#will buggy ever learn

[local-loser-clown]

The gay reptiles at it again with traumatising the clown. It was Buggy's fault this time for asking, but he was just concerned

Buggy should know better at this point

[kacievvbbbb]

Say what you will about the clown, but you can’t deny he is a clown of the people.

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

@bitch-be-nimble well, not at the time. (the whole motivation behind this notfic with buggy in disguise was to see if i could write a post-roguetown encounter without making shanks lie when he tells whitebeard he hasn’t seen buggy since roguetown.) but it’s funny you should ask!

this got stupid long. okay, you know what? i’m just gonna post this first chunk of the story, it ends on a fun note and i won’t feel like i need to rush the rest if i’ve shared this much with y’all.

a little over a decade later, as the red force prepared to leave marineford:

it was buggy’s fault. undeniably. if he could’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut—but of course he couldn’t! not after the way shanks just treated him, pulling on his strings like a goddamn puppet master, like he still knew buggy after all these years. not when buggy knew for a fact that shanks wouldn’t recognize him without his nose acting as a big red flag.

(of course he hadn’t forgotten about that day. he never spoke of it, but it was on his mental tally of ways shanks had screwed him over. spooked him into eating the chop-chop fruit, constantly stole his thunder, beat him at cards (by cheating! by cheating at cards better than buggy!), ruined his plans for the future, kissed him one time in a back alley in east blue—and without even asking first!)

and this was the first time he’d been near shanks since that day, so of course it was on his mind. shanks hadn’t changed much since then, except that oh wait, he’d lost a fucking arm somehow! and nobody seemed to be able to agree on how.

buggy couldn’t bear to ask for the story.

he had to know.

he could not ask.

“looking at you, i can’t tell which of the rumors is true,” buggy said. (not asked!) shanks was sitting on a barrel, watching other members of his crew do real work, so buggy figured it was safe to bother him. he glanced up at buggy. “did you go after whitebeard and get punished for it like that crocodile guy, or did you try and see if your armament haki was stronger than a sea king’s teeth?”

shanks huffed out a little laugh. “are those the only rumors these days?”

“the only ones i considered remotely plausible.”

“well, the second one’s not far off,” shanks said.

buggy stared. that couldn’t be the whole story. not for him.

shanks sighed. “look, buggy, i’m sorry, but i don’t have time for this right now. unless you know my ship better than me, and can figure out where we’re going to place a twenty-two foot long corpse—” he cut himself off with a shake of his head. “any other day, i would love to sit down with you and catch up. just not today.”

right. buggy flushed. shanks was an emperor. even though he was the youngest and weakest of them, that still required a certain something. leadership. responsibility. just because he still looked like the shanks buggy knew, slacking off, doing as he liked, didn’t actually make him so.

“buggy,” shanks snapped.

“does he have to be lying down?” buggy blurted out. shanks blinked up at him, surprised to hear him try to be helpful. “i mean, i know how normal bodies work, death stiffness wears off eventually, but this is whitebeard. if anyone could stay standing the whole of his death, it’s that guy.”

shanks frowned. “i did consider that, briefly. but if we’re wrong, having to clear that much space in the time it takes him to fall over…”

buggy cringed. “right, that’d be way worse.” he thought about alternatives. this boat of shanks’ was nice, but it did not have that kind of room to spare, not if he was taking shipless pirates aboard (which, of course he was; this was shanks). “what about one of the whitebeard fleet ships? are any of them stable enough to carry him? they’re his crews, i bet they’d be honored to be his last ride.”

shanks nodded. “there are a few still seaworthy.” running his hand through his hair, he muttered, “but like hell i’m getting involved with the intracrew politics there. i’ll ask marco, he’ll know which one to pick to step on the fewest toes.” getting to his feet, shanks visibly swayed for a moment.

“whoa, are you—?”

“i’m—fine,” shanks said, pinching at his brow. he glanced at buggy, who had foolishly reached out to, what, steady him? offer an arm to lean on?? he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. shanks sighed. “it’s not as fun as we’d thought it’d be when we were kids, is it? being the ones in charge.”

“oh, i don’t know,” buggy said, thinking back to that moment, fresh out of impel down, when anything seemed possible with all those guys at his back, cheering him on. “it has its moments.”

shanks considered him for a moment. he smiled. “i guess it does. thanks for the suggestions, buggy. go find a spot to lie down, would you? you look like you could use some beauty sleep.”

and buggy knew he shouldn’t say it. even in the moment he knew it was stupid. but he could never leave well enough alone when shanks took a cheap shot at him, and that day had been on his mind. so he said, “gee, and here i thought i was gorgeous.” and because he really couldn’t help himself, it seemed, when shanks gave him a blank look, he fluttered his eyelashes and added, “with stunning eyes.”

shanks stared.

in the time it took for buggy to blink, he was shoved into the closest wall. he’d tear shanks a new one for halfheartedly trying to give him a concussion, but the hand that’d pressed him shoulder-first into the wall was drifting up, up his neck, cupping his cheek, and buggy found himself as lost for words this time as last.

shanks leaned in. just as he got too close for propriety, he sucked in a breath. he whispered, “that was you?”

buggy gave him a look that said obviously. that said how else would i know about it? that said why? does it matter?

did it matter? he stared up at shanks, and, far from the first time, had no idea what he was thinking.

shanks took a step back and laughed, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “oh god,” he said under his breath, “i really don’t have time for this right now.” eyes shutting, he sighed, and to buggy it looked like he’d aged ten years in an instant. someone out of sight called for their ‘boss,’ and the exhaustion, the previous, unreadable emotion, it all fell away. here was red-haired shanks the emperor, for the first time since he’d cowed the marines into allowing the whitebeard pirates their dead. he stalked off, calling out, “get some sleep, buggy,” over one shoulder, cool as anything.

buggy, feeling distinctly uncool and like he’d never sleep again, scurried away in search of a private corner he could panic in. he found a deck a level or two up that was deserted for the moment—crew quarters, maybe?—and huddled by the railing. had anyone seen that? stupid, stupid—

“did you see that?” someone a deck below said excitedly to their companions. “captain buggy got that emperor mad enough to shove him into a wall, and then without a word forced him to retreat! he’s truly amazing!”

buggy buried his face in his hands and groaned. so stupid.

“hey, quick question,” said someone at buggy’s elbow some time later. “are you trying to get us all killed?” it was mr. 3—er, galdino, or whatever his name was, looking very fearful and annoyed and sweaty. or maybe that was the wax? buggy didn’t know much about him, or how his powers worked.

“how’s that?”

“word among the men,” this was how galdino had been referring to the prisoners who’d followed the two of them out of impel down lately, ‘the men,’ like they were buggy’s soldiers or something, “is that red-haired shanks kabedon'd you, and you turned him down. you realize he’s our only possible ride out of here at this point, right? why antagonize him like that?”

buggy’s face screwed up. like he needed to be reminded of the distance between him and shanks. but also: “the hell’s that word mean?”

“kabedon? it’s when someone shoves you into a wall to intimidate and flirt with you.”

“flirt with—” buggy sputtered, face hot. oh shit, was that really what they were saying? “god no, no way! shanks would never—”

“i’m just reporting what i’ve heard,” galdino said, shoving his glasses up his nose. “oh, no one’s made the flirtatious connection but me, but they all say the two of you got up close and personal, and red-hair’s been red-faced ever since. i just put two and two together.”

“it wasn’t like that,” said buggy, who couldn’t have told galdino what it was like, since he still had no idea himself.

“no?” galdino joined buggy at the railing. they had a good view of the main deck from up here, including a cluster of men having a serious-looking discussion. since the group included shanks and marco the phoenix, it was probably about whitebeard and ace, and where they were taking them and how to do it. shanks looked tired, but it wasn’t obvious like it had been when it was just the two of them. there was something on his face that buggy recognized from the day the news about roger’s arrest broke. a quiet, sad kind of tired.

feeling eyes on him, shanks glanced up. their eyes met for a moment, maybe two. then shanks turned away, face slightly, undeniably redder, rubbing his hand over his mouth.

galdino leaned in close to buggy’s ear. “you sure about that, buggy?”

blushing bright enough to rival his nose, buggy stomped off, steaming, muttering curses against smart-mouthed wax men under his breath.

but no, he wasn’t sure at all.

[buggbuzz]

GUYS I GOT INTO A COLLEGE STUDENT RESEARCH PROGRAM!!

IM GONNA WORK ON A BIG EPIGENETICS PROJECT W/ MY PROFESSOR FOR A YEAR STRAIGHT!!

IN CELEBRATION HERE IS ME IN THE NEW LABCOAT I JUST GOT!! i have wanted my own lab coat for over a decade

[eyes-0f-etro]

cloud strife with a new york accent has permanently altered my life

[factual-fantasy]

(ᴋᴏ-ғɪ ᴍᴏʙɪʟᴇ ʟɪɴᴋ) ⁽ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳ ᵖᵒˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵃˢᵗᵉʳ ᵖᵒˢᵗˢ ᵐᵒᵇᶦˡᵉ ˡᶦⁿᵏ⁾

💫FAQ below the keep reading💫

(I intend to return to this post frequently and update the FAQ whenever new frequent questions arrive :}} )

Do you take commissions?: I call them paid drawing requests, and you can order one here on my ko-fi when they're open! :))

Do you take drawing suggestions?: I do not. Sorry!

When you say you don't like fanart being made for you, does that mean fanfics and other kinds of media as well?: Yes. it applies to all of that <:/

Why don't you like fanart/fanfics being made for you?: The simple answer is it just makes me very uncomfortable. It feels icky when someone I don't know draws/writes about something I designed without asking me. I get that most artists love fanart and don't see it that way/feel that way about it.. but I do. And even if people ask for permission first, I just like to keep my works to myself..

How can we show support if you don't like fanart?: You can support me over on ko-fi! :)) Or, just send comments! In what ever form they make take. Reblogs, asks, direct comments, tags?? Which ever way you choose! My absolute favorite part of posting on Tumblr is reading all the responses. Whether its a huge paragraph or a simple "Loved this! 💖" It always makes me smile to see people comment! :}}}

What drawing program do you use?: FireAlpaca! Its a free program and is easy for beginners to learn, yet also has a lot of tools available for the pros! Though be warned. It can be a bit buggy at times and has some weird quirks you're gonna have to learn how to work around.. 😅

Why are your sonas hands bloody and bandaged?: When I was first designing my sona, it looked kind'a plain.. I wanted to add something to my sonas hands, but I wasn't sure what.. at the time, my hands were covered in Band-Aids due to dry skin and cat scratches. Looking at my patched hands I thought "Hey! My sona could have these edgy bandaged hands! They can represent my "artists hands" and my love for angst as well!" and so that's what I drew <XDD

Do you have any other socials?: I have a ko-fi and a YouTube channel, but I haven't posted to it in a few years now 💀 other than that, Tumblr and ko-fi are the only places I post my artwork to! :}

When will you get back to your FNAF AU?: No idea tbh.. Currently, I am battling some health problems that are keeping me away from my big PC. So working on my FNAF AU isn't something I feel like I can do right now.. hopefully I can get past this health trial, get back to my PC with all my FNAF files and get back to the AU soon.. <:/

When will you get back to Octonauts?: I will not be coming back. At least not publicly on this blog.. I had some very uncomfortable experiences with the fandom that persist to this day and so I decided to just step back and leave the fandom. (See this post for more details)

[glitchtricks94]

Dancing feat. One Piece Men!

Genre: Fluff Content Warnings: None Characters: Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Shanks, Zoro, Sanji, Brook, Jinbe x Reader (separate) Summary: A simple group of separate drabbles loosely tied together over one theme; dancing with them. Network: @pixelcafe-network Kick back, relax, and enjoy~

Dracule Mihawk

Dancing with Mihawk is a once in a blue moon activity, treating such a thing with you with reverence and seriousness, almost taking it to levels that rival his dedication to his swordsmanship. He rarely likes to break the soothing sound of silence with anything outside of your voice, so even convincing him to allow you to put on a record of gentle piano or the sweetened notes of a longing violin are a stretch. The occasions he allows such a thing are either special or when he’s in a very warm and affectionate mood, which is rare, as previously mentioned, but if it isn’t the sweetest thing you’ve ever experienced when he puts on a record, one you’ve noted as being your favorite many moons ago when you both just barely began sharing a homestead, of his own accord, turning to you with eyes that normally were sharp and focused now filled with saccharine sweet honey of affection. Holding out a hand, he silently asks you a question, one that you could never refuse, giving your answer to him easily in the form of your hand in his as he gently tugs you towards his frame, no resistance on your end. He’s careful, steps precise. After Mihawk learned that you tended to sway gently when you chose to embrace him for longer periods of time, he took to the potential idea that you perhaps were fond of dancing. He could never find it in his heart to deny you something so simple. He began to practice during his time away from you when his work wasn’t consuming him. You always held his heart when you both were separated, as he held yours, so one night when he returned, exhausted and worn, he allowed the small jolt of energy you often shot through him to take root, as he pulled you to his chest and began to sway with you. You instantly fell into step with him, a joyous glow glittering in your eyes, one that Mihawk made sure to commit to memory as he leaned in to steal a weary kiss.

Mihawk’s movements grew more calculated the next time he chose to pull you into a dance, his eyes watching yours carefully as you gazed up at him with sheer adoration. Satisfaction radiated off him in waves, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he expertly guided you as if you’ve both already performed this routine a million times over. He twirled you out, away and back into his grasp, moving to put you in a low dip, lips grazing your neck in a feather light kiss. “My, aren’t you turning on the charm, tonight,” you teased, taking note of the small tick of a smirk pulling at the lips of your lover. A microscopic movement, really, but if your attention to detail didn’t help you decipher this man, then you felt as though he wouldn’t be twirling you in his arms right this moment. “Perhaps such an observation is correct, my rose,” Mihawk hummed, holding you close to his chest, seeming to enjoy the feeling of your hand in his, the other resting gently on his shoulder as you both silently danced towards an open balcony. The moonlight outside bathed both of you in an ethereal glow as your dance came to a close, Mihawk once more dipping you and pressing a kiss to your neck. “Consider me under your spell, my dear,” you crooned, eyes falling half lidded as a smile painted your features, Mihawk mirroring your expression in his own, beautifully stoic way.

“Good. I would expect such a thing from my betrothed,” Mihawk hummed, pulling you back up to where your chest was pressed against his once more. He trailed a hand up your arm to gently brush his fingers along your jawline, golden eyes memorizing every detail. “What’s such a tender look doing on your face, dearest?” “I do believe that it isn’t a crime to admire how my intended looks on a night such as this one.” “Oh, such poetry!” You gasped dramatically, a laugh escaping you and a sigh from Mihawk’s nose, his head shaking at the theatrics you posed. “You’re worse than that damned clown at times, my rose.” “Now, that’s just mean,” you snickered, playfully swatting Mihawk’s shoulder as he released another chuckle from his throat. “Is that so? Then, tell me, how could I ever earn your forgiveness?” “Kiss me again?” “As you wish, my rose,” Mihawk utters before sealing his lips to yours and guiding you back inside to continue your dance of passion.

