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mydearlybeloathed · 3 months

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𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 ²

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: as promised, zoro finally returned to you... after three years at sea. there's much left to be said, but a rogue butler just might get in the way.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: opla!zoro x fem!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: swearing, use of Y/N, canon typical violence, fluff with a hint of angst

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: everytime you leave

series masterlist

Nami’s little ship taking on water was the least ideal occurrence possible. Yet, deep inside, Zoro found it incredibly funny to watch the orange haired girl scramble around all frustrated like this.

“Gecko Island,” said Nami, drawing Zoro out of his thoughts. She was hunched over her map with Luffy over her shoulder, per usual. “I think we’ll be able to make it before the ship sinks.”

Those words took longer to process than they should’ve, but Zoro couldn’t help it. Gecko Island? How long had it been, three years maybe? No longer than that, he was sure. His eyes went unfocused at the memory of a laugh that could easily end him and bring him back to life all at once.

“Swear it.”

“I, Roronoa Zoro, swear that we will sail again.”

Nami nodded to herself, saying, “Syrup Village is known for its ships. I say we dock there and ditch this junk.”

He couldn’t believe that luck. Zoro’s lips threatened to quirk into a grin before he got a hold of himself. He rested his hand on his swords and snuffed. “I’ve got a friend in Syrup Village who could help us.”

Nami took off her readers and rolled up her map. “You have friends?”

He shot her a tight smirk. “Just one.”

“And he can help us?” asked Luffy as he took to the ship’s helm.

“She might.” Zoro checked on a knot here and a rope there. With his back to his temporary crew, he let out a small smile. “If she’s happy to see me.”

A surprised grin took Nami's face. “And if she isn’t?”

“She will be,” he assured, only half certain, if he was being honest.

It'd been three years since his promise, after all. Whatever happened next, Zoro could only be certain of one thing: oh, how he missed you.

જ⁀➴

Zoro was sweating, and it had nothing to do with the heat.

With every inch they grew closer to Syrup Village the swordsman swore he could hear your last words to him, a taunting sort of echo reflected by the sea. He’d always heard that water holds memories, and now it holds memories of you.

For better or worse, for reasons he just couldn’t fathom, you loved him. The very thought had his heart stuttering, his lips threatening to curve into a smile. Hopefully, time hadn’t changed your heart. It certainly hadn’t changed his.

He stood leaning on the mast, arms crossed to limit the fidget of his fingers. Unfortunately, this left him out in the open, a prime target for Nami’s incessant teasing.

She slinked up beside him, curiosity already planted on her face. “So,” Nami drawled, not even trying to hide her shit-eating grin. “She?”

“Go. Away.” Zoro shifted away from her, tensing when Nami simply ducked forward, her short orange hair falling in her face.

She only laughed. “Oh, someone’s defensive.”

Zoro didn’t satisfy her with a response this time, yet she wasn’t thwarted, bumping his shoulder with a chuckle. “Relax. I’m sure your friend will be happy to see you.”

A beat of silence passed before he found himself offering up his worry. “I haven't written to her in a month.”

Nami scoffed. “Will she care when she sees you?”

Probably not, was his first thought, but then again, what if you had changed? What if you didn’t want to see him? What if you’d grown bitter?

“Hey.” Nami snapped in his face. “Get out of your head, all right?”

He looked at her then, and he wondered why she cared. They weren’t friends, or at least, he didn’t think they were friends. But the way the two of them locked eyes and he nodded and then she nodded—he wondered if he even knew what friendship felt like after all this time.

It felt like you, of course, but you were something entirely different. Entirely more.

So he pushed off the mast and walked to the rail of the ship, sucked in a breath, let it out slowly, and got out of his own head.

જ⁀➴

You were terribly hungover, and Vee was having a ball over it.

Your every groan prompted just one more I told you so. Because she had, after all, told you so. You didn’t remember much from the night before, just that you were sad and the bartender liked you enough to forget about a cut off.

But feeling like shit never got you out of work before, and it certainly didn’t today.

So you did your usual chores, albeit at a slower pace, crushing coriander and sorting it into jars at the corner table of Vee’s office. Vee herself stood behind one of the village’s elderly hypochondriacs, Miss Irma, who sat upon the examination table.

You and Vee had made quite the team over the years. While your knowledge solely pertained to the more natural medicines, Vee had gone to academy to become a real doctor, studying new technology and practices. Her fancy framed documents were testament to her achievements.

She taught you nearly everything she knew, and you showed her a few tricks too, and as a result Syrup Village developed a phenomenal one stop cure all shop. Your various tinctures and potions came in handy nearly everyday—today especially as you downed a hangover tonic seconds after waking up.

You pursed your lips, grinding up the coriander as your temples panged with the consequences of your actions. Last night the alcohol had done wonders to make you stop thinking, but today was a different story.

“Next week’ll be three years,” you said to Vee, not caring as Irma perked up at the potential gossip. Ever since you had declared your love to a ship retreating from the docks, the locals had been dying to figure you out. You never let them, finding great amusement in being the town mystery.

Vee glanced up from taking Irma’s blood pressure, sensing an approaching vent. “So that’s why you’re so worked up?”

“That,” you confirmed, pouring the fine powder into an empty jar. “And he hasn’t written in a while.”

It was silly to worry about him. He could handle himself just fine. He was probably just busy. Yet, you had to admit, his letters were normally like clockwork. He had never missed a monthly letter, not once in three years.

Vee suddenly stood beside you, taking your hands that you hadn’t realized were shaking. The older woman caught your eyes and offered a smile. “He’s a capable young man. He’ll be okay.”

You sighed, the sound quaking. “I know.”

She squeezed your hands and turned to remove the blood pressure cuff from a carefully listening Irma. “Take the supplies list from the counter and head to the market, yeah?”

“But—”

“Nope.” She was pushing you by your shoulders now, leaving a less than pleased Irma behind. Vee walked you through the hall, the kitchen, and right to the front door.

“Vee—Stop pushin’ me!” You planted two hands on either side of the doorframe, halting your exit. Puffing, you begrudgingly relented. “You never gave me the list.”

A triumphant smile adorned her face as she swept back to the kitchen and returned with your shopping list. You snatched it from her fist and left her with a feigned smile, not liking how she chuckled as the door clicked shut behind you.

You huffed, fondly remarked “Bitch,” and headed down the cobblestone street with a brief glance down at the sheet of paper. Chamomile. Turmeric. Peppermint. Calendula.

You hummed. That last one might be hard to come by in the market, but surely one of the local merchants could find it for you. Turning the corner to head through the square, you caught sight of a familiar little man hurrying through the square. You swiftly pocketed your list and chased after him. “Joli! Hey, Joli!”

The mailman startled and whirled around, relaxing upon finding you rushing toward him. He didn’t bother with pleasantries; this had been going on for days, and the usual reply was on his lips before you could even get the question out.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said, lips pursed in an apologetic smile. “No letters have come for you… Maybe your friend has just forgotten?”

“No. It’s something else.” Why did everyone assume he’d forgotten? It wasn’t like him to forget. You worried your lip between your teeth. “He always writes. Every month, without fail. Something’s gotta be wrong.”

“You could always write to him first?” Joli offered.

“I would if I knew where the hell he is.” It wasn’t easy being penpals with the Demon Pirate Hunter, given he was never in one place for very long.

But he hadn’t written in over a month. Surely, he couldn’t have forgotten you. He wouldn’t have forgotten you. Even with the sea dividing you, the pair of you were intertwined. Three years and no letter wasn’t going to change that.

“Sorry, Joli,” you said, realizing you’d zoned out. “Thanks anyway.”

He swept a brief bow and hurried off to continue his day, leaving you alone in the bustling town square.

Time had gone by very slowly, and although Syrup Village was charming, you couldn’t help but feel drowned by the mundanity of it all. Syrup Village, to put it simply, was boring.

But mostly, Syrup Village just didn’t have Zoro.

He was off on the East Blue, God knows where exactly, and the worry was eating you away.

Shaking your head as if it could dispel your thoughts, you quickly shifted to hurry toward the market. It was a long line of stands and booths running up and down the eastern part of the city. Directly behind it was a fine view of the shipyard, with its impressive ships large and small. And then to the left of the yard was the port, busy with the weekly imports.

The evening started to waste away as you went from tent to tent, offering smiles and beri in exchange for ingredients. Only after you’d asked the local flower merchant to place an order for calendula did you turn to look at the sky. Perhaps it’d been long enough for Vee to let you back inside. You’d already gathered everything on her list, after all.

But first, maybe you’d bring home something sweet. Food always put Vee in a good mood.

“Thanks, Luc,” you said to the young baker, taking the cloth wrapped loaf of lemon bread from him. “Tell your mom I said hello.”

“Sure thing.” You waved him goodbye and walked into the crowds, pinching off a piece of bread and popping it in your mouth. The billowing sails of the ships caught your eye and drew you closer.

The port reminded you of Zoro. Well, to be fair, many things reminded you of Zoro. Even lemon bread made you think of his sour expressions if you let the taste linger too long. But there was something about the salty breeze and the cursing sailors that threw you back three years time.

If you closed your eyes you could practically see it—you and Zoro stood at the railing of a shipping barge, one of his hands on his swords and the other caging you between the ship and him, only to protect you from the many suspicious sailors, of course. Not at all because he enjoyed the proximity.

Someone bumped your shoulder and barked an insult, and you realized you’d literally closed your eyes. Oops.

“Sorry,” you mumbled and ducked your head, stuffing the lemon bread in your satchel.

You stopped in the shade cast by one ship’s sail, well out of the way. How many pirates stood in your midst? It was a question you tried not to think about, but you wagered a fourth of the crowd, maybe, but no more than that. Usopp scared most of them away with his clockwork alarms.

Maybe you could find your friend before you headed back. Usopp’s stories were farfetched, but never dull in color.

You had taken a single step when the crowd of hurrying sailors and passengers grew thin, and your gaze was drawn like a magnet to a shock of green hair. You seized up, tense muscles locking you in place.

You blinked, forgot how to breathe, and blinked again. Certainly you had to be tricking yourself. Plenty of fools have green hair.

As you forced an inhale the figure came into focus, one of his hands rested on a white sword you would recognize in the thickest of fog.

You huffed, disbelieving. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be real. Parched lips parting, you noted that you hadn't had much to drink that day and the sun was rather hot… but you surely weren’t dehydrated enough to hallucinate.

That wasn’t any green haired fool. That was your green haired fool, in the flesh, like an answer to a desperate prayer. He came back.

You might’ve stood there all day had Zoro not felt your stare like a hot brand on his cheek.

His heart was already hammering in his chest, skin prickling with the need to just shout your name till someone told him where to find you. But… his shoulders tensed, not from the anxiety, but from wariness. His brow pinched and he gazed around to find whoever was watching him.

Bit by bit, his gaze roamed over sailors big and small, crates and barrels, until it settled on you amidst the passersby.

He’d tried preparing for this moment. None of it was useful now as he met your eyes in an everlasting moment. How had he ever left?

Zoro’s hand slipped from his sword as he started toward you, each step far too long and slow for his liking. It felt like walking through water to get you, like there was sand in his shoes weighing him to the ground.

Luckily, you were impatient.

You took off, feet pounding against the wood of the docks, shoulder checking at least five people and knocking one person to the ground. You were heaving even as a wide smile took your face.

Zoro gasped the instant before you barreled into him, your arms flung around his neck as his own embraced you tightly. He stumbled and let out a glorious little laugh for only you to hear. The sound alone made three years of aching boil down to one desperate need to never let him go.

Pulling back, you found his eyes, and the little grin on his face was the very last straw.

Like a starved woman, you surged forward and cupped the sides of his face to drag him down to meet your lips. Soft and timeless, you sought to engrave the feel of his lips on yours, and yours to his. So just in case he’d ever dreamed of kissing another woman, he never would again.

Your hungry affection only made his infatuation worse; for three long years, Zoro only ever dreamed of you.

Zoro broke the kiss, drawing back and watching as you followed him, dazed like you could hardly believe it. A strand of hair was stuck to your forehead, damp with sweat, and he absently swiped it away. All he wanted to do was admire you, holding you close and breathing you in.

“Hi.” It was the only thing he could bring himself to say.

Your fingernails dug into the skin of his arms, a half smile flickering onto your face. You swallowed thickly, hardly believing this was real. “When you didn’t write, I…”

Zoro suddenly remembered who he’d come here with and hoped with everything in him they weren’t standing right behind him like they had been before. “I got caught up.”

“Too caught up to let me know you’re alive?” You could’ve been teasing, but he knew better. He saw it in how your eyes searched his face; he’d scared you.

His eyes went a special kind of soft only one person had ever seen in Roronoa Zoro, and he cupped your face gently. A grin tugged at his lips. “Like anyone could kill me.”

Your own lips twitched upwards as you leaned into his touch. Zoro wet his lips and glanced at the ground. His throat was suddenly dry as sand. “Uhm… I’m… uh…”

“Who’s your friend?” Nami. Voice filled with mirth, he could picture that shit eating smirk on her face before he ever turned around.

He reluctantly peeled away from you, clearing his throat and stepping to the side (He never strayed from your side, his hand finding solace in fidgeting with the frayed end of your shirt). Now came a moment he’d been dreading: the introductions.

You assessed the pair of people standing, and you didn’t know how to feel that they’d probably witnessed the entire display of affection, beginning to end. The entire shipyard did as well, a part of you reasoned, so you brushed it off.

It was a boy and girl, the former wearing a cool straw hat and the latter with even cooler hair the color of tangerines. The girl, who you assumed was the one who’d spoken, wore a thick grin, arms crossed as she leaned into her hip. The boy, however, was glancing between you and Zoro with a puzzled sort of smile.

Zoro’s fingers brushed your hip; he was radiating nerves. “Y/N, this is Luffy and Nami.”

Luffy had eyes so lively you had to offer up a smile, as though your body felt no choice but to mirror just a bit of his obvious enthusiasm.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, and you felt he really meant it. Luffy tilted his head. “How do you know Zoro?”

“We… go back,” you said, casting Zoro a glance to find his usual deadpan back in place—God, how you’d missed that frown.

A thought provoked you. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been happier, but what the hell are you doin’ here? I thought you’d be—I dunno—on the edge of nowhere sharing a beer with a bagged corpse or something.”

You zeroed in on Nami then, immediately having her beauty carved into your memory. Something oddly possessive welled in your gut before you quickly shut it down. Still, you inched closer to Zoro.

“That’s what we’re here to see you about,” said Zoro, and something about it struck a worry in you. The way your eyes met his must’ve betrayed everything, for his hand moved to grasp your own, speaking a million silent little things.

Sensing a story, you guided them to the closest tavern, finding a nice spot in a low lit booth. Luffy rushed to slide into the booth, followed by Nami. Zoro reached the opposite side of the booth, but took a step back to let you slide in first.

Pausing to blink up at him, he worried, “You still like sitting on the inside?”

Warmth bloomed in your chest as you nodded, wasting no time in jumping into the booth and tugging him to sit flush against your side.

In grand detail and elaborate hand motions, Luffy explained their mission: they had a map of the Grand Line, and when they got there, they would find the One Piece, and Luffy would become King of the Pirates.

To say you were at a loss was the understatement of the century. Jaw slack, you looked from Zoro to Nami to Luffy to Zoro, then the whole cycle over again. Finally, you settled for shifting to face Zoro entirely, a slow smirk forming on your lips. “But… Pirates?”

Just some years ago you’d been helping this man put pirates behind bars, you’d taken part in a few murders as well, and now he was trying to tell you he was one of them? You couldn’t help it; you laughed, your hand moving to take his underneath the table.

Zoro choked on nothing as your thumb ran circles on the back of his hand, but he composed himself enough to shrug. “Surprise.”

“You never cease to amaze me.” Almost doe eyed, you gazed all over his sheepish expression, adoration plain on your face. “I bet you’re a shit pirate.”

Nami burst into a laughing fit, eyes alight. He tried to glare, but it failed immediately, everything in him softening the moment he caught your smile.

“He’s great,” Luffy disagreed, grinning back at you. “And he’ll be even better once he’s the world’s—”

“Greatest swordsman,” you finished. Your smile was fond and warm. “I know. You never actually said why you came to Syrup Village, by the way. Not that the tale of your victory over Boogie the Clown wasn’t thrilling.”

Luffy leaned forward. “We need a ship,” he told you. “One worthy of our crew. A home.”

“Well,” you said, “if you see one you like, I know someone who can help you buy it. He knows the Shipyard owner.”

If possible, Luffy’s smile grew. “I’ve got my eyes on one already. The one with the goat figurehead! That’s our ship.”

“Oh,” you said, trying to keep the disbelief out of your voice. You knew the ship he spoke of, and it would be a pricey one, that’s for sure. Instead of lying to Luffy’s face, you chose to focus your attention back on Zoro, whose eyes had never left your face.

“Come on.” You tapped Zoro’s thigh to urge him out of the booth, grinning at how he went pink in the ears as he slid out. “My friend’ll work something out.”

You took the lead out of the tavern and to the Shipyard, eyes scouring the sailors for your friend as Nami and Luffy fell behind, almost of one mind as they sidled up to their solemn companion, caging him between them. Zoro’s gaze remained glued to your back, not willing to cast them even a glance.

Luffy bumped his shoulder. “I think your friend was pretty happy to see you after all.” The tease in his voice was evident.

Zoro somehow kept from snarling when he snapped back, “I said she would be.”

“Never,” Nami chuckled, “would I have ever guessed you have a girlfriend.”

“She’s not…” Zoro watched you longingly—he watched the way you waved kindly to people as you passed, how your very essence gave life to your surroundings—and he sighed. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Rolling her eyes, Nami kept her voice low. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is that how you greet all your friends?”

He didn’t answer, allowing their soft laughter to eat up his silence.

The truth of it was that this had gone better than Zoro had ever expected. His entire body still felt the burn of you against him, your lips on his—he stopped that thought where it stood, feeling that old flush creeping back up his neck.

He had to talk to you—alone. He had to say so many things that he wasn’t exactly sure where to start. An apology. That’s where he’d go from.

Unbeknownst to the whispers behind you, you were approaching the ship of Luffy’s affections, which you thought you remembered Usopp being on rotation for.

You cupped your hands around your mouth and called out, “Usopp! Hey, Usopp!”

A moment later a grinning face popped up from behind the deck of the ship, sweat beaded on his brow as he threw his rag over his shoulder and leaned over to see her better. “Y/N!” He scanned the lot of them. “And company?”

The three following you finally caught up, the swordsman taking his place by your side. You shot him a little grin and tugged on his sleeve to draw him closer to you. “Usopp! I’ve got some friends wantin’ to talk to Kaya ‘bout a ship!”

Zoro turned his head toward you with his eyes still on Usopp as the boy scrambled down to meet them. “Kaya?”

“The friend of a friend. Hella rich and owns the Yard,” you muttered back. He nodded, not minding one bit when you linked your index finger with his.

As he watched you as though you’d hung the very stars in the sky whilst you explained the situation to Usopp, he knew the second thing he’d say. He would work up the nerve to say what he couldn't three years ago.

જ⁀➴

The house—no, the mansion ahead was more extravagant than Zoro had seen in some time. He’d been close to your side the whole walk with Usopp, close enough so you could hear every one of his gripes about their guide’s questionable credibility. You giggled and bumped his shoulder every time, so he kept it up.

“He’s… imaginative,” you defended, chewing your lip. “Relax. Kaya’ll let you buy the ship for sure. No thievery even necessary.”

He quirked a brow, amusement playing on his face. “How’d you…”

“Nami’s been swipin’ stuff off vendor carts.” You shrugged. “I figure stealing a ship is her first thought.”

Zoro couldn’t help but grin down at you, and when you met his eyes—oh, how deep his eyes were—you lost all sense of gravity. You nearly tripped over a rock before Zoro caught your arm and steadied you, chuckling at your expense.

“Careful,” he teased, worsening the red in your cheeks. You stuck out your tongue in defense.

It was difficult for Zoro to stop looking at you, even as Kaya hobbled out of her home on the arm of her butler. If possible, you were even more beautiful than the last time he saw you.

He tried not to be too miffed when you fled from his side to greet Kaya in a happy birthday embrace, especially when you offered Klahadore a curt nod and rushed back to hook your arm through his. Zoro glanced at you, then at the butler, and had the sense he’d seen the proper looking man before. He just couldn't place where from.

The turn of events was less than pleasing. Now, Zoro had to sit through a fancy dinner with too many people around, and probably not a chance to whisk you away from the prying eyes of his newfound crew.

The dirty lot of you were ordered to clean up and only then shoved into Kaya’s expansive dressing room to find suitable clothes for dinner. Zoro walked into the dressing room in a soft black robe, feeling one hundred percent clean for the first time in a while.

Instantly, his gaze gravitated to you examining the rows and rows of clothing, a number of dresses draped on your arm. Nami was moving quickly through the racks, every once in a while resting a dress she’d found on your shoulder and muttering something Zoro couldn’t catch. To both Zoro’s amusement and annoyance, you and Nami seemed to have hit it off instantly.

He didn’t want to bother you, not when you looked to be having fun, so he took the first black thing he found and sat down on a chair near the corner. Zoro almost wanted to take a nap the second he sat down; even Kaya’s chairs felt expensive.

You dodged yet another dress from Nami, giggling, and caught sight of Zoro, appearing pleasantly surprised.

“Zoro!” Your smile was blinding. You swiftly passed a hand over the many clothes in your arms and grabbed what must’ve been your two favorites, dropping the rest in a lazy pile beside you. “I kinda feel bad not telling Vee where I am. She probably thinks I’m drunk in a barrel again.”

You disappeared behind a folding room divider, laughing under your breath. The two dresses were thrown to drape over the divider, and soon your clothes joined them. Zoro tried not to picture it too much, especially when he caught Nami staring at him with a mischievous grin.

He ignored her and rubbed at his eyes, exhaustion never too far away. Zoro remembered the doctor he’d left you with. She had seemed nice enough at the time, so it was good to know she hadn’t murdered you in the night, or something like that. “Vee’ll be fine.”

Nami headed for the door, her chosen dress in hand and a toothy grin on her face as she nodded exaggeratedly toward the divider you stood behind. Now, Zoro might have rolled his eyes, and he might have flipped her off, but only because he’d drink acid before telling Nami he was grateful.

“Ay, Nami?” you called. “Can you help me with this?”

He was grateful till just then, as his gaze locked on the divider and his heart picked up a considerable pace. Your shadow danced on the wall behind the divider, and Zoro forgot how to speak. All he could do was think many thoughts he’d put off for a very long time.

Three years had given him a lot of time to think—he thought a lot about you, and his regrets, and how he wished it were easier for him to just tear out his heart and stitch it to his sleeve. You certainly made it look easy.

But it wasn't, and Zoro couldn’t change that anytime soon. He wasn’t too worried about it, though. You had this uncanny way of knowing exactly what he was trying to say, even when he said it all wrong.

“Nami?”

“Nami’s gone,” he said, voice near cracking. He grimaced and stood from his chair. “Can I help?”

There wasn’t so much as a hesitation before you answered, “Mhmm. Come ‘ere.”

His feet moved before he ever told them to. Zoro still wasn’t entirely sure if he enjoyed this chokehold you had on him... but then he was rounding the divider warily, finding you standing with your back to him, squirming around as you tried to reach the zipper of your dress, and he took it back. He’d follow you to the ends of the earth and then some, probably.

Lips twitching upward, he stepped up behind you, his hands ghosting your skin as if he wasn’t sure what to do. His eyes raked up your back, and he froze. A thin white scar ran across your skin.

You peered up into the mirror in front of you, simultaneously locking eyes with the green-haired man. He didn’t look like he was breathing, almost afraid to touch you, it seemed. “Zoro?”

He hummed distantly. You grew concerned at the cloudiness in his eyes, and then his fingers ghosted your skin, tracing a line you’d memorized and yet somehow forgotten. Oh.

You spun around and sighed as he took a considerate step back. You tried to speak, but nothing came to mind. How could you have forgotten your scar? How could you have just let him see it? You frantically fumbled to pull the zipper up yourself, stammering, “Zoro, I, uhm…”

His jaw set all of a sudden, and he met your gaze head on. “I’m… sorry. That I left.”

You did not want to have that conversation. Not right now. You could save it for later, after the nice dinner, after you relished in ignoring the elephant standing in the corner. Because as much as you shoved it all down, Zoro had left you there, and it’d taken him three years to come back, as promised.

But he came back, you reminded yourself. A little devil in your mind piped in, not for you though.

You cleared your throat and folded your arms over your chest. “I understand why.”

“But I regret it. Everyday.” Zoro raked a hand through his hair. “Everyday I wanted to come back.”

It looked like he’d been bottling all that up, and you wondered if the words had been on the tip of his tongue from the moment he laid eyes on you. “Why didn’t you?”

“I… I didn't know if…”

“If…”

Zoro looked anywhere but you, wetting his lips. If your life was better without me. “If you liked it here.”

You really, truly couldn’t help it; you laughed. You laughed and laughed till your sides ached and you teetered to the side before Zoro’s hands settled on your shoulders to steady you. “Don’t laugh! I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Slowly, the smile slipped from your face as you reached for his hand and cupped it in both of yours. “Zoro, everyday for three years I waited for you, because you made me a promise… But I need to know… Would you have come back if it wasn’t convenient? I mean, did you really plan on it anytime soon?”

He tried to pull away and you nearly thought of letting him, before you laced your fingers with his and refused to let him go. Cold worry flooded your gut. “I’m sorry, that’s not fair—”

“It’s fair,” he cut you off. Zoro looked down at your interlocked hands. “I told you I’d come back. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Still, he hadn’t answered the question, and you needed to know. “So, would you have?”

Zoro didn’t answer right away, practically giving you heart palpitations as he took his sweet time. “I want you to be there, when I defeat him.” His voice was barely above a whisper, his face drawn close to yours, eyes hung. “Hawkeye Mihawk is harder to find than I thought. Time kept slipping by and… I don’t know. I got…”

Scared, but he didn’t want to say that. Fortunately, you read between the lines, squeezing his hand. He sighed, eyes shut as his head drifted to rest against yours. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, raising your hand to ruffle the hair at the nape of his neck. “I probably would have waited till then, to be perfectly honest.” Your cheeks warmed, gaze lowering. You raised a brow at the robe tied around him, breaking you out of the moment. “This what you’re wearin’ to dinner?”

There was a tease in your voice that had Zoro rolling his eyes as he slipped his hand back into yours and tugged you out from behind the divider. He dropped your hand only to pick up the suit jacket and hold it out to you for you to inspect.

Brows still vaulted, you looked up through your lashes, smirking. “Hon’, you can’t just wear a jacket.”

He blinked, giving a bashful scoff. “I know that.”

