someone's booming voice chuckled as they entered the pub.

"Hey! Bartender, give us your finest liquor. Today is a day for celebration!" You turned to glare at the cause of loud noise when you realized at first glance that he looked familiar. You quickly whipped your head around to look at the posters again, shuffling through them.

Just as you found the one of the pirate that had just entered the pub, someone snatched it from your hand.

You turned to find that you had caught the attention of the pirate, Nepto Edda.

You saw the poster long enough to know his bounty would be more than enough to pay for your bill and get you back up on your feet.

"Looky here, men!" He chuckled again, showing his wanted poster to his crew with pride. They laughed as well.

Edda turned to you. "What are you planning to do with these, girl? You shouldn't be messing in these parts of the turf."

He slapped the posters off your hand, causing them to scatter on the pub floor. The bartender was too intimidated to reprimand the pirate.

Despite your recent loss, you held your chin high. You turned to completely face him.

"I'd love to hear you say that after I turn you in to the Navy."

He laughed before he swung to hit you, which you quickly avoided, sliding off your seat in the process. One of his crew was about to reach for his sword when you kicked his hand down and took the sword for yourself.

He and his crew kept his distance as you held the sword between you and them. At the last second, you sensed someone behind you. Before you could turn around, their blade was to your neck, their arm around your waist to keep you in place.

You clenched your jaw hearing their captain chuckle.

Your arms quickly fell to your side as a plan came to mind, though you were surprised to find the other person at the bar jumping into action.

He had taken one of his three swords and sliced at one of Edda's crew, catching everyone's attention.

You took the chance to slice the person behind you by their leg, the blade barely grazing your neck as you got away and sliced towards their chest.

The rest of the fight was a blur with the rush of adrenaline, though you had taken out your hidden gun at some point and pointed it to Edda.

His chuckle was nervous now, unlike how it was full and confident just moments ago. Who wouldn't be nervous, being at the mercy of a gun and a katana?

"Hey, back off, he's mine." The man that had jumped into the fight was first to speak.

You let out a surprised exclamation. The man certainly had the audacity. "How is he yours? I found him out and did the hard work, I didn't even need your help."

"I've done more damage to him than you have. It's only right that I'm the one to take him in," the green-haired man justified.

"Bullshit. I don't abide by that logic."

"Well, that's not my problem."

"I need to pay for my bill," you reasoned.

"So do I," he retorted.

"Please, it's both on the house if you just leave," the bartender, already sick of the bickering, pleaded with the pair of you.

Still, you continued even as the bartender spoke. "You wanna take this outside?" You said in a flurry of anger.

"Fine." He started to head out. You watched as he did, hitting Edda's temple with the butt of your gun to knock him out. You tied the pirate up before you quickly followed.

You settled right outside the pub, readying yourselves for a duel.

You recognized from his Three-Swords Style that you had challenged Roronoa Zoro, the notorious pirate hunter. Still, you did not prevail, taking out your own sword and placing your hand on your gun.

Before taking on the business in the seas, you had mastered the skill of swordsmanship and marksmanship, at least to your own extent.

"No guns," he announced.

"What, afraid you'll be at a disadvantage?" You knew he could most likely deflect bullets just as you could, but that couldn't stop you from taunting him.

"Fine. Do whatever you'd like."

Still, you obeyed, crouching and throwing your gun to the side. You instead equipped brass knuckles onto your now free hand.

You were now both ready, observing each other, waiting to see who would be first to offend and defend. Getting impatient, Zoro charged towards you.

His right hand rose to strike, which you quickly blocked with your sword. He pressured his sword forward, grunting when you didn't even seem to struggle upon keeping his blade away from yourself. You deflected it and stepped away as the blade swiped downwards, leaving a trail of dust as its trajectory hit the ground.

Your duel had caught the attention of a crowd, though it slowly depleted in size as your fight went on for hours.

Though you were exhausted, sweating and panting, the fight went on. You had both grazed each other multiple times, your knuckles even inflicting bruises onto his face, but neither cut a wound too deep into each other. The pub was closing and the moon had long risen by the time the bartender from earlier called your fight off, announcing it as a draw.

Reluctantly, and because the bartender had run his mouth off with scoldings, you split the bounty and parted ways. You never saw him again after that, and you were glad you never did.

* * * * * *

Once is an accident.

After leaving Baratie, you pulled out your map to head for Cocoyashi Village. It was under Arlong's reign but he allowed you to make trades with the village. As long as he got a share of your profit, of course.

You arrived every midweek to trade with the fruits they bore, most specifically the tangerines one villager named Nojiko grew. In return, you would give a few of the fruits and vegetables you traded from other villages. You would also give a few Berries to Genzo to help them pay for their monthly tributes.

For sailors and pirates of the sea, at least those with common sense, fruits and vegetables were essential to have on board to avoid getting scurvy. Naturally, you had to get the best of products to have a greater profit.