Sir Crocodile

Any kind of dancing is rare with Crocodile, but when he indulges in a dance or two, he always ensures to take your breath away. He may be a large man, but with his own skill and a dash of help from his devil fruit abilities here and there, he’ll make it feel as though you both were gliding on thin air. When Sir Crocodile dances, he often chooses a simple waltz, a particular form you had said was a favorite of yours when it came to a more romantic atmosphere, it was something simple, yet elegant. Fitting for you in his opinion, as you never gravitated towards things that were gaudy and overly expensive; refreshing if not a tad relieving. He enjoyed and relished that you reveled in his attention rather than his wallet. Attending an upscale function with other influential figures of the past decade, you on his arm looking around with a practiced eye, your gaze trailing up to his disinterested face and locking eyes with him, Crocodile effortlessly navigated the room, talking with those of interest before taking a seat at the bar with you. He always seemed to find the most exciting detail about any location to be whether or not you are beside him, his time in Impel Down only further perpetuating such a thing and drawing him closer. Tonight, he seemed to feel more bold than usual about his attachment to you, as when the provided orchestra began to play a slower tempo, he stood, looking to you with practiced ease. “Would you care for a dance, my treasure?” He asked, his voice low enough for you to hear but not draw the attention of others. You simply flashed him a brilliant smile as you stood from your position atop the barstool, stepping right into his open grasp with so much trust and confidence, Sir Crocodile could shed a sarcastic tear of pity. He truly didn’t know why you held such confidence in him to not hurt you, given you bore witness to his treatment of others when they outgrew their usefulness to him. Perhaps he should unpack that another time. Stepping out onto the dancefloor, Sir Crocodile easily pulled you to him and twirled you into a perfect position, the two of you effortlessly synching up with each other, him taking the lead. That feeling as if you were both dancing on thin air swept over you, and you found yourself unable to look away from your beloved’s face, his expression cold, and eyes barely glittering with enough warmth to be counted as a mere ember from the bonfire you had constructed from within his chest. You were utterly captivated by him and he knew it.

Oh, such a pretty gem you were, polished to perfection in the fine garb he had chosen for you to wear that evening, that glorious glimmer in your eye reminding him of mountains of gold as you lost yourself in his presence; it all dripped down and settled on Crocodile’s tongue like a finely aged wine. He simply couldn’t get enough. The dance ended with a simple bow to him, his hand never leaving yours as he returned the gesture, tucking his hook behind his back before you both stood upright once more, returning to your previous stances with you hanging off of his arm the way he preferred. The evening was folding to a close for you both, as Crocodile’s patience was beginning to crumble with those around him and you could feel your eyelids begin to grow heavier. Solitude was needed for you both. What you never expected when you returned home was for your much larger lover to pull you closer to him once more and perform a few simple steps to the waltz you performed earlier with him that very evening, eliciting a soft, sugary laugh from your throat to match the smug smile he wore on his charred face. “You’re more energetic than I thought!” You snickered, looking up at Sir Crocodile with mirth dancing in your eyes. “Savor it, my treasure, for it will not last long.” “I never said I wouldn’t, my sun,” you coo before you found your lips taken in a long, languid kiss.

Buggy The Clown ~700 words

Buggy was never really the dancing type. At least, not with all those unflashy, fancy types of moves. Buggy was made to sparkle, shine and forever be in the spotlight; the eccentricity, the wild charm, the loud, booming voice, that’s what made Buggy who he was! It was quite the contrast to when he met you, a rowdy, but rather traditional performer at some pirate pub he and his crew crashed at after a rough stint on the waters. Somehow, after the liquor and cocktails poured like waterfalls, he managed to charm you into joining his crew as the pretty little thing that hung on his disembodied arm. Buggy was honestly elated that you joined as he could hardly take his eyes off you, and the crew often went to you if they needed the clown to loosen up a bit on everyone, to which you were happy to put on the facade of the pouty lover who wanted more “Buggy time,” as you phrased it. It worked often and actually helped your beloved captain de-stress as well. It was during these days that Buggy learned more about what kind of performances you often did while back on that pint sized island you used to live on. You often loved to dance, stuff that reminded him of some prissy ballet dancers he came across ages ago, except, you seemed to blend it with older ballroom dances. Hell if he knew which ones, though, he’s a clown, he’s bright and flashy not overly fancy, and Buggy was sure as anything not about to start making fundamental changes about himself or his lifestyle. Blue eyes trailed after your spinning figure, watching you with content pooling in their gaze as a relaxed, red painted smile rested below them. Your hands were raised as if someone was holding them as you began to spin, giving Buggy an idea. His smile morphed into a playful smirk as he popped off his hands, floating them over to slot over yours. Your eyes shot up to the foreign feeling that tickled at your fingers, a smile overtaking your features seeing such familiar leather trying to anchor to your hands. So he was finally taking you up on your offer!

You easily twined your fingers with Buggy’s, hands slotting together like puzzle pieces, your eyes darting to his with a sparkle in them as you resumed dancing, twirling and tugging his hands as he pulled at your own, causing constant missteps in your little performance before starting to just use his strength to spin, pull, and maneuver you to his heart’s content, laughter filling the air. “Buggy, baby, darling, my sweet little candy coated gumdrop,” you call, playfulness dripping from your voice. Buggy groaned and looked at you with a deadpan stare for a moment before melting into a fit of giggles. “Yes, my star?” “Will you finally be allowing me to teach you bits of my routine? You know I’ve been wanting to!” You said, your tone taking on a slightly melodic quality. Buggy hummed before shrugging upon seeing you give him your infamous puppy eyes. “Alright, alright,” he huffed, no real annoyance in his voice. Getting up from his perch on a barrel, Buggy trotted over to you, a lazy smile slowly painting over his features until he stopped in front of you, raising his arms and reattaching his floating body parts to himself. “Start teaching, starlight. You got yourself a student here.” You let out a giggle as you started trying to show him how you moved through your moves so fluidly, Buggy clumsily copying your movements and grabbing onto you to keep his balance more often than he would ever dare to admit. Buggy would also never admit to purposely messing up whenever he fell down just so he could see your smile and hear your encouraging words. He’d never tell you that whenever you gifted him your beautiful praise, love and encouragement he felt as if he was tasting a sweet honey on his tongue, that he valued your words more than anyone else’s. It’s such a shame he can’t hide such things from you, but you don’t mind keeping your lips sealed. “C’mon, honey, let’s try again!”

Red-Haired Shanks

You didn’t take him for a dancer. A partier? Oh, yes, good times always rolled with Shanks. A drinker? Absolutely, you could guess he could empty twenty barrels of booze by himself. A dancer? That was unexpected. You felt a bit silly, however, as Shanks was all about having a good time and sharing the happiness with others. It was practically integral to him as a person. “You’re staring again,” came the voice of the ever so calm Benn Beckman, first mate and your most trusted confidant. “I have no idea what you’re talking ‘bout, Beck,” you drawled, sipping more rum from your glass. Beckman’s charcoal gaze met yours over the rim of your drink, an expression of exasperation being worn on his features. “What’s that look for?” “You know exactly what it’s for,” Benn huffed, pulling a cigarette from the case he often carried with him, a lighter following suit as he lit up the end and took a deep inhale. You scrunch your nose as he blew the smoke in your face upon exhaling. “No, I don’t. Please, enlighten me,” you spoke, waving your hand to clear away the excess smoke from your face. “You’ve been staring at Shanks more often than not, lately,” Benn explained, directing his attention to his old friend, who was gladly dancing with a woman, smiling and twirling her with ease. He peered at you through the corner of his eye, seeing your glare being directed at Shanks and the bar goer. If Benn knew you wouldn’t punch him, he’d say he spotted a little green in your eye. “‘Specially when the guy starts dancing around while having a good time. Hell, even when he’s just sitting and drinking with us, you hardly look away. It’s getting pathetic at this point.” “Don’t you have women to charm, Beckmann?” You asked, trying to ignore how you managed to allow Ben to call you out on your behavior. Were you really that obvious?

“Don’t you have a move to make?” “Keep your nose out of my business,” you pouted, earning a full blown laugh from him. “I’d love to, really, I would, but you keep bringing it up during our late night chats.” “Come on, you know I’m drunk when I bitch at you!” “Not drunk enough to forget him, though, right?” Benn teased, pulling genuine amusement from your flustered reactions, your face painted red from embarrassment rather than the four drinks you’ve had within the last few hours. Which is why Benn Beckman, your dear friend, didn’t mention that the reason Shanks even began taking to dancing was because he had mentioned you had told him that you used to be a traveling dancer before you decided to ultimately settle in with the crew. He only told Shanks about it after overhearing a comment on how good your footwork was during a sparring session. No one could ever rip the tones of nostalgia that rang out from your voice whenever you spoke of all the performances you gave to those on the streets of many island streets. Which is another reason why Benn chose to not tell you that Shanks was approaching the table with a determined glimmer in his eyes. “Well, well, look at you two. I’m not interrupting a lovers’ spat, am I?” Shanks teased, moving to one side so he could drape his arm across your shoulders where you sat. He let out a light chuckle when you practically jumped three feet in the air.

“Fucking hell!” You screeched, glaring at your captain now. “We need to put a bell on you or something!” Shanks pulled his arm away to raise it in mock defense. “Never meant to scare ya!” He laughed. “It’s fine,”  you sighed, running a hand down your face, noting that Benn had slipped away, leaving you alone with the captain of both your crew and your personal fantasies. “Need anything, cap?” “Oh, nothing much, maybe a dance with you?” Shanks asked casually, making you blink in surprise. You began to take note of the atmosphere in the bar; softer music was fluttering through the air as voices quieted down, a few stray couples moving about the room and occupying the dancefloor when you stole a glance at it. To top it off, the man that’s been haunting your heart in the dead of night is now standing before you, asking you to indulge in your old passion with him. You felt like you were dreaming as you mustered an awkward smile and took his hand in yours. You’ve never felt so light as you swayed gently with Shanks, his hand in yours and your other arm nearly looped around his neck. You swore that he seemed to be as elated as you were with the turn of events. As the song went on, Shanks shifted his grip, moving so his arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Shanks couldn’t believe how dazzling you were while dancing, letting him to lead you about with ease, thankfully not noticing when he misstepped because he got too lost in your eyes. You were so relaxed, looked so content and felt so right in his grasp, he could hardly stand it. Alas, everything came to a close and he was left hungry for more. “Thanks for the dance,” Shank hummed, smiling warmly at you. “Mind if I get another sometime?”

Roronoa Zoro

Zoro and dancing are two words that don’t seem to mix well, much like oil and water. It never suited him, and he never held any interest. He had goals to pursue, a dream to chase, there was no time for something like dancing. Zoro felt like his world was flipped upside down when Luffy came back to the ship with you in tow. A bright smile painted Luffy’s features as he excitedly told the crew about how cool you were; how he saw you dancing while in the middle of town, practically manipulating fire to your will like his brother did, stars glittering in his eyes while you basked in the compliments with a bashful blush coloring your cheeks. It’s been a few weeks now, and Zoro, alongside the rest of the crew, have all seen your skills at work with your creative and fiery dances, the batons you twirled captivating them, the batons now doubling as your weapons with a little tune up from both Usopp and Franky. Zoro often found himself impressed by your skills, watching you perform to lively music happily composed on the spot by Brook, the sheer concentration you held earning a deep, unwavering respect from the swordsman. Eventually, Zoro began to pay closer attention to you/ First it was the way you shared different smiles with those around you; the bright ones that made your eyes crinkle shut as you laughed with Luffy, the calm, gentle grins you mimicked with Robin as you both spoke over tea on deck, the coy smirks you’d throw at Sanji when he swooned over you, and the sheepish smiles you’d give Brook when he complimented your practiced routines after finished sets, just to name a few. His favorites were the ones that you’d share with him, however. When Zoro’s around, he sees you visibly relax more, his eyes noting that you’d let him see you at your most natural, your attention on him feeling easy, feeling right, and the matching cast of expressions stilling a strange twist in his chest he got when you were with someone like Sanji. He even noticed you hanging around more when he was training, the attention feeling good. You brought in another sense of comforting routine, until a simple question hit him out of left field.

“Why don’t you let me teach you how I dance?” You asked one day, making Zoro shift his attention to you out of the corner of his eye. “I think you’d have fun.” That gave Zoro pause for a moment, the swordsman placing the weights he was using down to fully face you, his face painted in bewilderment. “Why would I do that?” “For fun?” “No. I don’t think so,” Zoro spoke, shaking his head and folding his arms over his chest. You pouted slightly before shrugging and getting to your feet. “Oh well, I guess I’ll just leave you with your shoddy footwork,” you quipped, a smirk playing on your lips while you made your way to the crow’s nest entrance. You knew you had him hooked. “Hey! What do you mean shoddy?!” Zoro barked, moving to catch up to you. You looked at him over your shoulder with a shrug. “Just saying, you might wanna focus on your footwork. The world’s future greatest swordsman needs to be kept up in top shape,” you spoke, brushing Zoro off, much to his annoyance. “I mean, I could teach you an effective way to improve, but you wouldn’t be interested.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “What I’m saying is that I could help you improve your footwork, but you won’t like how.” “If you think you can show me a better way to improve, I’d like to see it,” Zoro huffed, reaching out and grasping your shoulder with his heavy palm. You flashed him a smile, one that made his stomach feel strange. “Hope you like cardio.” In a flash, the two of you were on the deck of the Sunny, the warm rays of sunshine bathing over you two as you demonstrated the forms for your routine, gently guiding and correcting Zoro’s stances with a patience unlike he’s ever seen you carry over to others. He could swear you were somehow calmer than Robin as you took him through each step of the dance you had performed countless times, the attention feeling charged between you somehow. Each brush of your hand seemed to electrify his skin and make a strange ache in his chest appear while simultaneously leaving Zoro craving more of it. It was both revolting and addicting, the combating feelings that surged through him clashing like sharpened blades. “Excellent stance, Zoro, it’s perfect!” Your voice snapped him out of his strange daze, his tunnel vision focus returning swiftly. He grunted in response as you beamed at him. “It’s not that difficult, anyone could do this,” he huffed. You smirked at him once more. “Oh, really?” you spoke, placing your hands on your hips. “Let’s try doing all of this to tempo now.” “Yohoho!” Brook chortled, happily strolling over to both you and Zoro at the signal of your hand, violin perched on his shoulder and bow clutched in his boney phalanges. “From the top!” You were pleased to see Zoro struggling to copy your fluid movements, it was quite the sight!

Vinsmoke Sanji

Ever the romantic, Sanji always found the act of a romantic dance filling some part of his dreams among the usual thoughts of Nami and Robin and recipe ideas he’d love to try out to win their hearts. It was just in his very nature to try and be as charming as he could be after the rushes of excitement in his blood died down, throwing on a cool smile and spouting soft, flirtatious words at whatever beauty managed to capture his attention. You and Sanji both joined the crew around the same time that Luffy, Usopp, Zoro and Nami all arrived at, and subsequently nearly destroyed, the Baratie. You, bright eyed and utterly stunning, were a scrambling, stuttering mess of a waitress desperately trying to fulfil the expectations set upon you by Zeff, and frankly, you weren’t meeting his expectations. It was almost nostalgic looking back at those days and as he saw you now, Sanji couldn’t take his eyes off you. Your bright, outgoing smile captured his heart as he felt the familiar rush of joy flood his system. You’d grown so much over the time you both sailed with Luffy and the crew, and seeing the side effects of that progress was like looking directly at the sun; warm, brilliant and blinding. You were all supposed to be docking at another island, and according to Usopp, it looked like the place was populated and gearing up for a festival. Any suspicions were confirmed as the Thousand Sunny pulled into port, the locals welcoming them with open arms to share in the spirit of generosity, everyone truly wishing to spread the very rare goodwill. Luffy, as expected, was ecstatic and instantly reciprocated. Nightfall came, and the lights of the lanterns and street poles filled the cobblestone streets, tall tiki style torches illuminating the beach where the heart of the festival took place. Sanji was in heaven as he took in the sight of so many beautiful women clad in their beachwear, compliments pouring from his mouth like a waterfall. Standing at the sidelines of the celebration, you watched the blond chef flirt and woo numerous women, the sight leaving a bad taste in your mouth. You had been wanting to try and see if Sanji would be willing to share a dance with you, and you’d been building your courage up bit by bit throughout the day. You loved dancing, you always felt so free whenever Brook or Chopper or Usopp let you hang around and try out different moves with them, often ending up in a tangled pile of limbs and laughter. Watching him get so distracted by other women, however, you felt any confidence beginning to crumble. You shook your head, washing away your thoughts.

