you're 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒄𝒆, baby / but when 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒆, baby / you're so amazing 𝒊𝒏 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒚
a freak known as—𝒁𝑶𝑾𝑰 ( 22 ) ⸝⸝ this is an +18 one piece centric blog where i write about zoro, sanji, law, ace, robin, nami & more ⸝⸝ REQUESTS ARE OPEN
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𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆!
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thinking about making out with 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒊. a sloppy make out session in the darkness of her room, both of you spread over her matress with your legs tangled. she bites your bottom lip and tugs your hair, pulling your head back a bit so your mouths are no longer touching.
you whine from the absence of her soft lips, and she just stays there staring at you. her eyes are glued to your puffy lips, shining under the moonlight from her saliva. one of her hands moves up towards your mouth and swipes over it with her thumb, gathering all the spit on your lips as you grin like a dumb girl from her awe.
her thumb makes its way into your mouth, your lips close around it, enveloping the finger with your warmth wetness.
i'm def thinking about making a few reader personas (like witchy!reader, soft!reader, mugiwara!reader, etc) but i haven't decided yet, what do y'all think??? if you want to leave suggestions i'll keep them in mind, too!!
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Law came back to the cabin looking like someone had carefully removed every working part of him and left the attitude behind out of spite.
He shut the door with his heel, Kikoku still in hand, hat low over his eyes. His shoulders were tight. His jaw was worse. There was blood on his sleeve that probably wasn’t his, which meant he would ignore it until someone else made it inconvenient.
You were already on his bed with one of his blankets over your legs, reading a book you had stopped pretending to care about twenty minutes ago.
“You look charming,” you said.
Law gave you a flat look. “Don’t start.”
“That bad?”
He set Kikoku against the wall with too much care. “No.”
So yes.
You put the book aside and stood. He watched you like he expected you to ask him what happened, and you didn’t. You just took his hat off, placed it on the desk, and reached up to push your fingers through his hair.
For a second, he stayed perfectly still, then his eyes shut.
“You’re eating,” you said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re eating.”
“I’m your captain.”
“And I’m very impressed. Sit down.”
His mouth twitched like he wanted to argue, but he was too tired to make it worth the effort. He sat on the edge of the bed while you brought him the bowl from the little warmer you had stolen from the galley. Rice, broth, fish. Nothing fancy. Nothing heavy.
Law stared at it. “You poisoned this?”
“I considered it, but Bepo looked sad.”
“Mm. Weak.”
You sat beside him and held the bowl until he took it. He ate slowly at first, like he was doing it only to shut you up. You kept your fingers in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp between pauses, and the longer you did it, the more his posture sank.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Enough for you.
There were entire confessions in the way Law accepted being touched without making a miserable comment about it.
When the bowl was empty, you took it from him and placed it aside. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face hidden in his hands. You kept stroking his hair.
Neither of you said anything for a while.
The Polar Tang hummed around you, deep and steady under the sea. The sound filled the room, safer than silence, gentler than the things neither of you wanted to name.
Eventually he turned his head just enough that his cheek rested against your thigh.
You looked down at him. “That’s new.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re cuddling my leg.”
“I’m resting.”
“On me.”
“Mm.”
You smiled, but you didn’t tease him further. Your fingers slid through his hair again, slower now, nails barely touching his scalp. He exhaled through his nose, quiet and rough.
It should not have felt intimate, but it did.
He turned his face slightly, and his lips brushed the inside of your wrist.
You stopped breathing for half a second.
His eyes opened, sharp even half-dead with exhaustion. For a moment, he looked at your wrist like he hadn’t meant to do that. Like his body had moved before his control returned.
Then, because he was impossible, he did it again.
A warmer kiss.
Your fingers tightened in his hair. “Law.”
“Problem?”
His voice was low, tired, almost bored. You hated him a little. “No.”
“Then stop looking offended.”
“I’m not offended.”
“You look like you’re trying to decide whether to hit me or climb me.”
You stared at him. He looked back, deadpan, mouth barely curved.
“You’re the worst man alive.”
“Probably.”
Then he kissed your palm. Not quickly. Not as a joke. His mouth pressed there like he was testing your pulse, your patience, both.
Heat crawled up your arm.