It took a few days for you to arrive. Though it was night when you did, the village seemed livelier than you had ever seen before.

Genzo greeted you as you docked your ship. He seemed to be in a bit of a drunken stupor as he called your name with joy. "Welcome!"

"Genzo, what's the occasion? I'm surprised Arlong let you have any fun," you remarked as you placed an arm around his shoulders to support him.

"You came at the right time! This marks the start of a new age in this village. We've been set free!" He announced, your eyes widening in disbelief.

"Coco's free?" You questioned for confirmation.

Genzo nodded with the grin that has remained on his face since he began to approach you. You had never seen him smile this much.

"This kid named Luffy beat Arlong into a pulp!" He then chuckled.

"Luffy?" You repeated. Genzo laughed again.

"And he had the nerve to challenge Marine's Vice Admiral Garp!" He said through his laughter.

"He fought Garp?"

Genzo nodded enthusiastically. He had begun leading you into the village at some point. "The Marines left without arresting them, though. Even if Garp could have completely beaten the kid."

"The village has been celebrating for four days now. Especially those pirates, they never seem to get tired!"

Just as he said it, you caught sight of Zoro sound asleep with a bottle of beer by his side.

"Oh. I guess it's just their captain that has endless stamina," Genzo concluded.

"Nojiko is resting, you ought to wait until tomorrow comes before you can trade."

You nodded in understanding.

"Have you eaten yet? You should try tonight's dish – tangerine garlic chicken." He grabbed you by the shoulders and led you to where the food was.

"Oh? Sounds interesting." You turned to face the person serving the food, your heart jumping in surprise as you did.

"Sanji!" Genzo had walked away to conversate with Luffy.

He had been keeping his eyes on the pan of cooked chicken as he scooped up a serving, his head suddenly whipping up to look at you as you called his name in surprise.

His eyes lit up as he called your name as well. "What are you doing here?" He was too shocked to tease you with something along the lines of, "how did you know where to find me?"

"I'm here for business, I trade for tangerines and other fruits with Nojiko. What are you doing here? What happened at Baratie?" You asked with confusion.

He shook his head and smiled, scooping a serving larger than usual to put on your plate. "I was, but I quit. I was too good for that place, anyway. I joined a pirate crew."

"You joined Luffy's crew?"

"You know him?"

You shrugged. "He pestered me at Baratie."

He chuckled as he looked away to find his captain, shaking his head in disapproval. "That idiot."

Usopp suddenly approached them, "Say, Sanji, have you eaten? Maybe you should take a break," he recommended, and something in his eyes told Sanji he was not taking 'no' for an answer.

"Hi, nice to see you again, miss Trader." He held his ground and stood with confidence beside Sanji as he greeted you with a grin.

"Likewise, I suppose, Usopp."

Usopp's confidence and courage seemed to crumble in less than a second as he cowered behind Sanji. "She remembers my name…!"

You fought an amused smile off your lips. "I'm not an ally to the Marines, there's nothing to worry about."

He didn't seem at all convinced, yet decided to trust you anyway. "A-Anyway, you should take that break, Sanji. Don't worry about the food, I'll handle it."

Sanji looked at him for a few seconds, almost reluctant, before taking a plate for himself.

"Make sure Luffy doesn't get near it – the village needs it more than he does, especially when he's had five servings and he's still starving," he instructed as he scooped himself a serving and took utensils for himself and for you. He handed you a fork and a spoon.

"Yes, sir!" Usopp saluted the chef before the latter gave him a grateful smile and began to walk away, a hand gently on your back to lead you along.

"What really happened?" There was silence on his end for a moment, so you spoke again. "I went back to Baratie the other day."

He chuckled. "Missed me that bad?"

You rolled your eyes yet a smile was on your lips. "The owner said you'd left. Figured that since I was a sea merchant, I'd be bound to run into you. That's all he said."

"Well, the old man's an idiot, he knows I'm headed for the Grand Line."

"You are?" You asked before taking a bite out of the chicken.

"Good?" He asked for your feedback.

You closed your eyes. You hated raising men's egos but you also couldn't lie. "It's the best I've had," it almost pained you to admit.

He couldn't help but chuckle at how cute you looked as you blurted it out, almost as if it were against your will that you did.

A somewhat comfortable silence fell between the two of you.

"I left Baratie because I wanted to find the All Blue." He looked at you and, as expected, you gave him a puzzled look. "It's a place where all the Blue Seas meet. You can find fish from all seas there."

You hummed with interest and intrigue. "Sounds like quite a chef's paradise."

He only smiled at you for a moment. He liked how you understood how he felt in an instant. "Exactly."

"So you're setting off to the Grand Line?"

"That's where we're headed. We just came here to get Nami." Your brows raised in surprise as you looked around.

"This is Nami's hometown?" He nodded.

"Turns out she joined the Arlong Pirates to buy her village back," he explained, "He set the price to a hundred million Berries then cheated her when she was about to reach that goal."

You couldn’t help but chuckle in disbelief. "A hundred million?"