You took a deep breath before strutting into the fray, making your way to Usopp, who was happily telling his stretchy stories to an awed crowd of locals, the look of wonder filling their beings being endlessly amusing to you as you knew the truth and Usopp was a rather terrible liar in your opinion. You started laughing, your smile returning and catching the attention of the blond lovecook. Everything seemed to brighten for Sanji the moment his eyes grazed a glimpse of that smile you bore, the world and other women becoming a bit duller compared to you. His gaze never left your form as you floated about the party before your eyes met and you swiftly made your way to him. “Sanji!” you cheered, stepping in front of him and taking his hands in yours, soon tugging him to follow you towards the makeshift dance floor. “C’mon, dance with me!” Sanji felt his heart crawl into his throat as he wordlessly followed you, trying to keep his composure. Where you happily moved and twirled to the music provided, Sanji followed after in time, easily stepping into the mold set before him for the roadmap of your movements. He couldn’t say this didn’t graze his ideal of a beautiful, romance fueled swing or even a hot, tension filled tango, but he couldn’t say he didn’t fully enjoy this experience with you. The night wore on, and things were slowing down, the tempo of the music dropping as the crowd began to trickle back inland. Sanji had lost track of both time and you. He figured you must have wandered off after he closed his eyes for a moment too long, your figure being swept away in the crowd. He couldn’t find you on the beach, and when rudely questioning Zoro, he learned you had left to catch your breath further inland. Sanji wasted no time searching for you, looking up and down the cobblestone pathways and streets until he found you alone on a bench, looking up at the stars. You looked peaceful under the light of the moon, and once more Sanji was captivated. 

Moving closer, he cleared his throat, throwing on a cool smile as he approached you. You turned to look at him as soon as you heard the sound. “Hey.” “Hey, couldn’t find you back on the beach.” “Oh, sorry, I got a little overwhelmed. I wanted a bit of quiet,” you explained weakly. “Mind if I join you?” Sanji asked. You smiled weakly, leading him to come sit beside you on the bench. Sanji looked up at the stars above you both. “It’s a beautiful night.” “Yeah, I guess it is…” “Are you alright?” “Yeah, ‘M fine, just…” you sighed, trying to steady yourself. “You seemed like you were having fun, why’d you look for me?” “Because I wanted to make sure you were okay. You mean a lot to me, you know,” Sanji replied, his flirtatious mask falling in favor of a semi-serious exterior. “I’m fine, like I said, but I guess, I dunno, you looked like you were having more fun around those other women.” “I was having fun, but I still enjoy my time with you. You’re every bit as lovely as any of those other beauties, you know. You’re like an angel; warm, beautiful and sweet,” Sanji said, directing his gaze to you, his visible eye filled with warmth. It made you ache. “Not really...I couldn’t even ask you to dance like a normal person, I just sort of…dragged you away into it.” “I didn’t mind! I loved it,” Sanji exclaimed, placing a hand over one of yours. “Although, if you still wanted to ask, I wouldn’t be opposed.” “But there’s no music or-” “Hush. Listen closely.”

Silence swept over the two of you, the sounds of the sea and distance tunes of a slower song filling the air blanketing over you both, causing your face to warm. “Oh,” you spoke, face warming as your mind caught up to your racing heart. You awkwardly cleared your throat and looked up at Sanji, a shy smile on your face. “Uhm, would…would you like to dance with me, Sanji?” He certainly knew you didn’t need to answer with nothing more than a nod before pulling you close. Sanji swifty slotted you against him, one hand placing itself on your lower back to pull you closer whilst his other took your hand in his, your free palm resting itself on his shoulder as he slowly began to sway. You followed him perfectly, your eyes never leaving him as you felt a trance wash over you. Sanji was a man that breathed romance and longing, it came naturally to him, and the romantic dance he was sharing with you displayed this trait perfectly as you both became lost in one another.

Soul King Brook

You and Brook blended together perfectly; a dancer from the warm islands of the South Blue, a musician from the tides of the West Blue, it felt as though you both were destined to intercept one another in a beautiful courtship ever since you stepped foot on the Thousand Sunny. All Brook wishes for is that he had met you sixty years sooner, then he could’ve been the man he honestly felt you deserved, with flesh and muscle aiding in his capabilities to show his sheer adoration for you. The skeletal musician expressed as such to you, and you gleefully chased those thoughts away with honey sweet words, warm hands on his skull and a loving kiss to his teeth before shepherding him into a sweeping swing number that always melted his nonexistent heart. Brook always counted his lucky stars whenever he was able to see you dance; it was your trade accompanied by a pretty voice befitting a siren’s croon when you sang along to the melodies he spun. He felt so lucky your little musical family was more than happy to see you off as the crew set sail away from your home island, all of them cheering for you to write and live well alongside him and his crewmates. Another day was passing as Brook listened to your voice float gently beside the notes he worked from his violin, your eyes closed and hands resting just below your throat from the barrel you claimed as your perch. The skeletal musician couldn’t help but find himself wandering through the sound of your voice, his reverie only broken by a sharp, misplaced rub of his bow and slip of his finger, causing you to falter and look at him with wide eyes. You staggered a giggle before breaking out in laughter, Brook joining in soon after. “You’re losing yourself again, maestro,” you teased, getting up and taking a few short steps to stand before your lover. “It would seem so, my muse,” Brook replied, tucking his beloved violin and bow to his chest to free his other hand and lovingly brush the tips of his phalanges over your cheekbone. “But could you really blame this old pile of bones? Why, you’re singing so sweetly you could raise the dead! Yohoho!”

Brook felt a joyful warmth spread deep through the marrow when he saw you laugh and reach for him. He gave pause when you plucked his prized instrument from his arm and placed them where you previously sat, turning back to him with a glimmer in your eye. Brook’s slightly hunched posture, born from curiosity, instantly straightened when you held out your hand to him. “Well, can your dear muse have this dance with the dead?” you asked, earning yourself another laugh from Brook. “You hardly need to ask, dearest,” he replied, easily taking your much smaller hand in his own, both of you swiftly stepping closer and beginning to fall into step, Brook expertly guiding you like he’s nearly always done, the world feeling as though it was melting away until all that could paint its canvas being the colors of your love. You looked up at Brook’s face, eyes trailing over every crevice the bones revealed to you among the wild mane that he forever wore. You cracked a humored smile. “Hm? Now just what is going through your mind, lovely?” “Oh, just the first few times we tried dancing together,” you answered, a delighted titter leaving your frame as you were gracefully twirled and pulled back to Brook’s side. “We were both so clumsy, trying to learn how to place and balance ourselves!” “Yohoho! Indeed we were! I certainly wasn’t used to a small, young thing like yourself wanting to sway with me!” Brook chortled. “Always wanting to lead was also quite fun to counter,” you felt heat creep up your face as you looked away in embarrassment as your skeletal love pulled you ever closer to him, leaning in to whisper into your ear. “You were quite the fun little challenge, muse.”

You let out a squeal after his whisper ghosted over your ear, a sharp pinch to your thigh helping ground you both back into the moment. You barked out a laugh as you pushed Brook back, the dead man stumbling as he cackled at your reaction. He knew you didn’t mind, you hardly ever did. “You little sneak!” You laughed, looking up at brook with narrowed eyes and a sharp smile, voice holding no real bite. “How dare you toy with me! I’m just your vulnerable, little muse! Your sweet dancer, your beloved siren!” Brook let out another chortle as he bowed to you, taking your hand in his and bringing it close to his teeth. “That you are, my dear. All those things and so much more,” he cooed, affection dancing in his tone before you felt the chilled, smooth press of bone against the warmth of your knuckles. “I do hope you can find it in your heart to forgive this smitten soul king.” You couldn’t stop the gentle expression that bloomed over your features, your heart fluttering like the graceful wings of a butterfly to match. “I could never stay too angry with a gentleman like you, I suppose,” you said, meeting your eyes to empty sockets. “Though, I would like you to make it up to me.” “And how may I do that, my dear?” “I think you know how, lovely,” you hummed, Brook letting out a soft ‘yohoho’ with your antics. He swiftly followed your thoughts, twirling you and sweeping you away in yet another dance, one that only you two could truly feel the music and vocals within your very souls.

First Son of the Sea Jinbe

The calm in your storm is how you would describe Jinbe. He always had a way of dragging you back down to Earth should your thundering thoughts ever send you into orbit, acting as your guide whenever you find yourself lost in the sea of a starless sky within your mind. Gentle, strong, comforting, warm, Jinbe was perhaps everything you could ever dream of having in a lover and more. It had to definitively be more given the added grace that Jinbe was attempting to carry in this awkward sway you both found yourselves in. Keyword: attempting. Deep in the night while the ship was docked and the others were on shore unwinding and enjoying themselves, you and the towering fishman were on deck, a dial emitting soft music over the dimly lit areas that populated the Thousand Sunny, the pair of you pressed close together and awkwardly trying to dance along to the romantic ambiance that you curated. Jinbe had one hand resting on your shoulder, the other carefully cradling the back of your head, your own hands resting on his much broader chest, the size difference between you two being terribly stark in this position. You never minded such a thing, you always saw just how much of a gentle giant your beloved could be, the way he carried himself and treated others being a tipping point that sent your heart overboard. Such a characteristic shone brighter than the sun with how carefully Jinbe touches you. You looked up into the beautiful purple eyes that decorated Jinbe’s features, his expression softening as he watched your growing smile glow in the soft lights around you both. Jinbe felt himself falling in love all over again whenever you look at him this way; like he had just hung your moon and stars, like he was the only person in the world, like he was all yours. And he was, and always would be. When you first brought up this little idea for a simple date for you two, Jinbe found himself unsure, as his life was dedicated to being that of a trained warrior, not a man meant to glide across a ballroom floor. Several times throughout the weeks at sea he had to remind himself that you would not be disappointed in him for failing to perfect a simple box step, you’d just look at him like you do now, beaming with delight that he simply put in the effort to try and learn a few basic steps. His heart was racing against his ribcage as he held your gaze, hoping you couldn’t feel it beneath your delicate fingertips. The potential of potentially embarrassing himself in front of you paled to the weight lying within his mind. 

The music shifted, so did Jinbe, trying to direct you as gracefully as he could, trying to hold that vision you held of him and had told him of so long ago. “You’re my rock, Jinbe,” you uttered softly into the night, your gaze fixed solidly on the ocean, eyes missing that light that had initially captivated the fishman. “You…make things feel okay. Like I can breathe even though I’m drowning.” “Do you often feel that way, little one?” “Yeah…But…” you take a breath, steadying yourself. “It’s different with you. You feel safe. Safer than the others. Don’t get me wrong, they’re wonderful, but…I don’t feel as…I don’t feel as connected to them as I do to you. You’re just different, in a good way.” Jinbe stared at you for a long while before you started speaking again. “You’re like the calm in my storm.” The night you told him that, he knew he felt the same. His own mind echoed for him to give until he could not offer anymore, demanding he scrounge up more and be the one to turn to, you included, but you never hesitated to offer what you could to him in return, and for ages now he only truly accepted your help, your aid, he always reached for you first, slowly taking the other hands extended to him by the other crew members. He relished in being a person you could rely on to bring you back to reality, and returning the favor, even in ways as small as gifting you his heart and sharing this dance with you made him feel warm. Yet it still did nothing for his nerves, even as he began to slip into smoother glides and sways to the music, leading you with his movements and practically making stars dance in your irises in sync with them. As the music began to fade, Jinbe found himself standing on the lawn of the Sunny, a contented you resting in his arms. You let out a pleased sigh as you moved your head to rest your cheek against the slightly exposed skin of his chest, resting just above the sun that marked his skin. “That was perfect, Jinbe,” you breathed, your voice carried away by the gentle wind and wrapping around his heart like a vice. Jinbe couldn’t back out, not after spending so much time living in his own head, replaying the many ways his question could be answered. He took a deep breath, garnering your attention once more as you stared up at him with a curious hum. “Thank you, my pearl. I also enjoyed our waltz,” he spoke softly, moving a hand to cup your cheek as he took a step back from you, the residual moonlight coupling with the dim glow of candle fires that still burned, bathing you in a glow Jinbe could only describe as bewitching. “However, I do feel the need to ask a favor of you.”

“What do you need, love? You can ask me anything.” Any more words you had died on your tongue as you witness Jinbe step back further, the man getting down on one knee to be eye level with you while plucking something from an inner pocket on his coat, the small box being a familiar sight you’ve only read about. Presenting his hand to you, box cradled in his massive palm, Jinbe takes another deep breath, his eyes staring deeply into the confines of your very being. “My pearl, would you do me the honor of allowing me to be by your side until the end of time?” Tears sprung to your eyes as you nodded, and Jinbe opened the box, revealing a simple ring with a pearl nestled beside two small rubies on a beautiful golden band. With a relieved, and overjoyed smile, he carefully slipped the ring on your finger and allowed you to pull him into a kiss, the mutual happiness rolling off the two of you in waves. Another dial was set, the music starting as Jinbe pulled you up into his grasp, your feet dangling over the tops of his own as he began to dance with you again, contended and delighted that he could forever be the calm in your storm and you could be the anchor in his sea.

[tallulah477]

Pretty, But Not Stupid

Extra of Hunting the Tawtute

Kinkmas Day 10: Breath Play

Pairing: Lo’ak x Fem!Human!Reader

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: AgedUp!Lo’ak, Dark!Lo’ak, ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Breath Play, Choking, Size Difference, Alien Genitalia, Oral (male receiving), P in V, Belly Bulge, Creampie, Scenting, Mention of knots (but no knotting yet), Slight threesome (and Dark!Neteyam), Mentions of death/dead bodies, Reader is not having a good time (although idk...i think she’s having a great time), Mentions of war

A/N: Guess who’s back, besties!! Been MIA, slacking on prompts, and about to lose my fucking mind with all my family around, but I somehow got this done and I’m about to read as many fics as I can before someone else demands my attention.

A/N 2: This was not intended to be a full Part 2 yet, but it's way too long to be called a drabble. So I’m calling it an extra for now until I decide what to call it lmao. Hope y’all like it 🧡

A/N 3: DEDICATED TO @oakbuggy AND THEIR AMAZING ARTWORK (Everyone stop reading and go look at their art rn, all of them are god-tier but the one for Hunting the Tawtute definitely holds a special place in my heart. Thank you again, Buggy! You're amazing!)

Summary: With their father’s impending retirement as Olo’eyktan, Neteyam has more responsibilities to the clan and less time to see his favorite human. Thankfully, Lo’ak is there to pick up the slack.

**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**

Translations:

Vrrtep - Demon

Tawtute - Human

Sevin - Pretty

Palulukan - Apex predator resembling a lion or panther

(Mountain) Banshee/Ikran - Large, dragon-like aerial predators

Mawey - Calm

Narlor - Beautiful

Tam tam - Calm, be content, there there

Srane - Yes

Yawne - Beloved

Paskalin - Sweet berry (term of endearment)

Their father is stepping down as clan leader - at least that’s what Lo’ak tells you when he comes to visit you in the isolated hut the brothers have set up for you on the side of a cliff face. It was for your own protection, they told you. You couldn’t stay in the village yet, their father would never allow it, and you clearly couldn’t be trusted not to run away if they built you something on the forest floor. 