He pulled back just enough to look at you properly. His eyes were dark, shadowed from lack of sleep, but clearer now. More present. More dangerous in the quiet way.
“You’re still thinking too loudly,” he murmured.
“I’m thinking you should sleep.”
“I was.”
“You were kissing my hand.”
“Multitasking.”
You laughed under your breath, and something in his face changed. He reached for you then, one hand closing around your hip, and pulled you down with him under the blanket. It was clumsy only because he was exhausted. Law being clumsy felt illegal.
You ended up half beside him, half on him, your knee between his legs, his arm around your waist. The blanket slipped over both of you, trapping heat fast.
“This is a terrible sleeping position,” you said.
“Then leave.”
His hand spread over your back and held you there.
You looked down at him. “You are very bad at bluffing.”
“I’m excellent at bluffing.”
“You’re literally holding me hostage.”
“You’re not resisting.”
Fair.
His mouth found your wrist again, then your forearm, slow little kisses that did not match the sharpness of his face at all. You watched him do it, feeling each one settle lower in your stomach.
Comfort turned strange that way. One moment you were keeping him together. The next, his lips were on your skin and the air was too warm and his hand had slipped beneath the back of your shirt.
His fingers were ice cold.
Law’s mouth twitched against your arm. “Sensitive?”
“Your hands are freezing.”
“I’m a doctor.”
“That explains nothing.”
“It explains enough.”
His hand flattened against your lower back, then slid up, warmer now from your skin. He touched you like he was still trying not to ask for anything. Like he could make this practical if he moved carefully enough.
You leaned down and kissed him.
That broke the last useful thought in the room.
He kissed back slowly at first, his mouth firm and tired, one hand cupping the back of your neck. Then your fingers tugged lightly in his hair and he made a sound so low you almost missed it.
You didn‘t miss the way his grip tightened.
“Do that again,” he said against your mouth.
You smiled. “Ask nicer.”
His eyes opened. Exhausted, half-wrecked, still somehow arrogant enough to ruin your life. “You’re warm, fed, and in my bed,” he said. “Don’t get ambitious.”
“You dragged me here.”
“I made a medical decision.”
“Was kissing my palm also medical?”
“Your circulation looked poor.”
You laughed, and he kissed you harder to shut you up.
His hand slid under your shirt again, and this time he didn’t stop at your back. His palm moved over your waist, your ribs, then higher, dragging heat after it. He gave you just enough time to pull away. His thumb brushed under your breast, light enough to be cruel.
Your breath caught.
Law’s mouth paused against yours. “Still fine?” he asked, quiet now.
You nodded once.
His eyes narrowed. “Words.”
“Yes,” you said. “Still fine.”
Then his hand covered you properly, and the sound that left you was embarrassingly soft.
He kissed your jaw, your throat, the spot below your ear, while his thumb moved slowly over your nipple through the thin fabric. Not rushed. Not sloppy. Precise enough to make your hips shift without permission.
His thigh slid between yours under the blanket, pressing up just enough to make you tense.
You broke the kiss with a shaky breath. “Law.”
“I know.”
That was the problem. He always knew.
His hand left your chest and slid down over your stomach. Slow. Warm now. His fingers traced the waistband of your shorts like he was considering the most annoying possible way to take you apart.
You grabbed his wrist. He stopped immediately. For half a second, his face went still. Careful. Too careful. Then you guided his hand lower.
“Brat,” he murmured.
“You were taking too long.”
“I was being considerate.”
“You were being evil.”
“That too.”
His fingers slipped beneath the fabric.
Your whole body went hot.
Law watched your face as he touched you over your panties first, slow pressure between your thighs, finding the wet warmth there. His mouth parted slightly, the smallest crack in his composure.
“You’re soaked,” he said, low.
Your face burned. “Don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“You sound proud.”
“I am.”
You should have had a comeback. You did not. Because his fingers moved, and the blanket made everything worse. The heat. The closeness. The tiny space where every breath hit his mouth and every movement rubbed your body against his. His hand stayed steady between your thighs, stroking you through the damp fabric, watching you try not to fall apart too quickly.
“You’re quiet now,” he said.
“I hate you.”
“Mm. Of course.”
His fingers pushed your panties aside and your nails dug into his shoulder.