"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" Sanji laughed as well just thinking about how Nami collected a hundred million Berries in eight years. "Luffy beat the shit out of Arlong for that. Now we have our navigator back, we're headed for the Grand Line."

You could listen to him talk for hours, and so you did just that. You and Sanji talked for the rest of the night. Next thing you knew, Nojiko had awoken and approached you to trade.

Sanji helped load the crates of tangerines onto your boat, despite him usually refusing to use his hands for anything other than cooking.

"Come with me," he offered as Genzo loaded the second crate onto your boat. "Come with us."

"The Straw Hat Pirates?" You asked for confirmation. He nodded. Genzo left the two of you to talk.

You smiled and shook your head as your eyes avoided his gaze. "I'm a merchant, not a pirate."

"We're headed for the Grand Line."

"All the more reason not to go. That place is treacherous," you retorted.

Sanji suddenly had a cocky smile. "You'll miss me."

You matched his smile. "I'll live."

"You'll miss my cooking," he rephrased. You rolled your eyes again, unable to respond.

Sanji, dejected, forced a smile despite the rejection. "If your mind's set."

You only watched as he departed, hands in his pockets as he watched his feet with every step he took. You, too, watched his feet as he left. You felt like you should be doing something to get him to stay – maybe change your mind and come with him, become a pirate.

It was the first time you had made a real connection with anyone. Even before entering the business of a sea merchant, you never really clicked with anyone, platonically nor romantically. Sure, there were people who were there, but they never really felt right.

As you watched his feet, you looked curiously as they stopped, then turned around. Your eyes travelled up to his eyes when he turned.

"Maybe I'll come see you once we've left the Grand Line – once I've found the All Blue."

He spoke as if he was confident that he would leave the Grand Line. You knew the chance was small, but you decided to hope that he would leave the Grand Line, too.

"I'll look forward to it."

* * * * * *

Twice is a coincidence.

"Zoro, what's the deal with you and that merchant from Baratie?" Usopp had been the one to ask this time. The whole crew was curious, they just didn't want to pry, but the questioning and the lack of answers was getting to everyone.

"Please, just answer them. The asking is getting irritating," Nami complained as she looked at him.

They were currently strolling along a village they had come across while on the way to the Grand Line. They decided to stop by only with the purpose of buying supplies for the kitchen, yet everyone decided to come along. Everyone reckoned they needed a walk around for what they had gone through in just less than a month – what they had gone through ever since they became a part of Luffy's crew.

Zoro rolled his eyes and gave in. He told them the story of how he and you fought for a bounty, only for it to end in a draw.

Sanji smacked him upside the head as he finished telling the story of your first interaction. "You don't have a single ounce in you that's a gentleman, do you? How dare you fight her?"

"She was the one who challenged me," Zoro defended himself, facing the blonde.

"That's not an excuse." Sanji faced the moss head.

"She pissed me off."

"She had every right to after you tried claiming her find."

"You wanna take this somewhere else?!"

"Hey! Don't you dare fight or I swear, I'll knock you both out myself," Nami threatened.

At that, both men went silent. As they both turned to face the main street forward again, both pairs of eyes landed on you.

Sanji called your name again, in confusion and in surprise.

You hadn't heard, as you were in the market where all voices overlapped with each other.

"Oh, it's the bounty hunter!" Luffy exclaimed with a grin.

"Shh…! She might hear us!" Usopp covered his captain's mouth as they all kept their eyes on you.

"Her again?" Zoro groaned in frustration.

"Shut up, moss head." You were picking out fruits, picking the best ones then asking for their prices.

As Sanji watched you, a cigarette between his lips, he saw your eyebrows furrow, your eyes darting between the fruits in your hand and the merchant. Upon seeing the conversation begin to get heated, he quickly made his way to you without second thought.

The rest of the crew watched as Sanji spoke to you, still with the cigarette in his mouth. You had been surprised at his seemingly sudden appearance, though your anger quickly returned.

You spoke to him, though the crew wasn't near enough to hear exactly what you said, but all they knew was it was enough to rile their cook up as well.

Luffy scratched his head as he watched you and Sanji argue with the merchant who began to sweat anxiously. Sanji had approached you with the purpose of diffusing the tension, though he seemed to only add to it as he, too, became frustrated with the merchant and his product's pricing. His cigarette almost fell from how much he was yelling at the merchant.

"They're a perfect match," he concluded. The others agreed with hums.

"Zoro, you said you fought and it ended in a draw?" Luffy affirmed, his first mate nodding.

"Great! She's joining the crew."

"What?!" Everyone exclaimed at his quick decision making.

* * * * * *

Sanji found that the village they were now docked at was your hometown. You visited every once in a while to check in on your parents, who Sanji offered to cook for as the Straw Hat Pirates resided in your home for the day to rest.