“Tawtutes with their tiny brains are stupid,” Neteyam had sneered as he hauled your combined weight up the cliff side. Your arms locked around his neck tightly, legs wrapped around his lithe torso as your eyes squeezed shut, determined not to look at the insane height you were being pulled to. “You might think to run away and then become the next meal of a hungry Palulukan.”

“Nah, bro,” Lo’ak said, the grin on his face audible in his teasing words as he climbed up the cliff behind you, ready to catch you if you decided to end it all right there and try your hand at plummeting to your death, no doubt. “Our little vrrtep would never run from us. Right, sevin?”

The hut they built for you was as cozy as it could be. Assembled further into the cave and away from the treacherous cliff side, thick material wrapped around sturdy posts to keep out any harsh weather that the cave itself couldn’t keep out. They’d given you plenty of blankets, assuring you that even though your human nose can’t smell it, their scent is all over them.

“To keep you smelling like us, when we can’t be here to do it ourselves.”

But they’re always around, day after day they come for you. Lo’ak grinning a deceivingly sweet smile and Neteyam’s amber eyes burning holes into your face as they grab at you, pulling you towards them as they all but rip off the loincloth and chest covering they gave you, baring your marked up body to their hungry gazes. They spread you open, fucking you and fucking you until you’re a crying overstimulated mess, drooling and teary under your mask as they fill you up. 

They know exactly how to touch you, where to press, where to rub, where you’re most sensitive. They learned how to play with your body better than you could ever know how, dragging orgasm after orgasm out of your trembling, exhausted body until your left limp and they’ve decided they’ve had enough for the day. 

Your body still struggles to take their cocks (although they love to tell you that you were made for it - “made to be our little cocksleeve”). Your only saving grace is that they’re still not sure if they can knot you. They’ve gotten close to trying, instincts desperate to push that large ball of tissue at the base of their cocks inside your already stuffed to the brim pussy. You feel how they test the resistance, pushing juuuusttt a little deeper, the swollen knot stretching you even farther than you ever thought you could stretch before they back off. 

When they fill you full of their cum, it’s with their own hand squeezing tightly around the knot. 

Usually, it’s both of them. This time, you’re shocked to see only Lo’ak climbing over the edge of the cliff. 

“Neteyam sends his regrets,” Lo’ak says, kneeling down to wrap his arms around your body and press his face into your neck. His flat nose presses against your rapidly increasing pulse point and breathes in your scent. “He said to tell you that he’s sorry he won’t be able to visit you today, but that he’ll make sure to come see your pretty face and fill your tight pussy tomorrow.”

Your face flushes hot at his words, shivering when his nose slides up to nudge just behind your ear, but you stay silent. 

“But that’s good news for me,” He continues. “Because that means I get you all to myself for tonight.”

Neteyam isn’t coming to visit you today because their father is stepping down as clan leader, which means increased training, more hours at council meetings, and less time to sneak off with his captive human. 

“What does that mean?” You can’t help but ask. Lo’ak’s hands smooth down your sides, large palms dragging over your bare skin until they’re squeezing your ass. Your voice cracks at the feel, but you push on, your eyes doing their best to keep contact with his bright amber ones. “Your father stepping down? What does that . . .” 

What does that mean for me?

“Nothing you have to worry about right now,” He says.

Without warning, he stands, pulling you with him so your legs wrap around his torso as he supports you with a hand on your ass. A loud yip rips from his throat, echoing through the cave as he walks you both towards the cliff’s edge. The responding roaring shriek makes you cower against him as the large dragon-like animal lands on the platform behind you, wings flapping hard against the wind. 

“We’re going on an adventure,” Lo’ak says as he walks you closer to the banshee. You whimper, arms locking around his neck so tight you’d think you would be choking him if you could think straight. But you’re not, head whipped around staring wide eyed at the monstrous creature as it turns its head sideways to stare back at you. 

“Lo’ak, no,” You beg through gritted teeth, but he ignores you as he approaches the banshee, his hand settling lovingly on its snout. 

“Mawey,” he coos, carefully rubbing along the blue leathery skin on the banshee’s snout, but you’re not sure if he’s trying to calm the large animal or you. “Mawey, narlor,”

“Lo’ak, no,” You plead, still clinging to his upper body. Tears pool in your eyes and a panicked whimper escapes your lips when you feel the puffing breath of the mountain banshee on your back. “Please, please, no!”

But you’re ignored again, even when your body goes rigid at the feel of that rounded snout pressing against the curve of your spine, hot exhales practically burning your skin as the banshee sniffs at you. Fuck, fuck–you could die. Right now, you could die in a second, that snout pressing into your skin could disappear, replaced with dual rows of long curved teeth that would take only a second to open and bite down and rip you clean in half. 

You can hear the smile in Lo’ak’s voice from where your mask is digging into his collarbone, his soft murmurs of encouragement loud even through your terrified thoughts. “Srane, tam tam. Look at my two beautiful girls, getting along so well.”

He moves swiftly, not leaving room for any more pleading as he bonds with his banshee and climbs on, bringing your clinging body with him. The rush of air as the large animal takes flight makes you squeeze Lo’ak tighter, desperate for safety as you feel the wind bat at your back as the banshee cuts through the sky like a bullet from a gun. 

“Is this all it takes for you to cling to me, sevin?” Lo’ak teases as he rests a secure hand on your trembling figure, all five fingers spread so wide that they nearly span the entirety of your back. “A little ikran ride and I get you all cuddled up, nice and close?”

You ignore his dig, teeth clenching together as you fight to find your voice around the wind rushing around your ears. “W-where are we going?”

Lo’ak nudges his chin against the top of your head. “You’ll see,”

The flight feels like hours. Hours of watching miles and miles of trees and forest thousands of meters below from over Lo’ak’s shoulder. Logically, you know you’re exaggerating. It hasn’t been hours, and even though you’re still high enough to die as a splat on the ground if you were to fall, it's probably not as high as it feels. But heights have never been your friend, and frankly, neither has time management. 

It’s only when the banshee lowers to the ground and Lo’ak dismounts, depositing you on your own two unsteady feet, that you realize where he’s brought you on your ‘adventure’. 

Your mouth opens in horror at the remains of your old home. The RDA outpost, a once tall and strong fortress that housed the lives of hundreds of humans, now practically nothing more than a heap of rubble. The walls once meant to provide safety to those within them have crumbled down, victims of their own explosives used against them by the enemy. Debris lines the paved ground, thick boulders and metal platings that were once walls, bullet shells glinting in the sunlight. There’s a few AMP suits scattered around the battlefield - you can’t see inside them from your vantage point, and you’re terrified of what you might see if you get too close. 

“This way, tawtute,” Lo’ak says, reaching for your hand, but you yank it away before he can grab it. 

“No,” You say, but the firmness in your voice is overshadowed by the shakiness. “No, I’m not going in there.”

“Yes, you are,”

Another headshake. “No,”

Quick as lightning, his hand shoots out and grabs the bottom of your mask, gripping on the valve at the bottom as he bends down so his face is level with yours.

“Demon,” He growls, fangs on display for just a moment. A warning. “You are pretty, but not stupid. You do as I say.”

Fear claws at your throat and your hands immediately latch onto his wrist, silently begging for him to not pull your mask off. He never does, and neither does Neteyam. Not as a punishment at least. When they use your mouth, there’s always a warning - a “hold your breath, yawne,” before the air is cut off from your lungs and your mouth is full of alien cock. But the fear never leaves, the possibility is always there at the forefront of your mind, and you cling to his wrist like the lifeline it is. 

Lo’ak’s face softens at your expression, grip loosening from your mask as his hand slides to cup the back of your neck. “You know I would never hurt you. You need to trust me,”

Hesitantly, you shake your head again. You’re pushing your luck, you know it. But you’ve learned Lo’ak is the more lenient of the brothers and will tolerate more ‘disobedience’ than Neteyam will. “I can’t,”

“Yes, you can. Nothing in there will hurt you. If anyone is left in there, they’re dead,”

And that’s the problem. The terror of facing the place where life as you knew it was ended in a heartbeat. If there’s still people in there, people you once knew, people you talked to, some people who were good, lying on the ground . . . lifeless . . .

In the end, it’s not a choice. Lo’ak sighs, pulling you back in his arms and cradling you to his chest like a toddler. You sniffle, eyes sliding shut, determined to not watch as he walks you towards the remains of the outpost. 

It’s hard to admit, but being carried by the brothers can be really soothing if you let it. They move swiftly, with grace and confidence in every step, careful not to jostle you despite the usually uneven terrain of the forest. It’s even smoother now as Lo’ak walks across the flat pavement of the base. If you close your eyes, it can almost feel like you’re floating.

There’s a loud chu-chunk sound followed by the rapid hiss of air and the loss of sunlight behind your closed lids. You open your eyes to see that Lo’ak has found a still intact entrance, the airlock working to adjust the oxygen levels to whatever lies beyond the interior door. He smiles when the pressure stabilizes, opening the door and stepping into the inside of the base. This time, he doesn’t warn you when he pulls off your mask, the sound of escaping air hitting your ears, but you don’t choke. Instead you can breathe, deep complete breaths without the need for a mask covering your face. 

Lo’ak wastes no time nuzzling his face against yours, sliding his cheek across every new inch of face and neck that he can comfortably reach, a deep content rumble vibrating through his chest. 

Scenting you. 

“I can smell you,” He whispers, lips pressing against your cheek. “Not just you right now, but where you were, where you’ve been, here, within these walls.”

“W-what?”

His feet carry him, guided by an old scent that you can hardly believe is here after so long. But it is, it has to be - you know the journey, have walked it hundreds of times during your time on Pandora, but you can’t imagine that Lo’ak would. You don’t think he ever went inside the outpost during the attack. He shouldn’t know that it's the second hallway instead of the first, shouldn’t know it’s two left turns and one right, and that your door is the 3rd on the left. But he does. 

He even knows which bed was yours and which was your roommate’s, only confirmed when he drops you down onto the thin RDA issued mattress against the far side wall. You land with a yelp, bouncing slightly from the force of the drop, but your noise of surprise is cut off by Lo’ak’s lips against yours.

“Stupid humans,” He growls against your lips. “Can't even breathe air without help. Wish I could teach you, so I wouldn’t have to go without your pretty lips on mine every day.”

You whine into the kiss, his big lips nearly twice the size of yours as they capture your mouth completely. It’s not the first time he’s kissed you, but it’s the first time you can breathe while it happens. 

He pulls away after a few more kisses, his breathing shallow as he reaches for something tied to his loincloth. It’s only then that you see the CO2 mask that’s been attached to his hip this whole time. He pulls the cross strap around his body, the mask hanging low on his chest and the CO2 canister hanging around his hip. He brings the mask to his face with one hand, taking in a few deep breaths, while the other hand works at the ties on his loincloth. 

The material of his covering falls to the ground and he drops the mask in favor of gripping your chin, thumb rubbing soothingly across your cheek. 

“Someone wants to play with you,” He purrs. “Be a good girl and invite him out, okay?”

Your breathing is shaky as you rise up on the bed, knees pressing into the mattress as you come face to face with the flat plane hiding Lo’ak’s cock. His hand moves to the back of your head, guiding you forward until your lips press against the smooth space between his thighs. 

Experience has you knowing what to do now, how to hold onto his thighs with both hands to keep yourself steady as you pepper gentle kisses along the hidden slit. Lo’ak tips his head back at the feel of your tongue sliding along the seam, little teasing kitten licks against the engorging slit that are always from him demanding them, demanding the slower teasing buildup, rather than you being coy. 

He pushes your face harder against him, hissing a ‘yeah, good girl. Like you fucking mean it,’ as he urges you to lick him deeper. When his slit opens, puffy and dripping, you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips as the sweet taste of his slick coats your tastebuds. It controls your body, whatever is in the slick. You feel it, making your body heat up, making you want things you definitely don’t - and you’re in the thick of it now, no mask or breathing breaks to cut whatever effects it usually has on you. It sets your body on fire now, making your thighs clench together as wetness pools in your core, and your brain fuzzes as the first touch of Lo’ak’s cock teases your lips as it starts to slip past the slit. 

You don’t know how long he keeps you there, sucking his cock. He’s dragging it out, taking advantage of the rare opportunity he has now of you without your mask. He drags your mouth along his cock, staring down at you with hooded eyes and letting you suckle gently on the lavender tip. Sometimes he’ll growl, pushing you down harder on his length just to hear you gag when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. Other times he’ll pull you off completely, twisting your head so that your lips wrap around his girth from the side, before sliding you slowly back and forth along his length, tongue running over each and every bump and barb along the hot cerulean skin, the bright bioluminescent freckles decorating his cock practically shining under the layer of slick and saliva. 

When he’s finally used you to tease himself enough, he pushes you back flat on the bed, large hands wrapping around your calves and pulling you closer so your ass is just barely hanging off the side. You whimper when he pulls your legs apart, ripping the soaked loincloth from your body, hungry amber eyes staring at your swollen, wet cunt.

“Such a pretty girl,” He moans. The tip of his cock slides along your folds, nudging against your clit before sliding back down and positioning at your entrance. “You ready?”

Your brain is fuzzy and your clit is throbbing, hole clenching with the need to be filled. You close your eyes, looking away from his intense gaze - you don’t want it, you try to remind yourself, you don’t, he’s making you. But a swift smack on your thigh makes your eyes fly open again, Lo’ak’s hard gaze seeming to cut into your very soul.

“Say it, demon. Wanna hear you say it,”

A small cry escapes your lips, body unconsciously trying to bear down on his cock even as you shake your head. He shifts forward just the tiniest bit, lavender tip just barely pressing against your drooling hole enough for it to start to stretch before stopping again. 

“‘Need you, Lo'ak,” he recites, brow cocked, expecting you to repeat it. “Say it.”

“Fuck!” Is what comes out instead - a whiny, frustrated curse, that has your eyes tearing up again and Lo’ak’s ears pinning back against his skull.

His hand is quick to wrap around your throat, fingers digging into the blood vessels at the side of your neck as he hisses down at you. Your hands wrap around his wrist again, fingernails digging in and no doubt leaving red crescent shaped marks in the blue skin. He’s not squeezing your neck, not crushing your windpipe out of anger. You can breathe, the gulping breaths your gasping for are making it into your lungs, but the fingers pressing into the blood vessels make it feel like you can’t. Your head is clouding again, fuzzing like TV static, vision going blurry as his hand doesn’t relent. 

“Fine,” He grunts. “You don’t wanna talk? Don’t.”

You want to scream when he pushes forward, cock bullying its way past your entrance and inside you, stretching you and filling you up. It’s slow and torturous as he fills you impossibly full, the barbs along his length scraping ruthlessly against your slick walls. He sighs, ears flicking in pleasure as your heat envelopes him, stretching around his girth so perfectly he swears you were made for him. 

You can feel the bulge in your belly, the pressure disappearing and reappearing again as he begins to move inside of you. Long, purposeful strokes meant as a punishment, meant to make you feel every agonizingly blissful inch of him as he fucks into your soaked cunt, harder and harder with each thrust. Your mouth moves trying to form words, sound fleeting save for the barely there whispers of ‘fuck’, ‘oh my god’, and ‘please’. Lo’ak hears them anyway, leaning down to silence you with a filthy kiss. His hips pound against yours, unrelenting in their mission to completely fuck the soul of your body, and the sound of slapping skin against skin mix with Lo’ak’s groans and your barely audible breathy whines. 

Lo’ak’s fingers find their way to your swollen clit, rubbing persistently at the sensitive nub until you're crying into his mouth, thighs trying desperately to close together but can’t because of his body between them. The thick press of his knot against your entrance is what pushes your oversensitive body over the edge.