He was too busy not being embarrassed to notice when you shook your head and skipped past him, planting a kiss on his cheek as you passed.

“Hmm.” You skimmed through some of the clothes, finding a dress shirt that stood out to you. “Here. Try this.”

You took a hanger and held it up for him to see. Zoro wrinkled his nose. “It’s pink.”

Rolling your eyes, you shoved the shirt into his hands and moved to find some pants. “I like pink. You like me. Therefore, you like pink.”

Zoro doubted that logic, but you were practically an angel in disguise with the way you glided back over to him and handed over a pair of black dress pants. Your smile was a dangerous thing, because the more he looked at it the more you made a whole lot of sense.

“Fine,” he murmured, disappearing behind the divider and emerging a few moments later, decked out in clothes nicer than he felt he deserved.

You turned, about to say something when you laid eyes on him and faltered. Your eyes reflected a longing affection that had Zoro flustered in an instant, clearing his throat and cracking his neck in the silence. The fond grin on your face threatened to have him crumbling at your feet.

“Something on my face?”

A beautiful laugh bubbled from your chest, a happy warmth in your cheeks as you smoothed down the fabric of his jacket, resting your palms on his chest. The topmost buttons of the pink dress shirt were yet to be fastened, and you moved to finish it up all while that lovely smile graced your lips.

You were halfway done with the last button when Zoro’s hand cradled the back of your head, angling you to look at him again. Breath hitched, the words begged to be set free. Always on the tip of his tongue. “I…”

And for once, you were patient, more patient than he ever deserved. Zoro felt panic well up in his lungs, deep in his heart, and he abandoned the attempt altogether, surging forward to catch your lips against his. You had no complaints, sighing as your fingertips tickled the skin of his neck.

“Guys!”

“No, Luffy, stop!”

The swift footfalls of Luffy followed his shout. You snapped away from Zoro, the both of you taking a swift step back.

Your foot caught the pile of dresses you’d left, a yelp fleeing your lips as you fell flat on your back into the clothes. Zoro took one look at you and coughed, literally choking on a sudden laugh.

Luffy rushed into the room, stopping at the door. Nami stumbled after him with a glare and hissed, “Luffy!”

He cast her an odd look. “What?” Not paying Nami any more mind, Luffy grinned and said, “Come on, I can smell dinner.”

You let out a huff as Zoro grinned down at you, holding out a hand to pull you up. Hobbling on your feet, you patted Zoro’s arm and swept past him, approaching Nami with a smile.

“Oh, you look lovely,” you awed, admiring her fixed hair and light make up.

Nami raised her shoulders to meet her ears, saying, “I try.”

Following her down the hall, Zoro was left with Luffy, who said suddenly, “Why was she on the floor?”

Somehow refraining from rolling his eyes, Zoro simply left it at that, trudging after you and Nami.

જ⁀➴

Things had gone south very, very quickly. You hadn’t been so exhilarated in years.

The dinner was exquisite, but that was where the good things ended. Your late night search for water was cut short by the sound of voices from the entry hall.

Rushing to the edge of the banister, you found Kaya’s housekeepers dragging Luffy outside and handed over to the marines, the butler standing there void of any expression. That, paired with the sudden disappearance of all your friends from their rooms, was starting to be a bit more than what you signed up for.

“Hey!” you shouted, voice bellowing down the foyer. You nearly face planted down the stairs with how frantically you ran down them. “Let ‘im go!”

Klahadore gave you one conniving glare and pushed his glasses back up his nose. The second your feet hit the floor, Sham, that mousy little maid, jumped you and had your hands twisted behind your back. No amount of struggling ever loosened her grip, and she’d kicked in the back of your knees before you could even think to swipe at her feet.

“Ah,” drawled the butler. You huffed, shaking, and met the man’s black eyes. “Another of these Strawhats, as you called them. Care to take another pirate off our hands?”

There stood two young looking boys, decked out in matching marine uniforms, but one had cropped pink hair and the other had a shock of horrendously cut blond hair. The blond stepped forth with a tight smile. “Gladly. Thank you for your assistance, sir. You’ve helped to make the seas safer.”

Two other marines came out to take you by your arms while you grunted out curses. You could only get one look over your shoulder as the mansion doors shut behind you, giving you a clear view of the dark smile curling up Klahadore’s face. You fought tirelessly. “Hey! Hey! I—I’m not a pirate! He’s lying! Let me—Luffy! What’s wrong with Luffy?!”

The boy with pink hair was in your face then, his expression much softer than the others. “Calm down. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You hardly believed that, but the kindness emanated in the boy’s tone was just enough to ease your struggling. Still heaving, you cast a look over at Luffy, who was being dragged along ahead of you. His head lolled at his shoulders and his feet dragged along behind him. “What’s wrong with Luffy?”

“He’s only drunk,” said the blond, though he amended himself upon hearing a not so comforting sound come from Luffy’s gut. “Probably…”

“He’s sick,” you cried.

“Drunk,” the blond marine insisted, putting an end to the matter by turning on his heel.

You looked back at Kaya’s mansion, which grew smaller by the second, and panic welled in your chest. Something was very, very wrong. Why had the butler done that? Who was Klahadore really? What were the marines there for? Where was Zoro?

Luffy’s sudden hurling almost gave you a heart attack, momentarily causing the marines at your sides to lose focus as tons of blue gunk flew out of Luffy’s mouth… and onto the blond marine. You couldn’t help it—you laughed, almost delirious, throwing your head back and all. The pink haired marine cracked a smile while the other four marines grimaced.

Released out of the marines’ grasp, Luffy hit his knees and heaved onto the dirt, expelling the rest of whatever poison he’d gotten a hold of. His distress sobered you instantly, and with your captors distracted you rushed forth to kneel beside him. When the marines lunged to catch you, the pink haired marine, presumably the one in charge despite his small stature, ordered them, “Stop. She won’t run.”

This guy honestly gave you too much benefit of doubt, but still, he was right; you didn’t run. Instead, you rubbed calming circles on Luffy’s back as the kind marine kneeled beside you, looking concerned himself.

At your glare, he murmured, “I’m Koby. I… I know him.”

You blinked. “Small world.”

“Yep.”

Luffy gave one last cough, and with another gasp he raised his head to stare dazedly from you to Koby. His eyes narrowed in confusion upon finding the boy there. “Koby? I… I gotta go back.”

There wasn’t any room for argument in his tone, his gaze shifting to settle on you. “That butler… He’s gonna kill Kaya, and then he’s going after our crew.”

“No.” Breathing shaky, your jaw set. You made to jump to your feet and bolt back to the mansion when you remembered you were technically still a prisoner, your glare returning at full force.

Koby looked to be at a terrible loss, saying, “I’m under direct orders to bring you in.”

“Kaya’s going to die,” you snapped at him, causing Koby to almost flinch. “You want her blood on your hands, marine?”

Much softer, much less angry, Luffy set a hand on Koby’s shoulder and said, “You said you wanted to help innocent people. Kaya’s innocent.”

For an everlasting moment, you thought maybe Koby was going to let you go. The consideration crossing his eyes was sign enough. And then it all went to complete shit.

The blond marine scoffed. “Know what?” He retrieved his pistol from its holster and loaded it in one motion, running your blood cold. “Screw this.”

Koby jumped to his feet. “Helmeppo, don’t!” he ordered, falling on deaf ears.

There was no shake in the marine’s hand as he stared down a solemn Luffy. “Father always said a dead pirate weighs the same as a live one.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, you rose to your feet and inched yourself a good distance away from Luffy. “Helmeppo?” you scoffed, a panicked tilt to your voice. “That’s one step away from being hippo, dude. Back up.”

Eyes aflame, Helmeppo blinked his attention away from Luffy to find you, just like you wanted.

Koby almost shouted, “Garp gave us strict orders.”

Helmeppo’s glare remained zeroed in on you. “Concerning this one,” he said, jutting his chin at Luffy, “but you.” He shifted to aim at you, a sadistic grin marking his face. “Garp doesn’t want you.”

Your heels dug into the dirt, a slight ring in your ears. It’d been some time since you stared down a gun. Luffy jumped up and took a threatening step toward the marine. “Leave her alone.”

“I will,” Helmeppo barked. “If you start walking, pirate, or she dies.”

You swallowed thickly. Where the hell was Zoro? “Have you ever even fired one of those before, cadet?”

You were certain Helmeppo would have at least bashed you over the head with the butt of his gun for that, had the pained grunts and clank of metal not cut jaggedly through the air. The bodies of the other marines sunk to the ground, unmoving, and a shadow stepped out of the dark.

In the flicker of the pathway torches stood the Demon Pirate Hunter, looking absolutely pissed.

He took one look at Helmeppo, saw where his gun was pointed, and sneered. “Hey, haircut.”

You’d never seen someone drop their gun so fast, the weapon hitting Helmeppo’s thigh. All your bravery fled your body as your steeled back shoulders dropped, allowing yourself to feel every bit of fear now that Zoro was there. It would’ve been sad to die like that, you thought.

But a sense of comfort followed that fear. You weren’t going to die—there was Zoro, and Zoro would never let you die by the hands of some arrogant marine. He wouldn’t let you die, period.

The devil-eyed man approached, looking only at you and the relieved smile tugging at your lips. He stopped, landed a knockout punch to Helmeppo’s face, and barely shook out his fist like it was nothing.

Helmeppo’s head hadn’t so much as hit the ground before you were racing at Zoro, jumping over the unconscious soldier. You hooked your arms around Zoro’s neck in a tight hug. “You’re alive.”

“Have a little faith,” he muttered back, pulling away to offer a teasing smile.

Luffy let out a victory cry and quickly dealt with Koby, ditching the panicked soldier on the road as the three of you ran back to Kaya’s mansion.

The massive house came into focus, basked in the darkness of night. Luffy left to find Kaya as you pulled out your dagger, ready for a fight, only for Zoro to tap your shoulder gently. His bandana was tied securely around his head, his brows drawn taut, and it took you far too long to realize he was holding out that white hilted sword you’d polished and shined too many times to count times.

You stared at it for far too long as well, bringing Zoro to roll his eyes. “You’re not fighting with a knife. Take it.” At your raised brows, he grabbed your hand and forced his sword into your palm, giving you a meaningful look.

“You’re not out of practice, are you?” he asked, a tease in his voice as he headed for the mansion doors.

Spinning the Wado Ichimonji around your hand, you shot him a grin. “Please. You think I went three years and never picked up a sword?” You tsked. “And let all your training go to waste?”

Huffing out a chuckle, Zoro shoved open the doors and warily went inside. You cast his sword a fond glance, shook out your shoulders, and followed suit. Despite your assurances, you were nervous. More nervous than when you were staring down Helmeppo’s pistol.

Practicing swordsmanship on scarecrows was much different than actually fighting a warm body. Warm bodies fight back.

Adjusting your grip on the hilt, you raised the blade and sweeped the area, locking eyes with Zoro a moment later. The foyer was empty. It was quiet. Zoro’s eyes widened upon something behind you, giving you just enough time to whip around and parry the strike of Sham.

The maid still wore her work attire, but now she held a silver shortsword in hand, black paint drawing the shape of a cat’s nose down her face. Buchi lunged out as well, catching his two swords against Zoro’s.

You shoved off of Sham and scurried back to escape her unrelenting strikes. Dodging around a small table you spun to swing at her neck before she could change directions. She jerked away with a literal hiss, eyes flashing.

Sham scooped a broom off the ground and jumped high into the air, moving the broom and the sword in a cross as she landed a blow against the flat of your blade. With a grunt of exertion you ducked and swept under her arm, Sham’s strength working against her as she went flying forward.

Buchi chased Zoro up the staircase, taking out some posts on the banister. Startling at the sound of cracking wood, Sham got a stab at you, catching your blade arm. Wincing through the pain you tightened your grip on the Wado Ichimonji, dodging this way and that to avoid being skewered by Sham’s advances.

“Hey!” Zoro snapped, dragging Sham’s attention to him. He leaped off the stairs and cut her broom in half, finding himself now under the attack of both Black Cats.

Chest heaving, you rolled out your shoulder and bit back a whine at the shudder of pain, swapping the sword to your other hand. Zoro lunged around Sham and sought high ground back on the stairs. Sham grinned up at him, showing off his second sword she’d swiped from its sheath.

An annoyed tick appeared on Zoro’s jaw.

You seemed to have been forgotten in favor of better competition, slinking into the shadows of the room. Sham stabbed Zoro’s sword into the cabinet beside her, leaving it unattended as she and Buchi cornered Zoro on the stairs.

He swiftly leaped over them and retrieved his sword, locking you in place with a glare. Don’t move, it said. Stop while you’re ahead.

Ears ringing, you traced the line of action as Zoro fought the two pirates down to the center of the room again. He knocked Sham aside only for Buchi to lunge again, allowing the other to get back up again. Zoro shoved Buchi against the ground, successfully knocking him out.

Letting out a hiss, Sham ran at him and nicked his cheek, knocking one sword from his hand as he evaded another hit. Something furious welled up and out of you.

“Hey!” Rushing forth, you caught her by surprise, pressing your sword against hers with all your weakening might. Her footing was off, her legs collapsing long enough for you to descend upon her and bash the brunt of the sword against her skull.

The newfound silence crackled in the air between you and your swordsman. Breathing deeply, you suddenly let out a curse, dropping Zoro’s sword as the gash on your arm finally strained from that last blow.

“Fuck.” You shook out your arm to stave off the pain. “Shit-shit-shit, that hurt. Gah!” Then noticing the Wado Ichimonji on the floor, “Oh, I dropped it, I’m sorry—”

You kneeled down and picked it up in your good arm, still rolling out your shoulder even as you held it out for him, eyes shining with an innocent adoration as if you hadn’t just jumped a woman for him.

Zoro only stood there in complete and utter awe, three years worth of dreams and nightmares flooding his head as you stood before him. Fighting alongside him. Just like you used to. Like he dreamed of. Like he wanted to for the rest of your lives. He heaved, struggling to get enough air.

“I love you.” A hefty weight was lifted off his strained shoulders.

His eyes bore into yours as he caught his breath, nearly nervous in how he watched you. You wouldn’t have been surprised if your heart exploded, giving way to every feeling coursing through your veins. A smile split across your face, you set the sword on the ground to rush at him, removing all space between you and him, flushing yourself to his chest.

Sham and Buchi’s swift swordsmanship was nothing compared to the speed at which you left kisses on his face, leaving no skin unloved. Zoro’s face scrunched up through a laugh, light and airy, his cheeks dusted pink.

Finished with your attacks you pressed your forehead to his, cradling his head in your hands and just breathing in the moment. The two pirates were groaning at your feet, but you hardly heard it, swaying in the silence.

“This was well worth the wait,” you said.

He hummed his agreement against your lips, ghosting a kiss, meaning to really kiss you till you physically forced him away, when a voice echoed from the top of the stairs.

“Oh,” Kaya awed, arm hooked through Usopp’s. “How sweet.”

Zoro tried to back away when you hooked a hand around his neck and yanked him down to your level, kissing him gently.

“I love you too,” you murmured, the pair of you ignoring Usopp’s encouraging holler. “So, so, so much.”

Behind you, Sham started to wriggle awake. The smile slid fast from your face as you whirled around and gripped her by the hair, ordering Zoro to get a rope so you could secure your two prisoners.

Zoro grinned lovingly as the rest of the crew descended the stairs. “Yes ma'am.”

જ⁀➴

“I hereby call this ship,” Luffy began to declare, turning away from a teary eyed Kaya to face the grand vessel on the sunny shipyard. “The Going Merry!”

“It’s yours now,” Kaya smiled. “Your new home.”

In reply Luffy let out a shrill cry of victory, dragging a chuckle out of you. Your arm was freshly bandaged, all three of Zoro’s swords now back in their rightful sheaths. You leaned on him slightly, chin rested on his shoulder as your eyes begged for some rest.

Luffy turned to smile at Usopp, who’d wandered some distance away. “Usopp! What’re you waiting for?”

Usopp stumbled over his words, trying his hardest not to seem excited at the prospect, and after a brief goodbye with Kaya followed by a sweet kiss, he agreed. Before you could even smile, a worried figure broke through the crowds of the shipyard.

“Oh, God,” Vee cried as soon as she spotted you. She jumped over a rail and down some stairs to envelope you in her arms. “I heard about what happened!”

Nami tilted her head. “How on earth did you hear?”

Vee waved off her question with a brief the grannies hear everything and took you by the shoulders. “I never liked that butler, I—”

She noticed Kaya standing to the side, her mouth snapping shut. “I’m… sorry for your losses, Miss Kaya.”

The sweet girl simply smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

Luffy clapped Usopp on his shoulder, smile bright as the sun, and turned his sights on his next recruit. Luffy zeroed in on you, calling out, “Y/N! You’re coming, right?”

Vee cast him an odd glance, shifting her gaze back to you. “What…”

She blinked and seemed to only just notice the swordsman at your shoulder, and she let out a gentle laugh. “Would you look at that? Speak of the devil.”

Zoro scoffed, half grinning. “Hey, Vee.”

Realization was slowly dawning on the woman as she took your hand in hers. “So… This means you’re off then?”

You were almost reluctant to nod. “Yes.”

A hundred different thoughts flashed across her eyes, lips pursing, before Vee nodded firmly. “Right. You’ll need supplies, won’t you? Some herbs and bottles, to continue your work. A textbook maybe.” Her hand found your cheek as she gave a watery smile. “You’re exceptional, you know. I’m proud of my apprentice.”

A burn welled up in your throat as you cupped her hand. “What about you? Who’ll help with the clinic?”

“You know, Vee,” Usopp cut in. “Kaya was just saying she’d like to be a doctor.”

Kaya gently smacked his arm, reprimanding him as Vee blinked surprisedly. “Really? Uhm, well, I’d be happy to teach you, get you ready for academy entries… If that’s something you’d like?”

“Yes,” Kaya blurted, flushing slightly through her barely suppressed smile.

“Great!” Luffy exclaimed, locking eyes with you. “You’re in, then?”

You took in a steadying breath, your hand searching sightlessly behind you, Zoro’s hand meeting yours moments later. “I’m in.”

Nami leaned into her hip, grinning. “Good. I don’t know how much more testosterone I could take.”

The lot of you set off in different directions, off to gather supplies as quickly as possible to get off the island before the marines caught back up. You lagged behind, Zoro falling into step beside you.

He offered you a little smile and moved his arm around your shoulder, liking the feel of you tucked into his side. It finally settled in that this was happening. Years of wishing finally came to fruition. You pressed a kiss to the back of Zoro’s hand.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” you confessed.

“I swore, didn’t I?” Zoro said.

Through a blinding smile, you stopped and kissed him. “You did.” Your fingertips grazed the back of his neck as you held him close, running a shiver down his spine. You pressed your forehead to his and mused, “We’re still not the greatest apothecary and swordsman in the world though.”

“Dracule Mihawk is hard to find—”

“I’m kidding. We’ve got all the time in the world to get there.”

Although you weren’t exactly sure how one becomes the greatest apothecary in the world, you were exactly sure that wherever your ambitions took you, Zoro would be there. If you had any influence on fate, you would sail together till the end of your days.

જ⁀➴

Four rickety boned women stood along the wall of the tavern, hawkeyed gazes scouring the streets of Syrup Village. Martha, June, Polly, and of course, Miss Irma.

Irma massaged at her ever-pained neck, searching out something of interest, when her ears caught the tail end of a laugh. Sweeping the street, her gaze stopped upon a shocking sight.

Well, she thought, that’s something you don’t see everyday.

Miss Kaya from the mansion estate was leaving the town clinic, arm in arm with that troublesome Usopp. Irma harrumphed, thinking Miss Kaya should know better than to keep such company, when she noticed Usopp was followed by some odd companions.

A ginger girl looking worse for wear, a boy with a straw hat so worn she wouldn’t be surprised if the wind blew it apart, and Vee, the village doctor. A fairly odd group indeed.

She hummed curiously, especially when the door to the clinic swung open once more to reveal Vee’s apprentice, a full to the brim satchel on her shoulder. Irma swatted at her three friends and pointed their attention to the sight just as someone else followed the girl out of the clinic.

Martha gaped, her cigarette falling to the ground. Irma, June, and Polly reacted the same, not entirely believing it.

Right behind the apprentice walked a handsome young man with a shock of green hair and three swords at his hip, a gentle smile on his face as he tugged on the girl’s arm to get her to face him again. Turning around, she was greeted with a kiss to her forehead and a gaze so warm Irma felt its heat from across the street.

“It’s—It’s that boy,” Polly exclaimed. “The one that left her.”

Irma started to grin a satisfied kind of grin, crossing her arms over her chest. “Pay up, ladies. I told you he’d come back for her.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @nadlx33333 @fluffybunnyu @ellisaworld @hawkins-2000 @bdudette @misfits1a @star-yawnznn

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inoreuct · 6 months

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what if, and hear me out: sanji one day grabs zoro's hand so they could run together away from some bad guy and zoro develops a dreadfully deep seated longing to hold sanji's hand (when he's not cooking ofc). it drives him insane. he cant sleep. sanji's hand is so Soft. Why??? Why does he want to feel it again??? he wants to yell into the sunset

they're sprinting through the streets, skidding into random alleyways and falling over each other as they try to outrun whoever's chasing them and sanji's laughing, head thrown back and eyes blue as the damn sky, his hair in absolute disarray. he's beautiful and his hand is warm and slim and strong around zoro's and it hits zoro like a fucking bullet to the heart.

the memory haunts him like a particularly persistent ghost. he closes his eyes and all he can think about is sanji's fingers laced with his, lightly calloused, nails filed down to a perfect glossy sheen and skin butter-smooth from the hand cream that the cook is so adamant about using. his laugh rings in zoro's ears like the echo of a bell, merry, taunting— the swordsman is half-sure he’s losing his mind. he is one more restless night away from climbing to the top of the main mast and hollering until he scares seagulls up into the air.

as it turns out, he does not go seagull scaring. he carries on and keeps an iron grip on his self-control and acts like nothing’s wrong, because nothing’s wrong! it’s all fine! it’s all fine, who, him? peachy fuckin’ keen.

…yeah, right.

sanji’s fingertips brush his and he nearly drops the plate he’s just taken. the cook hip-checks him out of the way and he damn near chokes on a breath. they spar and he almost dies, not just because of everything, but also because sanji gets his thighs around zoro’s neck in a chokehold and zoro just gives up. throws in the proverbial towel. he doesn’t even try to get out of it.

strong, slender fingers drag him by the ear back to the men’s cabin to pick up your fucking clothes, marimo, what is this? a pigsty? because it looks like one and it smells like one, do you really expect me to— and sanji cuts himself off, because zoro’s. picking up his clothes. he looks so bewildered at the lack of protest that zoro almost laughs, and he hides it by bending down to snag a pair of pants peeking out from under his bunk. (he decidedly does not laugh, because it has suddenly hit him that he’d probably do just about anything sanji asked him to. he might complain, sure, but he’d do it—

and that is a terrifying thought to entertain.)

the days carry on, and it doesn’t get any better; hell, zoro would say it gets so much worse. his heart seems to recognise every touch of sanji’s skin as cause to go absolutely fucking bonkers; chopper literally asks him if he has a family history of arrhythmia. it’s that bad. he tries to go to sleep and imagines sanji, one bunk up, in his bunk instead, his fingers tangled in flaxen hair, his free hand laced with sanji’s. he eats dinner and gets hit with a pang of desire to help with the dishes so strong that he almost stabs himself in the face with his fork. there is something wrong with him, he thinks profoundly, a familiar sense of gloomy dread spreading in his sternum as he rests his chin in his hand, like an oil spill marbled through with potent fondness.

they’re forced to get their shit together in the end but only because luffy manages to get them locked in the galley while franky is “too occupied” to get them out. (he isn’t. he’s sunbathing on the damn deck and absolutely in on the plan.)

zoro’s barely breathing as he goes up to sanji, eyes wild, and as soon as the cook looks at him he smacks a big fat kiss on his mouth and yells OKAY BYE. he’s seriously considering jumping out the porthole window but someone snags his collar and yanks him back, pinning him in against the countertop.

“and where do you think you’re going?” sanji purrs, but it’s breathless. his eyes are sea-sky-sapphire blue, like the heart of a flame, and zoro is the stupid little moth that was too damn dumb to fly away when he could and now he’s in the thick of it and he’s burning up, smoke drifting like it does from the tip of sanji’s cigarette.

the edge of the counter digs into his back. “nowhere,” he breathes, and it’s a lie and too much of the truth all at once. anywhere away from here. nowhere away from you. nowhere i can’t find you. nowhere you can’t follow.

sanji sucks in a trembling breath, electric eyes searching for something in zoro’s face, and he must find it because the next moment zoro’s being kissed within an inch of his life and the only thought in his head is yes, yes, yes. finally. yes.

they walk out red-faced, hair mussed, clothes twisted, avoiding all eye contact and immediately darting off to opposite ends of the ship with mumbled excuses.

zoro’s mouth is kiss-bruised and his head is spinning. his hip aches where he’d banged into the edge of the table. his heart aches where he’s finally let go of the wound he’d been holding shut for ages because now it’s bleeding afresh and sanji hasn’t stitched it up yet.

(but that night, as he lays awake heavy-limbed and staring at the bottom of a bunk, long legs swing over the side. sanji drops down, angling himself to land on zoro with a soft oof.

they talk. it is easier, somehow, when they cannot see each other— but zoro knows those blue, blue eyes are on him. he feels them slip shut, lashes dragging against the pad of his thumb as he tilts sanji’s face for another kiss; softer, this time. gentle. a banked flame flickering in the hearth, warmth and not destruction.

they fit together like their hands do, puzzle-piece natural, and it feels like coming home. zoro hasn’t known home in a very, very long time.

he buries his face in silky, sweet-smelling hair and falls asleep with sanji’s pulse thrumming beneath his palm.

come morning, he wakes to find the sheets twisted around them, a dull ache blooming across his shin— sanji’s a kicker. being privy to this information delights him an unreasonable amount.

the cook stretches with a loud yawn, arms falling to rest around zoro’s neck as he rubs his socked feet together. “come make breakfast with me,” he mumbles, the words muffled against zoro’s shoulder—

and zoro finally lets himself laugh, lets it bubble out of him like champagne, a rumble in his chest. “sure, curly. five more minutes.”

he feels impossibly light. five minutes turn into ten, and ten into twenty. they both fall back asleep. their captain will have to settle breakfast himself for the day; their cook’s hands are, unfortunately, otherwise occupied.)

#it’s… 3am again…#zosan #one piece zosan #op zosan #roronoa zoro #zoro #black leg sanji #sanji #zoro x sanji #one piece #ino’s ask box #ino writes

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tsukimefuku · 8 days

Text

CHAPTER ONE: PUTATIVE SELF DEFENSE ❀ HIGURUMA SENSEI SERIES

masterlist link | mdni!