You were one of the first to receive their captain's wanted poster, being considered an ally of the Marine despite you denying it time and time again. It was yet to be shown to the public, but you knew it was bound to appear in newspapers. It wasn't often that someone's first bounty would exceed the former highest's by 10 million Berries.

You would depart the next day and so would they, just in time to avoid having your parents seen as associates of the pirates.

Sanji offered you to join them again, telling you the captain's decision to invite you along as well.

You declined, again.

Sanji could see in your eyes that you wanted to, and not just because you wanted to join him. There was another reason that wasn't there the first time he gave you an invitation. Still, he knew he was in no position to pry.

You parted ways once again despite the both of you knowing you wanted the exact same thing.

* * * * * *

Third time's a pattern.

Only a few weeks passed when you saw each other again. You saw him first this time, almost thinking your eyes were deceiving you as he shopped for kitchen knives, while you searched for a better sword.

This village was known for their blacksmith being the best in the East Blue, so you knew to head here after earning just enough Berries.

You slowly approached him as he examined knives. He caught sight of you from one's reflection, his leg swinging towards you in defense as he was surprised. Only halfway through his action did it process in his mind that it was you.

Still, though he couldn't stop himself, you deflected his leg with your forearm. You knocked him upside the head afterwards.

He rubbed his head to ease the pain. "You are good."

You didn’t ask how he knew of your abilities when he had never seen you fight. "Thank you."

You already knew he would ask what you were doing here. "I'm looking for a better sword," you answered his silent question, "I'm thinking it's about time. I recently turned in a million bounty, anyway."

"Good job, darling." Your eyes darted to his with surprise at the pet name, a chuckle leaving your lips as you looked away from his eyes that bore into yours.

"Thank you." He smiled as you tried to hide your flushed cheeks.

"Have you eaten? I'd love to cook lunch for you." It was comedic how he didn't trust any restaurant, only offering his own cooking every time you ran into each other. He knew you only deserve the best in everything, so he always offered you his cooking.

Still, you never really refused.

You had to admit that he had every right to be cocky about his cooking skills – he wasn’t just all talk, anyway. You do believe that he was the best chef in the East Blue – maybe even of all the Seas.

After finding the right sword for yourself, you walked through the market to buy supplies for lunch. Sanji couldn't help but complain to you how Luffy had consumed a month's worth of food in less than an hour just as they had left the village prior to this one.

You couldn't help but laugh as he told the story, imagining Sanji chasing Luffy around their ship and pleading to Nami for a lockable fridge. After buying meat and vegetables, you started to head back to the boat.

Luffy was more than delighted to see you, Usopp still a bit skeptical (it was only in his nature), and Nami welcomed you aboard. Zoro was asleep.

Sanji cooked lunch for you, making something special for you and Nami as well as dessert, staying by your side as you ate your food.

You stayed with them for dinner, as well, finding that you made a connection with the rest of the crew as well.

"Do you really not want to join?" Sanji asked for the third time, you only chuckled as you already expected the answer to pop up at some point. You sat with the crew on the main deck's floor, deciding to dine under the night sky instead of inside the cabin.

"Yeah, it’ll be fun, come on!" Luffy urged you on before stuffing his mouth with the contents of Usopp's plate.

"Hey!" Usopp scolded him as soon as he noticed his plate empty again.

"I thought you were heading for the Grand Line, what are you doing here?" You asked while Usopp stood and went to the kitchen.

"Don’t change the subject." Sanji caught your attempt, causing you to give him a sly smile.

"We were, but Luffy can’t keep his hands off our fridge.” Zoro glared at the oblivious captain who only continued to eat.

Nami hummed in agreement. "We keep needing to stop by islands to restock every other day, even if we stock a month's worth of food."

"Your turn to answer," Sanji urged, leaving you no choice but to do so.

"I’ve told you – I’m a merchant, not a pirate. I’m not in these seas for gold or adventure, I’m here to make a living."

"You’re a negotiator," Nami chimed in.

"And a good fighter!" Luffy exclaimed with a full mouth. You could only assume that Zoro had told them of your first encounter.

"Pirates don't negotiate," you chuckle out.

"Usually not, which is why we need a great fighter if things go south," Luffy explained persuasively.

"You already have good fighters on board," you motioned towards everyone.

"It wouldn't hurt to have one more."

You ran out of rebuttals.

"Still, I’m not joining a pirate group with him." You cocked your chin towards Zoro's way. He had finished his dinner and shut his eyes to go to sleep while still sitting with his arms crossed.

"Done, he’s off the group," Sanji concluded in a heartbeat.

"You don’t get to decide that," Zoro reminded him without opening his eyes.

Usopp had returned with a plate full of food while you had started rebutting. He kept his eyes on it the whole time, yet it disappeared the second he looked away to listen to what you were saying.

"LUFFY! Stop eating my dinner!"

* * * * * *

Fourth time's a sign.

It was less of a surprise than a concern, the fourth time you ran into each other. You headed to Loguetown not long after you left the Straw Hats again. You arrived at the town and stayed for a few days.