At the first suffocating clench of your pussy around his cock, Lo’ak releases your throat letting all the air it felt like you weren’t getting back into your lungs in a rush of oxygen. You gasp, crying against his lips as you arch up against him, creaming pussy fluttering around him as you cum on his cock. He growls when your teeth latch onto his bottom lip, blunt teeth digging in enough to draw blood, but the way he immediately grabs your hips, shoving his knot against you as hard as he would dare without actually penetrating you, tells you that it was a lust filled growl this time, not an angry one. 

He moans when he spills himself inside you, face pressed against your neck as he fills you up. You swear it feels almost scorching hot, heating you up from the inside and then out as it spills from around Lo’ak’s still buried cock and runs down the curve of your ass and onto the bed sheets. 

Someone clears their throat from behind Lo’ak, and you gasp at the sudden sound, frantically trying to look around Lo’ak’s hulking body to see who it is. 

Lo’ak sighs, undisturbed by sudden intrusion, even going as far as rolling his eyes before slowly pulling out of your used cunt - more of his cum spilling out onto the bed now that he’s not still inside you to keep it in. “Wasn’t expecting you today, bro,”

Your eyes widen when he moves out of the way, revealing a smug looking Neteyam in the doorway, still very much dressed up in his warrior’s gear. 

“I had to make time to see our pretty little demon,” Neteyam says, bright amber eyes sweeping over your exhausted form. He crosses the room with three long strides, one knee pressing into the bed as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “That was a nice show. I know you’re tired, paskalin,”

His eyes meet yours, amber irises practically swallowed up by the blacks of his pupils. A hand presses against your belly, sneaking down towards your oversensitive pussy, his pointer finger reaching out to tap against your clit as you whine. 

“But it’s really not fair that you smell more like Lo’ak than me now, is it?”

**Special thanks to @neteyamsyawntu for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @anastasia1777-blog @localjasmine @tsewtx @skywonder @neteyamswillow @luvv4j4ybe11 @pandoraslxna @avatarwifey

[httpwintersoldier]

『 bloodhound. || mihawk x reader 』

[PART 3 OF 4 - ONE PIECE'S KINKTOBER] - MIHAWK VER.

[SHANKS VER.] [BUGGY VER.] [SANJI VER.]

pairing: mihawk x f!reader words: lenghtyyyyy summary: your thievery catches the eye of a man who likes to take on every challenge that crosses him, only he did not know you were a bigger challenge than he anticipated. warnings: mihawk uses you. just assume the worst when reading my stuff. angst; smut; fluff.

You weren't a pirate, but somehow you got yourself a pretty little wanted poster. 10 million Berries, not bad! Not bad at all for someone who only committed a little theft.

Obviously by "a little theft" you meant stealing from the biggest banks and richest families - you just happened to like shiny things!

You got under the Marines' radar when you managed to infiltrate the base and steal some of their maps - yes, they weren't shiny or pretty, but the money you were about to get for them from the likes of Arlong and Buggy sure was. You made deals with good people and bad people alike, who they were mattered not to you - it only mattered that their money was real.

"You busy?" The Vice-Admiral's voice sounded in Mihawk's ear.

The man, who was sleeping, his hat covering his eyes, furrowed his eyebrows and groaned internally at the voice he now found annoying.

"I was, Vice-Admiral, but I find myself free now that you woke me." The man answered, an impertinent tone in his voice.

"I got you a new prey."

Interested in the way he described you (as a prey), Mihawk listened attentively to the instructions the Vice Admiral gave him.

"A thief? You woke me and are sending me out to sea, because of a little girl who stole some stuff?" Mihawk asked with a condescending tone.

"Not some stuff. Too much stuff."

The man rolled his eyes as he made his way to his small ship

"And the Marines are not able to catch her?"

"I think you will find the task harder than it seems, Mihawk."

With those final words, the Vice Admiral hung up, tired of Mihawk's judging and condescending tone. The man groaned, getting a little tired of these seemingly easy tasks the Marine sent him on - he was a Warlord, for fuck's sake, and the Marines used him to go after a measly thief...

You, on the other hand, rested on the shore of an island whose name you didn't care to learn. You hadn't robbed anyone or anything on it yet, so you wanted to enjoy the sea, the sand and the food while no one was looking for you (even though someone already was, you just didn't know it yet). You were very confident in your skills, constantly changing your look, attire and personality to make you harder to find or recognize. Few people ever suspected you, and so the confidence that you'd never be caught grew.

Obviously it didn't take Mihawk long before he was able to find you - all he had to do was ask around which islands had recently been tragets of many robberies and find the closest island that had yet no reports of such a thing happening.

"Have you heard? Dracule Mihawk is here! I'm sure I saw him, you can see his sword from miles away!" You heard someone whisper as you walked the streets of the island.

Your furrowed your brows at the information... Dracule Mihawk? What would a Warlord be doing in such a small island? Unless...

Your eyes widened in realization.

Shit.

Maybe you weren't as careful as you thought, maybe you weren't as good as you thought, and maybe you weren't as "uncatchable" and untraceable as you thought. If he was able to find you within a couple days of setting foot on the island, Mihawk surely would be able to spot you.

Shit. Fuck.

You needed to sneak on a ship that very night and get the fuck out before the man found you. You kept cursing internally as you had to leave the island before even being able to steal anything - but it was either leaving empty handed or leaving tied up.

For the time being, you hid on the island's vast forest, where you were sure he wouldn't look, waiting for the moon to come out.

When the sun began setting in the horizon, you made your way out of the dense jungle and headed to the island's port, looking for the biggest and most crowded ship - the more people it had and the bigger it was, the hardest to spot you, the unsolicited company, would be.

"I had to admit, I thought the whispers of my arrival would ruin our encounter, yet here we are." You heard a male voice speak behind you, as you walked on the port's creaky wooden floors.

You slowly turned around to unfortunately find the man tasked with bringing you to the Marines. You smiled innocently and held your hands up in surrender.

"Sorry Sir! Think you got the wrong person, I'm just boarding now!"

Your lies didn't work on Mihawk, that just rolled his eyes at you.

"Boarding? No ship is boarding at the moment, as both of us can very clearly see. I know who you are girl, make this easier for yourself and give in."

You smirked and scoffed at the man.

"Can't believe the Marines sent a Warlord after me, am I that dangerous?" You said, placing a hand over your chest, pretending to be shocked.

Mihawk was a little surprised about your change in demeanor, but he (obviously) didn't show it.

"Neither can I." He said honestly, with a sigh that showed the utmost boredom "So let's make this quick shall we?"

Your eyes were set on his sword and necklace. They were intersting... Pretty and... shiny. Oh you wanted them, you wanted them bad. Especially since you didn't get to steal anything in the island. You knew you'd hardly be able to steal the big heavy sword, but the little cross on his neck? Child's play.

You switched your confident expression to a fake shocked, sad one and walked over to him slowly, with your wrists together in front of you - you pretended to give yourself in for the sake of getting closer.

Mihawk's confidence, boredom and belief that he was better than anyone and capable of outsmarting every opponent, as well as the fact that he underestimated you, were fulcral for your escape plan.

When trying to find a ship, you spotted a couple that had left not long ago and would be easy to swim to. For you, obviously, not for Mihawk that carried

The Warlord was not surprised you gave youself in, some people would do so in hopes to fall in the Marines' good graces and get better sentencing.

"Pretty knife you got there." You said, pointing to his sword

Mihawk furrowed his eyebrows and, while he was busy being offended you called Yoru a "knife", you grabbed the cross on his neck and dove into the water, furiously swimming towards one of the boats that had left not long ago, but was far away enough from shore for Mihawk not to be able to follow you.

"Fuck!" He yelled.

It was dark and the waves were wild, it was impossible to follow you with his sight, let alone physically. And he couldn't attack the ship - it was full of civilians.

When you reached a ship, you pretended to be a scared woman that had fallen overboard in another ship and they immediately took you in and offered you food and clothes, in an attempt to make up for the supposed trauma you'd told them about.

You were the number one thing on Mihawk's priprity list from that day on - he was obsessed with you. Any other targeted ordered by the Marine was ignored or done as a side quest as he looked for you - the woman that had stolen his necklace and worse, the one that outsmarted him.

On the other hand, you were giddy you were able to pull it off, and wore the necklace (hidden, of course, as to not raise suspicion) as a prize.

You wouldn't see each other for two months. You thought you were safe from his radar, but that couldn't be further from the truth. To be fair, you knew that if he was looking for you, he'd be at the big ball hosted by Kaya, and you knew it'd be risky to attend but you absolutely couldn't miss it - so many people to steal from, so much jewelry... A paradise to you.

So you did your best to disguise yourself: a dress far more revealing than usual, to take away attention from your somewhat recognizable face and a long, black wig with a fringe and two strands on each side that framed your face, hiding your features even more.

Mihawk refused to leave Yoru behind, even if it meant you'd recognize him in the middle of the crowd. He was determined to get you, no matter what means he had to use.

You waited a while before starting to swipe stuff - you wanted to give people time to get somehwat drunk. That would make it so they wouldn't notice their things vanish so easily and, as a bonus, they'd probably blame the loss of their items on the alcohol, and not on a thief. It was perfect.

You hid the sutff you had stolen on your pouch, in hidden places on your outfit and, in some cases, you wore the jewelry as if it was yours.

The party was cut short on your end when you saw a feathery had and a shiny sword walk in the big doors of the mansion.

"Oh... Shit." You cursed under your breath and scanned the room to find the best exit.

The stress and fear of the Warlord seemingly still following you made your brain momentarily stop, and you did not stop to think that someone hurriedly making their way out right as he walks in would be suspicious.

"Gotcha." He thought, with a smirk, as he spotted you making your way to the back.

Before you could get far, a large hand captured your wrist.

"Leaving so soon? Why don't we dance for a little, my lady." Mihawk whispered in your ear.

You had no time to reply as he spun you around and pulled you to his chest.

"You have something that belongs to me, Y/N." He whispered again.

To the unknowing eye, it would seem you and Mihawk were simply dancing to the song, but you were very much fighting, although not in a way that would alert the other guests that they were in possible danger.

"Why don't you come find it?" You suggested with a smirk, as the man spun you into his chest.

"There will be plenty of time to find it, trust me." His hands travelled your body, looking for the cross you had stolen, correctly assuming you kept it close, instead finding several compartments with jewelry "Is this all you've stolen tonight?" Mihawk asks, amused.

You chuckled.

"I was just beginning, until someone crashed the party."

Mihawk pulled you close once more.

"I doubt you're in the guest list, I'm hardly the only one crashing a party."

"So now what?" You asked with a scoff, looking up at his big, yellow eyes "You take me in and hand me to the Marines?"

Mihawk scanned your face - you were good. You had just been caught, yet you displayed no trace of stress, despair, panic... In fact, you looked confident. And Mihawk wasn't sure if that impressed him, agered him, or aroused him. For you to be so confident in the face of power and danger... that stirred up something in him that he wasn't sure how to describe.

"I'm not so sure. You've made this personal when you stole my belongings." He replied, with an expression you couldn't decipher.

"I also made fun of your pretty sword." You said with a giggle.

That was the turning point that had Mihawk swing you over his shoulder and carry you out. Some guests were far too drunk to process what had happened and the ones that weren't simply didn't care - they had free food and drinks, why should they care.

The man carried you out to the garden, to a secluded place surrounded by bushes, trees and tall flowers. There was a small gazebo in the center but it was far away enough Mihawk was sure no one would come snooping.

"That's it. Where is it!?" He asked, as if you had wasted his patience completely (which you had).

Mihawk not-so-carefully threw you on the ground and straddled you, making you groan when your head hit the hard wooden floor.

When he obtained no response, his hands began searching you, taking out every piece of jewelry he found - your pouch, your hidden pockets, your body.

"Hey!" You complained, gathering the jewelry others had worked so hard for (and you had worked so hard to steal from) as best as you could.

"Where is it!?" Mihawk growled, his face, centimiters away from yours, as his hands angrily gripped your thighs.

You knew you had no way out of it now, so you might as well succumb to his wishes.

Mihawk watched as you slid off the straps of your dress and pulled it down slightly, to reveal that his necklace was stored in your bra, between your tits. You giggled in his face, making him even angrier.

"You know what?..." The man began, taking his cross away from you and placing it down far away "You've caused me a lot of trouble... and most of all you made fun of me to my face."

His hand made its way from your thigh to your neck, gripping it slightly, before bending over to whisper in your ear.

"I think I've just found a way for you to pay for all the trouble."

For a second you thought he was going to kill you - even though choking wasn't his style, nothing was off the table, you thought. It was only when you saw a lustful glint in his eye that you understood what he meant.

"You like to fuck all of the criminals you find along the way?" You teased with a smirk.

Mihawk stood up and, as he did so, he gripped your hair and made you kneel in front of him.

"Can't wait to shut that pretty little mouth of yours." He says through gritted teeth, as he pulled out his cock and slapped it against your cheek a couple times.

You obidiently open your mouth as you look up at him with big eyes, and he shoves his lenght in your mouth. The man gathered your hair in a ponytail, making it easier to control you and fuck your face.

"Who knew you could be such a good girl? Hm?"

You could only moan in responde and grip his thighs for support. When you looked up at him again tears brimmed in your eyes, from how hard he was fucking your mouth.

When the man pulled out, you gasped for air, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip.

"Feel like talking back now, brat?" Mihawk asked, voice dripping in fake pity.

You opened your mark to hit him with a snappy remark, but he took the oportunity to shove his cock back into your mouth, efffectively shutting you up once more.

You gagged on his cock over and over, a tear rolling down your cheek and eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as he fucked your throat.

Mihawk's abdomen clenched as he felt himself getting closer and closer to climax, and just then he pulled away from your mouth.

The smudged makeup running down your face and swollen mouth alone would've been good enough to make him cum - oh how he loved putting brats in their place.

The man sat with his back leaning against one of the sturdy wooden collumns, and patted his thigh, signaling for you to sit on his lap.

"What makes you think I won't just run away." You asked with a broken voice, your throat a little dry from him fucking you.

Mihawk scoffed as you crawled over to him.

"I know you won't." The man responded in a cocky voice.

Worst part was that he was right.

As you straddled him, one of his arms wrapped around you, keeping you hovering over his cock. The man pulled up your dress and pushed your panties aside so he could access your pussy.

"Oh but you like being used, don't you? You like being a fuck toy, right princess? Just a hole for me to fuck?" Mihawk asked condescendingly, as he ran two fingers along your dripping folds.

You bit your lip as you heard those foul (and very true) words leave his lips.

"Answer me." He demanded through gritted teeth, delivering a harsh smack to your yes.

"I do- I love being used by you."

Mihawk chuckled, running his tip alolng your folds.

"I can tell, princess."

His tip found your entrance, and he had no mercy on you. He slammed you down on his cock. You gripped his shoulders, and your mouth fell open - although you were incapable of making a single noise.

The arm that was gripped around your waist controlled your movements as his hips slammed up against you, fucking you at an inhuman pace.

"Come on princess, don't you like being a brat? I dare you to try it now." Mihawk dared, whispering the last part in your ear.

"I- I won't be! Fuck- sorry!" You apologised between pants and moans, your eyes barely open.

"That's a good girl." He praised, nearly out of breath from fucking you.

"You feel good... so good." You admitted in a husky voice, earning a smirk from Mihawk and a spank that was meant to be a reward (and you took it as such).

The Warlord attached his lips to yours in an animalistic kiss, accentuating the fact that he was in control, he owned you in that moment.

You moaned incessantly into the kiss, mixing with his groans, as you gripped his shoulders.

"You look- you look so much better like this. Being obedient, with my cock deep in you."

The way you bounced on his cock became sloppy, as did his thrust, signaling you were both close to climax.

Mihawk bit and sucked your neck, marking you as best as he possibly could at that point.