He exhaled once, controlled but rough, when he felt you bare. His fingers slid through you slowly, gathering slick heat before circling your clit with the kind of patience that made you want to bite him.
You buried your face against his neck.
He let you for exactly three seconds, then his free hand caught your jaw and tilted your face back. “Don’t hide.”
“You are annoying.”
“You knew that already.” His fingers circled again, a little firmer, and your hips rocked into his hand.
That made his eyes drop. There was something devastatingly hot about him like this. Still tired. Still half-dressed. Still acting like he had control while his breathing slowly betrayed him. His hair was messy from your fingers. His shirt was wrinkled. His gaze kept moving between your face and the shape of your body shifting under the blanket.
He touched you like he had all the time in the world. Like the world outside his cabin had finally shut up.
When one finger slipped inside you, your breath snapped.
Law kissed the corner of your mouth. “There?”
You nodded.
“Words.”
“Yes.”
His mouth brushed yours. “Good.”
He worked you open slowly, one finger at first, then two, his palm pressed against your clit with every shallow thrust. Not rough. Not gentle either. Intentional. The kind of touch that made your thighs tighten around his wrist.
“You’re making this difficult,” he muttered.
You laughed breathlessly. “For you?”
“For my self-control.”
Your eyes opened, and for once you caught him before he could hide it. The hunger in his face. The strain in his jaw. The way his hips had shifted closer without him seeming to notice.
“Oh,” you whispered.
“Don’t.”
“You’re turned on.”
His stare went flat. “Excellent medical deduction.”
“You’re really turned on.”
“You want me to stop?”
“No.”
“Then stop talking.”
But you felt him against your thigh now, hard and hot through his clothes, and the knowledge made your body clench around his fingers.
Law inhaled. His eyes sharpened. “You did that on purpose.”
“I didn’t.”
“Liar.”
His fingers curled inside you.
You gasped, hand flying to his shoulder, and his mouth found your throat again. He kissed you there messily now, less controlled, teeth grazing skin as his fingers kept their slow, ruthless pace.
Under the blanket, your hips moved against his hand. His palm rubbed your clit every time his fingers pushed deeper. You were hot everywhere, trapped between his body and the blanket and his voice near your ear.
“You’re close,” he said.
You hated how calm he sounded.
You hated more that he was right. “Shut up.”
“Very close.”
“Law.”
“Mm.”
A laugh broke out of you, shaky and breathless, and he kissed it straight from your mouth. His fingers moved faster then. Just enough. The angle changed, his thumb pressing directly against your clit, and your body went tight.
You grabbed his hair and he groaned, not a neat little sound. Not controlled. Low, rough, dragged out of him before he could stop it.
That was what pushed you over.
You came against his hand with your face pressed into his neck, trying to keep quiet and failing in small, broken sounds. Law held you through it, fingers slowing but not stopping too fast, his mouth at your temple, his voice low and close.
“There,” he murmured. “That’s it.”
Your whole body shuddered.
“You’re evil,” you whispered again, weaker this time.
His lips brushed your hair. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it keeps being true.”
He was quiet for a moment. His fingers slipped out of you slowly, and you felt the loss of them in a way that made your stomach twist. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you.
The exhaustion was still there, but underneath it was something rawer. Needier. Law, caught between wanting to pretend he was unaffected and being very obviously affected.
You looked down. His belt was still fastened. His shirt still buttoned. He looked unfairly composed for someone who had just ruined you with his hand. “That seems unbalanced,” you said.
His mouth twitched. “You’re recovering fast.”
“I’m talented.”
“You’re annoying.”
“You’re hard.”
The silence after that was deeply satisfying. Law stared at you.
You smiled.
For once, he did not have an immediate answer. Then his hand caught your waist and pulled you closer until your thigh pressed between his legs. He shut his eyes for one second, jaw flexing.
You moved against him lightly.
He sucked in a breath.
“Oh,” you said softly. “Sensitive?”
His eyes opened. “Careful.”
“No.”
“No?”
You reached down between you and worked his belt open under the blanket. Your fingers were less elegant than his, mostly because your hands were still shaking. Law watched you struggle for three seconds before looking personally offended.
“You’re going to break it.”
“I am not.”
“You’re attacking it.”
“It’s dark under here.”
“It’s a belt, not an enemy.”