You were currently in Captain Smoker's office. Usually, it was pirates that passed by Loguetown, as it was the island closest to the Reverse Mountain in the East Blue. He wasn’t expecting that his ex-subordinate’s merchant of a daughter would be found in a place such as this. He knew this was your father's hometown, but you being in his office told him you weren't here for family reasons.

"Will this take long?" You asked impatiently.

"Not at all." He pulled out a piece of paper. You waved your hand around the air in front of you, trying to swat away some of the smoke to see even a little bit of the writing on the paper.

He flipped the paper and slid it towards you. "State your purpose here, write your name here, sign here." He pointed at different lines on the paper.

"You will not be permitted if you’re after the One Piece," he informed you before you started writing, "You’ll be considered a pirate and arrested, effective immediately."

"And if my purpose is private?" You questioned.

He only sighed before replying, "You have to put something down."

At that, you began to fill up the details. "Your father, how is he?"

Your brows raised at his decision to make conversation. You knew he wasn't the best at it. "Fine. Better since he finally retired."

It was difficult taking care of your father. Once an ex-marine, then a merchant, his life had always been on the line especially in this age of pirates. You always worried and wondered whether or not your father would come home. It was only four years ago that he retired at the age of 71.

"And your mother?"

Your mother had been supportive of every decision you and your father made, finding that it would be difficult to get either of you to change your minds anyway.

She always wanted at least two children, though fell ill and became unable to before she could. Your mother always assured that you were enough, though she never really said it.

She was remorseful that you grew up alone, and you were sad that she never got to completely have what she wanted.

However, she had recently begun teaching art class to the children of your village as a way to pass the time. You were happy she did – it made her happy.

"She’s fine, too. Dropped by for a bit before I head for the Grand Line."

Silence filled the suffocating atmosphere that wasn't even as severe as when Captain Smoker would be alone in his office. As you finished filling up the form, you flipped the paper again to face him.

"I'm not going there for the One Piece, by the way."

"I thought you weren't," Captain Smoker affirmed, as if to elucidate the trust he had on you, despite your father's other connections.

He read your reasoning and seemed to be stuck on it. He glanced between you and the paper multiple times before he put out his cigar on the paper, putting out the fire so it didn't completely burn. That served as his seal of approval.

You left his office afterwards, and you couldn't help but scan the streets as you walked. It had become somewhat of a bad habit, looking for Sanji in every village you visited.

As if fate was on your side, maybe even rooting for you, you heard the certain North Blue accent of a certain blonde haired chef call out your name.

You cannot hide the smile from your face as you turn to face the source of his voice, and it is evident by the grin on his face that he was all the more elated to have been able to run into you just before he entered the Grand Line.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, though you already knew the answer.

"Heading for the Grand Line," he answered as if it didn't need to be questioned at this point, which it really didn't. "You?"

"Heading for the Grand Line," you mimicked with a grin.

Though you expected him to be joyful, his face fell with confusion. "What?"

"There's something I have to tell you," you admitted sheepishly. "Lunch?" You offered before you gave him the news.

He couldn't help but smile at your offer, knowing he couldn't refuse it.

* * * * * *

Sanji found out your favorite food in your hometown. Given that, to your parents, it was a blessing for you to come home, they had decided to cook your favorite food for you. It was a simple tonkatsu, yet he wanted to make it perfect for you – just the way your parents would make it.

You learned that every Straw Hat had gone to different parts of the town, looking into every shop and spoiling themselves for as long as they could before they entered the Grand Line.

Meanwhile, Sanji set aside the task of buying supplies to cook for you instead.

"Why are you suddenly going to the Grand Line?" He asked while chopping up a cabbage. You sat at the dining table of the place you rented for a few days.

"It was never my intention, I always planned to stay in the East Blue," you admitted. "But my father, he…" you couldn't help but chuckle at how ridiculous it was.

"He and an old friend hid their family treasure in the New World – swore to one day come back for it."

"Your father entered the Grand Line?" You nodded.

"He really did make the most of it during his golden age back then," you remarked.

"So now, you're going to the New World to get your family treasure back?" You nodded again.

"And his friend's. After everything my parents have done for me, I think this is the only way I can repay them. Especially since my father grows weaker everyday now."

He nodded in understanding. He moved to sit next to you while he waited for one side of the tonkatsu to cook. He usually wouldn't, but he wanted to savour the moment he had with you – to be as close as he could to you.

"So, would you want to join us, now?" He offered again.

He noticed you took longer than usual to respond.

"I can't."

Sanji chuckled, unable to feel gray by the fourth time you rejected him. "Do you at least think about it?"

You couldn't help but chuckle as well. "I've always travelled alone," you reasoned, "and I think this should be something that I do alone."

"Agree to disagree," Sanji decided.

"I'm still not changing my mind." He raised his hands in surrender and he stood to turn the tonkatsu to its other side.

"So, I guess this is the last time we see each other," you deduced.