❀ putative self-defense.

when a person believes they are in imminent danger and acts in what they believe would be self-defense, when, in reality, the threat does not exist or is not as severe as perceived.

wc: 5.9K ❀ pairing for the series: professor!higuruma x student!reader

❀ summary.

after your roommate fails to replenish the coffee in your dorm room, you drag your insomniac ass towards the cafeteria before heading to your first criminal law class. unfortunately, things don't go as expected — it's so, so much worse than you could have anticipated. at least, your personal torturer is very good-looking, and has the most beautiful hooked nose you have ever seen.

❀ Tags and c/w.

non-curse au. college au. silly slow-burn rom-com between professor and college student (this is purely a work of fiction, okay guys?) reader is kind of a mess (like, literally). this is cliché with some twists. nobara is the best and worst roomie ever. nobamaki is a thing here. nobody likes cafeteria coffee. higuruma has a best friend, i'm so happy about that. second hand embarrassment. misunderstandings are talked through and resolved. higuruma is a little unhinged, and we love him for that.

thank you so much @redlikerozez for betaing this 🥺

Your morning was a clusterfuck.

Diving your face in ice cold water did absolutely nothing to wake you from your anxiety ridden all-nighter. The world felt like a half dazed hallucination by this point.

Your energy was running so low this morning that you wound up putting your jeans on top of your pajamas pants, throwing a coat over the rest of the mess, and twirling your hair into something that could barely be considered a bun, topping it all off with the ugliest scarf you had — a red polka-dot scarf.

It seemed to be a taunting from the Gods — this was, for some supernatural reason, the only scarf you ever found when you were running late, and you hated the thing, but feared that if you threw it away, some higher power would punish you, and you'd never find another scarf to wear.

You were also scared that if you tried taking a shower, you might end up sleeping under it.

"What are you doing?" your roommate asked, as you pulled your face from the bowl filled with water and ice cubes. "Jesus, you look like hell."

"Trying to crawl my way back to the world of the living. It's not working."

Nobara walked behind you and opened the mini-fridge, grabbing a single slice of cheese and rolling it up to eat it.

"Oh, a breakfast fit for the champions" you mocked, while patting your face with a tea towel.

She scoffed. "Get off my ass, I didn't have the time for groceries."

"Oh, you totally had the time, you just spent it all with your girlfriend in her room!"

Nobara grabbed a crumpled tissue that she found over the counter and threw it in your direction.

You dodged it because you weren’t sure what the fuck that tissue had been used for cleaning.

"Leave me the hell alone! I deserved it before classes started," she complained, pouting.

You laughed as you walked towards the coffee machine, to see if some liquid energy would be enough to pump you through the day.

"Aren't you supposed to be out there already? Weren't you going to head into criminal law today or whatever?" she asked.

And you were, actually.

"So, how is he?" you inquired, tapping around the coffee machine and behind it, looking for the coffee powder.

"Professor Higuruma, you mean?" Nobara got up and walked towards her bed, throwing herself over it like a rag doll. "I still haven't had class with him, but according to Maki, he's kinda weird."

"Your girlfriend's definition of weird for the male faculty members is too broad, Nobara. She said the same thing about at least four or five professors."

She shrugged. "According to gossip, professor Higuruma had to take some time off academia after his PhD because of a mental breakdown."

"Well, he is the guy that got two masters degrees simultaneously and one PhD right after. I guess that does things to a person" you mocked, opening the cabinet drawer. Where is the coffee?

"Oh, that's why he's the head of two chairs?!"

"Yup, Criminal Law and Criminal Procedure Law."

"Well, from what Maki has told me, he likes to quiz his students on the spot randomly," Nobara stated as she pulled her phone from her night stand and began texting.

After looking all around and not finding the coffee powder, you were very much annoyed.

"Nobara, where is the coffee?"

"We don't have any," she answered nonchalantly, still with her eyes glued to her phone.

You whipped your head towards her so fast, you nearly hurt your neck.

"Nobara, I need coffee. This is not a drill! It's my first criminal law class!"

"Oh, future criminal defense attorney, you definitely need some coffee, no one in their good mind would be wearing whatever the hell that is," she noted, pointing at you. "Especially that ugly red thing around your neck. Why do you still have that?"

"Ugh, now I'll have to go into the cafeteria before class to drink their awful coffee, and it's entirely your fault. Wardrobe editing rights are officially revoked!"

You stepped towards the door grabbing your bag as you heard her ask, "Hhey, is that your pajamas top?"

"No!" you replied, pulling your coat over your hello kitty pajamas top, before going out.

***

I can't fucking believe this.

You got in line to buy an overpriced $2 coffee — overpriced because it basically tasted like dirty water flavored with the souls of the damned — as you looked at your watch nearly every twenty seconds or so.

This coffee was so bad you usually tried to cover it up with milk, syrup and whatever else they had at their clients' disposal, but the aftertaste was always — always — completely cursed.

While in line, you noticed the guy who stood in front of you, and got distracted from your hurry by his back, as silly as that might sound.

He was tall — not the tallest, but at least a head above you — and his black hair was neatly cut by the tail end where his neck met his black suit collar. His posture was a little crooked to the side, one shoulder hanging a little lower than the other, and it felt kind of… charming?

Realizing you were nearly burning a hole in the man's back with your eyes, you averted your gaze elsewhere.

This is pathetic. I'm pathetic.

You figured that you had to be really sleep-deprived — and, honestly, kinda lonely — to be simping over some random guy's back.

Not only that, but while waiting in line at the campus cafeteria, the less sexy place to ever exist.

Class. I need coffee. I need to get to class. I'm pathetic. I’m also almost late.

And almost late you were. Somehow, you managed to wait just until you'd be a little too fumbled on the clock in order to get your ass out of your dorm room's bed to do something about it, and never even bothered to check if there would be any coffee to be made.

Just one of the many minor self-sabotaging shit you pulled against yourself from time to time.

After grabbing the damned drink and tainting it with further things to mask its terrible taste, your sleepless and nearly-late ass, when running across the cafeteria, body slammed by accident the same guy that was in line right in front of you. He was then covered in your coffee — an unholy concoction of said beverage, cold water, milk, and pancake syrup for sweetening.

Not only that, but to top it all off, you chuckled right after you began apologizing, actually laughing at the poor man.

It wasn't because the situation was even remotely funny, or that you were cackling at his humiliation. You just had the laughter response to stressful or embarrassing situations.

At church, during the national anthem, at an accident, or in the middle of a very hard test — whenever you were really stressed, you found yourself having to hold your urge to cackle.

Unfortunately, even after twenty-seven years, this was something you hadn’t quite mastered yet.

As you tried to grab some napkins from the counter behind him, you slipped, ceasing the laughter immediately.

Instant karma. Seems fair.

Before you hit the ground, though, he held you by your waist and with a hand on your arm. You felt the taut muscles under the suit enveloping you and pulling you back on your feet in one dexterous, swift motion. His shoulders were not slouched anymore.

"Shit, shit, I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, trying to shuffle yourself away from him. His grip was tight, clearly from someone that had just been startled, and his body felt warm — especially considering you had just covered the poor guy in hot liquid.

As you parted yourself from him, you finally took a good look at the man.

The best words to describe him right now were disheveled mess. His tie was crumpled, his white button shirt had a massive brown stain from the coffee spilled, his short black hair was messily pulled back leaving a few strands out to frame his forehead, and his ashy black eyes were clearly surprised as he tried to check if you were alright.

And that beautiful hooked nose.

He was definitely brooding and good-looking — the tired, overworked, insomniac, bags under his eyes and two steps away from sleeping on his feet kind of good-looking.

The front certainly matches the back.

Then, realizing your mind was doing whirls about his appearance, you shook your head for a moment, dispersing the thoughts away.

"It's fine, just let me-" he answered, taping his hands around his suit, seemingly looking for something.

You had nearly forgotten you were tight on time until you heard the bell ringing. He turned around startled when it rang, cussing something under his breath, which gave you the perfect opportunity to dash away.

"I'm very sorry! I'm really late for my next class, I need to run, but I'm so, so sorry!" you blurted as you took off running, feeling a tinge of guilt knowing full well you had left him alone to fend off for himself with that abominable coffee stain.

So, why clusterfuck?

When you arrived in class, having lost yourself on campus twice when running around like a dizzy duck in a fatigued haze trying to find the right classroom, you saw who was sitting at the professor's desk in front of the entire classroom.

That huge coffee spill was pretty visible, even if he had now closed his suit jacket on top of it.

Shit.

The man was fumbling around with some papers over his desk with one hand while he adjusted his glasses — that he wasn't wearing earlier — with the other.

You sat in the back of the classroom, which had an amphitheater architecture to it. If you were lucky enough, though, maybe he wouldn't notice you.

However, upon further inspection, you noticed that the back of the class was especially empty, and realized at that moment you were standing out like a sore thumb.

This couldn't get any worse, could it?

You wished for a hole to appear right under your feet and drag you down.

"So, good morning to you all. I apologize for my late arrival. As you can all tell, I had to face some unforeseen circumstances," he began, pulling on the edge of his jacket suit to reveal the brown-colored Rorschach of shame plastered over his white shirt.

Some students laughed, and you recoiled in your seat, praying this was all just a first-day-in-class-embarrassment type of dream.

It wasn't.

"Welcome to Criminal Law I. My name is Higuruma Hiromi, and I'll be your professor. I hope you all can learn a thing or two from me," he said, before stepping in front of his desk and sitting over it.

"So, I'd like to begin this class with the following question: what is fairness?"

Some hands jumped up, and you slid yourself under your seat even further, surely to hit the ground if you sunk any deeper.

Higuruma's eyes began darting around the classroom.

Something you'd learn in a second about him was that he liked to poke at the students who didn't seem keen in participating, just to create some stormy engagement and get truly unexpected answers.

The ones who lifted their hands, the classic know-it-alls, were the students he considered to be remarkably boring and utterly predictable.

"You," he stated, and it took you a few seconds — and multiple blinks — to realize his finger was pointing in your direction. "Girl with the red scarf, tell me what you think fairness is."

You were at a complete loss for words.

"I… I… Fairness…"

Then silence.

You couldn't muster up anything to say to save your life.

You really should have slept better.

He sighed, and tilted his head to the side.

"Guess I'll have to demonstrate it."

Nobody understood what the professor meant, and much to everyone's surprise, he began walking up towards you, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he did so.

Then, looking straight at you, he stood beside the exit door, and gestured towards it.

"Girl with the red scarf, please, leave this classroom."

Before you could actually be offended that he didn't even ask your name, you felt your stomach drop, and your face glow a warm, deeply uncomfortable red.

Out of everything you thought could happen, getting kicked out of the classroom within the first five minutes into a lecture wasn’t even listed as one of the top 10 alternatives.

What the fuck? Isn't that a little excessive?

Speechless, you grabbed your backpack from the ground, and lifted yourself up, standing there for a few seconds, completely dumbfounded. The classroom was silent enough that a needle falling on the ground could be heard.

And then, suddenly, the urge came upon you, raining down like a hailstorm.

Laughter bubbled up your throat, and you coughed a little, pursing your lips shut, scrunching your face all around, trying to avoid any sound from leaking out.

He looked at you a little puzzled, and seemed to be wondering if you were about to have a stroke.

You began walking towards the door, but as you were about to cross it, he extended his arm in front of you, blocking your passageway.

"Stay there for a second."

"What?" you asked, coughing a little to shy the laughter away, and his face was once again briefly puzzled when he heard your voice.

A few seconds later, he softly shook off whatever thought that was, and resumed speaking.

"Is this fair? Asking a student to leave a classroom because they failed to answer an open-ended question?" he inquired the other students, waiting for someone to answer.

"N-no, it's not," some guy answered from the front.

Higuruma gestured for you to seat back where you were, and you clumsily stepped your way back, face flustered in utter and absolute embarrassment. This was definitely how bad it all could get. Is he dunking on me for spilling coffee on him and running? That's petty.

The man was certifiably insane. He was lucky to be so good-looking.

"And why it is not?" he proceeded with the questioning, slowly walking back towards the front of the class again.

"It would be excessive to do so," another student answered.

"Correct. Precisely that, it would be excessive," Higuruma chimed, sitting back over his desk, legs mildly spread as he opened his suit jacket and mindlessly smoothed out his tie with one of his hands. "Criminal Law isn't just about subsuming a person's actions to something the law has described as a crime, and then mechanically submitting said person to some randomly prescribed penalty. Fairness is the most vital and important theoretical foundation when studying criminal law. Not answering a question could be considered some type of in-class offense, sure, and expulsion from the classroom is one possible way to punish the deviant student, but it would be disproportionate and unreasonable to do so."

His gravely voice filled that classroom with no effort whatsoever, and it was an actually pretty good exposition.

It was one thing to describe what a sunset looks like, and another, very different, was to actually show one happening in real time. Words paled in comparison to the crimson, purplish sky engulfing the end of a day.

Most of your teachers, up until this point, had simply begun writing something on the white board at the start of each class, and made less than memorable remarks while spitting out the theory written in the recommended books list in the syllabus. So distant, so abstract, so… Detached from real life.

This was thought-provoking. This was enthralling. Well, this was the reason you enrolled in law school in the first place.

For a moment, you forgot this professor had just exercised his petty revenge on you, propping yourself up with trepidation. Your tiredness was completely forgotten as his monologue ensued.

He was the real deal.

"Fairness. It will be your guide to assess if a given penalty after a verdict is adequate or not, if someone who acted in self-defense should be found innocent or exceeded their rights in doing so… If the law itself is good enough as it is or should be subject to change, because a penalty might be too high for a seemingly innocuous offense that shouldn't even be a crime in the first place."

Higuruma paused for a moment to let his students simmer on his words.

"Fairness is the be-all and end-all of Criminal Law. I need everyone to understand this before we proceed, because fairness will be our primary lens in this classroom when studying the subject. So, can I trust that all of you understood what fairness looks like, rather than what it can be conceptualized as?"

He darted his eyes in your direction, and you saw yourself unconsciously nodding in acquiescence.

You were sure you caught a whiff of a smile on his face right before he resumed his introductory class of principles in criminal law.

***

“We are the only nerds that do this in the teacher’s lounge,” Higuruma stated, as he made his next move on the checkers board.

“You’re probably right,” Higuruma’s best friend replied in his pristine striped gray suit vest, as he thought for a second before making his own move and taking three consecutive pieces of Higuruma’s checkers as he did.

Higuruma groaned in response. Why does he always win on checkers? Goddammit.

“How are you so good at this, Kento? Let’s play chess, just so then I get to win” he complained, leaning back against his chair. “ I can see you winning this one in three moves.”

Nanami huffed. “Checkers was your idea. Besides, we both have our classes soon, there wouldn’t be enough time for a proper chess game.”

Higuruma removed his glasses and slid them inside one of his suit jacket’s inner pockets, brushing the tips of his fingers against his closed eyelids. He couldn’t catch a wink of rest the previous night, anxious to be back in a classroom after such a long time.

It all became very blurry, so he put his glasses back on.

Higuruma didn’t know if he was eager, nervous, happy or dreading this day.

Perhaps a mix of everything and then some.

“I needed something to wake me up. I’ve barely slept, and I’m in dire need of some coffee.”

“You could try drinking the coffee from the teacher’s lounge,” Nanami pointed out, gesturing his head in the direction of a creepy looking and unkempt thermal bottle. “I wouldn’t advise you on it, though. Only professor Ieiri has been brave enough to drink it so far.”

“I guess I’ll take my chances with the foul cafeteria coffee, I might survive that.”

Nanami smiled as he looked at his friend.

“You’re too overly dramatic.”

At that, Higuruma scoffed.

“And you’re too underly dramatic. That’s why I teach the passionate, great chair of Criminal Law, and you’re responsible for the boring, sleep-inducing chair of Commercial Law.”

“It pays the bills pretty well at my firm,” the other professor retorted.

Higuruma lifted an eyebrow, as if offended that Nanami thought that argument would dissuade him from his stance.

They were both silent for a moment before Nanami spoke again, noticing the deep eye bags on Higuruma's face.

“Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“No more than the usual,” Higuruma replied, shuffling on his chair, still focused on the checkers board.

Nanami lifted an inquisitive eyebrow, silent for a while, and Higuruma sighed.

“I mean it. I’m fine.”

Still a little unsure, Nanami nodded.

“Okay. Just reach out and come to my office if you need anything,” he offered, slight concern masked under the monotone of his voice.

“Aw, he likes me,” Higuruma playfully chanted. “So thoughtful of you, my dear.”

“Tsk, shut up,” Nanami scoffed as he got up, taking his neatly folded blazer on his bent arm, “and it’d take me two moves instead of three to have this victory over you.”

“Seriously?!” Higuruma exclaimed, glancing at the board. Upon further inspection, he realized his friend was right. “Shit.”

“Hiromi, go drink your coffee at once. You’re barely functional right now, there is absolutely no way you could teach a class in the state you’re in.”

“Kento, I could teach criminal law in my sleep,” Higuruma mused before lifting himself up. Nanami sighed as Higuruma exited the room.

***

This might be the worst coffee I’ve ever drank, Higuruma thought to himself as he put his cup over the counter and removed his glasses to pinch on his nose. It was all but a failed attempt to air out the foul taste of that watered down, sad excuse for a coffee.

He tried drinking it with nothing — no sugar, no milk, no sweetener, but this atrocity begged for anything to mask the old powder aftertaste.

After folding his glasses and throwing them in one of his suit’s inner pockets, Higuruma let out a heartfelt sigh, just hoping for things to go smoothly that day.

He'd have his hopes torn to shreds in seconds.

Some loud, hasty steps coming in his direction caught his attention, but as soon as he turned to face whoever that was, Higuruma was met with a hot splash all over his shirt and tie.

You have to be kidding me.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!”

He heard a female voice coming from the blurred face right in front of him. Her voice was what he’d call an unusually sweet — if worried — voice. It had a genuinely kind melodic quality to it.

Even if hasty, her words sounded like a heartfelt apology.

Then, she… chuckled?

Hm… What?

She seemed to lean over dramatically and grab something from behind his back.

However, on the way back with her arm, her body brushed against his in a worrying fashion, and Higuruma quickly realized she was about to fall. Even though he was over 24 hours sleepless, adrenaline and his reflexes kicked in, as he held her before she could hit the ground, pulling her against him to stand on her feet.

He was still somewhat disoriented from lack of sleep, and failed to realize his hand was still holding her arm intently before the woman squiggled away from his grip.

There was a red blurry thing under her also blurred face.

Only then did he realize he should probably see her face and talk to her properly about the debacle.

The professor said it was fine and began tapping around his suit, not remembering in which pocket exactly he threw his glasses in. However, before he found it, the bell that indicated the time for the first class rang, and Higuruma realized he had completely lost track of time.

"Fuck," first class and already running late.

The woman seemed to apologize and ran away, leaving him dumbfounded.

The professor finally managed to find his glasses, fishing them out of his pocket and putting them on, glad that his next class was at the building just around the corner.

He walked hastily towards it, and got there in less than a couple of minutes, seizing the opportunity to check on his state on the mirror as he entered the elevator.

The coffee stain was humongous and very evident on his white shirt, but he was glad that at least his black tie seemed to fend off fine from the beverage. As Higuruma passed his fingers over the fabric of both pieces, however, it was somewhat sticky.

He let out a disheartened sigh, stepping out on the corridor and into the classroom, placing his briefcase on the side of his desk.

Now, what will I teach these people today?

Hiromi began ruffling around his papers trying to find the course syllabus, and realized he hadn't brought it with him. These papers were nothing but useless administrative shenanigans, so he decided to wing it in any way he could to illustrate criminal law for the students.

The thing is, how can you effectively grab someone's attention when it's 7 o'clock in the morning, and most people are completely hungover?

With adrenaline, of course.

***

The rest of the class went on without a hiccup, and you had made much more notes than you anticipated you would. His voice had a weird calming and focusing effect on you, as much as you hated admitting it — also, it wasn't so hard accompanying him walking around making his exposition when his face looked like that.

However, you decided you'd talk to him, first off because it would be incredibly uncomfortable to keep going to both of his classes for six months without ever addressing the coffee faux pas, and second because you had just been victimized by the pettiest revenge known to mankind by a college professor.

You kind of deserved it, but still. It was pretty immature, even if he was Dr. Genius who just taught the best class you had ever seen in your life.

"So, students, we'll have a quick test this week," Higuruma stated, "the Dean has requested that all professors use these to assess your knowledge every month, and I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible."

Many sighs and displeased grunts could be heard around the classroom. He leaned over his desk as he sat, putting his papers away in his briefcase.

"I know, I don't like it either, but at least you'll only need to study a week's worth of content, not a month."

Some hm, fine, ugh, were uttered by the students as they left the classroom. You walked hesitantly behind them all, waiting for everyone to leave before you could speak to him alone.

You were already going to be remembered as the girl mock expelled from the classroom. No one needed to know you also had assaulted their professor with a desecrated cup of coffee before that.

As you stepped in front of his desk, he lifted his gaze to meet yours.

"Yes?"

Something you hadn't anticipated was that looking at him — and his hooked nose — up close like this would jumble your thoughts around.

Oh, shit. He's handsome.

Dumbified, you spat out the first thing you could think of.

"So, professor, I'm the student you fake expelled earlier," you stated, realizing he obviously already knew that.

Brilliant. Off to a great start.

Higuruma nodded, feeling something prickling at the back of his brain as he heard your voice for a second time.

"What did you think? Was it a good way to convey this class motif?" he asked, finally closing his briefcase and putting it on the ground, completely ignoring the fact that it was probably an uncomfortable experience for all of the people involved, especially you.

You were a little incredulous at how oblivious he seemed to be, and it annoyed you. Was this out of good heart, or was he playing dumb?

"It was a good exposition, professor, but I wanted to talk about something else," you answered.

“5000 yen.”

“... What?”

“That’s my law firm’s hourly fee.”

You stood silent. He chuckled a little, shrugging back.

“I’m joking. I don’t even have a practice. Tell me what you need.”

Is this guy for real?

You cleared your throat before continuing.

“It felt horrible to be on the spot like that out of nowhere, without any knowledge as to what was going on.”

After blurting it out, you braced yourself, knowing full well by now that professors were usually pretty big ego'd kind of people. Nonetheless, this had to be said, at least for the sake of the next student he decided to torture with one of his experiments.

He looked at you with wide eyes, and seemed to ponder for a moment.

“Oh, I see. My apologies,” Higuruma offered in earnest, while his face softened.

You were very surprised.

“Oh, okay," you mumbled as you scratched the back of your neck, "I accept your apology. But maybe you should really give the student a heads-up next time you intend to do that.”

“That would presume I consider that students are people, and not minions to torture.”

Uh?

“Also a joke.”

“You’re not very good with those.”

Did I say that out loud?

He simply stared surprised at you, seemingly a little shocked.

I did say it out loud.

"Fuck."

And that too.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Higuruma suddenly chuckled, much to your surprise. Your eyes widened, and you stared at him, extremely confused as to what was up with this guy.

“You're a sincere person," he noted, and you shrugged hesitantly.

Higuruma was definitely amused at this exchange.

He then proceeded.

"Being sincere is good, but my best friend always warns me to try keeping it to myself most of the time. I don’t listen, of course, but maybe you should for now. People get offended easily.”

His exposition made you feel a little less out of place — and less alone, for what it was worth. You instantly remembered your parents used to chide you for blurting out things like that out of nowhere, instead of keeping them in your head like other people do, according to them.

You didn't realize you were smiling as you mindlessly opened your coat.

He took notice of your shirt, and began slowly realizing there was something off about it.

"Is that usual?" you asked, out of the blue.

He shook his head, being pulled out of his head. "What?"

"The mock expulsion?"

"Heavens, no."

"Then, why?" you inquired.

He rubbed his face with his hands.

"Because I needed something to wake mine and everybody else's brain up. Classes shouldn't be this early, and I didn't get a wink of sleep last night."

Higuruma was still out of sorts, spilling the tea of his insomniac state to one of his random students whom he had just met.

"Oh, me neither!" you told him, also absentmindedly, on a stream of consciousness rant towards a professor you were talking to for the first time. "Classes should start after noon, at the very least…"

"I know, right? Some things shouldn't be a crime, but making people wake up this early for class definitely ought to be."

You laughed softly, and you both kept silent for a moment, before you remembered what you thought was the reason for the mock punishment.

"Oh, professor… I'm sorry about the coffee."

He was confused for a few moments before broadening his eyes as he finally realized it.

No wonder Higuruma felt like he recognized your voice from somewhere, and now he took a good look at the red smudge he had seen earlier under what he figured was your face.

It was the ugliest scarf he had ever seen.

"I came here wanting to ask if you had done the fake expulsion thing as some sort of…" you sighed, a little ashamed. "Well, I'd like to apologize for staining your clothes, and offer to get you new ones, or at least pay for your laundry fee if needed."

He lifted one eyebrow at you before he resumed speaking.

"I didn't catch your face then. I mean, I didn't recognize you at all," Higuruma answered, "so no. But I'd never… Well, you barely know me, so you wouldn't know, but my opinion on the matter is that professors that exert selfish vendettas against students, for whatever reason, are absolute fools."

"You didn't recognize me? Say what now?"

He pointed at his glasses, and you finally understood completely how all of this petty revenge narrative was entirely in your head.

"I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay."

"But still…"

He sighed.

"It was a possibility, given how things in a college setting usually go, but that is why we investigate things further before prosecuting, right? A narrative might make a lot of sense, up until you confront it with the gathered evidence."

You joined your hands in front of you, embarrassed.

"Yes, I guess so," you answered, "but please, let me at least pay to get your clothes cleaned."

The professor shook his head.

"Absolutely not. You're an undergraduate student. I've been one, I'm quite aware of the financial hardships most of you endure as I've struggled with them myself not so long ago."

Even though you felt somewhat uncomfortable about not evening things out, he was right. This money would be fairly missed — you were already missing the $2 worth of coffee you didn't manage to drink.

"It was an accident, you didn't cover me with your beverage intentionally. Also, you had to leave because you were late for my class," he paused, "and I'm actually flattered you'd leave someone to fend off for themselves against that foul cafeteria coffee just to run to one of my classes."

You chuckled a little, and he proceeded.

"So, it's okay. You don't have to pay me for anything. This is fine."

You sighed, truly relieved, and he was glad you came to talk to him and properly apologize for the blunder.

"Thank you for your time and kindness, professor. I hope you have a good day."

He bowed his head slightly.

"Same to you."

However, something was still scratching at the back of his mind.

"Hm, hey… since we are on the topic of clothing and I just let you off the hook on paying for my dry cleaning…" Higuruma said, and you stopped midway towards the door, turning to face him.

"This might be an odd question, but I'm very curious."