"Fuck Mihawk I'm gonna cum!"

The hand that was not busy gripping your ass flew to your neck, choking you just the right way - in a way that almost made you cum.

"Did I tell you you could? Beg." He demanded through gritted teeth.

Your legs faltered at your command, but his hand held you up.

"Please, please Mihawk... I need to cum, please!"

Your high-pitched moan combined with the way you begged was enough to make him give you the green light.

You came on his cock, a loud whine and a call for his name leaving your lips. Mihawk grabbed your hips and snapped his against yours until ropes of cum filled you up.

The both of you stayed still, regaining your breaths and resuming the tension of the pre-sex moment.

Mihawk reached out to grab the cross that you had stolen from him and wrapped it around his neck once more, enjoying the familiarity of the item.

"I guess you gotta hand me over, hm..." You said, in a fake sad voice, trying to appeal to his soft side now that you had his dick in you.

He simply scoffed.

"You won't get sympathy from me, princess." The Warlord said, placing his hands on your ass "However, this world does need a few new wild cards, it's getting boring. And you have the right attitude, I think you'd have a lot more use beside me, as a student, rather than in a cell."

It was almost as if he was debating with himself about the theme as he exposed it to you.

Before you could speak, Mihawk anticipated himself.

"You'll have plenty Berry to buy your shiny paraphernalia..." He clarified, rolling his eyes.

"Well... Having your grumoy self as a teacher beats being behind bars... so I guess you got yourself a student."

[kacievvbbbb]

This is so shanks coded to me. Like he just keeps losing people and he never learns how to deal with it. So much so that he becomes the abandoning parent. He literally knows nothing else all he has as a frame of reference is all the adult figures in his life leaving him and telling him it is for the best. So why exactly wouldn’t he believe that the best way to love someone is by letting go?

He does it to Luffy, he does it to Uta and in some ways he does it to Buggy and Mihawk too. Because he never just asks them to stay. He lets Buggy run out of his life even though it was pretty obvious that Buggy wanted Shanks to fight for this to take a stand a real one on a conviction for once and he…doesn’t, he just lets buggy leave.

And then he hitches his wagon to the most flighty (dude is literally a bird motif 😭) mother fucker he can find. he lets Mihawk wander in and out of his life as he pleases regardless of what is best for either of them. Because maybe Mihawk has nothing better to do 👀. Maybe he would say yes now if Shanks asks. but Shanks would rather die than ask, would cut off his other arm before he even attempted to “clip Mihawk’s wings”

And that’s like the truth of it. Shanks has been abandoned by every person that has ever loved him besides his crew and he knows they will never leave him. But Maybe he just wants someone to stay not because they call him captain.

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

Do you think buggy feels towards shanks shining so bright it was stupid for buggy to even follow his dreams was only his thoughts or was it “encouraged” by other people around him?

ah, you want to know if i think the roger pirates preferred shanks, and if so how subtle they were about it.

while i do think some fans are very quick to assume ill intent from characters we've gotten no dialogue let alone characterization for, i honestly don't think we can know one way or another without getting more perspective on the roger pirates from someone who isn't buggy.

like, sure, maybe they disliked him and distrusted him as much as he did them. (we can't forget how eager buggy was to leave the crew the minute he thought he'd found financial independence.) maybe he was a bad cultural fit, too scheming and greedy for what appears to have been a fairly honest and carefree crew. maybe the roger crew wasn't as perfectly convivial as it seems in contrast with the unfriendly to the point of antagonism rocks pirates.

or maybe buggy is in a goob situation. y'all know that bit from meet the robinsons, right?

sometimes a character can get so caught up in their own pity party, their own negative self image, that they ignore reality when it disagrees with them. buggy might have been so set in his ways re: his inferiority complex that he saw insults and belittling where none was happening. (this feels quite plausible in buggy's case in particular: look at how quick he is to hear people talking about his nose when they aren't!)

oden's diary is the only other perspective we've gotten on the roger pirates during buggy's lifetime, and buggy doesn't get much individual focus. the closest we get to an insight is when buggy complains about being called buggyjiro, since jiro means second son and he doesn't want to be ranked below shanks.

…but buggy is younger than shanks. oden's treating them like "sons" of the crew by using -taro and -jiro with their names, and birth order is the obvious way to assign those roles. so that objection just comes off as buggy being overly sensitive about where he and shanks rank.

now, could buggy be that sensitive because of being teased or belittled by the crew in the past? maybe! or maybe buggy was one of those kids who didn't know how to play a game without first establishing how to win it, who got competitive over every little thing, even things that were entirely out of his control.

without someone else telling us about those days, i really don't think we can know the truth.

[buggbuzz]

taking advantage of my few days off to start really filling in my basic genetics notes since i'm taking a genetics class in the fall

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Hi I just learned Kinktober is a thing

So here's my four favorite boys and their kinks.

Or is it five this time? *dramatic sound effect*

And yes, I'm still working on ABCs of Kink, I've got the next one about halfway done and it may be posted today, and I'm still working through the ask requests, and still

But headcanons shiny need more

Ooooh...Kinky ;D

Very obviously NSFW.

LA!Zoro X AFAB!Reader, LA!Sanji X AFAB!Reader, LA!Shanks X AFAB!Reader, LA!Mihawk X AFAB!Reader, LA!Buggy X AFAB!Reader (I'm on my second watch of OPLA and he's kinda grown on me).

Zoro

"I hope you like it rough, baby."

Zoro's not super kinky, but he definitely likes it rough, which goes hand in hand with the couple kinks he does have.

You're going to want to have a safeword/signal if you're giving him a blowjob—he's thick and he loves seeing you gag and choke on his cock. Literally the biggest turn-on.

Holding tight onto your hair the whole time.

The sight of your make-up trailing down your flushed face while he's fucking your mouth and throat makes his knees weak.

Pulling your head all the way down to come down your throat, shaking, groaning, swearing.

He's a little cautious about outright choking you during sex—he doesn't want to get too wound up and unintentionally hurt you—but if you ask him to, he's going to, because it's still an enormous turn-on.

"God, I fucking love it when you gag on it...."

Sanji

"If I make you dinner, do I get to have you for dessert?"

Like, do I even have to say it?

Food play.

Chocolate sauce, whipped cream, caramel, it's going to get messy. Any reason to trail his lips and his tongue over your beautiful body is a very, very good reason.

(BTW I recently learned Taz Skylar has a tongue ring so it's now canon that Sanji has one and do not argue with me I will die on this hill.)

He's never going to do or say anything to degrade you...but if you want to do so to him? By all means, be his guest.

You're his queen and he's your loyal subject, the man has no qualms about you doing anything you want to him.

Shove him into a wall, call him names, tie him to the bed, step on him, whip him, spit in his face—he will thank you for it. If it brings you pleasure, it brings him pleasure.

Literally everything you do turns him on, and he's beyond happy to be your personal toy.

"You, my love, are the sweetest thing that has ever touched my lips."

Shanks

"Oh, come on, sweetheart. Where's the fun in life without a little risk?"

Honestly the kinkiest of the four (but not the five). Super playful, and one hundred percent open to absolutely anything you suggest trying.

I mean anything. If you tell him you want to dress him up in frilly lingerie and call him your wench, he's totally game.

But he reserves the right to crack stupid jokes about it the whole time.

His own biggest kink is public sex. The riskier the better.

Reaching under the table at a tavern and creeping his hand up your thigh and under your skirt to rub you through your panties...or just flat out pulling you onto him to straddle his lap, make out with you, grind against you with absolutely no concern of anyone seeing.

Pulling you right into the mouth of an alley, barely concealed in the shadows and just having you right there against the wall, where any passersby might catch a glimpse of what you're doing.

He doesn't care—it's not like anyone's even going to attempt to stop one of the most notorious pirates on the Grand Line.

He enjoys a little role-play as well. You're the little marine cadet he took prisoner and decided to keep as his personal playing. The enchanting stranger from a tavern he's seduced.

Call him "captain." It drives him wild.

"Oh, what a good little wench you are, love."

Mihawk

"You seem to have forgotten who's in charge here, little one."

One hundred percent certified professional Brat Tamer™.

He's not going to let on that your pestering and testing his patience is anything but a casual annoyance—but the whole time he'll be thinking about how he's going to punish you later for being such an endearing little pest.

You're getting tied up. Cuffed to the bed. Clothes torn off of you. Spanked. You're getting teased beyond the point of sanity, within an inch of your life.

There's a fair chance he won't let you come for literal hours.

That he'll leave you tied up while he sits back and has a glass of wine and just revels in your pleading for more, revels in being in total control of your agony and pleasure.

You're going to have to beg, to promise you'll be a good girl for your master (even though you both know that's not true) before you get anything more out of him.

Big kink for lace and nylon as well.

He's constantly having to buy you new tights, new underwear and lingerie, because seeing you in them sets him on fire to the point that he's very likely to literally rip them off of you in a fit of desire and fuck you absolutely senseless.

"For the last damned time, no, your safe-word cannot be Yoru."

Buggy

"You know you're my favorite freak, babe."

Couldn't not include Buggy this time because it's pretty obvious that he's the kinkiest motherfucker at this party.

The guy has removable body parts, for gods' sake, of course he's going to utilize them in the most creative ways possible. He could be on the other side of the ship and still have his hand down your panties.

Degradation, cuckhold, ropes, whips, chains, knife play, you name it and he's probably into it. It would be a miracle for you to come up with something he hasn't tried at least twice.

He's going to call you every degrading name he can think of. Spank you and slap you. Choke you until you nearly pass out. And he's fully open to and expects you to do the same to him.

Dom or sub, doesn't matter, he's just having a good old-fashioned filthy time either way.

Totally open to threesomes, he's bi as fuck.

Also totally open to chaining you up and letting the entire crew run a train on you while he watches.

If you can imagine it, he's done it, wrote the book on it, and you're going to be doing it with him.

"Don't even pretend you don't like being my slut."

[fanaticsnail]

Cross-Guild Masterlist

Navigation Masterlist Here

Art link

Buggy D. Clown:

You Kissed the Clown? (15/15 Series)

An upper-class tinkerer finds herself amongst the crew of the Staw-Hat pirates. Falling within the blast of a giant flash of red smoke and captured with her crew in the claws of the Buggy Pirates; she is confronted by her flight, fight and freeze response. Immediately, she finds another way of distracting the infamous clown-captain: a passionate and disarming kiss. As time and distance fall between them, feelings of romance, infatuation, fascination and longing cling to the clown and the tinkerer in each other's absence. How could they feel so deeply for each other; they only shared one single kiss?

Happy Birthday, Pumpkin (one-shot)

Buggy longs to kiss you but always shies away in case his affection is not reciprocated. Finally, an opportunity presents itself for a consequence-free kiss and he can barely hold himself back in anticipation. Happy birthday!

I Can't Do This Without You (one-shot)(smut)

Buggy attempted to use some unusual, waxy pollen to form into a "buggy-ball". He was an idiot. He can't manage the consequences without his loyal and ever faithful crewmate to help him out.

A Small Kindness (Smut One-Shot)

A blue-haired man with a round red nose is down on his luck. He's lost everything, not a single berry to his name after being defeated again by the straw-hat crew. A small kindness from a stranger propels him to get back on his feet. How could he repay you? Surely you needed something in return.

Headcanons & Drabbles:

Soft-Dom BuggyBratty BuggyCross-Guild InterrogationThe Clown Apologises

Buggy x Reader x Mihawk:

Swing, Sway, Shag, Smimmy (Buggy x Reader x Mihawk) (4/4)

Buggy is infatuated with his prized acrobat. He issues a dance night-off for his pirate crew, choosing to "make a move" in the hopes of charming his beautiful acrobat under the hawk-like gaze of his guest of honour. Unbeknownst to Buggy, the feeling of infatuation is mutual regarding the acrobat. Can they learn to 'play nice' to woo the acrobat? Yes, yes they can.

Dracule Mihawk:

The Apprentice (6/7 Series)

Mihawk is a bitchy boss, the apprentice is his bratty underling. Professionalism, sword-mastery and affiliation for wine consumption drives their relationship.Mihawk pushed his apprentice a little too far, prompting her to submit a formal resignation effective immediately. Calling her bluff, he attempts to chaperone her towards a cellar door to begin an afternoon of wine-tasting, only to find absence at his side as his apprentice simply walked away from him. And he was angry about it.Ongoing series.

You Should Be Sad (Completed Series):

Upon rising to the title of Warlord and Worlds-Greatest-Swordsman, Dracule Mihawk began to neglect his fiancé and her desires. Unable to provide her with the one thing she truly longed for, he remained apathetic as she broke from their lengthy courtship.A decade later, and many a bottle of brandy relinquished, he drifts to Baratie in hopes of drowning away the memory of her: only to have his hopes shattered as the hired band begins to play with his ex-fiancé singing her vengeance at him.

Let Me Take Care of You (one-shot)

The personal assistant to Dracule Mihawk notices he is not quite acting himself: a small wince as he reaches for his breakfast wine glass, a grimace as he draws it to his lips and the narrowing of his eyes as he begins to slouch. Luckily for the both of them, the assistant has a resume of many a skill: remedial massage being the key element provided to the broody warlord. He reluctantly accepts their touch, longing for the burden to be released from his shoulders.

El Tango de Mihawk (one-shot)

A talented thief manages to obtain an invite to the marine ball and decides to utilize it as a great opportunity to steal from the wealthiest members of the world government. Mihawk immediately recognizes them and decides to toy with their scheming, tango dancing ensues.

The Marine's Mistake (request) (one-shot)

Something horrible occurred to rid the warlord of his signature facial hair. Cadets had gathered and began whispering in hushed tones as Garp held a seated meeting with the warlord at a table in a run of the mill tavern. A new transfer does not recognize the sleek cheeks of the handsome gentlemen and immediately decides to approach to flirtatiously engage him over a drink or two. Mihawk is amused.

My Love Mine All Mine (request) (one-shot)

Mihawk returns to his castle in kuraigana nine days after he was due to return. He finds his lover sleeping in his bed, face falling to rest atop his pillow. Soft drabble, pining, longing.

Hanahaki: The Hawk and the Fledgling (request) (one-shot) Part 2

Mihawk notices his Fledgling, an apprentice he took under his wing, has become lazy in their training. Upon one final vocal reprimand, they collapse; sputtering a cocktail of saliva, blood and... petals? Is that petals in their hand? Surely not.

The Spear and the Sword (request) (one shot)

Drabble Part 2

Mihawk is required by Vice-Admiral Garp to obliterate an approaching armada of barbaric pillagers from their attack on a marine base. As this army was not enough for him to handle alone, Garp calls in another warlord, a ferocious warrior-woman armed with a spear, to aid in his ability to complete this task with as much succession as possible with as little damage done to the defenseless base. Both begin their armed ascension, showcasing their abilities in contest to see how many troops they best by the end of battle, against how many injuries they themselves acquire in the thralls of combat.

Little Sparrow (one-shot: drabble)

Mihawk has been up with your daughter, soothing her as she experiences her leap weeks. You spend some moments with your husband as he holds her in his arms.

Sapsorrow: (10 Chaptered Series, Complete)

Upon receiving an invitation from the lord of Kuraigana to train his wards, you never expected your career as a governess to lead you here. As your tour of the keep was conducted, a ring was slipped onto your finger: invoking an ancient curse you truly did not understand. Setting three conditions for marriage, your newly betrothed immediately made haste to complete them with you blissfully ignorant that his life hung in the balance should be fail his task.

Macule Drihawk (drabble)

When Dracule Mihawk drinks, he becomes an entirely different person. That person's name is Macule Drihawk.

Pretty Bird (series)

Mihawk is an injured avarial trapped in his raven form while healing. You nurse him back to health, and he becomes smitten with you.