"Unless we run into each other at the Grand Line," Sanji added.

"Right." You looked at each other for a moment, and being under his gaze suddenly made you feel small, so you straightened your posture as you and he made sure to take with you every detail of each other. You weren't even sure either of you would be able to enter the Grand Line safely, yet somehow you were both still confident that you would.

"There's different islands and different paths to take in the Grand Line," you brought up, implying that your paths may not cross again.

"Well, if it's our fate to meet again, I will continue to ask you," Sanji reassured.

You chuckled. "Your captain has the highest bounty in the East Blue, you might not even leave the town."

"Please, our captain's an idiot. People, even in the Grand Line, will underestimate him and end up regretting it." His tone was distracted as he spoke, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.

Your corner of your lips knowingly curled up to a smile, "You might meet other women."

"I will meet them, but I wouldn't pursue them – can you please just let me kiss you?" He asked impatiently. His eyes had settled on looking only at your lips by now. He knew by the smirk on your lips how you knew about his growing need to kiss you every time you two saw each other.

"Yeah, alright," your answer was all the more casual as if it didn't make your heart skip a beat to hear how desperate he had sounded. The words barely left your mouth before he had gently cupped your cheek and his lips met yours.

A groan left his lips and vibrated against yours as your hand tangled in his hair, his hand now resting to cup your jaw so he could feel how fast your heartbeat was from your pulse point.

You soon pulled away for air, your hand still in his hair and his on your cheek. Your foreheads touched as you leaned onto each other, both panting. You smiled and soon chuckled, pressing a kiss on the apple of his cheek.

"The food might burn," you reminded him that he was cooking.

He panted out a few more breaths and savoured the moment. It seemed as if the sentence you uttered took a moment to process in his brain after you had stupefied him with your kiss.

"Shit."

He quickly left your side, disconcerted as he overcooked one side of the tonkatsu.

Oh, well, he thought. He supposed he would have to endure eating this one if it meant you would have a perfect meal.

* * * * * *

Fifth time's an obstinacy.

It was as if your fates had been intertwined the moment you two first met.

You glanced at your Log Pose every once in a while as you waited for your order at the restaurant. As you did, you couldn't help but wonder where Sanji was at this point and time. It was taking quite some time for your Log Pose to record the direction to the next island with the path you chose to take, so you wondered if they were already far ahead of you.

"Man, I'm starving!" A familiar voice exclaimed upon entering the restaurant.

"You just finished eating every free sample at the market," another familiar voice responded, his tone nonchalant.

"Yeah, those were the appetizers!" You turned to face the entrance with a confused look, both heads immediately turning to face you, too.

"Oh, hey, it's you again!" Luffy walked towards your table, his first mate reluctantly following suit.

"What are you doing here?"

"We got lost, I think!" He announced as if it were something to boast about.

"Don't say it so confidently," Zoro scolded.

"Good to see you, moss head," you greeted with sarcasm.

"Hey, don't you start, too." You were about to give a snarky remark when Luffy spoke again.

"We just came from an island called Little Garden! We're planning on heading to Alabasta since we have their princess on board," Luffy explained, unknowingly preventing another duel between you and Zoro.

"For the record, we didn't kidnap her for ransom," Zoro cleared up due to the nature of Luffy's odd way of phrasing.

"Technically, we did, because Nami's asking for one billion Berries in return," Luffy argued.

"That's Nami we're talking about," Zoro retorted.

"Oh, waiter! I would like to order, please!" Luffy's voice boomed at the restaurant.

"Where's Sanji?" You asked. Your eyes had scanned around in search of the chef the moment you saw Luffy and Zoro, though you knew deep down that Sanji would only trust his own cooking. He would probably even scold you if he caught you dining here.

"Buying food supplies," Luffy responded while still eyeing the waiter who was serving another table.

"You ate it all again, didn't you?"

Luffy grinned at how well you seemed to know him. "I did!"

He was an open book – he seemed oblivious of the fact.

The waiter soon arrived with your food and Luffy took the chance to order every dish on the menu.

"Oh. Zoro, do you have any money?" Luffy had asked in the middle of his fourteenth dish. Zoro only looked at him, then they turned to you in unison.

Your eyes widened at the pair. You had finished your meal by Luffy's eighth dish, yet you stuck around both because of your amusement and manners.

You cleared your throat and looked away from their gazes, slowly taking out a few Berries that were enough for your meal before you stood and fled from the restaurant.

You could hear Luffy's frantic exclamations from outside the restaurant, growing distant as you continued to run.

You let out a surprised exclamation as you ran into someone upon your lack of focus. They had stopped you from completely crashing onto their chest by grabbing you by the shoulders.

He called your name and your head whipped up to face him.

"Sanji!" You grinned and threw your arms around his neck in an embrace, glad that he had entered the Grand Line safely. He wrapped his arms around your waist as well, lifting you off the ground as his grip tightened a bit.

He placed your feet back down on the ground a moment later, pulling away from the hug.