"Hm… what is it?"

He pointed at your sleeping shirt, now evident under the open coat.

"Are those pajamas?"

You immediately pulled your coat over your hello kitty top, lifting one eyebrow in pathetic defiance.

"Of course… not?"

Higuruma thought to himself that you were turning into one of the most unique students he ever had.

"Do you intend to be an attorney?"

"... yes?" You answered, with some suspicion.

He huffed.

"Then improve your lying game for Court. You can do your crazy, but defend it as if it was the utmost truth in the universe, okay?"

Higuruma couldn't quite explain it, but this conversation with you was strangely amusing.

Maybe going back to the classroom wouldn't be so difficult after all, if even half of his students were a little out of sorts like this.

"... Okay," you replied, removing your hand and letting your pathetic sanrio pajamas shirt show once again.

"So, are those pajamas?" he inquired again, more incisively.

You straightened yourself and made a fake serious expression.

"Of course not."

"Much better," Higuruma answered with an actual smile.

The way his cheek creased around his mouth was weirdly charming, just as most things about him, it seemed.

Trying not to stare, you smiled back at Higuruma and turned around, leaving for your next class with heat prickling against your cheeks.

Tag list:

@arusearu @yammy-yammy-yama @markleeisdabestdrug @redlikerozez @delirious-donna

@alwaysfreakingout @murderofravens @senseifupa @higurumapet @cindyneko-strider

@ohhheymessa @actuallysaiyan @bigbaddulce

188 notes · View notes

turtletaubwrites · 1 month

Text

Misty Eyes ~ Part 3

THIS FIC CONTAINS DARK CONTENT. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. *This part contains two Doffy flashbacks with a graphic depiction of violence including blood, murder of an unnamed character, and the reader being sick, as well as implied sexual encounters. Doffy flashback sections are marked between these symbols ~🦩🦩🦩~ so you can skip past them if you'd like. The chapter begins with one of these graphic memories, but ends with some Hurt/Comfort & sweet fluff!

Pairings: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader, Doflamingo x Fem!Reader (Past & Flashbacks)

Word Count: 5768

Misty Eyes Masterlist

Ao3 Link

Summary: You try to acclimate to life aboard this yellow submarine, but your past keeps tearing you apart. All that Doffy made you do feels like a stain on your soul, and you're afraid you'll never be clean.

Author's Note: This one gets really fucked up, but I hope the sweet ending makes up for it! 🖤 I have added the dead dove do not eat tag, so please heed the warnings, and do not read if they might be triggering for you.

Thank you so much @pinejayyfor this delicious request!!

Rating/Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Devil Fruit User Reader, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Angst, Pet Names, Degradation, Punishment, Emotional Abuse, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Grooming, Trauma, Past Sexual Abuse, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Dubious Consent, Donquixote Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Bondage, Dissociation, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Kissing, Shame, Blood and Violence, Vomiting, Minor Character Death, (unnamed character), Sparring, Childhood Memories, Chaste Childhood Kiss, Teasing, Tickling, Yandere Donquixote Doflamingo, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags To Be Added

!!! SPOILERS !!! This story begins during the 2 year timeskip before the Punk Hazard Arc, and there will also be spoilers for the Dressrosa Arc for backstory lore

~🦩🦩🦩~

“Another simple mission too much for you, Y/N?”

Doffy ducked a bit as he sauntered into the room, his voice making your enemy freeze with her sea prism stone blade to your throat.

“Young mast–”

Your target smirked at you, pressing the tip of the blade into your flesh, just enough to cut your words.

“Are you good and scared,” she taunted, ignoring the powerful man at her back.

Is she fucking stupid? She has to know who he is.

Doffy grinned as he moved closer, until you saw yourself reflected in his sunglasses over your enemy’s head. Neither of the menacing figures before you moved or spoke for a moment, leaving your mind in chaos.

I failed him again. He’s not helping me. Why would he? I’m worthless.

The woman chuckled, showing no fear as the future king of the pirates towered over her. Until his large hand fisted her hair, lifting her until her toes barely touched the ground. A shocked cry left her lips, her satisfied smirk torn away as she struggled to free herself.

“You really can’t do anything on your own, can you?”

Humiliation poured over you, making you wish that the blade had cut you deeper. The prick of blood on your throat wasn’t nearly enough to drown your shame.

The woman laughed, even as she struggled in Doffy’s grasp. She choked on that laughter as the blade in her hand flew toward her own neck, tugged by invisible strings.

“Wait, you said–”

Those frantic eyes had tried to look toward the young master, but her words ended as a flood of red left her throat. Doffy laughed, watching your wide eyes while the woman thrashed. The blade clattered to the floor as a rain of bright, hot blood fell upon it. He took a step toward you, letting all that cherry red cascade down your chest as you stared into the woman’s dying eyes.

She reached for you, dragging her nails across your throat.

“You’re really gonna let this trash disrespect our family? Disrespect me,” Doffy questioned, as bile rose in your throat.

“N-No, I’m sorry young–”

“Finish it. Pick up the knife, and gut her.”

The woman was still struggling, still fighting, but you knew it wouldn’t be long.

I have to prove myself.

You couldn’t move.

“Do it, Y/N,” Doffy threatened, his voice low as he shoved her closer. That hot blood poured over your face as he lifted her higher.

You fell to your knees, somehow finding the blade through the red that had covered your eyes, spitting it out of your mouth as you used the wall to stand back up.

“There you go. Prove you can do something right, Y/N.”

Blinking through the blood, you held the blade to the woman’s stomach, throwing up before you could pierce her flesh.

Doffy dropped that lightly twitching body as you started to retch, stepping back to watch you cover your enemy in your own pathetic disgrace.

Choking on sobs as your stomach emptied over the nearly dead form, you tried to wipe and hide your face. There was no way to hide from Doffy, his manic grin looming near as he crouched beside you.

“Such a pathetic sight. To think that a member of my family could fail me like this,” he tutted, ripping your heart to shreds.

“I’m so sorry, young master, I–”

Your fingers slipped in the blood and sick on the floor as you tried to push yourself up, until your body moved on its own.

No. Not on its own.

Doffy moved it, his fingers extending as he controlled you. A disgusting marionette, dripping with the evidence of shame.

“So disappointing.”

The young master’s voice weighed you down, even as he held your body up. He directed your movements, forcing you to walk as though you were proud of the sticky failure on your skin.

I’m nothing. I don’t deserve to live. I don’t deserve his love.

~🦩🦩🦩~

“Y/N, hey, you’re okay–”

“I couldn’t do it, I’m too weak. I’m so sorry, young–”

Nausea tore through you, the fight to keep from being sick bringing you into the present. Into the mist. Law’s soothing voice was too full of concern, and you hated taking down your camouflage. Hated letting him see how weak you were.

“Y/N, can I check your–”

Law’s fingers were on you as soon as you nodded, slipping along the cold sweat that coated your skin as he checked your temperature and pulse.

“I’m fine,” you lied, your voice hoarse as if you had been sick.

His hands guided your trembling body as you sat up, your eyes caught on your own misty fingers.

Pathetic.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?”

A sharp laugh escaped you, flooding you with guilt. An apology died in your throat as you rubbed your hands over your arms, sliding through that layer of sweat.

“Can I take a shower?”

The “Surgeon of Death” waited outside the bathroom for you. You thought he was trying to help you feel safe by not letting anyone else in, until you remembered the concern, the pity on his face.

He’s making sure I don’t hurt myself.

You couldn’t meet his eyes as he tried to speak to you on the way to the galley, but a tiny smile broke through your heavy shame from Law’s poor attempt at small talk.

“Good morning, Y/N!” Penguin’s voice was too loud as he leaned close to grab breakfast at the counter. The stuffed penguin on his hat bobbed toward you while he spoke.

“Morning,” you greeted, with far less enthusiasm, only to be met with a small orchestra of cheerful voices calling to you, and their captain.

“Hope you didn’t mind the captain on your floor last night. He used to snore like a–”

“Penguin,” Law commanded, voice low as he gripped his crew mate’s wrist.

The man's friendly clap on your back had made your shoulders tense up, your jaw clenching as Doffy’s voice boomed through your mind.

‘Only I’m allowed to touch my little doll,’ Doffy rasped, pinching your thighs almost too hard as you sat in his lap. You tried not to stare at the blood spreading across the marble floor. ‘I don’t like to share.’

“Sure, sorry captain, sorry Y/N…” Penguin took a step back, dipping his head at Law’s frown.

“It’s okay,” you breathed, your lying smile forming so easily on your face before he led you to a table in the corner, away from his happy crew.

I’m like mist, sucking the joy and beauty out of a sunny place.

“Why don’t we skip the interview today,” Law suggested, tapping his pretty fingers on the table.

“But, don’t you nee–”

“I need you to be okay,” he interrupted, reaching those fingers to touch your wrist gently, barely, before pulling away. “Besides, I have something else in mind.”

Moving through the metal halls felt like a dream, like you’d get lost, and keep walking for years before you woke up. Until he spun the wheel to open a heavy door, leading you into the largest room you’d seen on this underwater ship.

“How nostalgic,” you teased, nodding your head toward the wall of weapons in what was clearly a training room.

“It’s been a while since you kicked my ass,” he said with a laugh, and you chewed your lip to fight your cheesy smile. He moved down the wall, pulling two daggers free before facing you. “Catch.”

“Wait,” you cried out, ready to move or mist away, but your body acted on its own. You caught the blade he’d thrown your way, gripping it as you smiled to yourself.

“I see you haven’t lost your reflexes,” he hummed, facing off with you.

“What if I had,” you scolded, your free hand on your hip.

“I knew it couldn’t hurt you. But your enemies might not,” he mused. “Why didn’t you strike? I gave you an opening.”

“What are you–” you laughed, shaking your head at him. “I’m not a fighter anymore. Besides, I don’t want to be mauled by a bear when your crew finds out I tried to attack you.”

His scowl was so sharp, you almost missed his movement. The second blade flew toward you, spinning clear with the ringing of metal as you blocked it with the first dagger.

“What the fuck, Law?”

He ignored you as he pulled a sword from the wall, striding your way with death in his eyes. Your body slid into a stance it hadn’t felt in years, and you gritted your teeth. Barely escaping Law’s attack, you used the dagger to deflect his blade as you rolled away.

“Why are–”

His sword came down over your head, and you misted out of reach, your breath heavy as anger and fear started to build.

“Law! Why–”

“Why do you keep saying you’re weak?”

You froze, unable to move as he plunged his sword through your chest, meeting nothing but mist.

“What happened to the girl that could kick my ass? Until I’d get her back, of course,” he grinned, offering his hand to help you up. Still frozen, you watched him sigh, dropping the sword as he sat down beside you.

“Why do you keep saying that you’re weak,” he repeated softly, his gaze stripping you to the bone.

“Because I am weak.”

The words held nothing but truth, a truth you’d long since accepted.

“Don’t be stupid,” he reprimanded, the insult bringing your eyes to his with a bit of shock and annoyance.

“Is that my doctor’s orders,” you growled, anger showing through your mask for the first time in ages. Pulling your knees up to your chest, you dug your nails into your shins, the comfort of the mild pain helping you stay grounded.

“Yes,” he deadpanned, your lips parting as you glared. He didn’t drop that judgemental look on his face, and it was too fucking much.

You hid the need to squirm by standing, picking up the weapons to hang back on the wall. The weight of a useless life pushed your shoulders down, until a tattooed hand touched yours, taking one of the daggers from you while you stared at the floor.

“When we were kids, you were just as strong of a fighter as I was. I don’t understand how that could change, Y/N,” he recalled, voice soft as he touched your chin. His eyes searched yours, as if you were a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

“I know you’re fierce. Pretty sure I’ve still got a few scars from you,” he laughed, that gentle sound making your eyes drift closed, a bittersweet smile on your lips.

“I’m not fierce,” you confessed, shivering as your skin burned where his fingers still held your chin. “I couldn’t keep up. My powers are so... I kept failing, just like they said I would.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

You almost gaped at him again, but his hand on your chin kept your jaw from dropping. Pulling away, you crossed your arms, that irritation growing.

“Your bedside manner is shit, you know that?”

“We’re not in bed right now,” he countered, his confident voice cut short by his own awkward cough as he continued. “You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. I’m not a fighter anymore, Law. I can help you with my memories, you don’t need to do all of this.” He ignored your movements as you gestured to the wall of weapons, falling back into that frown he’s so good at.

“Get over it.”

“Excuse me?”

He thrust the handle of the dagger into your palm, leaning close.

“Everyone has to pull their weight on this ship. You’re gonna shadow the crew until we find a job that suits you. You’re gonna sit with me for interviews. And you’re gonna train, just like everyone else,” he commanded, your breath catching as you felt the authority pouring off of him. His fingers were still wrapped around yours, pressing the handle of the blade into your skin.

“Do you under–”

Law grunted with more surprise than pain as your other fist connected with his face. He took a step back, scalding eyes raking over you while he rubbed his jaw, but you cut him off before he could speak.

“Gotcha, with a capital ‘G,” you declared, moving your arms with the dagger to create a poor image of the letter ‘G.’

Everything else faded from your mind as Law started to laugh, holding himself up with his hands on his knees. You couldn’t help but join him, some good childhood memories finally filling the air between you.

“Does he still do that,” he asked, still breathless as he fought the laughter.

“Lau G won’t stop doing that until he’s dead and gone.”

He leaned against the wall of weapons, shaking his head as he pulled up ancient memories.

“That old man trained both of us, Y/N. You were neck and neck with me, even though I’d never admit it back then.”

Your face grew hot, hopefully masked by the wheezing laughter you were still recovering from. But shame quickly followed the pride from his praise, so you turned away to stretch, avoiding his discerning eyes.

“Let’s start with hand to hand,” he ordered softly. You let him take the blade from you, meeting him on the mats in the center of the large, echoey room. Bouncing on your heels, you fought to keep yourself in the present.

‘Can’t take care of a single mission. I’ve never had such a failure in my family before. What should I do with you?’

‘So misty, so flimsy! You’ll never be as strong as us. I bet the young master will throw you out soon.’

‘Why don’t you just focus on being pretty, dear. I heard the young master say that’s all you’re good for.’

“I won’t go easy on you," Law's threat broke through your foggy mind. He smirked, taunting you with a tilt to his head. “Kick my ass.”

Falling into a stance without a thought, you tried to be here, to be nothing but this. You couldn’t make the first move, getting annoyed as Law feinted, tapping you here or there until you finally fought back.

There he was. That silly, angry boy with that wicked smirk. The smirk that you needed to kick off that pretty face. Two years of rivalry, two years of tiny, vicious preteens sparring daily, came flooding back as the sounds filled the training room. The sounds of fists and shins connecting with bodies, breaths and grunts, snarky remarks and laughter.

It felt like no time had passed.

Until you noticed that thought, and shame hit you just before Law tackled you, taking your breath as he rode your body to the ground.

Coming back to yourself too late, he had you pinned, unable to work your arms or legs to get out of his grasp.

“I know you can do better than that,” he teased, his black hair caught in the sweat on his forehead as he stared down at you.

“Go fuck yourself,” you breathed, still winded with his weight on your body.

“With a capital ‘G,” he smirked, too much satisfaction on his face. He laughed as you squirmed harder, trying to free a hand to punch him with.

Now you were satisfied, hearing him grunt as he struggled to keep you in place. You freed one arm, but before you could make contact, Law changed position. He caught your wrist, his breathing ragged as his face hovered even closer to yours.

The air was different, shivers running through you as your bodies relaxed into each other. The struggle halted as you felt his breath on your lips.

His eyes were wide as he took you in, his brows creasing just a bit. Your chest warmed at the memory of a childhood crush, and a quick peck of a kiss before he disappeared. That sweet memory fell apart when he pulled himself off of you, a slight frown on his lips before he turned away.

Oh.

“That’s, uh,” he started, walking away as he avoided your gaze, “that’s enough for today. Let’s get cleaned up, and I’ll get your schedule for tomorrow. Good work, today.”

You held up a polite smile as sharp blades of ice seemed to carve into your empty chest. Wanting Law to kiss you seemed ridiculous. Selfish. You hadn’t realized that your stupid, absent heart was so delusional. And now you knew exactly why you shouldn’t think about him that way.

He’s disgusted by me. I’ll always be tainted. Ruined. I’m lucky he hasn’t put me out of my misery yet. Why would Law want to touch trash like me?

The thoughts crashed into you, and the moment wouldn’t stop replaying. The press of him, his amber eyes, the sweat and breath mixing between you.

And that frown as he pulled away.

It played on a loop as you walked through the submarine, repeating through another shower, a nearly silent lunch in the galley, and the tour. Law guided you with a hand drawn map, labeled with the various stations, and the crew members you’d be shadowing. A detailed weekly schedule filled the back of the paper, and you let out a quiet laugh at his attention to detail.

“Do you have any questions?”

“No, teacher,” you teased, breathing deep when he finally looked at you again.

“It’s captain,” he corrected as he pointed to the schedule. “You’ll be with Ikkaku tomorrow morning, then if you’re up for it, I'd like to do another interview.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

Just a twitch of his lips this time, but it was a relief. Until he left you in the galley with the crew, excusing himself to complete some “captain’s duties.”

He doesn’t even want to eat with me now. I probably make him sick.

“Hi, Y/N, you can sit with me! You know, if you want to…” Bepo trailed off, flipping from excited to glum in seconds.

“Thank you, Bepo,” you agreed, donning your cheerful voice as you sat across from him.

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier,” Penguin said as he sat beside you, still too close for comfort after years of Doffy’s rules. “The captain’s the only one that taught us any manners, but I guess I still need some practice.”

“It’s al–”

“Give her some space, you’re being a creep,” Shachi cut in, sitting across from Penguin as he pointed a fork his way.

“I’m not a creep, you jerk–”

“The captain said to behave ourselves,” Bepo scolded, and you found a real smile on your lips as you saw the concern on his cute, furry face.

“Hey, you’re with me tomorrow, right?”

Ikkaku waved over the bear's shoulder, her dark brown curls making her instantly recognizable. You confirmed with a nod while the three boys at the table kept bickering.

“Let’s go talk about it.”

Arguments and insults floated through the air, and you were grateful for the rescue as you joined the only other non-man on the ship. She smirked as she nodded her head toward her crew mates.

“Don’t mind the dumbasses, they’re harmless.”

“Thanks,” you laughed, your appetite returning as you watched Ikkaku take a large bite, rolling her eyes at Bepo’s table.

Comfortable quiet sat with you, and you finally felt a moment of ease in your new world. Even with Law, you felt this energy of holding yourself up, of presenting yourself how you wanted him to see you. But this relaxed woman seemed friendly as she dug into her meal, without the pressure of a smile. She didn’t watch you, or force you into small talk, even when you followed her out of the galley to point out where you’d be working in the morning.

“I’m ‘Weps,’ so I’ll be showing you how to spot and kill enemies. Hopefully we’ll always be bored,” she huffed, pointing vaguely toward her station before guiding you back to the barracks.

“That’s you, right,” she asked, tapping on your door. “I’ll yell when it’s time to go.”

“Thank you,” you squeaked, staring for a moment as she turned away.

That small metal room seemed to amplify your worst thoughts, your loneliness echoing through the air like some torturous bell. You wished you had some sort of drug to knock yourself out. Instead, you curled on your side, trying not to think about how Law had cared enough to sleep on your floor last night, but could barely look at you after your near touch earlier.

~🦩🦩🦩~

“Don’t get all misty-eyed. That man should have known better than to touch my pretty doll,” Doffy declared, crouching down to press his palm into the sticky red puddle.

The blood of an unlucky man. A friendly man that tried to help you stay balanced while you walked down a flight of stairs in too-high heels.

“No one else will ever touch you,” Doffy breathed, pressing his bloody palm to your chest. He licked his lips as he dragged his fingers higher, painting your skin.

Doffy loves me. He’ll be King. Kings have to do this. They have to enforce their–

Your deep breaths and calming thoughts halted as his sticky hand gripped your face, digging into your cheeks to tilt your face up to his.

No more misty eyes.

You felt pride for your lack of tears, and for the smile he gave before he smoothed the hair from your face.

“You’re so pretty when you listen to me,” he praised, his grin deepening when he heard your pleased hum. “You know I’ll have to kill you too, right? You're my doll now. Letting someone touch you with their grubby fingers, and defile my toy sounds like another failure, huh, misty eyes?”

A soft noise escaped your lips as you struggled to be strong for him.

“Well,” he seethed, the veins in his forehead bulging as he shook your face in his bloody grip, “does my pretty doll have anything to say?”

“I-I’m yours, Doffy,” you promised, keeping your eyes dry as your body went loose, leaning into his hold.

“My body belongs to you, young mast– Doffy. I’d rather die than let someone defile your property.”

A bruising kiss took your breath, and you whined for him as he laid you on the marble floor. That spill of red beside you had finally stopped flowing.

“Don’t forget that, Y/N. I’m the only one that gets to defile my pretty doll. My disgusting, little toy. No one would want to touch you anyway. Not if they knew what you let me do to you.”

Doffy laughed as he proved it to you.

And you kept your eyes dry.

~🦩🦩🦩~

Last night, your mind had chosen memories over dreams. The lights and sounds of the sonar were lovely, yet too soothing, and Ikkaku caught you shaking yourself as you held in a yawn.

“Come on,” she ordered as she pushed you out of the weapons room, leading you through the halls. You pressed your fingers into your brow, trying to alleviate some of the pressure, not realizing where she was taking you until she called through a familiar door.

“Captain, I need to report a crew member who’s unfit for duty.”

“Wait, what,” you cried out, cutting off your own yawn as she rolled her eyes at you.

Law opened the door, his eyes narrowing on you before he looked at her.

“What’s your report?”

“Y/N was doing well with sonar, but she's clearly sleep deprived. There's no yawning at my weapons station, Captain.”

Ikkaku softened her report by flashing you a tiny smile, but your shoulders slumped in embarrassment.

“Thank you for the report,” Law cleared his throat, avoiding your eyes as he focused on her. “We’ll try again tomorrow. You’re dismissed, Ikkaku.”

She patted your back as she passed, her gesture of comfort lost as your body tensed at the touch.

With a shaky breath, you turned to him, staring at his tattooed arms that flexed as they crossed below his chest.

I didn’t mind when he touched me.

That thought was bittersweet, the bitter turning to bile when you remembered him pulling away.

“Come in,” he gestured into the office, and you stepped back into your memories. A shrine to Doffy, even if it was built of hate.

“How much sleep did you get last night,” he spoke like a doctor, scrutinizing every movement as you sat down across his desk.

“How would I know? There’s no clock in there.”

Somehow, his frown deepened, and you let out a heavy sigh.

“Did you sleep at all?”

The touch of warmth in his voice filled the cold room, but you didn’t want it. You couldn’t truly have it. So you let the truth ring through your mind as you lied again.

All I am is the broken toy of the man he despises.

“I’m sorry. I’ll be okay.”

Your eyes slid away, seeing nothing as you pretended to be fine. Yet, you blinked slowly when he stood, his chair scraping along the floor before he came to kneel beside you.

Time seemed fuzzy, but after a while you heard his voice, low and steady.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

Too tired and stuck for anything except for the faint quivering of your bottom lip, you stayed silent.

“Is it…” he cleared his throat, flexing his hands before he went on. “Is it alright if I hug you?”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he tried to cover his worry in a soothing tone as tears and small choked sounds left your throat. “We don’t need to–”

“Please.”

That tiny, pathetic word left your lips, and you felt sick for asking for anything. Sick for forcing him to take care of you.

But you didn’t fight as he pulled the chair out, as he knelt to the side of your knees, as he touched long fingers to your cheek.

“Is it alright if I hug you,” he asked again in a whisper. You were too weak to protect him from you, nodding slowly until you felt more of his touch.

He pulled you gently forward, your arms limp as he wrapped his around your waist, letting your head rest on his shoulder.

“You’re okay,” he soothed, sliding a palm between your shoulder blades. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Denials and arguments struggled to leave your lips, anger and fear fighting for control.

But you were so tired.

And Law felt so warm, so solid, his smell familiar, yet new. He squeezed you tighter as your breath sped up, holding you still, until you held him too.

He didn’t let go as you dripped hot tears onto his neck. He didn’t let go when you clung to him, digging your fingers into his arms and shoulders. He didn’t let go as your cries flipped from silent to pleading, as you begged for his forgiveness, or choked over the fears and shame you carried.

Through every round of emotions, you would return to guilt and disgust.

“I’m sorry, Law, I’m sick. You shouldn't be... I’m sorry you have to touch me.”

“Why are you saying that,” he nearly growled, holding your head against him to keep you from leaving his grasp.

You had no idea how long you’d made him care for you, how many tears you’d let stain his shirt. But however long it had been, you were finally able to speak some of it clearly.

“You hate him,” you said, your feeble voice breaking between your haggard breaths, “and I’m his… I’m broken. I’m disgust–”

“Shut up.”

A surprised yelp stopped your words, the force of his grip catching your breath.

Law’s fingers dug into your skin as he pressed you against him, almost to the point of pain, and your mind froze as you waited for him.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he declared, forcing the words through his teeth. “I don’t give a shit about what he did to you. I don’t care what he made you do. It wasn’t your fault, you hear me?”

There was anger in his words, but you knew it wasn’t for you. Still, you were stunned, feeling his heavy breaths beating against your chest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he buried his face into your neck before pulling away. It was almost painful losing his warmth against you, but he took your hands in his. He seemed to be having more trouble meeting eyes than you were, and you started sinking into the chair while he cleared his throat a few times.

“When I found out that you’d… That he’d… I should have saved you, Y/N. But I decided not to care about you so I could focus on my mission. I let him–”

“Stop,” you cried out, shaking your head against the guilt in his voice. “I wouldn’t have come with you before. I don’t even know when things started to change. But I would have betrayed you. I wanted to be… I’m glad you didn’t find me sooner, Law. I just wish–”

You cut yourself off, melting into his golden eyes. A stolen moment of peace amidst the guilt and pain.

“What do you wish,” he asked, rubbing his thumbs over the back of your hands.

“... I don't think broken people get wishes.”

He gave a jaded laugh before standing, leaning against the desk while he rubbed his knees.

“Will it help you sleep if I stay on your floor tonight?”

You smirked at his soft words, looking from his knees up to his face before responding.

“I don’t know, old man. I don’t think it’ll be good for your joints.” The look on his face was perfect, and a real laugh left your raw throat, shaking your tired body.

“We’re the same age,” he countered, eyes wide with that manic grin, “and disrespecting your captain is a punishable offense.”

“I see how it is,” you teased, lightly poking his side. “Still can’t come up with a good comeback, so you threaten me with violence? Looks like you haven’t changed a bit, you– Law!”