“Help or shut up.”
He huffed a tired laugh and helped, undoing it with one hand like an irritating show-off. You pushed his pants open just enough to slip your hand inside.
The moment your fingers wrapped around him, his entire body went still.
He was hot in your hand, hard and heavy, and the sound he made when you stroked him once was almost silent. Almost.
You kissed his jaw. “There?”
His eyes cut to yours. “Don’t start.”
You stroked him again, slower, and his forehead dropped briefly against yours.
That shut both of you up.
The room got quiet except for breathing. Yours uneven. His controlled until it wasn’t. Your hand moved beneath the blanket, fingers sliding over him, learning what made his mouth tighten, what made his hips shift, what made his grip on your waist go almost too firm before he forced himself to ease up.
He was beautiful like this in the worst way. Still trying to hold himself together while letting you touch him. Still trying to be Law about it, even with his breath breaking against your mouth.
You kissed him softly.
He kissed back harder. His hand returned between your thighs, slick fingers finding you again, and you jolted. “You’re sensitive,” he murmured.
“I just came.”
His mouth curved faintly. “You’re welcome.”
You squeezed him in warning.
His smugness died immediately.
Worth it.
He groaned against your mouth, hips pushing into your hand before he could stop himself. His fingers pressed against your clit again, slower now, less calculated, more distracted. That made it hotter. Law losing precision because your hand was around his cock felt like something you should put in a museum.
A terrible museum.
For horrible people.
You moved together under the blanket, messy in a quiet way. Your hand stroking him. His fingers rubbing you. His mouth dragging over yours, then your cheek, then your throat. Neither of you fully undressed. Neither of you needed to. It felt almost more intimate like this, half-hidden and overheated, clinging to each other in the small private dark.
His voice dropped near your ear. “Can you come again?”
Your stomach clenched. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“You’re very demanding for a man I fed rice to.”
His laugh was barely there, rough and low. “Answer.”
“Yes.”
His hand changed pace.
He kissed your cheek like he was pleased with himself and too tired to pretend otherwise.
The second time built slower, deeper, your body still oversensitive from the first. He kept touching you like he knew exactly how much you could take, while your hand grew slick around him from his own precum. His breathing got worse. His jaw pressed against your temple. His hips started moving into your fist in short, restrained thrusts.
“Law,” you whispered.
His fingers stilled for half a second. Not stopped. Checked.
You nodded quickly against him. “Keep going.”
He did. Your legs tightened around his hand again. The blanket had slipped down to your hips, but neither of you cared. Your shirt was pushed up. His pants were open. Everything was too warm, too close, too much.
And still, somehow, soft.
Because his other hand was in your hair. Because his mouth kept brushing your forehead between kisses.
Because even while he was touching you like he wanted to ruin you, he held you like something precious he would rather die than name.
You came again with a broken little sound against his mouth.
This time Law followed almost immediately. His body went tense, his hand closing hard around your hip as he came into your fist with a rough, muffled groan. His face pressed into your neck, breath hot against your skin. For a few seconds, he did not move at all.
You held him through it, fingers gentle now.
His breathing slowly evened out. “Messy.”
You laughed, exhausted and warm. “That’s your first comment?”
“It’s accurate.”
“You’re romantic.”
“I’m tired.”
“You came on my hand.”
“You were involved.”
“You’re stupid.”
His mouth brushed your shoulder. “You’ve said that too.”
“And I’ll keep saying it.”
He shifted carefully, cleaned you both up with a towel from beside the bed. He was efficient about it, but his touch had gone softer. Almost shy, if Law could ever be accused of such a thing without committing murder.
When he settled back down, he pulled the blanket over you both again. You ended up against his chest, your leg tangled with his, your hand resting over his ribs. His heartbeat was slower now. Heavy. Human. He held your wrist for a while, thumb moving over the inside of it.
You thought he was asleep.
Then he murmured, “You’re still not allowed to tell anyone I cuddled you.”
“You didn’t cuddle me.”
“Good.”
“You medically restrained me under a blanket and then got me off twice.”
His chest moved with a quiet laugh. “Accurate.”
You smiled against him, boneless and warm. After a long silence, his hand slid up to the back of your head. He held you there, not tightly. Just enough.
“Thank you,” he said.