"Glad to see me again?" You teased.

"Very much, darling," he didn't attempt to deny, a wide grin now on his lips.

You noticed that he was with Nami, Usopp, and an unfamiliar woman with blue hair. You greeted the pair and gave the woman a puzzled look.

"This is Vivi," Nami introduced her, telling Vivi your name as well.

"It's nice to meet you," Vivi uttered sheepishly.

"Oh, are you the princess?" You presumed, panting from your running.

"Wait, you know?" Usopp questioned with confusion.

"I ran into your captain and swordsman. They almost trapped me into paying for their lunch at the restaurant." You pointed your thumb over your shoulder at the restaurant ahead of them.

"That's our captain for you." Nami shook her head in disapproval as she looked at the restaurant.

"Would you like to join us for lunch?" Sanji offered, smiling. "I'd be delighted to cook your favorite for you again."

You gladly accepted.

You were once again found boarding the Going Merry. Luffy and Zoro were yet to return, and presumably got lost, so Usopp volunteered to return to the village to search for them.

Once Vivi and Nami retreated to their shared room and left the two of you alone in the kitchen, you couldn't keep your hands off each other.

Your lips met again and things turned heated until you soon had to stop yourselves and let Sanji prepare the crew's lunch.

Sanji had a sly grin on his face as he buttoned back up his top button that you had unconsciously unbuttoned.

"I'm still not becoming a pirate." You could see the question coming from a mile away now.

Sanji clicked his tongue in playful annoyance. "Think about it."

"I have!" You chuckled as you spoke.

"And do you see yourself coming with us?" It took you a while to respond, contemplating whether or not you should tell the truth.

"I do," you admitted.

"So why don't you want to?"

"Because I feel like I'll forget what my goal is when I'm with you." He seemed taken aback by your response. "I forget about everything else when I'm around you. I forget there's a whole world with real people beyond that door and that it's not just you and me."

"I won't let you forget it," he reassured you, "I'll be there to support you, to help you."

He took your hands in his. "It pains me to be parted from you."

You rolled your eyes at how cheesy he sounded. "You'll live."

"I'll live in agony." You couldn't help but chuckle despite how serious he sounded. You squeezed his hands in comfort.

"Well, I do recall my father telling me that his friend left a clue somewhere in Alabasta." His eyes lit up at the thought of seeing you again, of having certainty of when and where you'll be able to meet again.

"Suppose I head there next; are you willing to find me?"

"I would scour all of the Blue Seas to find you."

Your heart jumped. "Then it's a date."

* * * * * *

It had only been two weeks since you last saw Sanji. You had encountered one more island, an autumnal kingdom, before you arrived at Alabasta.

Your father and his friend had made a riddle. It was almost as if you were on a scavenger hunt on the world's most dangerous land and waters.

In a desert land where droughts hold sway,

Soon an oasis, you'll find me one day.

But don't expect to see a mirage's grace,

I'm real, with life, by North's palace.

Rainbase. It had to be. It took days for you to travel to the location, the desert just as deadly as the open waters of the Grand Line.

You looked at the map of Alabasta, with it the piece of paper with the riddle your father had given you. In the event that neither he nor his friend would be able to return to their treasure, they decided to mark their clues with their initials.

And so, the paper was signed 'A.P. & G.D.R.'

Though there was commotion near the casino, you scoured the streets and alleys of Rainbase to find any sort of clue. Once you were sure to have checked every alley, your shoulders sagged as you failed to find the clue. It was only when you entered the pub that you found what you were looking for.

There was a wall of photographs in the corner of the pub. You drank a bottle of beer as your eyes scanned the unfamiliar faces of the pub's patrons.

You almost spat your beer out when you found one of your father and his friend. You unpinned it to take a closer look, noticing that it was slightly indented at some parts. You turned the picture around and found another riddle written with messy handwriting. It matched that of the riddle in your possession.

Way up high a place God is resided,

On stolen land from which its people are prohibited,

With fate and luck you will reach this land of Vearth,

Found far within the clouds where you will prove your worth.

– A.P. & G.D.R.

…What was that supposed to mean?

Rainbase was a piece of cake to decipher, but this one seemed to be utter nonsense.

You supposed it was up to par with how the Grand Line was. Nothing made sense and everything made you clueless.

You walked away from the wall, glum as you headed for the exit, when the bartender called for you.

He had been bartender long enough to recognize your father's face and your resemblance of him. He gave you something your father and his friend had left – something they entrusted to him to keep until someone came looking for clues.

Your eyes widened as you looked at the gold coin with Gol D. Roger's Jolly Roger. His flag had long fallen, yet the coin still assured your protection so long as you had it on your person as you continued in your journey.

And so, you left the pub with a photograph and a rare treasure.

"Oh!" Someone called your name just as you were walking back to the inn. You lifted your head off the ground to see Sanji up ahead.

A smile immediately found its way to your lips as you began to approach him, his arms raising as an invitation to an embrace.