He’d grabbed your wrist before going to his knees again, those pretty fingers searching your ribs for the perfect spot. You writhed and laughed, and failed to fight him off as he tickled you, the way he used to when he couldn’t outsmart you.

“Law, you–”

“Fuck, sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

Law pressed himself against the desk, still on his knees with his hands held up, his eyes wide and worried as he looked at you.

You cracked up, true, heavy laughter, until his lips curled into that evil little smirk. But you beat him to it, sliding to the ground to get him back, tickling and getting a good squirm out of him before you both attacked.

He growled as he laughed, grappling you to the side of the chair until he had you pinned to the ground again. Neither of you could tickle the other as you fought for control or freedom. His cheeks were flushed as he laughed in your face, giving you a snarky, “nuh uh,” when you failed to break loose.

His tongue pressed between his teeth as he gloated, that cocky grin fading as you melted into each other again.

“I–I’m sorry,” he sighed, shifting his weight to leave.

“Don’t be sorry,” you demanded, breathless, and aching for him to stay. “I want…”

You closed your eyes, guilt and shame sliding into your lungs again.

His weight shifted, settling back where he was before. You bit your lip when you saw him staring at your mouth, and heat filled your body as you became hyper aware of every detail of his gorgeous face.

“You want,” he rasped as he met your eyes, concern still pouring from his own.

Your words were choked by all those shitty feelings and doubts.

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

His gentle voice eased the tension in your body, and you were grateful that he hadn’t moved. That he still touched you.

He was still touching you even though you were broken.

“I want you to kiss me.”

~🖤🖤🖤~

You’d ordered the stupid boy to kiss you, your arms crossed as you tried to act like you didn’t care. He’d lost the bet, and had to do whatever you asked.

“Ew, gross! I’m not doing that.”

Law stuck his tongue out, pretending to be sick.

“You lost the bet,” you scolded, punching his shoulder. “Want me to tell everyone you’re an oathbreaker?”

“Why do you wanna kiss me anyway? I’m sick,” he questioned, a hint of hurt in his voice as he gestured to the pale spots on his face.

“I don’t care if you’re sick. I like you how you are.” The confession slipped out, and heat rushed to your face as you clamped your hands over your mouth.

“You like me,” he taunted, smirking as he poked your burning cheek. “Ha, you’re such a girl.”

“Am not,” you yelled, your hands going misty with embarrassment.

“So, all I gotta do is kiss you, and we’ll be square?”

You nodded quickly, not sure if you should trust him.

“Fine,” he complained, leaning in.

You didn’t know what the big deal was about kissing. His lips were cold and scratchy when he pressed them against yours for a few seconds, then he scowled at you as he pulled away.

“That was dumb,” he deadpanned, poking your side.

“You’re dumb!”

He stuck his tongue out at you, and you chased Law down until he swore to never tell a soul.

~🖤🖤🖤~

“Ew, gross,” Law grinned, your mouth falling open in shock.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he teased, moving his smug face closer to yours. “Kissing you sounds gross.”

“You fucking ass,” you seethed, struggling to get out of his grapple so you could punch him. “I can’t believe–”

He let out a needy sound as he crashed his lips onto yours, and you moaned against him. Your back arched when he released his hold on your arms to cradle your face.

A sob of relief escaped you, and you felt like you’d lost your mind, your hands clawing at his back to pull him closer.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he breathed, pressing his forehead against yours. “I should–”

“No more ‘sorry's,” you ordered, “I just want you to kiss me.”

Law chuckled, his voice coming back in a wicked rasp.

“Ew, gross.”

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Sorry about the gruesome, but I hope you enjoyed the wholesome Law with his childhood sweetheart. I adore this man 🥰

Note for the timeline: The childhood flashback occurred shortly before Cora took Law away, so both the reader and Law had known each other over 2 years, and were both between 12-13 yrs old. At the present time in the story, both the reader and Law are around 25 years old.

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel | @nothing-but-brass

Part 4

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

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b00tyliciousbabe · 2 months

Text

treat.

soft dom bf x male reader

summary: icl this is just one of my many headcannons - don’t judge.

notes: first post of ‘24. HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY LOVELIES! you all hold a special place in my heart, and i hope y’all enjoy xoxo stay blessed <3 it’s a day late but life has rly been lifing…

song rec: ‘TANTRUM!’ - destin conrad

slivers of sunlight pierced through the bedroom curtains. despite the warm rays, it was still a chill morning in feb; you were always cold and so your boyfriend’s insane body heat created such a balance in the bedroom. you woke up, smiling in his embrace, your hand on his bare chest as he lightly snored. you began to trace your fingers on his pecs, which woke him up. ‘hmm,’ your bf groaned ‘happy v day baby boy.’ he said to you, tightening his grip. he kissed your forehead as you sighed ‘happy valentine’s bubs.’ you made out with him so hard, it was pretty early but somehow you woke that man right up. it was surprisingly sloppy, and as you broke away, your bf panted heavily in lust. “imma get started us something to eat, don’t miss me too much.” you said, but before you could get up, he dragged you back in. ‘nah, nah, babe, get back here,’ as he gestured to his wood. ‘you got me all excited.’ you both giggled like school kids. you stared seductively, smirking at his agape mouth, salivating with lust, ‘and i should care because…’ your sarcasm never fazed your man because he always knew how to deal with your brattiness.

‘you’re such a fucking tease, you know that,’ he smiled grabbing your hand to cradle his package with him. ‘acting like you don’t want it.’ your heart began palpitating, he knew how to make you such a subby mess with his hunter eyes. ‘acting like your hand can do better than my mouth’ you snapped back at him, moving out of your trance. ‘touché,’ he responded. ‘y/n, are you really gonna make me ask?’ he groaned out of sleep, as you playfully messed with his hair. you licked your lips. ‘please baby…’ he pouted, pulling on your heart strings. ‘since when did i become the dom?’ you joke making yourself cackle, to which you silenced yourself seeing your bf’s hardened face with cocked eyebrows. you probably shouldn’t have said that. ‘oh please, you know that i can and will destroy you’ he boasted rightly. ‘i just think it’s funny seeing your cute ass try.’ you knew he wasn’t wrong; his biceps alone would always accidentally crush you into the bed whenever y’all were in prone bone. ‘jokes aside, you got work to do’ he whispered into your ear as he kissed your cheek. you loved when he took control in the bedroom, never more so when you gave him head.

‘damn, i will never get tired of those lips on my tip.’ he growled, as you removed his drawers, and kitten licked the slit of his cock head. your boyfriend propped his neck up with some pillows as he put his hands behind his head, ready to enjoy the show. you started massaging his balls as his thumb grazed your cheek. ‘such a good boy,’ he praised. you tasted the saltiness of his skin, a mix of his precum and your spit. his thick mast was quite an effort to get into your mouth. you came up for air, staring at your work, ‘i always underestimate how chunky you are.’ you confessed. you licked the protruding vein that ran all the way down to his pubes. you attempted to deepthroat him, you got 5 inches down with ease, but the remaining 3 proved difficult.

you kept persevering, eyes teary, mouth out stretched. you came up after slightly gagging, causing what felt like buckets of drool to congeal on his pubes. it was a hot mess, a mess that lowkey turned him on. ‘my greedy, little cocksucker,’ he consoled you in a taunting tone, ‘take your time, i ain’t going nowhere.’ cradling your head as you attempted once more. you weren’t nearly as experienced as your man, but he made sure to guide you every step of the way. ‘that’s my boy,’ he praises, watching you devour his dick inch by inch. you lit up, emboldened to take all of him. ‘fuuuuuuuck,’ your boyfriend groaned in ecstasy as his tip hit the back of your throat. you groaned at the base of his pole, vibrating your tongue on the underside of his schlong.

his profanity flipped a switch in you. you began making loud suction noises, using your hands to create a vacuum. your movements rivalled that of a sex machine. his quads involuntarily spasmed as he, not even a minute later, began thrusting upwards into your mouth, groaning incoherently. he erupted so heavily, painting his lower abdomen and your entire throat a milky white. ‘shit babe, where’d you learn to do that?’ he questioned gasping for air. ‘i mean, you practically tease how much of a virgin i am, gotta switch things up from time to time.’ your face saddened. your boyfriend sat up and pulled u closer to him. ‘y/n, i’m sorry for making fun of you,’ he stares adoringly, ashamed he made you feel small. ‘truth is, i love the fact i can take my time with you, and not have to worry about you losing interest.’ he starts to vent, a lil teary, but he doesn’t let you see. ‘oh no, don’t cry my love, you know i always cry too.’ you both chuckled as your own vision blurred with the welling of tears. ‘fucking hell y/n. why are we crying on what’s supposed to be the most romantic day of the year.’ he stared into your eyes. ‘i promise to hold and cherish you til the day i die, you’re mine baby.

the two of you sat there, enjoying the silence and staring at each other. ‘i know and i love you too, i just don’t want you to feel like you always gotta coddle me when we have sex.’ you sheepishly admitted. your man was completely shocked. ‘are you kidding rn? i do NOT coddle you AT ALL.’ he replied. ‘so why do you always make us take breaks, if not to get me relaxed?’ your bf scratched the back of his head embarrassed. ‘erm, that’s more for me than you.’ you looked up at him confused. ‘i don’t know what’s wrong with me, in all my other relationships, i could last for hours, but the minute i’m even inside you, i just bust immediately, and something just comes over me.’ you blushed, ‘well…let’s put that to the test shall we?’ you muttered pulling him in for a deep kiss. he removed your linen trousers and the crop top you were wearing. as the two of you were now naked, he spread your legs and grabbed lube from the bedside table. smearing it on his dick, your puckering hole and fingering you with three digits to get rid of the excess. looking in awe at how shiny his big dick was, you started salivating. ‘that amount of precum is insane,’ watching as he made pools of release on your stomach. ‘shit, sorry for the mess,’ he smirked like an artist at work. ‘but i will admit, seeing that much cum on your belly makes me wanna put a baby in you.’

‘AHHH!’ you gasped loudly, as he pushed his entire length into you with no warning ‘why tf would you do that?’ playfully slapping his chest. ‘couldn’t wait.’ he starkly claims, thrusting slow and deep. you began milking his cock, clenching your walls around him as he attempted to pull out. ‘damnnnnn, fuuuhck, right there’ you moaned, egging him on to pick up the pace. his low-hanging, hairy, big, cum-filled balls, slapped loudly at your entrance. writhing beneath him, your lover turned animalistic, ‘you like that huh,’ to which you were to cockdrunk to respond, all you could do was not emphatically. ‘TAKE IT. TAKE THAT BIG DICK.’ you pulled him in closer, raking your nails on his back as he bit into your collarbone. ‘I don’t, don’t, know, h-how l-long i can keep gooooing, FUCK.’ you screamed, as he relentlessly pounded your poor hole with no regard for your ability to walk after. ‘me too baby, cum with me, cum for me.’ he demanded, moaning into your kiss. you came, emboldened by the pressure of your boyfriend’s abs, all over your chest. he followed soon after, staying still for what felt like ages, as if he was knotted to you.

he went soft. ‘and that’s what happens.’ he snuggled up to you as he plugged your ass with his fingers, to save some kind for round two.

@gayaristocrat

#gay #smut #bottom male reader #male bottom reader #male bottom #male x male #gay male #gay reader #gay smut #gay love

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bowieandqueen11 · 10 months

Text

Honeymooning With Steven Grant Would Include...

I’m so so sorry to the lovely anon who requested this - I tried to copy this into my drafts and accidentally deleted half of it :( I remember it being for honeymoon headcanons, so I hope this is alright love!

(I do not own Moon Knight or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @marc-spectorr.)

Warning: nothing too explicit, but NSFW so 18+ please!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Do you have any idea?? How soft I am for this?? I am so soft I am YEARNING you have made me yearn god I love this concept so much

I feel like the two of you would go somewhere sunny: perhaps a couple of weeks in Egypt, staying in a nice resort by the Red Sea, since Steven is so fed up of the dreary London weather. Just a really nice spot, where the two of you can hire out a boat for the day, and he can sit holding you at the back and feed you strawberries. If he’s not too busy trying to taunt you with the fruit, or giggling like bursts of sunlight as you nip at his fingers, he’s leaning awkwardly over your head to give you a sweet upside down kiss. His lips are so plump, so tender as his top lip latches onto your bottom one, that for a moment the two of you are lost in a sweet abyss where the only thing that exists is the tart tang of each other’s mouths. Or, the poor man is holding onto your biceps for dear life, only being drawn away from your lips by the feel of the boat rocking wildly from side to side.

As twilight began to flood in, flitting past your eyes like a gliding moth chasing the last drop of the honey sun with its velvet tail, you and Steven perch up from where you’re entangled on the chaise longue. Underneath the silver flecks of the waves, a few hawksbill turtles languidly glider underneath the navy froth. Steven’s eyes immediately light up, seeming to glow like shining jewels against the strung lights hanging from the masts. ‘Turtles’, he whispers and points towards the water, turning to look at you as if he’d just seen true magic. You grip onto his finger and place his palm flatly against yours, doing your best not to laugh when he squeals and buries his head deeply into your neck. ‘Yes love’, you caress your free hand through his stubborn curls, ‘those are definitely turtles.’

He nearly loses his mind when a dolphin appears above the crest of the water line. He has to lie down for a little bit against your chest, panting like crazy and his heart racing a mile per minute because even though it’s day one, he’s becoming a bit overwhelmed by all of this bless him. You just snuggle down around him, rubbing your nose against the shell of his ear and whispering sweet nothings until he finally calms down. He looks so calm, so peaceful, with his pursed lips rising and falling in time with his chest, that you’re not too surprised when he begins to snore a few minutes later.

He makes you leave the hotel room before dinner for a couple of minutes while he gets dressed. With an ear pressed up against the door, you ignore the weird looks you’re getting from the elderly vacationers heading down to the dining hall as you listen to the thud of Steven falling across the floor. He seems to be... jumping, probably trying to pull his trousers up quickly, which is followed by the sound of a hanger crashing onto the floor and a squeaky ‘oh, bollocks!’. You’re pressing a finger to your lips to stop yourself erupting when he finally unlatches the door, but it immediately drops down to your side when you take him in. He’s wearing his best polka dot yellow tie and sheepish smile, gazing down in terror at his feet and back up at you. He’s got a squashed box of chocolates in one hand, and a rather pressed bouquet of roses in the other; it almost takes your breath away, since he looks almost identical to the way he arrived at your doorstep for your first date. Even though you’re married now, his arm is still shaking as he offers it to you, and he still sighs a breath of relief when you loop your own through enthusiastically.

‘I’d been dreaming of this moment ever since I first put eyes on you, you know that love?’ He manages to say between shaking words as he leans you downstairs. ‘Every night. All I could blooming think about was how lucky I would be if I could hold your hand every night. You might as well pinch me right now, ‘cause I must be blinking dreaming.’

You spend a lot of your honeymoon down by the sandy strips, sharing a sun lounger and lying together underneath the warm shelter of a beach umbrella. He would read to you, his lips brushing against the tip of each with the pronunciation of each word: hot, tingly, the inside of his lip dragging against your earlobe from time to time. Eventually, when he noticed you were starting to fall asleep from where you were tucked up around his arm, he would become like a big child. He would teasingly shove you with his shoulder with a booming ‘tag, you’re it!’, before giggling as heartily as birdsong and running off across the sand. You finally manage to rugby tackle him down after a solid ten minutes of him skiting around the place, and he looks up at you as if you hung every swinging star in the sky as you hold him in place. Your legs are firm against the taut muscle of his calves, your hands pinning his trembling wrists above his head, and his breath is shaky as you press your weight against his lower abdomen, your bottom resting firmly against his groin.

He feels he’s about to pass out as you let go of his left wrist to run your fingers gingerly across the stubble of his jaw, before cupping his chin to hold in in place. He squirms beneath you, beginning to mewl as you lean down to kiss him. You’re quickly thrown to the side before lips can meet, though, as Steven manages to get you turned and shelters you from the massive wave that comes breaking onto the shore. When he looks down at you, sea water dripping down his wet hair and onto your nose with the most disappointed face in the world, you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in laughter.

This man is the BIGGEST softie in the world oml. You come wandering out of the bathroom that night, not expecting to see Steven biting his bottom lip and jutting his chin out. He’s muttering nervously to himself, a quiet ‘oh dear, oh dearie me’ busting out of him as he squats down and runs back and forth across the floorboards like a terrified little crab. He’s grabbing at rose petals he tried to shower across the floor, not realising the cool night breeze would burst in through the French doors and steal them away. When he notices you from the corner of his eye, he quickly straightens up, hiding the woven basket behind his back. He pretends he doesn’t know what’s going on as you walk over to him, but when you drop your towel and grab the back of his head to bring him down for a fervent kiss, the basket is quickly dropped to the floor and the jig is up.

Bro.. bro... oh my god, the body worship this man is hellbent on showing you is beyond crazy on your honeymoon. Like, dear lord, turn it up by a hundred and you might get a little closer to understanding how this emotionally vulnerable, touch starved, drowning in love man might be. I mean, Steven’s always been a giver if you know what I mean, but this is just next level. He’s so nervous though the sweetie pie, that you decide to help him out by loosening his tie. He’s nearly drooling on the floor by the time you throw it off of him, standing there like putty in your hand and just watching with lovesick eyes as you undress him. When his mind finally registers the almost inaudible pop of his shirt buttons though, he’s full on racked by whole body shivers as your palms glide the material apart from his chest. His firm pecs tighten against the feel of your bare skin against his, and behind the breathless inhale he swears he could die quite happily right now as long as you just don’t stop.

When he finally can’t take it anymore, it’s your turn to groan as he grabs onto the back of your thighs and shoves you backwards, pulling your bottom until it’s resting at the edge of the mattress. He slots his frame between your legs, knees coming down onto the floor as he buries himself between your soft flesh in ineffable bliss. Your thighs tighten around his head, and he breathes against your inner thighs as he kisses a path up them, gripping tenderly onto the back of your leg. When a little bit of extra oomph seems to overcome him, and his teeth nips across your panty line as they try to pull the seam of your underwear down, he immediately starts cooing and pressing a delicate brush of his nose against the mark, as if in apology.

Although he’s far better around you, some nights Steven still doesn’t sleep very well. You do your best to wake him up gently on these days, unlatching him from where his legs have tumbled onto yours during the night to start the kettle going. The smell of peppermint tea always perks him straight out of his dreams, and so he curls the duvet around his head like a hedgehog diving into the soft mound of a giant marshmallow as he goes looking for you. His feet slog around the room until he reaches the kitchenette, and he feels his heart begin to fizzle and pound as if a thousand scarabs were flitting around trying to escape the mortal walls when he spots you bopping around to the static hum of the radio. He immediately scares the pants off you by wrapping his arms around your waist, joining in your dance by swaying your hips side to side in time with his own. He’s impossibly close, his warm breath tingling against your neck as he kisses you. Suddenly, you’re enveloped by darkness, realising Steven’s taking the opportunity to assimilate you into the duvet fortress as well, so he can lean down and kiss every inch of exposed skin on your face and neck as he can, with a billion rushed pecks. You finally manage to push him off by pressing your hand against his mouth, and he relents to go get some tea.

The two of you sit knee to knee, criss crossed on top of the unmade bed. ‘We’re married’, he suddenly says, sitting bolt upright as if he’d been shocked between sips from his cup. ‘Yes, Steven’, you reply as he turns to look at you with a smile of pure wonderment, ‘I remember. I was there too.’

‘But it wasn’t a dream. That actually happened. You married me. This isn’t a joke, is it?’

‘It’s not a joke, Steven. I love you’, you state plainly, grabbing onto the back of his hand.

You can see the tears begin to gather behind his bloodshot eyes, his bottom lip blubbering out as his fingers turn to grip, almost painfully, the ends of your own. ‘I love you more than everything in the universe, Y/n.’

I mean, it’s Steven Grant so you 100% go sightseeing around the place! He so delicately holds your hand on the bus, nearly vibrating out of his seat he’s so excited. He even manages to ignore the side-eyes of fellow passengers as you pass by a really exciting historic site, Steven’s shoulder butting against your own as he points out to everything through the window. He hunches over your side until he’s nearly fully leaning onto you as he begins to rush out a boatload of facts he’s learnt from his books back at home. By the end of the night he’s so exhausted he’s fully lying across both the seats, legs planted in the aisle and his head blissfully cradled in your lap. His content smile is literally beauty incarnate, and you can’t help but disturb him from his sleep by kissing the tip of his nose. He replies by latching onto your top lip when you go to pull away, pressing his tongue tiredly against your own before flopping back against your knee as if he’d just won the lottery.

Steven definitely makes you take silly photographs in front of everything you go to see: the picture he took of you jumping in front of the pyramids past Cairo end up pinned on the wall next to his fish tank. After he kisses you goodbye in the mornings before work, it’s become part of his routine to also press a kiss against your cheek in the picture <3

Although he did manage to come round one of the market stalls holding a stray cat in his arms. With pleading eyes, he sounded like he was about to burst out crying as he looked at you, sniffling.

‘Can we keep him?’

‘Steven, how are we supposed to smuggle a cat back in our suitcase??’

‘He can have my plane seat instead, I don’t mind :(’

He tugs you down back alleys during your last few days in Egypt, running down cobblestoned streets hand in hand, flying across the dusty ground like loose kites free in the breeze. He’s on the hunt for a second hand bookstore: one he gets lost in almost immediately. You finally manage to find him hunched over by a knobbly looking bookshelf in a dusty side crevice near the back of the small shop. You have to literally hitch yourself over a pile of pretty worn, ancient looking encyclopaedias, shimmy past a dusty looking globe, and brush through a gap between two lined oaken bookshelves before you spot him. He doesn’t realise you’re behind him until your arms are squeezing around his soft belly, and you’re kissing the bunched material between his shoulder blades. His hand comes up to squeeze your fingers as he gives you a loving, slightly embarrasssed ‘oh! Hello love! Fancy seeing you here!’

He becomes even more shocked when, after you’ve finished resting your nose against his back and just breathing him in for a moment, you spin him round to face you. His eyes widen as he drops the book he was looking at onto his feet, but the confusion is quickly replaced by his features melting into one of intoxication as you press a lingering kiss against the side of his mouth. His eyes are blinking slowly, trying to shut as he crumples against your chest, his elbow knocking backwards and nearly knocking over a few piles of books domino style.

He literally tells you he loves you at least ten times a day. It just blurts out of him, as if he’s going to burst if he doesn’t get to say it. Baby. Baby boy. He deserves this forever love, and has wished for nothing more since the two of you first met.

#moon knight #steven grant #steven grant imagine #steven grant x reader #steven grant headcanons #moon knight imagine #moon knight x reader #moon knight headcanons #marvel #marvel imagine #oscar isaac #x reader

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thebadgerclan · 1 year

Text

Wolf of the Waves

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Summary: Sturmhond returns to his beloved Wolf of the Waves, and to his beloved wife...

A/N: This is a combo of some book events and what we saw in the trailer, bc idk how true to the book they’re staying for this season. Also “Hellcat” is the reader’s pseudonym like Sturmhond is Nikolai’s

The Volkvolny crept up alongside the whaler your husband had stolen, the whaler that was currently under siege from the Darkling’s shadow monsters. The Sun Summoner’s light cut through them, but there were far too many of them for her to Cut down. You set off the flare that would signal to Nikolai that his ship was ready, and not a moment later did you hear his cry. “To me, hounds!”

Your husband’s loyal crew and Grisha began flinging themselves overboard, hitting the deck of the Volkvolny and rolling to their feet. The Bataar twins landed, nodding in greeting to you before rising and steadying themselves into fighting stances. The Sun Summoner landed next, an ungraceful heap on the deck, followed by who you recognized to be the deserter from the 37th. And finally, your husband, who managed to roll straight up to his knees before you.

“Hello, beautiful,” Nikolai said, taking your offered hand as he stood. “Always one for the dramatics, aren’t you?” Your husband barked a laugh and kissed your cheek as he moved to man the mast. One of the crew tossed you a rifle, and you set your focus on ridding the hull of the Darkling’s soldiers. The Squallers managed to get you clear of the whaler and the Darkling’s range, and you stood along the rails as Alina took the Sea Whip’s life and its scales.

Tamar took the Summoner to her bunk while Tolya took the tracker to his, and you followed Nikoli to his quarters below decks. As soon as the door was latched, he was pulling you into his arms, kissing you deeply. “Saints, I missed you,” Nikolai said, snaking his arms around your middle. “How was my crew? Bearable?” You laughed, running your hands through his sandy hair.

“Only just. I only had to threaten to have Privyet walk the plank three times.” “A marked improvement, then.” You laughed, and Nikolai kissed you again, happy to have you in his arms again after weeks apart. But far too soon, there was a knock at the door. “Captain?” Tamar called. “The Summoner and her tracker are asking to speak with you.” Nikolai sighed, shaking his head. “Send them in.”

He sat himself behind his desk, and you pulled a chair up as well, sitting at your husband’s side. Nikolai took your hand and kissed it, smiling at the sight of your wedding and engagement rings glinting in the light. A moment later, the door opened, and Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner, supposed Saint, stepped through, followed by her tracker. “Good to see you out of the clutches of that madman, Miss Starkov,” Nikolai said, leaning back in his chair.

“What do you want from us?” she asked, and you felt a twinge of sympathy for the girl. “Who says I want anything from you? Maybe I just wanted to get you away from the man who seems so desperate to control you.” “Darling,” you said, laying a hand on his arm. “They’ve been through enough. Don’t taunt them.” “Who are you?” You sat up a bit straighter, and your husband took your hand.

“You can call me Hellcat. I’m Sturmhond’s wife and his second; so if he gets on your nerves too much, tell me and I’ll put him in his place.” The tracker–Mal–laughed softly at that, but Alina was still on guard. “We’re not going to hurt you, Alina,” you said. “What Sturmhond said is true, we did want to get you away from the Darkling. Because if you’re in his control, there’s no telling what he could do.”

Your husband nodded his agreement. “You are Alina Starkov,” he said. “I think we all know what you’re capable of.” Alina held out her hands, letting two globes of pure, golden sunlight shine. “Will you help us tear down the Fold?” Nikolai smirked, cocking his head. “I’d love to, Sunshine, but you couldn’t do it with one amplifier, could you?” You shot him a look at the jab, and he squeezed your hand. “I need the power of all three.” Before Nikolai could speak, you jumped in.

“You have the stag, now the Sea Whip. What’s left?” “The Firebird,” Mal supplied, and Alina stepped forward and laid a slender red book on the desk. “It’s there,” she said. “Sankt Ilya, the stag, the Sea Whip, and the Firebird.” “And do you have any idea of where this mythical flaming chicken might be?” your husband asked, and while his approach was a bit callous, you were thinking the same thing.