Obsession (one-shot)

Many believe Mihawk keeps the knowledge of his spouse a secret because he is a private man. Truth of it is, he is simply obsessed with you and doesn't believe any other pair of eyes is worthy of meeting their gaze with your majesty.

Happy Trail (mini fic)

Mihawk is not as well groomed as he usually keeps himself. You notice, and you can't help yourself.

My offer will stand (One-Shot)

After being reprimanded by your boss for another mismanaged and hierarchical transgression transfer, you found an unlikely hand offering you comfort in the hallway behind your superior officer's door.

Sir Crocodile:

My Favorite (Sir Crocodile x Reader)

Sir Crocodile has founded a league of highly trained assassins named "The Choirs" - all coded after the nine choirs of angelic influences. You are his favorite: his prized "Seraphim" who's ferocious brutality is only outmatched by your incredible beauty. Not truly knowing if your affection is all an act to continue being paid a wage in berry, he has not made a move of his own aside from calling upon you to sit on his knee of an evening, and have you utter praises into his ear. It is only when the two other members of the Cross-Guild begin flirting does he find his limit being tested. Will he bend, or will he break?

Sands of Time: Intentions of Series

Sir Crocodile thought he was safe from the intentions of the haunting Sapsorrow Queen. His soul has been laid claim, his time is running out. How can he have a stranger fall in love with his within the year? Would she truly take his sould should he fail?

When We Wake (one-shot)

Blissfully waking within the arms of your lover, you are both struck with the thoughts of how precious you have become to one another. Whispering confessions of adoration to one another while the other slumbers, you are both completely overcome with such deep devotion.

The Duality of Sir Crocodile (NSFW drabble)

The duality of a dominating gentleman. Spoiling and endearing, encumbering and brutal.

Warmth (One-Shot)

Sir Crocodile is out for a walk in Arabasta with his pug, and he is stopped by a curious child who desires to pet them. As you, their guardian, approaches, Sir Crocodile is intrigued by your candor.

Intimacy (NSFW One-Shot)

Sir Crocodile is patient while you take him for the first time.

Misc Multiples:

Get Well Soon (Drabble one-shot)

You're sick, and they do their best to support you through it. Zoro, Sanji, Mihawk

Please, I'll be good (one-shot)

After rescuing you in the heat of battle, he can no longer contain his desires for you. He was so good. He can keep being good if it means you'll keep kissing him.

Koby, Sanji, Corazon, Sabo, Buggy, Shachi, Ace, Penguin

How They Kiss (drabble)

Four different kisses with all of your favourites. Where would you place them in these categories?

Hallmark Piggyback (drabble)

Short piggyback on @indydonuts post about OP characters in a hallmark movie. Drabble is for Law x reader x Mihawk - amnesia trope

You're Angry at the Tall Men: Drabble (One-Shot)

He knows what he did to earn your wrath; your fury ignited in your eyes and the flames physically tangible and searing the room with your scorn. Your brow was furrowed, your lips curling into a snarl to bare your pearled teeth at him.Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Corazon, Doflamingo.

An Affectionate Embrace: Drabble (One-Shot)

It was a simple reaction, an impulse you felt organic and out of your control. Their cheek was right there, and the swell in your chest and spike of adrenaline prompted you to lunge forward and capture their cheek beneath your lips. How do they react to such a soft touch? Do they shy away, or do they respond in kind?Buggy, Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Shanks, Benn Beckman

Forehead Kisses (short drabble)

You're being a brat because they're neglecting you. Prepare to be greeted with the forehead kiss you crave from them.

Zoro, Crocodile, Kid, Killer, Beckman, Mihawk

Interrogation (crack dialogue)

Cross-Guild crack dialogue x reader

Dreaming of You (One-Shot) NSFW

They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Dracule Mihawk

[pseudowho]

Thinking about Takuma Ino, who becomes a father so young when you fall unexpectedly pregnant. Thinking about the fear in your eyes, the shaking hands going to hold each other's, the positive test clasped between them. The way Takuma reassures you; "it's okay, it's okay, I always wanted to be a dad...sure, not this soon-- but we'll be fine. Better than fine, we'll be great."

The way Takuma goes for a walk that night, after you've cried yourself to sleep, crouching down in an alleyway with his beanie'd head in his hands, wondering how he could possibly ever be a good father. Wanting to marry you, to do things 'right', but afraid you'd think he only wanted to marry you because of the pregnancy.

The way Takuma arrives on his mother's doorstep (the mother who raised him alone, young, single) in the dead of night, pale-faced. The way his mother holds him as he cries and apologises at the dining room table, his face in her robed chest. The way she cups his face, and stares into his eyes; "we can do this, together, the right way. You're a good boy. Now be a good man."

The way Takuma learns to be a father, from his mother, who was his whole world. The way Takuma works himself to the bone, squirrelling money away, booking in with estate agents to go and view your first home together in a way that makes your hormonal heart clench.

The way Takuma's head hits the pillow, weary after working all night, then comes straight up again as he hears you vomiting in the bathroom, kneeling behind you to stroke your hair back, holding you gently round the waist on the tiled floor; "attagirl...it'll be better soon, right? Toughest girl I know. Doin' such a great job."

The way Takuma takes up embroidery, buying cheap plain clothes for the baby, because he can't afford much, but adding small artistic touches of beauty; a frog with a toadstool hat, a little trailing succulent vine, a shooting star.

The way Takuma is bright and excited; there for every scan, every class, every milestone. The way Takuma puts on a brave face. The way Takuma hides in the staffroom at work, his head in his hands, creaking under the weight of responsibility. The way he feels a strong hand clasp his shoulder, a beige suit, a blue shirt, a leopard print tie at the corner of his eye; "I know you're going to say no...but I'd like to buy a gift. For both of you. For the baby."

The way Takuma feels so ashamed for accepting help; the way a crib, a beautiful buggy, a snug and safe car seat, all gradually arrive at your new home. The way he tries to insist on paying Nanami Kento back. Nanami naturally refuses, pretends to be inordinately interested in his newspaper.

The way Takuma can't help but buy the baby a few beanies. The way you retaliate by buying an outfit that looks just like Ino's. He is thrilled.

The way Takuma's embroidery has advanced so well, he makes four little Auspicious Beasts to hang from a mobile above the crib.

The way Takuma paints beautiful, geometric, zany black and white shapes on the wall in the baby's bedroom; "They only see black, white and red at first babe. Neat, right?"

The way Takuma is pale throughout your labour, his eyes feverish, your pain so much harder than any battle he's ever been to. The way his tears hit him in a huge whooshing breath, a head-holding groan of relief when his baby son is placed on your chest, wet and crying, a little angry clenched face. The way Takuma rests his cheek on his arm at the top of your bed, gazing down and sniffling as his son holds his finger.

The way Takuma takes you both home, proud, woefully in love, still wondering how he's ever going to grow up and be a man, without realising he's already so much more of a man than so many others in this world.

Thinking about young dad Takuma Ino.

[halfvalid]

Hey! I was wondering if you could do a live action Zoro smut where it's enemies to lovers (boy X girl). I don't mind how hardcore smut (18+?) but I would love if there was some tension (argument or fight!) 😁

speak teeth

ABOUT

| 18+ | smut | explicit |

alternate title: i need the lord

rating: explicit

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

description: you and zoro have never gotten along. after a incident in town escaping from marines, you resolve to sort out your issues with unconventional means. (aka sex.)

tags: strawhat!reader, female reader, enemies to lovers, except it's more like frenemies to frenemies with benefits, kissing, kiss to distract trope, no use of “y/n”, reader calls zoro "roronoa", penis in vagina sex, creampie, pwp, cowgirl position

author’s note: thanks for the request! i kind of lost the plot on this one because i'm terrible at writing enemies-to-lovers and there's not much 'lovers' involved in this since i couldn't exactly fit that into a oneshot. hopefully you still like it anyway? i tried my best.

tags make it seem so much worse than it actually is.

Roronoa Zoro did not like you. 

The feeling was mutual, so you didn’t mind the fact, really. Zoro was annoying, with his three swords, and that stupid low voice, and how he never seemed interested in conversation unless it was either about alcohol or beating someone up. You were undoubtedly annoying to him for various reasons not so different in number to your own grievances of his personality. You two didn’t like each other. It was fine. It was normal. 

It was pissing off the rest of the Straw Hat crew. 

In your defense, you were never outwardly aggressive towards the man. You didn’t purposely exclude him from conversations or avoid looking at him if he dared haunt a room you were in with his presence. You just… didn’t speak to him unless spoken to. And maybe you had a tendency to roll your eyes or mutter some insults when he was talking, but it wasn’t that big of an issue. 

Zoro, on the other hand, was a master of discord. He’d killed and hunted so many people it only made sense for him to be, but it seemed he hadn’t skipped his lessons in petty fights either. Because he was bullheaded and a buzzkill and always opened his big mouth when you were around. Those sarcastic remarks of his were common, sure, but when you were in the room they were tenfold and laced with genuine venom. 

You weren’t sure who’d even started the strife between you two. It had been so long that you’d forgotten. While everyone else had seemingly bonded after your journey together, you and Zoro remained firmly in the stage you’d been while trapped in Buggy’s green room—antagonistic. Obviously you didn’t hate each other—when Zoro had nearly died to Mihawk, you hadn’t been happy—but you didn’t get along, and both of you were just fine with that arrangement. 

Nobody else was, though.

And so obviously you didn’t like it when Luffy announced, as you were docked, that you were assigned to scout the surrounding village together. Your lips twisted, but you refrained from saying anything up until Luffy finished his speech with: “And that’s the plan! Any objections?” 

There were head shakes from all around the deck of the Going Merry. You eyed Zoro in the very corner—his arms were crossed, and carefully he raised a hand, just barely lifting it into the air as he motioned. “Why is she coming with me?” 

You bit your tongue, suppressing the irritated sigh that threatened to escape. “Because,” Luffy said, bright as ever, “You two need to learn how to be friends. Think of it as a bonding activity!” 

“I’d really rather go with Sanji,” you optioned, trying to be more civil than Zoro at least. “He could use a hand carrying the stock barrels.” 

“Nope,” Luffy chirped. “It makes most sense for the two of you to be the one to buy the weapons, anyway.” 

“He’s right. You both are the most knowledgeable on the subject,” Nami whispered, though she gave you an apologetic look. You sighed. Zoro opted to say nothing. 

“Fine. Let’s go, Roronoa,” you said, getting up off the Going Merry’s railing to start walking off the ship. You heard Zoro grumble from behind you, but he soon caught up. You said absolutely nothing to each other for the first few minutes of walking, keeping to yourselves until you eventually reached the market. 

“What kind of weapons are we looking for?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder at the man who trailed just barely behind you. “I know Luffy wants backups, but did he say specifically what?” 

“Probably a few guns, maybe some swords,” Zoro replied. “A katana for me. Extra staff for Nami, in case hers breaks.” 

“Right. Nami gave me five-hundred thousand berry. Let’s spend it wisely. No pit stops.” 

Zoro gave you a look. “It’s not like I’m going to slip into the nearest tavern and abandon you. Luffy said we go together, so we go together.” 

“Right.” You turned away so you could roll your eyes in private. You had to appreciate that, at least; Zoro’s loyalty to Luffy at least meant he wouldn’t be a bitch to you if Luffy told him not to, and Nami kept you more or less under wraps too. “Pistols first. Let’s just get two, and save the rest for a sword because those are more pricey.” 

Focusing on business was fine. You could be a responsible adult and not be petty. And it really did go okay for the first half-hour, wherein you bartered one of the weapons sellers down to a reasonable price for two pistols and also picked up a bo staff on the way.

You were just heading towards another district of the town when Zoro slowed to a stop. You glanced over to see what he was looking at—a wall pasted with bounty posters, various pirates plastered on paper with big numbers shouting out their worth. 

“Look, it’s Luffy,” you said, eyes catching a bundle of posters near the top. Sure enough, all six members of the Straw Hat crew were there. You noticed with distaste that Zoro’s bounty was higher than yours.

Zoro tore all of the posters off, and you were almost surprised when he took yours off too. He crumpled them up into balls, about to toss them behind his shoulder before you grabbed them, carefully tucking them away in your bag. “What’s that for?” he asked. 

“So I can shoot darts at your face,” you replied. “Come on. Should finish and get back to the ship before anyone recognizes us.” 

Zoro shrugged, but followed you as you led him to the closest armory you could find. The shop was small and rickety, and a silver bell announced your presence as you entered the building. There were blades of every kind in the shop; you could see a table of knives and daggers, along with a stand full of long swords by the front. Near the back, you glimpsed some hanging rapiers, and—

“Katanas,” Zoro muttered, pushing past you to slip to the back of the store. You sighed, but followed, glancing over the array of jians instead. Zoro was already picking one up and pulling it out of its sheath, checking the quality of the blade. 

“Don’t—” you hissed, and he glanced up at you, brow raised in question as he spun the blade around in his hand. “You’re going to knock something over.” 

Zoro sheathed the sword, a satisfying click filling the room with the motion. “Calm down.” 

“I am calm,” you snapped. “If you’d just stop stomping around with those big boots of yours, though—” 

Zoro looked far less affected by the entire ordeal than you did, and that pissed you off even more. Logically, you knew he didn’t show much emotion in general, and even his annoyances tended to be deep and quiet—but still. He strung the katana back up where it belonged. “I am not stomping.” 

“Yes, you are—” You cut yourself off as the bell of the store rang again, announcing the arrival of more patrons. These two were whispering to each other, gruff voices that sounded almost scared. “He came in here, right?” One of them asked the other. “Are you sure it’s him?” 

“He tore down his own wanted poster!” The other hissed back. 

You caught onto what was happening quickly, letting a sigh out from between your teeth and grabbing onto Zoro’s arm to yank him further back into the store. You turned a corner, where a narrow hall cut off at a dead end, a wardrobe of swords blocking off the area to any prying eyes. “Now look at what you did,” you grumbled, before you could stop yourself. “You’ve got fucking bounty hunters after us.” You glanced through the stands of swords for a double take—the pair were standing at the front, outfitted in familiar white-and-blue uniforms. “Scratch that, even worse. Marines.” 

“I can take them in a fight,” Zoro muttered, hand going to his swords. You grabbed his wrist and gave him a look. 

“No. We’re not due to leave the docks for another two days,” you snapped. “Can you figure out a way to get out of a situation without stabbing someone?” 

“How can you be sure it was him, though? The Demon?” The more timid marine asked. They’d started moving, and you shoved Zoro into the corner, attempting to hide his ridiculously broad figure with an armoire of weapons. He scoffed, but made no move to adjust, back flat against the wall.

“He had the three swords. And the three earrings, too. Of course it was him,” the other one replied. You rolled your eyes. 

“Ever try being a little less obvious, Roronoa?” you muttered, shooting another glare in Zoro’s direction. “You’re like a flashing red light for every marine within a two-mile radius with your stupid swords. I’m Roronoa Zoro, the pirate hunter!” 

“I don’t hear you yelling at Luffy to take his hat off,” Zoro hissed back. 

“They’re coming this way,” you answered, entirely ignoring his retort. “Hide your stupid swords. Shove them behind a stand or something.” 

“I don’t see why we can’t just—” 

“No fighting.” You swiveled around, tugging his holsters off his belt and tossing the swords behind him with a graceless clatter. Zoro just sighed. “Shit,” you muttered as the marines turned at the noise, starting to move towards the back of the store.

“Now look at what you did,” Zoro mumbled, mocking your words straight back at you. You glared at him. 

“Shut up and stay put,” you snapped. “Let me think of something.” The marines were coming closer, and you huffed out a nervous breath. Zoro watched you from his position. 

