love language barrier
a fan comic of sanji and zoro from one piece, during the wano raid scene where sanji bandages zoro.
panel 1: sanji looks disgruntled, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he ties strips of bandages together. he asks, “hey. still alive in there? say something, wouldja?” zoro answers from off-screen. his speech bubbles are shaky, and his words are occasionally interrupted by groans or hitches of breath. he says, “do… you think… luffy feels… attraction?”
panel 2: a closeup of sanji’s gobsmacked face, shocked by the seemingly random topic. he shouts, “what?!”
panel 3: zoro is wrapped in a cross-pose in bandages with only his face visible. he says, “on the roof… i could almost swear he was putting the moves on traffy…” sanji practically yelps, “traffy?!” with a large, jagged speech bubble.
panel 4: a closeup of sanji’s hands as he continues to wrap zoro. he says, “there’s no way. you’re hallucinating.” zoro snaps back, “he was hanging all over him! and they were fighting and arguing and stuff!” sanji replies, “and what did you think that meant?! we do that, crap-swordsman!”
panel 5: a closeup of zoro’s face. his expression looks fairly neutral, though his eyebrows are slightly raised as he processes sanji’s words.
panel 6: the same closeup of zoro, but now his brows are furrowed and his mouth is flattened in embarrassment. his cheeks are flushed as he comes to terms with the realization that arguing is not always considered a form of flirtation.
panel 7: a full-body silhouette of sanji tending to zoro by candlelight. after a moment of silence, sanji asks, “mosshead. how hard did kaido hit you.” zoro answers, “pretty fucking hard.” sanji repeats, “pretty fucking hard, yeah.”
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Raphael/Tav (Reader): Indulgence
A/N: I dunno. Had an urge. Here's a lil nothing.
Shall he be honest, mouse?
Sex is not one of those concepts upon which he lingers. It is an all too human urge, sated by demons, indulged only by the more indolent of devil-kin. Raphael recognizes its power, of course—he is neither ignorant nor blind.
But oh, there are sweeter delights. The sort of things mortals could only dream of, akin to colors outside their limited perspective. What was sex compared to a star’s light going out after dimming over a thousand years? What was sex beside a deal well negotiated? A kingdom falling? The screams of thousands as they begged for deliverance, only for the gods to turn a deaf ear?
The answer, sweetling: it was nothing at all.
It does not keep him from taking his pleasure with Haarlep.
Or with you.
And there is a renewed thrill in having you, pet. Lacking the grace, finesse, and breadth of knowledge of his incubus, but better for the novelty. You scream so prettily when he bites your shoulder, hissing and clawing at him with no pretense. You still yelp when he pushes into your body, biting down on your lip hard enough to draw blood. You thrash and lose your rhythm—so blessedly undone, all by his hand.
So weak. So mortal.
You don’t taste like sweet poison when he kisses you. No, sweetling, you are decaying leaves and the passage of time. You are a guttering candle, piteous and small beside his flame. You are such a little, little thing. So low—so beneath him.
Raphael hitches your legs higher around his hips, head tipped back, groaning into the overheated air. Sweat glistening on your skin, belly, and breasts, a patchwork of kiss-sucked bruises. You are spent beyond the telling of it, must be, but…
You rock your hips against him, inviting him to continue, eyes still lit with the challenge. More, it says. You can survive more.
It’s the challenge he likes, Raphael supposes. The indomitable beauty of the mortal spirit: rising to meet adversity and its betters.
He will break you, must break you. He is better, and he must.
You scream for him, clinging, his name rapturous on your tongue.
But you are not broken. No, not yet. You're still staring up at him that damnable look. Bloodied but not broken. Spent, but not obedient.
It will not do.
It is a simplistic battle, yes. But Raphael will not rest until he might call himself victorious.
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