“No, but that’s what we intend to find out,” Alina replied. “You saw how I tracked the Sea Whip,” Mal said. “I can track anything.” “So you can,” Nikolai said, reaching for the decanter of brandy on the desk and pouring himself a glass. “Want some?” “No, thanks.” “Hmm. So, what would tracking this mythical ancient bird entail?” “Well,” Alina began. “We’d have to figure out where it is, which might take some time, then we’d have to hunt it, obviously.”

“Adventure? Danger?” your husband asked, and both Alina and Mal nodded at once. Nikolai broke into a massive smile. “Now you’re speaking my language! Tamar!” The Heartrender entered, her axes holstered at her waist. “Da, Kapitan?” “Take these two back deckside, get the crew acquainted with them. It seems we’ll be working with them for a while yet.”

Once Mal and Alina had been led out, Nikolai pulled you into his lap, kissing you deeply. “Do you think they’d notice if I kept you down here for a few days and had my way with you?” Your husband began kissing a path down your neck, and you giggled, letting yourself melt in his embrace. “I think they might. But they might not notice if you don’t show up for the rest of the night…” Nikolai grinned, a wolfish, wicked grin, and carried you over to the bed tucked into the corner. Your husband was thankful his crew was so rowdy when the sun set, as there was no need to silence your moans.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #nikolai lantsov x you #shadow and bone season 2

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not-your-fucking-kacchan · 2 years

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♡︎𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮♡︎

Day 14 of Kinktober 2022

Summary: Nothing feels better than having him grovel at your feet.

Props to my beta reader for today @sasualblxd - thank you for your amazing help!

581 words.

Nothing feels better than this. Nothing feels... More empowering, than having the great Katsuki Bakugou sniveling at your feet, reduced to tears over a ruined orgasm.

Okay, maybe you are just a little bit of a sadist, so what?

"Oh, I have the perfect present for you, baby boy."

Voice dripping with smug amusement, you taunt him. Who would've thought that such a prideful firecracker would like being put down and humbled. Right now he kneels on the floor, his head resting on your bare knees while fresh tears clear pathways down plush cheeks. He still has some baby fat there, you muse. Cute.

It hadn't taken very long to get all dolled up this morning, and now you sit on the edge of your bed, clad in a skimpy skirt and halter top while your brick wall boyfriend worships you on his hands and knees.

He raises his head to look at you at the sound of a little bell ringing while you pull a cute little bow out of your fluffy jacket pocket. A dog collar.

'A dog collar? Really!?' He can't deny the way that his dick twitches in his sweats, chubbing against the flat of your foot where it rests on him like he's a footstool. This is humiliating for him, and he can't get enough. Even fully clothed, he feels naked and vulnerable under your cold glare. It's refreshing to be stripped bare of his protective walls at the end of the day and rebuilt by the one he trusts the most in this entire world. Katsuki Bakugou wants you to ruin him.

And ruin him you will.

"Isn't it so pretty, baby? It's even got a little bell so I always know where you are~" Your tone is light- teasing, even. He wants more.

"Shall I put it on you?" His eyes are wide, pupils blown with lust and anticipation. His adam's apple, adorned with various bite marks and faded hickeys, bobs in his throat as he gulps audibly, parting dry lips for a shaky breath.

"Y-yes please."

"Then beg."

His eyes widen and he visibly shivers. You can feel his dick at full mast beneath your foot, twitching to attention as a little whimper catches your ear.

"Please- please! Let me wear it- I've been good! Please? Just- just let me- please... I'm begging! I'm begging you, I- please let me wear it for you..."

He's desperate, clamouring for your approval while you smirk down at him. It's a truly beautiful sight as he becomes your pathetic little pet behind closed doors. In this moment, he is yours, in both mind and body.

With a snicker you unclip the collar, fastening it gently around his neck and caressing his jaw when you finally pull your hands away, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. Your lipstick leaves a print on his skin, marking him as yours and it brings a cruel smile to your lips when you study it.

"There's a good boy. And guess what good boys get? They get a reward~"

He could cum in his pants if he weren't straining to hold back while you take his hand in yours, his arm heavy with muscle. Slowly, you guide his hand under your shirt to let him cup the curve of your breast under your bra, prompting him to squeeze and bringing a familiar heat between your legs.

If he's lucky, you may let him get what he's begging for.

◃ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 ▹

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rmoonstoner · 7 months

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Kinktober 2023

***

Theme:

Masturbation

***

Warnings:

18+, age gap, sparring is foreplay, masturbation, Stephen has a really big dick, dirty talk, sexual taunting/frustration, face fucking, come swallowing, sparring with Stephen, that one move that stops men in their tracks in anime, you know the one. Crotch to face leg lock.

***

Pairing:

Doctor Strange x Fem!Apprentice!Reader

***

Summary:

Stephen thinks about his apprentice in ways he knows that he really shouldn't. He gets caught in the act by you.

***

He didn't know when he became so infatuated with you, but now he was one hundred percent certain that he couldn't continue to deny his basic carnal urges. He had a thing for you the moment he first laid eyes on you, and yet he kept it to himself. You were young, almost young enough to pass as his daughter, yet that didn't stop his depraved thoughts about you.

Today was one of those days that tested his patience.

You were bound and determined to beat him at hand to hand combat, with no magic tricks or magical artifacts to aid either person, and Stephen had let you win this time.

You were doing poorly, but when he started to tease you playfully, you got really mad, really quickly. You lunged at him after the third time that he called you weak, and you knocked him over quite easily without his trusty cloak on his shoulders. He was not expecting the way you came at him either, with you jumping high enough to wrap your legs around his head.

He didn't know what to do as your spandex covered crotch came flying at his face, effectively surprising him enough to catch him off guard and knock him onto his back. He hit the ground hard, the air rushing from his lungs against your warm center. When he inhaled, all he could smell was your sweet scent and he found himself unable to do a damn thing about it.

He expected you to get off of him immediately, but you stayed there and cackled at him.

"Do you concede, old man?"

The cockiness of your voice sounded far more sultry to him then he'd ever heard out of you. His brain backfired, and all he could think about was grabbing hold of your thighs, banishing your clothes, and opening his mouth to pleasure you…

But instead, he grunted and raised a shaking hand to your thigh and gently patted it to give you the signal that he was giving up. Again he waited for you to get off of him, but you rocked forward and looked down at his eyes.

The look you gave him was something he could only describe as a smug look of pleasure, followed by a flirtatious wink, before you finally got up and off of him. The second you stood up, he sat up and crossed his legs, facing away from you as he subtly adjusted his hard cock in his pants as you joyously declared your win.

"I win."

***

Now it was midnight, and Stephen had locked himself away in his personal office. He had been itching to have a moment of peace all day since that little sparring match he had with you. He couldn't get the memory of your smell, or your soft, yet strong thighs that were once wrapped around his entire head. He kept replaying the odd way you rocked on his face, and how you seemed to get off on that. He had been at full mast since, and he was lucky his robes hid his erection perfectly.

Which was good, because you wouldn't leave his side until about forty minutes ago, when you claimed you were going to bed.

Now Stephen was sitting in his chair, with his cell phone propped up on the desk. He had a photo of you in your swim suit that you had sent him last week. It was meant to tease him about declining your offer to go to the beach with you. You called him an old fuddy duddy, and he left you on read. He didn't know what he was supposed to say to such a photo, and he figured anything he could come up with would sound inappropriate.

It didn't stop him from promptly saving the photo into his personal folder for later.

Later, being now.

He had his robes pulled open to reveal his chest. His pants were unfastened, his throbbing and rigid cock proudly on display as he thought about what it would be like to go down on you. The head was leaking freely as he wrapped his fingers around his member, squeezed himself good, and began to stroke himself slowly.

"Fuck… You smelled so fucking good, and you were so fucking warm… I bet you taste even better…" He groaned with a few quick tugs as his eyes slid halfway shut. He swept his thumb over the blunt tip and spread his precome around in slow circles.

"I bet you were wet… Naughty little thing, getting off on sitting on your Master's face, and fucking rocking your sweet pussy against my mouth…" His voice was low and rough, almost as if he were trying to be quiet.

He didn't know why he was trying to be quiet. You were in your bedroom, which was next door to his bedroom…

Which was precisely why he was in his office, all the way at the other end of the Sanctum.

"Gods… I just want to pin you down and fuck that attitude right out of you…" He grunted and his hand sped up as he leaned all the way back in his chair. His brows furrowed as the sensations rocked him to his very core.

"I bet you're fucking tight. You'd feel so good wrapped around my cock…"

***

You couldn't sleep. It had been thirty minutes of staring at your four poster bed's canopy, and all you could think about was how empowering it had been to finally best your teacher, even if it was a cheap win. The way he suddenly froze and easily gave up was so fucking adorable.

And hot as fuck.

His mouth had been right where you wanted it, so hot and moist, and you even tried to give him a hint that you wanted him to win, that you wanted him to best you and flip you over…

Dominate you…

But he took the high road, and gave up too fast, leaving you wanting. You thought for sure you could seduce him, but he denied you. Even following him around all day and brushing up against him didn't make him look at you again.

You got up and left your room in your nightgown, wandering towards Stephen's personal office. If you couldn't sleep, you were going to borrow one of the books that Stephen had. He had given you permission to borrow them whenever you wished, as long as you left him a note on what you took and when. You usually left it on his desk, then left. You got right up to his office door and heard something that made you still and go completely quiet.

It sounded like Stephen was still awake and in his office!

Oh good, perhaps you wouldn't need to leave a note. You could just grab the book, show it to him, and be on your way…

"Fuck… You smelled so fucking good, and you were so fucking warm… I bet you taste even better…"

A shiver ran through you when you registered what he was saying. You swallowed hard and quietly pressed yourself against the door.

"I bet you were wet… Naughty little thing, getting off on sitting on your Master's face, and fucking rocking your sweet pussy against my mouth…"

Your legs squeezed together as you listened to him moan and continue to talk dirty to himself. You could hear his fancy wooden and leather office chair creaking as he moved. Every word made your pussy tingle and drip. You couldn't help it as your hand moved down your front and palmed your breast, while the other one snaked downwards. You bunched up your gown and slipped your hand between your thighs where you weren't wearing underwear.

"Gods… I just want to pin you down and fuck that attitude right out of you…"

Oh Gods above!

He felt the same way about you as you did for him!

"I bet you're fucking tight. You'd feel so good wrapped around my cock…"

You bit your lip in effort to hold back the whine that tried to escape your lips, and leaned against the door. The door suddenly creaked very loudly, then just as suddenly, it opened. You felt your body tip over without the door there to brace you and you squeaked in surprise.

***

Stephen heard the groan of old wood and his head whipped up to look at the door just as it flew open. His first thought was to hide himself and what he was doing, but when he saw your shocked face and the position of your hands, he froze you in your place.

Time was still moving, yet you were not. You blinked a few times when you saw the odd angle you were in, then slowly looked over at Stephen as your whole body got hot with embarrassment at being caught like this…

With your nightgown hiked up so Stephen could clearly see your hands and what they had been doing.

A sinister thought ran through his mind.

You came to his office at midnight, wearing that fucking see through sheer fabric, with no underwear, and…

And!

With your hands cupping your soft flesh, one with breast in it, the other with two fingers, knuckle deep into your wet hole.

Stephen suddenly felt a dark arousal course through him. He brought one hand up and tilted it, making your body rise off of the ground and pulled you in. You stared at him, not sure if you were frozen from being caught with your hands in your pants, or if he had actually frozen you and you couldn't move. The door slammed shut and locked itself up tightly and you huffed.

"Well, well, well… Look at what we have here…"

You shivered at the tone in his voice and let out a soft whine. He sounded smooth, voice buttery soft as his eyes raked your form. You noticed he was blushing, his eyes clearly full of lust. You exhaled through your nose and felt your walls clench around your fingers. You still were having a hard time with this. You looked him over again, and saw him just sitting there in his chair…

And his robes were wide open, showing off his muscular torso. One side, the left, had fallen down, showing his bare shoulder. He had scars all over his skin, but the one that was the most vividly visible, was the spider web like dark red patch over his heart. Almost none of it healed right, and you recalled Master Wong telling you that Stephen had once been stabbed there while defending his Sanctum. Your eyes slowly went lower. The top part of his abdomen was fully exposed, but the desk got in the way of what you really wanted to see.

"Where's that smart mouth, now? Hm, princess?"

"Right here, old man. Maybe I'll let you use it if you show me that dick." You snarked back. You didn't know what came over you.

Stephen's brows shot up and he grinned wickedly at you. He placed his hands on the desk and he moved you to stand in front of it.

"Careful now. You're treading on thin ice." He warned you.

"And you were jacking off while thinking about me."

"Touche. I can see you were as well." He replied as he laced his fingers together and made you sit in the chair across from him. You whined when you didn't get to see his cock.

"You see… I'm in my office, in the middle of the night. You came to me, and burst in here, without permission."

"So that's a no, then?" You retorted rudely.

"Excuse me?" He asked with a raised brow.

"I'm taking it as a no that you don't want to use my mouth?" You snapped, and he blinked very slowly a few times, before smirking at you

"Oh, if you're offering, I'll definitely take you up on that offer, but I really don't think you can handle me."

"I call bullshit." You chuckled. He looked dead serious.

"Really? Because my last girlfriend thought it was too big."

"Ha! That's what a man with a small penis would say." You taunted him. He didn't bat an eye. Instead, his smile got wider and he titled his head

"Of course you'd say such a thing. Haha, silly me. We're too much alike. Cocky, self assured, full of yourself, unable to shut the fuck up…" Stephen purred out.

"Then make me shut up. Show me the goods, or I will assume it's tiny, and that's why you're so fucking grumpy all the time." You hissed at him, while he laughed softly.

"Such a potty mouth. I've never seen you so unhinged." He said as he shifted in his seat. You glared at him.

"Try me, old man. You're just sour, because you're a tall ass mother fucker, with a little penis-" You kept taunting him, not realizing he was moving his chair back to stand. When he finally did, you stopped talking, your eyes going to stare down at his groin.

Your mouth hung open at how big he was, the words dying on your tongue as you salivated at the sight of him. He was not joking when he said it was big, but you didn't think it would be, you know…

That big!

"Well, well, well. Speechless, are we?" Sephen chuckled as he stepped around his desk and came to stand beside you. Your eyes followed his every movement, eyes staying on his. You watched as he flicked his wrist and the chair you were sitting in suddenly turned so you were facing him.

At this angle, you were now eye level with his dick, with him standing so close, his cock was just a foot away from your face. It looked even bigger up close, with the fat velvety head tinged a deep pink, and purple veins pulsing along his shaft. The tip was wet, leaking precome, and you licked your lips as your eyes met his once more.

"That's… That's not big. That's fucking huge!" You remarked with a touch of concern in your voice. He raised a brow and wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it a good squeeze and a tug. Your eyes darted back down, a small gasp came from you.

"So you're saying it would be too much for you then?"

"N-no…"

"Then what is it, princess? You can tell me, your master." The way he said master this time made you shiver. He held a whole different meaning in his tone.

"It's just… I haven't… It's been ages since I had sex last." You finally admitted.

Stephen's face softened a bit and he reached out to cup your face with his free hand. His thumb caressed your cheek softly.

"How about this, then… I like you more than I should, and you clearly like me just as much. Want to start out slow?"

"What do you mean?" You breathed back.

"You watch me, and I watch you. No touching each other. Then, you decide whether or not you want to go any farther with me."

"Why do I have to decide?"

"I'm in a position of power, my dear. I want this badly, but I must know if you really do as well." He gave himself a squeeze, his thumb twitching at the underside of his cock.

"Okay… May I be allowed to move?" You asked timidly, and he smiled eith a small laugh.

"I didn't tell you that you couldn't." He hummed and leaned against his desk, his hand still loosely holding his erection.

"Oh… Yes." You suddenly felt a bit stupid, but he stayed quiet and waited for you to get comfortable.

You scooted back in your chair and looked up at his eyes, then back down to his cock. He was now dripping to the floor with how aroused he was. You sighed and spread your legs, going to take off your gown, when he reached out with his free hand and waved the garment away.

"Yeah, just like that, princess. I want to see you, all of you." He groaned and placed a hand behind him, bracing it on his desk as his hips jutted forwards a bit.

Your eyes looked down, seeing the way his scarred hands pleasured himself. You groaned back as you moved your hands back to where they had been, before falling into his office so carelessly. You first cupped a breast and gently rubbed your nipple between two fingers, then used the other hand to spread your cunt out for him to see. He grunted and sped up his hand as he watched your fingers dip in and out, your juices dripping onto the leather of the chair beneath you.

"You see this, Master? You did this to me. You do this to me every day. Do you know how frustratingly awful it's been, being around a man such as yourself, and you're constantly treating me like I'm a fragile moron? I just want to please you, make you proud of me." You purred out the words while rubbing your clit. He stared, unable to tear his eyes away as you added another finger to your dripping hole.

"Fuck… Everyday?" He grunted and cleared his throat. His hand slowed down, thumb rubbing his slick around his head.

"I am proud of you. I just… I have been trying to keep you at arms length. What would your friends say?"

"They'd congratulate me on shagging the Sorcerer Supreme." You hummed back and fucked your pussy faster.

"You'd tell them that? Ugnnn…" He groaned started to fuck into his fist in a steady rhythm.

"Oh yes. I'd be quite proud to tell them I have sex with you everyday."

"Everyday..? Fuck!"

Stephen growled as your pussy made loud squelching noises. You tilted your head back and pinched your nipple a few times, before bringing up your fingers from your pussy and slipping them into your mouth. You sucked on them and he huffed and whined, his hand going faster, grip tightening.

"Everyday."

"Gods… Gonna come…"

"Come in my mouth." You purred, then opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue. He was quick to move forward, his hand going to the back of your head and gripping your hair tightly. He pulled you forward, pushing the head of his cock into your mouth.

You leaned forward and took as much of him as you could and sucked hard while rubbing him with your tongue. He groaned and stroked himself harder, his hips pushing forward and backwards as you let him fuck your face. With a loud grunt and a deep sigh, he came hard, spurting his seed into your mouth. You swallowed every last drop and kept sucking him until he was spent. When he was done, he was breathing heavily and grinning ear to ear at you.

"So much for not touching each other. Now it's your turn to come."

***

Part two will be later in the month.

#doctor strange smut #doctor stephen strange smut #stephen strange smut #doctor strange x fem!reader #doctor strange x you #doctor stephen strange x fem!reader #doctor stephen strange x you #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x fem!reader #18+ fanfic #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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fuukonomiko · 4 months

Text

Rejected Scenes From My Fanfic

One of my commenters requested to read my discarded chapters so I'm posting it here instead of AO3 because I don't want to confuse people. So here is one of them. I have like 15-20 pages of rejected material and I think I will put them on here for....those who are bored or intrigued.... (Official fanfic here)

@apatheticallyromantic

Also @kaladinkholins Thank you for your support :D

The eating scene will be in another post :)

Here goes:

She stayed in her cabin. She wasn’t sure how long. All she knew was that she felt emotionally ill. The captain had been checking in on her and had left some food outside her door. She simply replied she felt unwell.

I can’t let myself be overcome by this, she scolded herself.

Mizu alighted from her room. It was dark. The deck was empty save for one sailor who was watching over the raven’s nest.

The moon was out, casting light upon her. The seas were calm, in much contrast to what she felt inside. The samurai stretched her limbs, stiffened as they felt from her lack of motion the day before. She can’t allow herself to slack off from her training.

“Mizu!”

She caught a sheathed sword thrown at her. Across her was Taigen, holding the broken blade forged by Master Eiji. Before she could utter a word he was already in front of her, sword raised in offense.

“Ha!” she blocked him rapidly, kneeling on her right side to absorb the strength of the blow. She pushed back and kicked him on the stomach. Taigen retreated a few steps before striking again, swinging his sword before her which she avoided narrowly. Mizu hopped up on one of the platforms as she avoided his strikes. She masterfully evaded them while taking jabs at Taigen who had ducked it with just as much mastery.

Shadows of a majestic battle occurred on the deck of that ship. Neither one gained an advantage. Mizu climbed the mast and the poles. Taigen followed her without fail. She flipped and somersaulted her way around the ship and he swiped when he had the chance. At one point Mizu stepped on a loose plank and fell backwards. Taigen dove forward and had the broken blade across her throat.

Mizu found herself looking up at him, his breath visible as he tried to catch it. It was bone chilling cold outside and neither of them seemed to have noticed. A thin film of sweat was on his forehead. She waited for him to speak, expecting expletives, rage. Something foul and filled with hate.Taigen’s features appeared to soften as he pulled back the sword from its threatening position, casting it aside as it made a resounding clang. His hands found their way on either side of Mizu’s head.

“Claiming your honor back?” she taunted as he looked down on her, eyes taking in the curves and angles of her face.

“Something better.” he took in a deep breath and in a heartbeat his mouth was over hers, kissing her with the utmost restraint.

Mizu gasped when she felt his lips over hers. It was soft as she remembered, warm, tender. His fingers twined in the deep brown tresses of her hair. His body closed the distance between them and she felt the goosebumps on his skin. He pulled back slowly, the most tender of expressions on his face.

“I don’t know what you were expecting.” he spoke softly. “But I can tell this was not it.”

A confused look crossed her face. “I’m not sure….” she answered, puzzled.

“Are you going to hit me again?”

“Only if you’re into that…peculiarity.”

Taigen laughed out loud, releasing her face but pressing his forehead against hers. “I want you to know….that I accept you. All of you….if that’s not evident now, then I’m stating it to you.For all you are. For who you are.”Her hand found itself on his wrist.

“You…you don’t mind that I am a woman?”

He pulled away slightly. “Should I?”

A corner of Mizu’s lip lifted. “Some men do not want to be taken down by a woman.”

“I am not just any man.” he rationalized as he pulled her into his arms. “You’re Mizu. Man. Woman. It doesn’t matter to me. All I want is you. For all you are.”

Mizu allowed him to embrace her, even relaxing her shoulders as she savored his closeness. His heart was palpitating against her, and it felt soothing. She placed her hand over it, feeling it alive and throbbing.

They were on that deck for a while, with Taigen standing up first and letting her go. “It’s getting cold.” he stated as he offered a hand. He escorted her back to her quarters where it was less chilly. Mizu gave his hand a squeeze. “Taigen…”

“Yes?”

“I felt that.”

If he could turn red, he would have. He didn’t think Mizu would have detected the reaction she again triggered by her nearness. He was wearing his hakama, dammit! How? How could she know? Was it outlining his outfit again?

A short laugh came out of her lips as she pulled him closer. “Just so you know, those things don’t scare me.”

“I don’t think anything scares you, to be honest.”

“One thing does….that I would die before getting my revenge.”

He took a seat next to her. “I’ll make sure you don’t. Even if I have to die doing so….”“Stop offering your life for mine.”

“It’s a worthy sacrifice.”

Mizu became silent as she took in his words. “Taigen I….I can’t ….I’m not the person for you. It’s not that I feel nothing. But I don’t know if I can reciprocate what you are offering me. You…you’re offered me so much and I don’t know if I could do the same….I’m damaged goods. You need better.” She raised her gaze to meet his brown eyes. “I don’t know if I can make you happy.”

He looked at her, the tenderness not waning. He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I don’t need you to make me happy. Just being around you does that to me. I won’t ask for anything….other than…perhaps….would you allow me to make you satisfied?”

She pulled away, eyeing him curiously. Taigen bent down to kiss her, again, this time firmer, more passionate, more tenderness. Mizu felt him pressing against her, guiding her to lay on her bed.

He slowly backed away when she was supine, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Taigen had his hand on the belt of his robe. “May I satisfy you?”

Mizu nodded slowly.

“Taigen….”

She reached out to him, and he took that hand, planting a kiss on her calloused palms. Her hands were not soft, not in the least. They were hardened by years of labor, gripping that smithing hammer and brandishing her sword. He rubbed his cheek against it, the rough skin signifying her strength.

It turned him on immensely.

His lips traveled slowly on the length of her arm, going down until he reached her beautiful face. He took her lips again, kissing with fervor and allowing her to realize the urgency of his need. He found that he likes kissing her. He liked it more that she kissed him back.

Taigen started to undo her top, almost tearing it with impatience. When he met with her bindings he undid them with care. He did not know how long she had not done this, and he didn’t want to overwhelm her with his desire, no matter how fervent it was.

“You’re beautiful.” he murmured as her chest was exposed to him. “So, very beautiful.”

Mizu was warm. The coolness of the air was now an afterthought. His gaze warmed her over and when he reached over to touch her body it was all she could do not to whimper. His touch was firm, his fingers tracing every line and curve he exposed as he slowly peeled off her clothing. Between her legs developed a tingling sensation that had long been dormant and she almost felt ashamed that it occurred. “I want you, Mizu. All of you.” he bent down to kiss her neck, lips moving across her shoulders.

“Take it all, then….” she whispered as her body moved of its own accord to follow his touch. Her hand found its way to hair, grasping its lengths as he went about trailing kisses on her skin.

Mizu let out a sound foreign to her ears as he performed a slow exploration of her body. It only seemed to entice him as she felt him nibble in places that he passed. When Taigen reached her breasts he rubbed his cheek on the turgid nipple before taking it in his mouth and sucking

She moaned, loudly, fingers gripping the sheets of her mat. When one of his hands found the delta between her legs she just about bolted off her bed. “I suspect I found a place that you like.” he stated as his fingers felt the moisture between her thighs. He probed the warm, soft spot and the heat was more than he could bear.

“Mizu….” his voice cracked as his digits slid to explore her. The cry she let out was music to his ears. She was tight. She was wet. She made sounds he didn’t know she was capable of. Mizu writhed beneath him and it was the most beautiful sight to behold.

Taigen positioned himself between her strong legs, slowly guiding his rigid length into her. It was his turn to take in a sharp breath as he made entry. He cursed so uncharacteristically when he finally fitted himself. He lifted her hips, tilting them so he could reach as deep as possible.

“You feel so good, Mizu.” he cried as his member swelled inside her. He watched the pained expression on her face as he bent to kiss her again.He gripped her hips as he started to move. Forward. Back. Pushing in as far as he could and pulling out almost completely. He dipped in rapid succession, responding to the intensity of her cries. Mizu buried her fingers on the muscles of his back as she received him. She called his name out in pleasured agony. Slowly he emptied himself into her, his breath trying to catch up.

Taigen gently lowered himself on her, savoring her skin against his. He could feel her breath on his forehead, her long fingers resting on the small of his back. His entire body tingled with ecstasy, even as he had already climaxed. He wanted to savor every little bit of it as he closed his eyes, his hand resting on her hip.

“Mizu.” He was panting, heart beating so fast it felt like it was going to bounce off his chest.He could hear her own heart palpitating against his cheek.