“They know your face, too,” he said carefully. Almost derisively, like he was looking down on your idea; making you seem stupid. “Just let me fight them. It makes the most sense.” The footsteps grew louder, then, the marines moving towards the back of the store. 

“I think I heard voices,” one of them muttered to the other. You shushed Zoro, unconsciously moving closer to him until your arm bumped into his. You startled, and then looked up, finding Zoro’s chest just inches away from your face. 

“Is this some new sort of hiding tactic?” Zoro asked, voice dry as a desert. “Are you trying to melt us into the wall—” 

The voices tapered off as the marines moved closer. Your hand shot up to cradle Zoro’s face, covering his dangling gold earrings with your fingers to hide them away. “Fuck this,” Zoro muttered, leaning back to pick up his swords. You shushed him, and he stopped, bent halfway over you so your faces were just inches apart. 

“Just trust me,” you snapped. Zoro opened his mouth to argue, but then the marines’ footsteps got louder—they’d turn the corner any moment now. 

“Fine,” he breathed. “But if it doesn’t work, I’m taking out my swords.” 

Your mind ran a million miles a minute trying to figure out what to do. The marines were just around the corner now, and your breath caught, eyes meeting Zoro’s as you wracked your brain for something, anything that might distract the marines away from the two of you. Zoro’s lips parted, a split-second away from undoubtedly whispering some grand insult when the marines finally turned the corner.

You were kissing Zoro before you could even think. 

“Oh,” one of the marines said, as your fingers nearly pinched Zoro’s earlobe, still covering his earrings. Zoro was frozen for a moment, but the marines behind you seemed startled enough that he realized it was working. A rush of satisfaction filled you for a moment—see, Roronoa, you don’t have to stab shit all the time—before Zoro was kissing you back.

And. Well. You’d started it, but you had not anticipated this. 

Zoro was almost rough, his hand curling around the nape of your neck and tugging you down closer to him. His other hand came to rest on your waist, so impossibly big around your torso that you shivered. What had started out as a simple kiss slipped into one all messy, your breaths coming out in sharp gasps as Zoro barely gave you a moment to breathe. 

His teeth dug into your lip, and you groaned into his mouth, tongue darting along his gums with the motion. He snickered at that, and you felt a little bundle of vexation starting at the pit of stomach at the sound. You ran your tongue into the crevices of his mouth, licking into him with ease. Another rush of satisfaction filled you as Zoro’s grip tightened on your waist. You were winning.

He fought back just as hard, practically merciless as his tongue slid against yours, prying into your mouth like he was trying to bare you empty of secrets. You felt stripped raw like this, but it wasn’t a terrible feeling—the opposite, actually, soft whimpers leaving your lungs as he dug more fiercely into you. Zoro sucked on your lower lip with teeth, and you barely managed to suppress the stuttered sound it tugged out from the back of your throat. 

There were hasty footsteps receding somewhere behind you, which was the only sound that snapped you out of your motions. You were the first to break away—another score gained there—glancing over your shoulder to ensure the marines had really left before fully detaching yourself from Zoro. The silver bell rung again, signaling the marines had made their exit, and you let out a relieved sigh. 

Zoro glanced over your shoulder, straightening his clothes as his tongue ran along his top teeth. The top teeth you’d had your tongue on just seconds ago. “If you wanted to kiss me, you could’ve just said so.” 

“I did not—” You sucked in a breath, all your general irritated feelings towards the man coming back at full force with just that one sentence. “Shut the fuck up. I got us out of the situation, didn’t I?” 

“You have questionable methods,” Zoro replied, leaning over to pick up his abandoned swords and strap them back along his hip. “Don’t think about that all night.” 

“You were not that good of a kisser,” you snapped, though you could feel your face getting hot. Your mouth tingled, like you could still taste him on your tongue; on your teeth; in your gums. There was a vaguely empty sensation at the curve of your waist you tried your best to ignore. “Don’t be so full of yourself. Roronoa. Now pick a sword to buy so we can leave already.”

Zoro seemed irritated, but he complied, brushing past you to inspect a few more of the swords before picking out one. You paid for it as quickly as possible, in a rush to get back to the ship; not even trying to talk the salesman down from his price like you usually would. 

Zoro followed you languidly, absolutely nothing urgent about his motions as you trailed after you back through the village. You wanted to uppercut him so badly. 

“Oh, there you guys are,” Usopp said upon stepping foot back onto the Going Merry. You shot him an apologetic smile before breezing past, beelining for your bedroom without a second thought. “Uh—okay! You good?” he called after you, but you were too far away to respond at this point. 

You slammed the door of your room shut upon entering, heaving out a breath of jumbled emotion all in one go. Fuck Roronoa Zoro and his three stupid swords and his three stupid earrings. He was the most lumbering, bullheaded oaf you’d ever had the displeasure of engaging with. 

He’d been a ridiculously good kisser. Now you hated him even more. 

You locked yourself in your room for the next four hours, busying yourself with various tasks whilst simultaneously seething over Zoro. It wasn’t even that he’d done anything specifically to you in the past. You just—didn’t get along, really. He was irritating, and stupid, and always tried to solve his problems with a blade rather than attempting to use his wits. Not that he had any wits of any kind. He was—

He was, as you were starting to find out, kind of attractive. Which. Okay. You’d known his face was at least easy on the eyes, despite his personality and general attitude not retaining the same qualities. But this was an entirely unappreciated development. 

Someone knocked on your door, snapping you out of your irritated haze. The sun had nearly set, a kiss of dusk coming in from outside as you shuffled over to the door. You yanked it open. “What—”

Zoro was standing in the doorway, arm propped against the side and keeping your door open even as you attempted to close it on him. “Roronoa.” 

“You’re hiding,” Zoro said, a tinge of mirth just barely visible in his eyes. You glared at him. 

“I am not.” 

“Do you have to disagree with everything I say?” Zoro asked. He was still wearing his swords even now, though he’d dressed down as the hour grew late. “You skipped dinner.” 

“Leave me alone,” you muttered. 

Zoro took that as an invitation to step fully into the room. “I told the rest of the crew about the marines,” he said, and you flinched. “Not about that. Just that we got away. Nami wants to leave tomorrow evening now, so we’ll be busy.” 

You stared at him, suspicious right from the start. “And you care enough to tell me? Did someone put you up to this?” 

Zoro stiffened. “I just thought you might want to know.” 

Your eyes narrowed. He looked as normal as ever—face blank, leaving no expression to be seen. But his muscles were tenser than usual, and the veins running up his arm were prominent, like his hand was tightened into a fist where it hid away in his pocket. “You have ulterior motives.”

“You’re so annoying,” Zoro muttered, but he didn’t budge. You scoffed. 

“What, are you here to admit that you were wrong and my plan really did get us away from the marines?” you asked, voice sugary sweet as you riled him up. His jaw clenched, a vein tracing up his neck bulging with the pressure. “You don’t need to inflate my ego—”

Zoro moved across the room swiftly, and you stumbled back in surprise as he pinned you to the wall, hand tight around your arm. Your words died in your throat as his lips sealed over yours with a bruising kiss. His fingers dug into the skin of your bicep—tight, but not tight enough to hurt. 

“I don’t need to inflate your ego,” Zoro snapped, finishing your sentence from where it’d died on your lips. “You do that enough yourself.” 

You stared at him, the tingle of his lips still left as an afterthought on your mouth. “If you’re going to make out with me, take your fucking swords off.” 

Zoro barely suppressed an eye roll, hands working at his belt to slide his holsters off from his hip. “What’s your problem with them?” 

“I think your emotional dependency on a bunch of oversized butter knifes—”

Zoro’s head jerked up, eyes dark when they met yours. “Don’t call them that.” 

You couldn’t resist the quip off your tongue. “You asked.” 

Zoro slowly made his way across the room again, steps careful and languid as he moved closer. “I take it back,” he said, voice a near whisper, every word crisp on his tongue. You shivered. 

This time, you expected it when he kissed you. He wasn’t careful with it, and you didn’t want it any other way—your arms wrapped around the back of his neck, tugging him down closer to you. It got aggressive quick, his fingers coming down to clutch your waist, one of your hands tight around the locks of his hair as you pried open his mouth with your tongue. 

Neither of you complied easily, both trying to get the better of the other. Zoro’s tongue forced itself into your mouth before you tugged on his lower lip with teeth. Both his hands came to wrap around your waist, now, hoisting you up and onto your hanging bed in the center of the room. His fingers dug in hard enough to leave bruises. 

Zoro abandoned your mouth in favor of your neck, biting open-mouthed kisses into your jawline before moving down your jugular. Each one was more hasty than the last, wet and warm with licks of tongue and scrapes of teeth. You didn’t bother moving to give him better access—he had to do that himself, a large hand coming to rest on the back of your skull and pulling your head back to bare the rest of your neck to him. You heard him mutter something in Japanese—probably some obscenity, which pleased you more than you’d like to admit. 

His kisses stopped at the hinge of your neck and shoulder, Zoro pausing to lean over and work his fingers up your spine. They danced over the clasp of your shirt, and you had to choke back a wry laugh, surprised. “I thought the Demon just took what he wanted,” you murmured. 

Zoro didn’t seem to like that. He started unfastening the buttons going down the back of your top. “At least I was polite enough to ask,” he muttered. 

“Just take my clothes off already,” you said, and he stopped his work, leaning back to glare into your eyes. You let out an annoyed sigh, and he rolled his eyes, going back to what he’d been doing. “Are we going to talk about it?” you asked, eyeing Zoro’s chest in front of you. 

You pressed a kiss to his neck, sucking at the skin before grazing it ever-so-slightly with your teeth. His throat hitched under your mouth. 

“Nope,” he grunted, finally unclasping the last button and pulling your top over your head. Since you didn’t have an issue with that arrangement, you didn’t say anything, even as Zoro practically shoved you flat on your back. 

“Rude,” you muttered. Zoro didn’t bother apologizing; he just leaned down to take your breast in his mouth, tongue circling around your nipple. You weren’t fast enough to suppress your gasp this time—a point in Zoro’s favor then, one you allowed with a bitter taste on your tongue. Zoro’s mouth formed a smile against your skin. You brought your knee up between his legs, shoving into his crotch in retaliation. 

“Stop,” Zoro hissed, the consonants of the words brushing across your skin when he spoke. You ignored him, and he let out a groan, hand clamping around your thigh to keep you from moving. “Do you have to be such a brat?” 

“I am not a brat.” You hooked your ankle around his, causing him to slip from where he lay suspended above you, mouths mashing in another too-aggressive facsimile of a kiss. “You’re just a gigantic manwhore with an overinflated ego.” 

“You did not just call me—” You shut him up with another kiss, teeth digging deep into the inner gums of his lip. You ran your hands up the sides of Zoro’s figure, trying your hardest to ignore the stiff muscles of his ribcage. He wasn’t that well-built. He wasn’t even that attractive, you tried to convince yourself. Still, you found the buttons of his shirt, trying to unfasten them quicker than Zoro had with yours. 

One of them caught, and Zoro had the audacity to laugh. You grumbled something incoherent under your breath, tugging his shirt off all the way and tossing it somewhere behind you. “Shut up.” 

“You’ve been the one complaining this entire time,” Zoro replied easily. He leaned down, tugging at your trousers to pull them off, pressing sloppy kisses down your torso now. You resisted the urge to say something in response, knowing it would just give him the satisfaction of being right. Were your points tied now? You couldn’t remember. 

Zoro had pulled your pants down to your knees by now, and you kicked them off all the way, watching as he pushed them off the bed and leaned down to work at the inward slope of your hip. You shivered, legs trembling as you felt your core grow tight, the cloth of your underwear already wet with anticipation. Seeing the ever-steadying tent in Zoro’s pants made you feel just a little bit better, and you were nice enough to let a stuttering moan out as his tongue licked down to the band of your panties. 

He pulled your underwear all the way off, then, but to your distaste completely ignored your fully exposed core to unbutton his own pants instead. “I hate you,” you muttered. 

Zoro stopped in the middle of what he was doing, pants halfway down his thighs and length already out. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, voice careful—you could still hear the mocking tone beyond the coolness of his voice, though, and your jaw clenched in irritation. “Did you want something?” 

“Yeah, for you to shut the fuck up.” You pushed yourself up by the elbows, grabbing one of Zoro’s arms and yanking him down onto the mattress. You used both hands to strip him of the last of his clothes—God, his legs were long—before returning to press your own open-mouthed bruises along his neck. His hips bucked up against yours, insistently chasing any friction, but you tightened a grip on his thigh to get him to stop. “Give me a second.” 

“I don’t like that I’m suddenly under you,” Zoro said drily, and you could feel the words as they formed in his throat, still biting hickeys into his skin. You rolled your eyes, lips disconnecting from skin with a dull pop.

“Deal with it, Roronoa. I’m not moving.” With that, you finally reached down to coax his legs apart, hovering your core over his hips as you lined your entrance up with his length. 

There was an audible hitch of breath on Zoro’s part as you sunk onto him. Point. 

One of his hands tangled in your hair when you started moving, the other coming to press on the small of your back as you worked yourself up and down around him. For the complaining he’d done about the position, he didn’t seem so bothered about it, pulling you into a rough kiss. 

You bit back with force, breath escaping you as your hips bucked against Zoro’s. The wet pool in your lower belly only grew stronger with every thrust, pressure building up inside of you as Zoro’s tongue ran across your teeth. You moaned freely now, too lost in the daze of your pleasure to remember to be annoying. Evidently Zoro felt the same way—he swallowed every one of your gasps up, grunting as you pulsed around him.

Your hips stuttered, thigh muscles contracting with the effort as you clenched down on Zoro. Still, you pushed through even as your muscles started to tire, encouraged by the deep, throaty sounds that escaped Zoro's lips between each kiss. He was big, filling you up damn near wholeheartedly, the crevices inside of you seeming to mould to his skin as you worked yourself on him.

Zoro started moving against you, and you gasped as his angle changed, somehow reaching farther in your body and causing tingles to erupt all along your skin. Your mind buzzed as he thrust into you with renewed vigor, core pulsing as you felt yourself come closer and closer to the edge. 

You came all at once, teeth biting down in Zoro’s mouth before you parted from him. You let out a gasping moan, attempting to toss your head back as stars burst across your vision. Zoro’s hand in your hair dragged you back into a kiss, though; this one was slower, less teeth this time, like him coming had lessened the urge to bite. 

Your movements slowed, coming to rest against Zoro’s skin, warm and—although you wouldn’t say so out loud—almost comfortable. His hand hadn’t budged from where it was pressed against your lower back, holding you tight to him. 

There was a sticky wetness spreading fast by your thighs, and you grimaced, lifting yourself off of Zoro and rolling beside him on your back in one fluid motion. He stifled a groan at the movement, clearly irritated at the fact you hadn’t given any warning. 

You lay there, breath heaving, rising out your high and making no move to touch the man laying by your side. 

After you’d regained some of your dignity, you sat up, eyes narrowing at Zoro. “Get off my bed.” 

Zoro gave you an exasperated look, but he didn’t argue; he just climbed off your bed, retrieving his clothes from where you’d tossed them about the room. He donned them slowly, like he had all the time in the world. Your eyes traced along his figure while he did, and you only felt sort of annoyed by it. 

“I still hate you,” you snapped, after he’d finished changing. Zoro just scoffed, picking up his swords and slinging them across one shoulder. You could see a bruise purpling by his neck. At least you’d done damage. 

“Fine by me,” he replied, straightening his shirt and giving you a look—not quite irritated, not quite sarcastic. “Dinner’s still waiting for you.” 

You glared at his back as he opened the door to your bedroom. “Get lost, Roronoa,” you said, and that was that. 

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