You burrowed your face into his chest as you hugged him, his chest vibrating as he chuckled upon seeing you again.

"I hope you didn't miss me too much," he remarked.

You shrugged with nonchalance. "I survived," you retorted.

He had a cigarette between his lips that curled up at your reply. His hand took yours. "Come on."

Your eyes widened as he began running, leading you along. "Where, exactly?"

He forced a laugh to lessen your soon-to-be anxiety. "Err…Me and the gang are sort of on the run from Crocodile."

"The Warlord?!" He nodded.

"We got split up, but we're headed towards Alubarna to stop a war," he said too casually. You sighed exasperatedly.

"Nothing's ever dull with you guys, is it?" He only laughed.

* * * * * *

You successfully helped stop a war.

Luffy had fought and successfully defeated Crocodile. Unfortunately, he had been poisoned in the process, though was quickly given an antidote. This caused him to be in a three-day coma which fortunately left the rest of the crew to rest as well.

Since the last time you first saw them, you found that they recruited a reindeer doctor that had eaten the Human Human Devil Fruit.

You and Sanji decided to go out for dinner during those three days. By that, it means that Sanji cooked a five-course meal for just the two of you. You insisted that he didn't need to, but he insisted otherwise.

You both had taken hits and gained wounds during your attempt at preventing a war, so Sanji made sure to implement food that would help your wounds heal faster and give you more strength.

He told you the story of how they had met and recruited Chopper, the reindeer doctor. Nami had fallen ill days after their stay at an island called Little Garden. He also told you how the island had dinosaurs and two giants who had been in a century-long fight for a reason they didn't even remember anymore.

He told you of Baroque Works and the members they had come across and defeated, and how Crocodile had secretly been the organization's boss.

You noticed that he was yet to ask you the question that came every time you came across each other. Throughout your night, you waited, and it never came. You supposed he had come at peace with your seemingly compelled answer that never changed every time he asked you.

By the third day of your stay in Alubarna, Luffy finally woke. His crew was quick to devise a plan to leave the kingdom before the sun rose to quickly get back to your ships.

Vivi was torn between staying for her kingdom or joining the Straw Hat Pirates, so they had given her twelve hours to decide, which was just enough for their ship to pass by the eastern part of Alabasta and let Vivi board if she ever decided to join them.

Vivi chose her kingdom. She bid the Straw Hats farewell during her coming-of-age speech, staying by the coast as she showed off her 'X' tattoo that matched the others. It was a symbol that said no matter where they were, they would always be a Straw Hat Pirate.

The others had shown off theirs, too, while they sailed away from Alabasta.

Now, you remained on the Going Merry. Your boat was connected to the ship by rope. You were lounging at the main deck with the crew.

"We'll untie your boat from ours once we get far enough away from the Marines," Nami explained.

"Alright…" You replied, seemingly distracted.

Naturally, Sanji was the first to notice this. "Something on your mind, love?"

You had gotten used to the pet names at this point. You looked up at the ship's Jolly Roger as you rethought your decision one last time.

You closed your eyes. "Fine," you started.

You opened your eyes to see everyone looking at you curiously and expectantly.

"I'll join your crew," you clarified.

In the blink of an eye, Luffy lifted you to your feet and began to dance you around in celebration, Usopp and Chopper joining in. You couldn't help but chuckle at their delight.

Once the moment passed, Sanji approached you and held your hand.

"Are you sure?"

You smiled up at him. "I've thought about it a lot, like you said."

You looked around at the faces you've come across multiple times already. "And I guess I wouldn't mind being with a few friends – the journey to the New World is long, anyway."

You turned to Sanji. He had been looking at you with a smile.

Then, he suddenly swept you up into his arms and kissed you right there and then, finding himself too overwhelmed with emotions to say anything – so he just kissed you.

Most of the crew let out a surprised exclamation while Luffy began to laugh gleefully.

Nami was about to scold the cook as she saw your flushed face when you pulled away and chuckled sheepishly.

"Not in front of the crew," you spoke through gritted teeth as you gently smacked him upside the head.

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry, I got carried away."

"Sanji! This calls for a celebration! Cook something for us!" The Straw Hat Captain boomed.

"Aye-aye, captain!"

The door to the cabin swung open just as Sanji began to approach it. He halted in his steps.

"So, we've finally left the island?" Nico Robin, Miss All-Sunday, seemed to have snuck on board.

"...AAAHH!"

* * * * * *

a/n: i wonder if anyone figured out reader's father's friend was roger before it was stated…?

taglist: @inf4ntdeath @x-uno @miloonmetis @angeli-fucking-cat @zzbloody-animezz @watercolorskyy @saltyfriendsaladbandit @mbekgsv @mischiefmanaged71 @leslielovestedalot1 @theamazingtrinitysky @stevenknightmarc

#one piece #one piece live action #opla #opla sanji x reader #opla sanji #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #sanji #taz skylar #taz skylar x reader

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