For a good amount of time they lay there, resting against each other. Taigen was the first to lift his head, watching her afterglow. He decided he liked the way her eyes darkened with the pleasure he was able to bestow on her. Her lips looked dry and he watched her lick them quickly with her tongue.

He rolled over to her side, relaxing his muscles. His right hand crept to take hers to give it a squeeze.

“I’m sorry.”Those were the first words out of her mouth after a long bout of silence. Taigen wasn’t sure how to take that.

“For laying with me?” he ventured curiously.

“No.” she denied with firmness. “I’...I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want.”“

You just did.” his tone was intrigued as he raise himself by an elbow/ “You know what I mean, Taigen.” she sighed.

“I can’t…I can’t be your domesticated little housewife who waits with a warm meal and the children all washed and ready.”

His brows met. “Who said I wanted that? Did you not hear me earlier? Has the clanging of the metal of swords dulled your ears? I said just being with you is enough for me. To help you get your vengeance. Your fight is my fight. I offer you my life, to do with as you please.”

“I want you to live and be happy.”

“Then I will make an oath not to die.” he stated as his finger found its way to her belly button.

#Blue Eye Samurai #Netflix #Mizu #I love this show so much #Mizu is the baddest badass #taigen #mizu x taigen #taimizu #taizu #Taigen #Taizu #Taimizu #I love them so much #you can pry this ship out of my cold dead hands

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kabie-whump · 1 month

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CYOA Whump - Part 4

First | Previous

You chose: Look around for anything that might help me if I can get out of these ropes.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

As Tinny leaves to retrieve the captain, you decide to glance around, taking stock of your surroundings and trying to figure out if there’s anything useful nearby. You know you won’t be able to escape your bindings before the captain gets to you, but at least you’ll be able to move quickly if you happen to find yourself with a moment’s freedom.

There isn’t much around you, you realize. The forward deck is fairly empty, and there are no convient weapons left lying around like you’d hoped. A fishing net is draped over a barrel nearby and the ship’s anchor sits on a coiled pile of ropes.

Rope netting spans above you, climbing up the mast you’re tied to and leading to a platform where a pirate naps with one leg hanging off. There’s a sword next to him. A particularly strong gust of wind might knock it down, but you aren’t sure if you can control where it lands, especially in your weakened state.

That’s all the information you can collect before a tiefling man strolls in front of you with Tinny close behind. He’s tall too, not as tall as Tinny but you still have to look up to see his eyes.

His has leathery red skin and dark hair tied back under his wide brimmed hat, which has two holes cut in it to accommodate his horns.

“Erxik,” he says in a thick infernal accent. “I am the captain here. This is my ship, the Fortune. My first mate, Tinny. And you are my prisoner. Tell me your name, boy.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

CYOA whump taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @rainydaywhump @whumperofworlds @hauntedroseart @3-2-whump @fleur-a-whump @whumpsday @whumpisfun @whumper-whimsy @ghost-whump @fabled-whump @violets-whumperflies @whumped-by-glitter @thewhumpening-thesequel @lumpofsand

#cyoa game #whump #whump community #whump tropes #whump writing #whumpblr #whump scenario #whump ideas #whumpee #oc #original character #cyoa whump #dnd whump #oc whump #pirate whump #nonhuman whumpee #ventisposting #ventis

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cognacandlilac · 1 year

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To The Depths - Part Four - NSFW

(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader)

Violent Delights

A03 - Part One - Part Two - Part 3.1 - Part 3.2

Summary: A raging storm threatens the lives of everyone aboard the ship. You do what you can to help, but the real storm comes in the form of your volatile Captain.

Chapter Tags/TW: explicit sexual content, p in v, power dynamics, dirty talk/taunting, spanking, punishment, denial, improper nautical safety procedures, a sprinkling of murder,

Word Count: 11k

Rating: Explicit/MDNI

You grasp at anything you can sink your fingers into.

Silco is on his feet, shoving on his boots and buttoning his shirt.

"What's happening?" you ask, knowing it's a stupid question and you'll likely get an insulting answer.

"Storm," he grunts before striding out of the cabin. You hear shouts between crew members and quickly realize the ship isn't facing a simple squall.

You tug on your boots and leave the cabin.

The deck is in chaos. The lanterns have been extinguished by the storm. The only source of light comes from rapid flashes of lightning. You dart into the fray. You might not be the savviest sailor of the bunch but storm protocols had been drilled into your head as a precaution.

The crew scurries along the deck and up into the rigging to secure the sails so the Zaun's Revenge doesn't get pulled further into the storm.

You move without thought, grabbing a line and yanking with all your might. The twine digs into your hands as rain pelts your skin but you keep pulling until your line gives way, but yours is one of three that can sheet the sail in question.

The tattooed man that rowed you aboard yanks on one, but the third seems to be stuck somewhere along the mast.

Rain comes down in violent sheets, pelting you hard enough to leave welts on your skin. It hurts to tip your face to the sky but something has to be done about the jammed rigging.

Lightning flashes just as you happen to steal a quick glance at the sails. For a split second, the world is thrown into light and you spot twin streaks of bright blue shimmying across the yard of the foresail.

A dark wave smashes into the port side, sending you reeling back. Even Sevika loses her footing and hits the railing with enough force that the tattooed man has to grab her to keep her from tumbling into the raging sea.

Another bolt of lightning has you glancing up at the foremast. Jinx is nowhere to be seen.

The ship is thrown into darkness once more. Waves rise and fall on all sides of the Zaun's Revenge, some high enough to blot out the low-hanging stars strung between the horizon and the storm clouds.

Between the rain and waves, you’re caught in a constant downpour. Your clothing sticks to you like a second skin, offering no protection from the biting wind. With great effort, you make it to the base of the foremast. You reach out to steady yourself against the wood only to touch a shoulder instead.

You're struck by bits of metal woven through braids as Jinx spins around.

"Hold this!" she demands before you can process relief that she's not fighting for her life overboard in the dark. She shoves a length of rigging into your hands. "Hold tight and brace yourself."

You wrap your hands around the line but you aren't sure what you're meant to brace for. You're already doing all you can to stay upright as the ship bucks against the sea.

When the next lightning strike hits, Jinx fires a single shot. The line in your hands goes slack. If the line is severed, how can the sail be secured?

"Pull," Jinx instructs, taking up some of the rigging. You pull with her, fully expecting the line to come down around your feet but it doesn't.

Somehow, Jinx fixed the rigging with an impossible shot, using a pistol that still fired after being thoroughly drenched. You don't have time to ponder that mystery.

A terrible crack rings out over the roar of the storm.

You fear the worst, expecting to see one of the masts fractured, careening toward the deck. Thankfully, that hasn’t happened. One of the remaining unfurled sails has broken loose from the rigging and flaps around like a beast in a trap.

You turn to Jinx only to find yourself standing alone.

Turning your back to the wind, you drag yourself toward the stern. There is nothing you can do to secure the loose part of the sail, so you fall in line with the rest of the crew working to get it at least mostly furled. The sail will not escape being damaged in the storm, but it also won't catch the wind and drag the Zaun's Revenge further into the heart of the storm.

You repeat the process over and over, following the lead of the crew members around you. They say nothing to you aside from an occasional correction. Most seem glad to have an extra pair of hands able to fight against the wind.

Your hands sting, burning both from the roughness of the hemp lines and the vicious chill in the air, but you push on until all of the sails are tucked up.

Now, the Zaun's Revenge only has to battle the water. The notion brings you no relief as a cresting wave pours onto the deck, knocking you off your feet.

Sputtering and scrambling, you grapple for purchase and attempt to orient yourself.

You spot an orange glow, an ember in the dark. Lightning splinters across the sky revealing Silco at the helm. Eyes shining and teeth bared, he snarls at the storm as if he would dominate a very force of nature. As if he would succeed in doing so. As if it were a question of pure willpower and nothing else.

And here you are, crumpled on the deck, unable to move, completely and utterly captivated by him.

The trance breaks only when you're roughly hauled to your feet. You aren't sure who pulled you up. Whoever it was is already gone. Remembering yourself, you focus on being useful, lending a hand where you can.

You aren't sure how much time passes when a hand takes hold of your forearm. You don't have to look to know who it is. His touch has already become recognizable to you.

Silco pulls you across the deck, ensuring you stay upright when waves assault the hull. He doesn't look back at you and you can barely make out his shape through the rain.

Above, you think you see slivers of moonlight breaking through the clouds. You consider that a good sign. Perhaps the worst of the storm is over.

Silco brings you into his quarters, shutting out the storm when you're both inside. The quiet of the room shocks your senses, though it's far from silent.

The ship creaks and groans as she's thrown about like a child's toy in a bathtub. The wind howls as rain slams into that unusual window. Yet, it's still quiet enough for you to hear Silco's labored breathing as he braces himself against his desk. Your own breathing is far from quiet as well, though adrenaline stops you from feeling the effects of so much physical labor.

Your heart pounds. You're shocked you can't hear it.

"You shouldn't have been out there," Silco says after regaining much of the composure you've come to expect from him.

"You needed all the help you could get."

You move toward the desk, deciding the bed isn't solid enough to brace on. If you lie down, you'll never get back up. Once you catch your breath, you have every intention of going back out to help.

The ship pitches and you can't correct yourself in time. You brace, prepared to crash into something when Silco's arm slips around your waist and pulls you flush against him.

You gaze up at him, lips parted in surprise. Weak moonlight, fighting against the thick storm clouds with all its might, bleeds into the room. Soft green light just barely allows you to see Silco's face in the dark, save for that eye which gives off a faint glow of its own. He looks surprised to find you so close to him though he's the one who pulled you in.

His good eye dips to your mouth.

Something tightens in your core. You feel the ghosts of his touches in the tavern gliding over your skin. Warmth blooms on your neck exactly where his lips brushed your skin before. Your shirt, made completely translucent by the rain, does nothing to conceal the stiff peaks of your nipples.

The ship rocks again. Your chest brushes against his and a soft sigh escapes your lips.

That's all it takes. That little sound shatters the frost-thin barrier of restraint between you and him. The arm around the small of your back tightens and his free hand grips your jaw.

He kisses you hard, not giving you even a moment to think before taking your bottom lip between his teeth. He bites down hard enough to make you gasp. The tip of his tongue glides over your lip, soothing the small hurt he just inflicted.

The cabin pitches, pulling you backward.

You grab fistfuls of his shirt with the intention of keeping yourself in place against him but he pushes forward, using the momentum of the ship to direct you to the bed. Between feverish, almost desperate kisses, you take the chance to bite him back, pulling a deep laugh from his chest.

"Little fighter," he murmurs against your mouth right before he pushes you back onto the bed.

Your skirt flares around you, leaving your legs exposed. You gaze up at him from the bed, his figure a dark slash through the moonlit room, eye glowing like a tiny sun.

He runs both hands up your legs as he leans forward. One hand comes up to pinch a nipple through your shirt while the other urges your legs apart. He covers his body with yours, slotting his hips between your thighs. You wind a hand into his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours.

He rocks into you, groaning when you push up into him. You feel him straining against his pants. He pushes, you push back. You grab at him, he grabs at you. You match every bite and tug and pull, inflicting yourselves on each other until he pulls away just enough to look at you.

You know you must look a sight. Chest heaving beneath your soaked-through shirt. Lips swollen from violent kisses. Cheeks flushed and hair fanned out around you in a messy halo.

You expect him to look undone too if the fierceness behind his kisses and the hard press of him against you is anything to go by. Except he doesn't. At all.

He looks at you the same way he looked at the storm. Like you're a force to be dominated and he relishes the challenge.

The way he watches you stirs something in your chest, something beyond a simple desire for carnal pleasure. You swallow it down before lifting your head, eager to wipe out every thought with more kisses.

He doesn't let you kiss him. Delight glitters in his good eye as he denies you. The corner of his mouth lifts into something between a smirk and a sneer.

"For such a mean little creature, you're very needy."

Anger stokes inside you, creating a twin flame to your desire.

"For someone so above it all," you say with as much disdain as you can muster, "you're awfully desperate."

A hollow chuckle tears from the hard set of his mouth. His beryl eye narrows as he studies you, searching for something.

No, not searching, you soon realize. Waiting.

A breath before you start squirming under his scrutiny, a long-fingered hand binds your wrists together and pins them over your head. The movement is so fast and fluid you don't have a chance to react until it's too late. He has you pinned.

His free hand drags up your thigh and higher still. A sharp, stuttering gasp rips from your throat as he drags an icy finger through the slick heat at the apex of your thighs.

"Are you wet for me again, treasure? Or are you wet for me still?"

That infernal smugness, that damn self-assuredness, makes your blood boil.

"I could ask you the same question, pirate," you snarl, remembering who you are. You arch against him, pressing yourself against his length. "Have you been aching and hard since the tavern or do I have that strong of an effect on you?"

"You're asking the wrong question," he murmurs.

"What question should I be asking?"

"Not how hard you make me." He removes his hand from between your thighs to press himself into you. "But if you want it"

You open your mouth to answer only to stop yourself by digging your teeth into your bottom lip.

"Don't go quiet on me now," he taunts. "That bratty little mouth of yours must have plenty to say."

You clench your teeth, unwilling to bend your pride so quickly.

"Come on, treasure," he purrs. "Do you want it?"

"Yes," the word bubbles from your lips before you can rein yourself in. But why should you rein yourself in? You want him. You want him so badly, you could bottle your desire and sell it to fools and romantics alike.

Fabric bristles as he frees himself from the constricting fit of his trousers. You wiggle your hips in an ineffective attempt to get your skirt out of the way. He lowers himself, the head of his cock brushes against your center. Every nerve in your body hones in on that little point of forbidden contact.

Your gaze flicks up to his, your eyes meet, and the world seems to go still and quiet. The ship ceases her rocking. The wind silences its ravenous howl.

Then the ocean's chaos ignites once more. Lightning flashes, bright and blinding, as he slides into you. Roaring, booming thunder cracks through the world, masking the cry that rips from your throat as he buries himself to the hilt.

While it's been several years since you'd been intimate with anyone, no amount of practice could have prepared you for this.

For him.

Thick, throbbing, and hard as steel, you struggle to take him. He isn't gentle or slow as he plunges into you again and again, yet you relish the shocks of pain deliciously woven into the pleasure.

His head drops, his mouth finding the tender spot he lavished tiny, teasing kisses upon only hours ago. You expect more of those kisses now only to cry out once again as he sinks his teeth into you.

"Too rough for the soft, pretty heiress?" he laughs against your skin, content to give you those feather-light kisses now. Arms still pinned above you, the only thing you can do is turn your head toward him. Your lips brush his ear. The moan that escapes him is a gravelly echo of the thunder rumbling all around you. You do it again and again until you find his earlobe...

And bite.

Your canine punctures delicate skin. Silco's breath hitches as he pulls back.

Surprise, shock even, simmers behind that burning eye and lingers in the twitch of his upper lip. You enjoy it, both the sight and the knowledge that you can catch him off guard even when you're on your back, hands pinned and thighs spread.

Even with his cock buried inside of you, pulling your mind deeper into a haze of pleasure with every punishing thrust, you are not outmatched.

Free from the confines of your world, a world of rules and expectations forever keeping you off-balance - your poor imitation of peace as fragile as an eggshell - you can go head-to-head with the most fearsome pirate in the realm and catch him off guard.

Now that you've had that little taste of power, you want more. You want it as badly as you want Silco's next thrust or bite or kiss.

"Rough enough for you, pirate?" Now it's your turn to laugh, to let him see you mock him.

His snarl sharpens as he brings his face closer to yours, the glow of his eye casting faint firelight on your cheek. Perhaps he intends to intimidate you but you're long past that. You lift your head as though you might kiss him only to run your tongue over his expectant lips before snapping your teeth as though you would bite him again.

A low growl reverberates through his chest, humming through your skin, deep into your bones.

"Not nearly," he speaks in the lowest murmur.

His words should have been swallowed by the screaming storm, but his voice is the clearest sound to you. The hand grasping your wrists vanishes, finding a home in a loose grip around your neck while the other slips behind your knee to drape your leg over his shoulder.

His next thrust sinks deeper. New sensations, new pleasures unlike anything you've ever felt before shoot sparks through your body.

The ship rocks suddenly, so violently you find yourself tilting at nearly a ninety-degree angle.

Silco stumbles back, leaving you spread on the bed as he catches himself on the desk. Now that your hands are free, you push yourself up, ready to yank Silco back to you, until you spot a chance you cannot pass up. You're on your feet in half a heartbeat. When he sees you standing, he moves toward you.

You could let him catch you. Pin you down again. Dominate you. You could let yourself drown in him. A considerable part of you wants that, but a bigger, hungrier part wants to make him drown in you.

The rocking of the ship works in your favor. You collide with him, pushing him back toward the cushioned alcove.

Between the surprise of your advance and the unpredictable movement of the ocean, he can’t overpower you. He's at your mercy as you use every advantage to send him tumbling back against the cushioned seat.

Instinct moves your hand faster than the rest of your body. You cup the back of his head as he falls back. You can't have him cracking his skull on the lovely lattice of his strange green window.

His back hits the cushion and his head comes to rest on one of the many plush pillows. You use the momentum of the rocking ship to propel yourself forward so you're straddling him.

Once he realizes he's pinned beneath you, he glares up at you. Snarling and furious. You can only laugh as you lean forward, brushing your lips against his ear as you lift your hips.

"Looks like I've won our little game." You pull away to watch his face as you place both hands on his shoulders to pin him in place. You know he's stronger than you. He has not hesitated to prove that at every opportunity and you don't want to lose your advantage, this delicious upper hand.

His hand shoots up as if he means to grab for your throat but you're faster. You lower yourself, taking him inside of you once more. The fury in his eyes flickers out. His ocean eye flutters closed as his head falls back. Chipped teeth sink into his bottom lip as you ride him with excruciating slowness.

"You think this is your victory?" What begins as a taunting laugh melts into a groan as you sink down once more.

Hands grip your hips, fingertips digging hard into your skin.

"Isn't it? I've got the Eye on his back."

"And I have a silver spoon heiress riding me like I paid for her. Seems like I'm the victorious one."

"And if I should stop?" You go still above him, the head of his cock just barely inside of you. Cutting yourself off from the pleasure is painful, but worth it if it means depriving him.

"Do you want to stop?" he asks, peering up at you as another flash of lightning slashes through the storm clouds.

You shake your head, unable to voice the truth of it, that you'd sink much lower than you already have if it meant you could keep playing this game.

"And if I were to take control?" Just like that, the game is on once more. Your smile returns, laced with mockery and spite to mask the true, untempered desire writhing just beneath your skin.

"You aren't in a position to take anything unless I give it to you."

"Oh," he grins. "Is that what you think?"

You open your mouth, a sharp parry ready on the tip of your tongue, but those words never get the chance to pass your lips.

Silco's hands slide from your hips to the narrow of your waist. His grip promises a constellation of bruises on the morrow. You attempt to lower yourself again, certain you can regain control if you can just take him within you once more. He doesn't allow you to move an inch. You try to pull back, but you're unsuccessful.

"What's the matter, little treasure?" He thrusts up slowly, inflicting the same torturous pace on you as you did on him. A low, pleading whine rips from your throat, equal parts begging and anger.

You never had the upper hand over him. Perhaps, you caught him by surprise when you pressed your advantage but he knew exactly how he'd play this the moment his back hit the cushion. You may be on top of him but he has control.

"You don't need to fight so hard," His voice is gentle and warm. Another one of his many deceptions. Does he have anything that resembles a true self? Or is he just layer upon layer of masks, tricks, and farces?

He sits up, pulling you deeper into the seat of his lap. Your knees slot against his sides as he buries his face in your neck. Hands still around your waist, he holds you suspended, refusing to enter you fully.

"So lovely, yet so stubborn," he purrs. "Don't you want to feel good, treasure?"

You do. Damn you to the frozen abyss, but you want every little drop of pleasure he offers. You'll lick it off his fingers and drink it from his lips. You can admit that to yourself. Admitting it to him is an entirely different beast.

"Yield to me."

Something fractures in you. You cave under the weight of always wanting what you can't have and always fighting for a scrap of control you never had a chance of holding in the first place.

You relax into his hands, allowing him to hold you up.

"Good girl," he hums into your skin, holding you as he fucks you in earnest. "I'm going to take good care of you."

One hand leaves your waist, traveling to the low neckline of your sea-soaked blouse. One sharp tug rips the fabric. It hangs useless against your sides as Silco marks a trail of nips and kisses from your neck to your breasts.

You suck in a breath and wait for the scrape and bite of teeth, eagerly anticipating pain to mix in with pleasure. When it doesn't come, you wait for whatever tease he has planned. Surely, he has something planned to get back at you for trying to turn the tables on him.

The tip of his tongue glides over your nipple in a soft, slow lick. He does it over and over again, the sensation starkly contrasting the powerful thrusts of his hips.

His mouth, fiery hot against the chill of your skin, closes around your nipple. Each gentle, honey-sweet suck of his mouth makes you whimper. You want to beg, but you aren't sure what you'd beg for.

Every time his cock brushes against a certain spot deep within you, something you never knew existed before now, the burning coil tightens low in your belly. Yet the tender ministrations of his mouth have you floating on soft clouds. The dueling sensations are almost too much to handle but if he were to stop, you fear you'd die of want on the spot.

How dare he reduce you to a wet, whimpering mess? How dare you enjoy it so much?

You hate him.

You hate him... and he's going to make you cum. That coil inside of you is going to spring loose. You clench around his cock, earning an appreciative groan that vibrates over the nipple in his mouth.

Your gaze lifts to the whorling window lattice just in time to see a wave slam into the glass. It does not break, but the force of the wave's impact pitches the ship. You fly backward, smacking hard into the desk.

Silco staggers to his feet, reaching for you. You grasp at his forearms, aching for him and furious that the storm robbed you of your release.

You look at Silco as bolts of lightning illuminate the cabin. You could scramble to gain an advantage over him again. No doubt similar thoughts are running through his mind as he stares at you.

Another rough wave has you both scrambling for balance. The realization hits you both simultaneously.

You could spend hours fighting each other for dominance but the sea can rip you apart whenever it pleases. While fighting each other is fun and frustrating in equal measure, you could work together to take your respective pleasures despite the storm's fury.

"The desk is bolted in place," he says. "Find a way to take hold."

One look at the desk tells you the only option is to bend over the surface and grip the edge. You do so without a second thought.

Silco is right behind you, lifting your skirts and circling a fingertip over that sensitive bundle of nerves before you've had a chance to grip the wood of the desk.

He slides into you with a grunt and leans forward, his chest against your back. His hands find yours, guiding them to the edge of the desk.

"Hold tight, beauty. I won't be ripped from you again."

You nod and curl your fingers around the lip of the desk.

"So good," he murmurs, his mouth at your ear. "So tight and wet and perfect."

You arch and push your hips against him, urging him deeper with every buck of his sharp hips. You flip one hand, turning it palm up against his. He laces his fingers through yours and still manages to keep hold of the desk.

"Do you know what I'm thinking about, little treasure?" he groans.

"I can guess," you reply, swallowing your own moan to do so.

"I'm thinking about your wedding night."

Oh. No, you could not have guessed that.

"Why?" is all you can muster in response as each push of his cock winds that coil inside of you ever tighter.

"Because when you fall back on your honeymoon bed, you won't be thinking of your new husband."

"Oh?" That coil winds ever tighter, growing hotter by the second.

"You'll be thinking of me," he murmurs. "When you lie back for him you'll hear my voice in your head. You'll see my face when you close your eyes. And when you cum, it will be my name that spills from those pretty lips."

Indignation lights up your blood but you can't hide the way the very thought makes you clench around him.

"You like that, don't you?" he chuckles as one of his hands leaves the desk to slip between your thighs. He strokes you as he fucks you, sending you hurtling toward your release. "Say my name and I'll make you cum sweeter than you ever have before."

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, unwilling to give him the satisfaction even though you've given him everything else.

"Still fighting against your own desires?" His laugh is a dark, mean blade that slices through your thoughts. "Poor darling."

He bucks into you, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You're close. So painfully, exquisitely close. All you have to do is say one little word. Two syllables. That's it.

"I want to feel you when you come undone," he sighs. "Just say my name, little treasure."

"Silco," you whisper into the wooden surface of the desk.

"Louder, beauty. I can't hear you." His breath hitches in his chest as his thrusts quicken.

"Silco!” you cry.

A moment later, the combination of his skillful fingers and relentless cock shatter you. You don't bother hiding the sounds that tumble from your mouth as you cum. He buries himself inside of you, throbbing with his release, as violent as the storm surrounding you.

A shudder rips through you when he pulls out. You expect him to leave you where you are, legs trembling as you grapple with the pleasure fog that coats your mind.

Instead, his hands find their way to your middle. He coaxes you upright, catching you against his chest when you can't quite manage to stand tall.

"You've impressed me, treasure," he says.

"Thank goodness. I don't know how I'd survive if you didn't think I was good in bed,” you scoff.

"I'd hoped you'd be so pleasure-addled, your natural venom wouldn't return right away," he chuckles.

"Hope is for fools, pirate."

The ship rocks again. You'd be on your ass if Silco weren't holding you up.

"How is it that you are more cynical after drowning in carnal bliss?" He asks. "Do you need me to drown you again?"

Yes. Yes. Yes. More. You want more. You don't care if your body can’t handle it. You want him to turn your brain off and rip you from reality.

"Come along, little treasure." He urges you to step forward, supporting you as you move. Another rock of the ship has you clinging to him like a lifeline.

"You're so much more docile when you're cock-drunk," he murmurs.

"Yet, you're still an ass when you're cunt-struck."

He falters for a moment before barking out a laugh with a toss of his head.

"Oh, that's unfortunate," he chuckles, leading you to the bed. He guides you as you crash into the mattress. Your legs still feel wobbly beneath you and the thrashing ship has now become a hindrance rather than an advantage.

"What is?" You roll onto your back as he lifts your legs onto the bed.

"I think I'm starting to like you, treasure."

Your mind is too thick with pleasure, adrenaline, and fatigue to come up with anything clever to say in response.

You look in the direction of his voice only to find he's no longer there.

Figures.

You settle into bed, face turned toward the ceiling. Something lands beside you with a soft whomp. Before you can figure out what it was, a hand grasps beneath your knee and opens your legs.

A little thrill runs through you though you aren't sure you can take him again. Not so soon. Not when you're still so sensitive. Not when every nerve is still alight.

Instead, something cool and damp presses against your center, soothing the burn and the ache. It moves in soft, gentle circles. You lift your head to find Silco bent over you, a hand up your skirt while the other holds your legs open.

Understanding washes over you. He's cleaning you. He's tending to you. You almost can't believe the gentle touch you feel now comes from the same man who just pushed your body to its limit, leaving a map of bruises and bite marks in his wake.

"You-" you stammer but you can't quite find the words. Your confusion must come through in your voice, for Silco's gaze snaps to yours as he removes the cloth.

"I'm not as monstrous as you think me to be."

A flash of lightning illuminates the cabin and the sharp lines of his face. Something lingers beneath his expression, bleeding through the neutrality he wears as one of his many masks. The cabin is thrown into darkness once more before you have a chance to decipher it.

"Besides," when he speaks again, his voice carries its usual lilt, controlled but with a hint of amusement. "If I don't take care of my playthings, they break before I can use them again."

You turn away from him with a scoff and he releases your leg.

"I've put dry clothes on the bed," he says, standing up and stepping away. "You may change when you're ready, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't completely soak my bedding."

"Are you staying in your wet clothes?" you ask, lifting your head.

"It wouldn't be very smart of me to change only to soak them through again the moment I step outside."

"You're going back out there?"

"It's my ship that's getting tossed about. My crew battling the elements. Of course, I'm going back out there."

"So am I." You lift your head but can't seem to do much else.

"You are to remain here," he says. "I can’t be worried about you causing trouble or falling overboard."

"Here? With all these pretty, shiny blades?"

He's hovering over you in an instant, so close his nose brushes against yours.

"By all means, help yourself," he challenges. "You'll be restrained and searched. Thoroughly."

"You shouldn't make your threats sound like promises," you smirk and force an edge into your voice. You want to go back to familiar territory. Barbed words and uncloaked disdain. You know how to handle that.

He chuckles as he pulls away but says nothing else as he makes for the door. He pries it open, allowing the storm's chaos to spill into the cabin. Biting wind slices at your exposed skin, making you curl onto your side in an attempt to escape it.

A harsh, needy instinct grips you. A need for warmth, for contact. To be held and sheltered.

The cabin door slams shut. The wind stops. You're able to push those silly needs out of your mind long enough to change into dry clothes.

Silco provided you with only a shirt. One of his. Long enough to keep you covered but not very warm. You burrow into the driest parts of the bedding hoping the rest will dry soon so you can wrap yourself thoroughly against the chill.

The room is cold, obviously, but it's so much colder without Silco sharing the space. You tell yourself that's how rooms work. Rooms are warmer when they contain more sources of heat. People, in this case.

You don't want Silco, you just want warmth. You repeat that thought every time a shiver shakes your body. Every time your teeth chatter.

The longing for contact only grows but you ignore it. You'll warm up soon and those unhelpful feelings will go away. They always do.

================================================

When you next open your eyes, the sea is calm and quiet. Unnervingly so after last night's violence. Pretty green-gold light fills the room.

Footfalls thunder overhead. It doesn't strike you as unusual until you hear shouting. Not the normal shouts of a crew relaying information but shouts of anger and alarm.

Dread pools in your belly as the shouts grow louder and the footfalls more erratic.

Logic tells you to stay put but what if The Hound has found you? If this was a rescue, surely you should get on deck quickly.

You scramble out of bed only to remember your state of dress. You can't leave this room in nothing more than one of Silco's shirts. You rub the deep green fabric of his sleeve between your fingers as your gaze settles on the wardrobe.

You grab at the skirt you left discarded on the cabin floor. It's still damp. Heavy and cold. You decide to rifle through the wardrobe in search of garments discarded by... previous guests.

Something sour twists in your stomach as you realize you've added yourself to Silco's no doubt lengthy list of conquests.

It shouldn't bother you. You didn't do everything you did last night because you thought it meant something. You're not a fool in that regard, at least.

You find a pair of fitted black breeches. They don't look like Silco's but they don't seem like they've been worn, either. You hold them against your hips. They should fit. It's not like it has to be perfect. You just need to be decent.

You wiggle into the pants and pull on your borrowed boots before pulling on the cabin door. You half-expect it to be locked but it opens easily.

Briefly, you wonder if the unlocked door is some kind of test. He didn't say as much but surely Silco expected you to stay put until he returned. He didn't want you out in the storm.

In fairness, you didn't particularly want to go back into the storm. But the storm is over. There's no reason he should expect you to stay in the cabin now that the weather is fair. If he does, it's his own fault for not voicing his expectations.

Not that you would have heeded him. Just because you allowed him to take control last night doesn't mean it carried over into this morning.

That decides it. You pull open the door only to find Silco at the top of the short flight of stairs leading to the deck, his back to you.

You move quietly, listening intently. The shouts have quieted, which is less than helpful.

"You should return to your ship while I allow you to do so," Silco's voice is cold and deadly under the guise of a gentleman's speech.

"You will not listen to my offer?" An unfamiliar accented voice speaks, as cool and languid as Silco’s though not nearly as effective. It’s as if the stranger is trying to mimic Silco but doesn't have the skill or power to do so.

"No." Silco's answer is absolute.

"Terrible business practice," the stranger tuts.

You crouch low as you move, peeking around Silco's legs. You're definitely not getting rescued.

The stranger wears an ostentatious golden coat, leaving his chest bare to display an array of detailed tattoos. Your gaze ticks to his face and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from gasping.

The tattoo of a realistic human jawbone, teeth and all, over his fully flesh jaw, is jarring enough, but... his eyes. Catlike. Reptilian. You aren't sure which.

It's not the inhumanness of his eyes that puts you off. You'd been looking at Silco for two days, after all. His molten eye is far more dramatic than the eyes of the stranger, but the stranger's eyes are much colder. Meaner.

You can't put your finger on it, but the stranger scares you more than Silco ever has.

You sink down a step, fully out of sight. You don't know who that man is or what he wants but you want nothing to do with him.

You should have stayed in the cabin.

"Are you dissatisfied with business of late?" Silco asks. "Don't tell me you've already spent the coin from your share of the Montras fang payout?"

Montras? Your brain snags on the name. A childhood fairytale leaps to the forefront of your mind. A legendary, immortal creature of the deep. A whale of sorts, though it doesn't truly fit into that category. Its teeth are said to have life-extending properties.

Silco spoke of several mythical beasts and artifacts in the tavern. You'd assumed he spoke in code but now you were less sure.

"It's not your concern," the stranger says. "But kidnapping an heiress and keeping the money and glory all to yourself is my concern."

Silco chuckles. "You feel entitled to a cut of a job you didn't plan and didn't execute? Come now, Finn. You're not that stupid."

The stranger, Finn, chuckles. "Of course not. That's why I've taken this most serendipitous meeting to make an offer."

"I'm listening."

Your blood goes cold. You make another attempt to scoot down the stairs, but you slip. You hit the next step down with a thunk. It's not loud, but loud enough for Silco to hear. His head twitches to the side as if he means to look at you, but he catches himself.

"Is that where you're keeping her?" Finn asks. "Let's see the pretty heiress, hm?"

Silco looks over his shoulder, fixing you under the gaze of his good eye. You can't get a read on his expression.

"Come here, treasure," he says, his voice equal parts coaxing and commanding.

You shake your head. You don't want Finn to see you. You don't trust the slime oozing through his voice. You don't trust those reptilian eyes.

"Nothing is going to happen to you," Silco assures you. “Come here."

You could bolt back into the cabin now that you don't have to be worried about stealth. But what good would that do? There's nowhere to run, whether you stay put or try to hide in the cabin.

You weigh your options though, if you're being honest, you have none.

You pull yourself to your feet and climb the stairs. Silco extends an arm, guiding you to stand at his side. He drapes that arm around your shoulders, an obvious display of dominance, ownership even. But this display isn't a stunt to keep you in line, but a signal to Finn.

Realizing this, you allow yourself to nestle against his side. Your hand takes a secret, but fierce grip on the back of his coat. This is just another game, you assure yourself, like the one you played in the tavern.

"You'll be fine," he whispers before jerking his chin at Finn. "Here's the heiress. What's your proposition?"

"You hold her for ransom, yes?" Finn asks.

"No, I'm giving her a pleasure tour of the far isles." Silco's annoyance bleeds into the air. "Of course, I've organized a ransom."

"Say you are set upon by a band of corsairs," Finn says, "You give her up to save your own hide. Return to her father and offer your expensive tracking services. You make more than the original ransom and your fleet gets a cut for their cooperation. A win across the board."

Fleet? Silco has a fleet? Since when do pirates organize fleets?

Silco looks over your head to Sevika, who looks as though she's about to keel over with boredom. Today, she wears a tri-forked blade attachment instead of a hook or wooden hand.

"Am I wrong or has Finn grown stupider since we saw him last?" Silco asks her.

"He's definitely stupider," Sevika snorts. "What should we do about it?"

"I could always take her," Finn says, pushing his coat aside to reveal a pistol. "Claim the ransom myself. Get what I'm owed."

"Owed?" Silco chuckles. "Tell me, what are you owed?"

"I wait with the others for orders," he sneers. "We go weeks, sometimes months without word from you."

"I didn't realize I prevented you from supporting yourself between assignments. Sevika?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Did I issue a command that prevents any of the Sea Barons from providing for themselves while I search for work?"

"No, Captain."

"That's what I thought." Silco looks at the deck as he makes a show of thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "I know what you want, Finn."

"The riches promised to me when I joined your fleet."

"Perhaps," Silco nods. "But more importantly, you want to sit on your ass on a ship I provided you, surrounded by a crew I provided, and rake in a cut of the profits regardless of whether or not you contributed."

"I-" Finn starts but Silco doesn't allow him the chance to get a word in.

"You want a slice of the prize my little heiress will net." His grip tightens on you. "Tell me, where does she live?"

"Piltover.”

"More specifically," Silco prompts. He waits a moment. When Finn doesn't answer, he presses on. "What is her father's annual income? How much is the ransom? Where will the exchange take place? Who is her fiancé? Can you even tell me her name?"

Finn remains silent.

Silco scoffs. "You board my ship and demand I alter a plan that has been in motion for months so you can weasel out a cut."

Months? No, that's impossible. You would have noticed something amiss, that you were being watched. Targeted. Wouldn't you?

"As I said. My crew and I have been without work for far too long. We are prepared to relieve you of the heiress."

Only now do you notice that not everyone on deck is part of Silco's crew. Many of the faces you look upon aren't familiar to you, but nearly a dozen sailors draw weapons on Finn's order.

Silco doesn't seem worried, even with an arsenal of weapons pointed at his chest.

With a snarl, Sevika draws her pistol and raises her arm, letting her triple blade catch the sunlight. The tattooed man draws two formidable axes. Everyone on deck besides you and Silco have weapons drawn.

You shrink behind him though you don't take your eyes off Finn until you see a blue head appear from the galley stairs.

Jinx takes in the tense situation with a curious frown. The moment she spots Finn, her sapphire eyes narrow, and her upper lip curls in disgust.

"What's going on?" she asks, weaving through the deck, taking time to size up every pirate that doesn't belong on the Zaun's Revenge.

"Nothing more than a boy throwing a tantrum while masquerading as a man," Silco spits.

Finn glances at two of his crewmates, the two closest to Jinx.

Finn gives a single nod. From there, everything happens too quickly for you to process.

Silco leaves your side right as Jinx's gaze snaps to Finn's crew members. Fast as a whip, Jinx draws two pistols and fires perfect shots clean through the skulls of the two crewmen advancing on her.

Finn draws his pistol and aims for Jinx. A cry claws at your throat but Finn never fires. Silco is upon him before he gets the chance, plunging a blade through his chest.

You stagger back, hands clamped over your mouth to muffle your scream as Finn's chest turns red, blood pouring thick enough to cover his tattoos. He crumples, lifeless, his blood seeping into the deck.

Silco cuts through another one of Finn's men. You watch Sevika cut down three of them without hesitation.

Jinx scrambles away from the thick of the fight, wild-eyed as she watches Silco. Her fingers never leave the triggers of her firearms.

Within a minute, it's all over. Every one of Finn's crew members lay dead.

Silco wipes his bloodied blade on a nearby body before sheathing it.

Jinx still stands, pistols drawn. Her breath comes in jagged puffs. Silco moves toward her, hands out.

"It's over, minnow," he says gently.

Her eyes snap to his. After a moment her breathing evens out. She lowers her weapons. Only then does she seem to take in the bodies strewn across the deck.

"Did I... do this?" she asks, her voice pinched.

“You only did what was necessary,” Silco insists. “Those fools sealed their fates the moment they followed Finn onto our ship."

She nods, though she still looks a little... frantic.

"Why don't you work on one of your projects for a time, hm?" Silco suggests. "I'm rather curious about the magnetic cannon balls."

Magnetic what now?

"I don't have a working prototype yet," Jinx mumbles, looking at her feet.

"That's of no matter. Genius takes time," he reassures her. "I'll check on you later. Perhaps, we can puzzle through it together, yes?"

Jinx nods and offers him a half smile before slinking back down below deck.

As soon as she's out of sight, Silco turns to Sevika. "Dump the bodies overboard then blast Finn's ship to splinters."

Bodies are lifted and tossed while you linger on the steps between the deck and the captain's cabin. The urge to hide grips you, but you can't make yourself move. You curl up on the stairs, your eyes glued to the deep red stains left behind by bodies sent to the sea.

The Zaun's Revenge turns about and prepares their cannons. You sit, numb, as Silco orders cannon fire on the other ship. You hear shouts when the first round hits its mark. Shouts quickly turn to confused, pleading screams, wood splinters with a crack as loud as last night's thunder. A part of you wants to see it all unfold, but you don't think you can stomach it so you stay put.

You'd never seen death before. Not like this.

When your mother died, it was gentle and quiet. No blood. No horror. Just sorrow and loss and grief and anger. So much anger.

Today, you feel as though you've seen death's true form. Ruthless and quick. Blood and horror.

You think of your father, your aunt, and everyone else who tried to convince you that death and peace were one and the same. You never believed it. You heard what your mother's doctor said. She was in agony even if she didn't show it. She was strong for you.

Perhaps the men that died today got the better end of the deal. Their deaths were quick, for the most part.

Nausea rolls through you but you keep it at bay. You won't be sick here. It's shallow and small of you, but your pride won't allow it. You breathe through it.

"Who manned the helm last night?” Silco asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Your throat constricts as the sailor you tricked slowly raises his hand, keeping his head bowed.

"I appreciate your honesty," Silco says. "You will receive five lashes, rather than ten."

"Thank you, Captain," the poor helmsman mumbles.

A thank you? For five lashes? Silco can't possibly mean to -

"Sevika. Fetch the whip," Silco commands. As Sevika disappears to retrieve the instrument of torture, you find your legs again. You march right up to Silco, putting yourself between him and the helmsman.

"You cannot punish him," you say, holding your chin high and your back straight even as your legs tremble beneath you.

"Can't I?" Silco arches his singular brow. "We have drifted off course into not one, but two dangers. I cannot allow that to go unpunished."

"Then punish me," you say.

"I beg your pardon?" His good eye narrows.

"I took the helm last night," you say, "for one half hour."

Sileo whirls on the helmsman, eyes blazing. "You abdicated your duties to our hostage?"

"I-" the helmsman stammers.

"I convinced him!" You speak up, wedging yourself once more between Silco and his target. "I tricked him!"

"And he failed his duties," Silco counters. "Ten lashes. Five for his failure. Five for his foolishness."

"Don't you dare," you snap. "I set the ship off course. On purpose. I never imagined we'd run into that awful storm. For that, I'm sorry, but the fault is entirely my own."

Silco fixes you with a stare so intense, you nearly take back your declaration. You've just seen him take several lives and now you're putting yourself at his mercy.

But the helmsman doesn't deserve to be punished for your stupid, rash mistake.

Sevika returns with a coiled whip of fine leather. Silco takes it, running elegant fingers along the braiding.

"Those ten lashes belong to me," you say, loudly enough for the entire crew to hear, "I am at fault and accept full responsibility."

Silco's glare is positively murderous as the crew murmurs amongst themselves. You know he can't put you to the whip, not if he wants your father's money.

"Do you think the terms I struck with your fiancé will keep you safe?' Silco asks, tilting his head to the side. You’re reminded of a bird of prey.

"Will you dole out an unjust punishment to assure your profit?" you challenge.

He stares at you for a long while before throwing the whip to the ground.

"No," he snarls, "I can punish you without flaying your pretty skin."

He takes you by the elbow and yanks you toward his cabin. Your mind scrambles in an attempt to anticipate what he'll do. You can't predict anything. You've been aboard less than three days, you don’t know how things work here.

If Sevika was telling the truth about your exchange day happening two weeks from the day you were snatched from The Hound, Silco can do quite a lot to you.

A bruise can fade in a week. Why did you think his word to do you no harm meant anything? How did you allow yourself to believe for even a second that he is anything other than a greedy, murderous pirate?

He can hurt you.

The same man who tended to you after fucking you so thoroughly, the same man who put a blade through someone's hand for getting too close to you, can hurt you. Will hurt you.

You've been fooled by another one of his masks.

You're thrown into the cabin with enough force to make you stumble but you manage to right yourself before you fall.

Silco slams the door before locking it.

"Are you telling the truth?" he asks without looking at you. "Are you the one who set the ship off course?"

"I am," you say without hesitation.

"You put my crew in danger," he says.

"I know."

"You damaged my ship."

"I know."

"Because of you, we had that lovely little run-in with The Slickjaw's crew. And now, they're dead."

"I didn't make you kill anyone. I didn't make you fire upon that ship," you snap.

"Should I have let Finn take you instead?" he asks, stalking closer. "Do you think he would have treated you kindly?"

"Do you think I would have acted as I did if I'd known the dangers?" you challenge.

"If you didn't understand the dangers, then you're a fool. But I wouldn't expect anything else from a Piltie heiress."

"Then what is my punishment?" you ask, holding your chin high.

Your question catches him off-guard. You want to relish in your ability to continuously surprise him but fear blocks your smugness.

He can hurt you. He wants to hurt you.

"Let me think," he taunts, moving away from the door to advance on you. You hold your ground, unwilling to yield to him twice in the span of twelve hours. "I can't mark you up too badly, can I treasure?"

"Do your worst, pirate," you spit back. You aren't willing to let him know how much he rattles you.

His arm wraps around the small of your back and pulls you tight against him.

"I can't hurt you. Not really," he murmurs into your hair. "But I believe I can make you suffer."

He pulls away so quickly you stumble forward. Silco grabs his desk chair and hauls it into the center of the room before taking a seat. He may as well be a king sitting on a grand throne.

"Lay across my lap," he says.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Get on your knees and lay across my lap," he repeats, his voice as cold and as hard as iron. "I'll make you if I have to."

You don't wish to be manhandled again. Briefly, you consider diving for one of the many weapons in the room but decide against it. If you injure him, his crew won't be kind about it.

So, you straighten your back and hold your chin high. You approach him with the grace and composure of a queen.

When you reach his chair, you sink to your knees and lay yourself over his lap.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" His fingers stroke through your hair, deceptively gentle but that doesn't stop you from enjoying the touch. Had anyone ever run their fingers through your hair before?

You don't think so.

You like it.

His hand trails through your hair, over your back, to the curve of your ass.

"Seems you've helped yourself to the contents of my wardrobe," he says. One hand slides between the sharp of your hip and his thigh. Quick, clever fingers have your borrowed trousers tugged down to your mid-thighs leaving your ass completely bare. “Funny. If you stayed in here, unclothed, you would have avoided your punishment.”

“Get on with it,” you mutter in a show of bravado.

“Where is the enthusiasm you showed last night?” He asks, his voice dripping with mockery. “You sang my name so sweetly. You yielded so perfectly. Where is the sweet treasure I fucked?”

“She washed away with the storm.”

“Pity.” He traces his fingers in slow, tormenting circles over the curve of your ass. “She might have been spared ten lashes.”

You realize what he’s about to do to you. Anger flares in your chest but it’s not strong enough to make you wiggle away from him. It’s also not the strongest emotion swirling within you. Anticipation takes that prize.

“Utter a single word, make a single sound, and the count will reset,” he threatens.

You press your lips together in a hard line, not to stop words but to stop a smile. He has no idea how accustomed you are to holding your tongue. If he expects you to crack and give him the chance to deal more than ten lashes, he’s doomed to be disappointed.

He gives no warning when his palm collides with your skin. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip as stinging pain radiates from the point of contact. He smooths a hand over your skin. You feel every callus that marks his palm.

You’re better prepared for the second strike and the third. He takes his time, letting the sting fully spread through your body to color your skin. Heat and pleasure tingle through you. By the fifth strike, you know you’re soaked. By the tenth, you nearly let loose a whimper but manage to keep yourself under control.

“Hm,” he murmurs. “You did well. How disappointing. I should have liked to punish you further.”

A shudder passes over you, one you can’t contain. He sees it. He feels it just as you feel the hard length of him pressing against your side. You slowly start to writhe, rubbing against him as much as you can. Your punishment has been dealt. Surely that means something more playful is in order.

You’ve become uncomfortably tethered to reality since last night’s storm. Surely, Silco can take you back to that place of mindless, fucked out bliss. You much prefer that state of mind over your current predicament.

You never pretended to be a virgin, but you did very much sleep with another man while engaged. It’s not guilt you feel, exactly. You didn’t agree to the engagement. You don’t want to get married at all, but you are still bound by an agreement. Last night, you dishonored that promise.

Despite your prickly nature and that certain wildness your family longs to stamp out, you view yourself as an honorable person. Captain Vander doesn’t deserve to be dishonored by his future wife.

Or does he? He made an agreement with your father knowing full well you weren’t looking to marry anytime soon. Yes, it’s how things are done but does that excuse putting your clear objections aside? No, but if a respectable marriage is the only way he can secure a prestigious promotion, then he’s as caught in the net of social expectations and rules as you are. He clearly benefits from it more than you do, however.

Resentment rolls through you, doubling your desire to be removed from your own mind.

You were ordered to remain quiet through the lashings and you did so. You are under no orders to remain quiet now, so you allow a pleading whimper to break past your lips.

“What’s that, treasure?” Silco murmurs. His fingers trace a lazy pattern over your ass and up the small of your back before doubling back again. “If you want something, you need to use your words.”

Arousal and shame sting your cheeks. Are you really going to voice your depraved desires to a man who has no issue using them against you? Pride and longing wage war within you. Pride wins and you go silent.

“I think I may know what you want,” he says, his hands roving around the curve of your ass to trace along the backs of your thighs. “Pity you can’t tell me, otherwise I might indulge you.”

Deep need twists through your veins. Your tongue takes command of itself to whisper, “Touch me, please.”

“Please?” Silco chuckles. “Are those Piltie manners finally showing themselves?”

He’s toying with you and you know it. Devil damn you, you’re enjoying it. He doesn’t have all the power, but he has most of it. You like the way he leverages that power against you.

It makes your head spin. People have been using their power against you your entire life, forcing you to play the part of a pretty Piltovian socialite, forcing you into an engagement you don’t want, forcing you into a life you’re not suited for. Yet when he uses his power against you, you feel only an aching need that isn’t going to go away on its own.

His fingers move toward your needy cunt but stop just short of actually touching you the way you need to be touched.

You let out a frustrated whine because you can’t bear to beg. Apparently, you’re willing to bend your pride but not that far.

“It’s always the pretty, perfect society girls who have the darkest desires lying in wait just beneath their skin.”

“How do you know what perfect society girls are like?” You ask, realizing too late that you’ve let jealousy bleed into your voice.

“Surely you’re not unaware of the rumors that surround the most devilish of pirates?” His chuckle is the most infuriating sound in the world.

“You aren’t most pirates,” you spit.

“True,” he says. “But I am still a pirate, nonetheless.”

“So, you make a sport of ruining highborn girls?”

“No, pet,” he says. “But I am most happy to ruin you. Don’t pretend you don’t want it. A ruined girl can’t be allowed to marry a respected navy man. Let me ruin you.”

That’s all you want, though you loathe to admit it. It seems that Captain Silco holds the keys to your prison.

“Then what are you waiting for?” You challenge. “I said please.”

“So you did,” you hear the grin in his voice. “That was so very nice of you.”

A single finger trails up the length of your slit. You feel his cock twitch against your ribs. He presses his fingertip against your clit. Gods help you, you let out a deep, earnest moan as you arch your back and part your thighs so he can have more ease of access.

“Do you want my fingers inside of you?” He asks as he strokes you gently.

“Yes,” you sigh.

“That’s too bad.”

You go stone still in his lap.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he chuckles. The sound is cold and mirthless. “Did you think you’re finished with your punishment?”

“I-,” you stammer, but you aren’t sure what to say. “I took the ten lashes.”

“Little taps, nothing more,” he scoffs. “But now that I know what you want and how badly you want it, I can deny you.”

Oh, that bastard. You realize now that you’ve fallen into a trap.

“Do you want to cum, sweet girl?” He asks.

You hesitate. You could lie, but even your most convincing performance won’t fool him. He’s already felt your dripping cunt. He knows what you want. There is no point in playing the fool.

“Yes,” you sigh.

His fingers oblige. He strokes you with one hand while the other winds into your hair and pulls your head back so you have to look him in the eye.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he whispers. You can barely manage a nod as your brain goes haywire. Your hips twitch, eager to force more contact but he doesn’t allow it. Your whimpers and moans grow until you feel yourself rapidly approaching your peak.

“I’m close,” you shudder. “So close.”

“Good girl,” he purrs before retracting his hand. A horrible whimper tears from your lips as you arch your back, desperate to feel his touch again.

“Please,” you say so softly you aren’t sure he can hear you.

He bends low so his mouth can rest beside your ear. “Those lashes weren’t your true punishment, pet. This is.”

“What?” You whisper, still arching and writhing in an attempt to bring his touch back to you.

“You will not find that sweet release unless I allow it.”

“You forget that I have fingers and an active imagination,” you grumble.

“Do you think I’ll let you be alone long enough to pleasure yourself?” His laugh is wicked and cold. “The next time you cum, dear treasure, will be because I allow it. Remember that.”

“I’ve gone years without release before,” you say. “Your punishment won’t be an issue.”

“Oh, it’s not just a lack of release I have in store for you,” he says. “Blood was spilled on your account, so you will be the one to clean it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Is that not fair?” He asks as he pulls your stolen trousers into place. “If you had not made yourself known, I could have sent Finn and his crew on their way. You owe a life debt and I’ve decided you can pay it by scrubbing.”

“You think scrubbing is worth a life?”

“The lives that were taken today are worth little,” he snarls. “But when you leave this room, you will report to Sevika. She will put you to work and through that, you will be able to pay your blood debt.”

“You’re not serious.” A laugh bubbles up in your throat but you shove it back down. There is no humor in his face. Not a single trace of the man you glimpsed during the storm. He has put his mask back in place.

“I’m always serious, treasure.

******

huge thank you to the most dearest @astudyincontrasts @silcoitus @juniper-sunny @ilikemymendarkandfictional @mmartos for beta-reading.

#to the depths #silco #silco fic #silco smut #silco x reader #silco x f!reader #silco fanfic #pirate!silco #arcane #arcane silco #silco arcane

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