It was so quiet you almost pretended not to hear it.
You kissed the side of his throat. “Anytime, Captain.”
“Don’t call me that in bed.”
“Oh, you like it.”
“I don‘t like it.”
“You’re lying.”
He sighed, but his arm tightened around you.
Later, he woke you up with his mouth already against your neck and his hand flat on your stomach.
Not soft. Not sweet. Possessive and warm, his fingers spread under your shirt like he had been holding you there for a while and had only just decided to make it your problem.
You opened your eyes into the dark cabin.
Everything hummed low around you. The walls were thin. Too thin. Somewhere outside, metal creaked, pipes clicked, and the ship sounded alive in the worst possible way.
Law’s mouth moved against your skin. “You awake?” he murmured.
You swallowed. “No.”
His teeth grazed the side of your neck. “Liar.”
You shifted back against him just enough to feel him hard behind you.
His hand stopped moving. For one long second, neither of you breathed right, then his fingers tightened at your waist. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“I’m sleeping.”
“You’re bad at it.”
“You woke me up.”
“You moved first.”
“You were touching me first.”
His mouth brushed your ear. “I was checking your pulse.”
“At my waist?”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?”
You almost laughed, but then his hand slid lower, over your hip, dragging you back against him with enough pressure to make your breath catch.
Law heard it. His voice dropped, mean and quiet. “Careful.”
You turned your face halfway toward him. “Or what?”
That was the mistake. His hand came up and covered your mouth before you could say anything else. Firm. Just enough to remind you exactly where you were, exactly who slept outside that door, exactly how much trouble you were in.
“Or you’ll wake someone,” he murmured. “And I’ll make you explain why you can’t behave.”
Your stomach tightened hard. His eyes caught yours in the dark. “Yeah,” he said, too calm. “That’s what I thought.”
You made a muffled sound against his palm.
Law’s mouth twitched. “Still mouthy. Impressive.”
Then he moved. The blanket shifted over both of you as he slid down your body, disappearing beneath it. Heat flooded your face before his hands even reached your thighs.
“Law,” you whispered.
His answer came from under the blanket, low and dry. “Lower.”
Your fingers twisted in the sheets. “Law.”
“Better.”
His hands pushed your thighs apart, not gently, not cruelly. Just with that controlled strength that made your body obey before your pride could complain. His mouth pressed to the inside of your thigh first, slow and hot, then higher.
You grabbed the blanket. He kissed you once over the thin fabric of your panties. You jolted.
He huffed against you. “Sensitive.”
“You’re annoying.”
His fingers hooked into the waistband and dragged it down just enough. “Still talking.” Then his mouth was on you.
Your head fell back into the pillow, breath breaking immediately.
He did not ease into it. He ate you out like he had woken up starving and decided manners were a disease. His hands gripped your thighs under the blanket, holding you open while his tongue dragged through you slow, then deep, then mean. He was quiet about it except for the low sound in his throat when he tasted how wet you were.
The sound alone almost ruined you, so you bit your knuckle.
One hand left your thigh and pushed your wrist away. His fingers laced with yours instead, pinning your hand beside your hip under the blanket.
“No hiding,” he murmured against you.
“Then let me be loud.”
His mouth paused. The silence under the blanket felt dangerous. Then he gave a low, humorless laugh.
“You really want to embarrass yourself that badly?”
Your whole body burned.
He didn’t wait for an answer. His mouth returned to you, hotter, wetter, filthier. His tongue circled your clit with awful patience before he sucked lightly, just enough to make your hips jerk into his face.
His grip turned bruising. “Don’t move.”
“You’re under the blanket eating me out,” you whispered, breathless. “And you’re giving orders?”
His eyes flicked up from between your thighs. Even in the dark, you felt that stare.
“Yes.”
Then he lowered his mouth again and made you regret being funny.
You were close too fast. Embarrassingly fast. It climbed sharp and hot through your stomach, your legs shaking around his shoulders, your fingers gripping his hair beneath the blanket. He groaned when you pulled, and the vibration went straight through you.
“Law—”
Voices passed outside.
Both of you froze. You stopped breathing. Law went still between your legs, mouth still close enough that you could feel every exhale against your soaked skin.
Two crew members walked past the door, speaking quietly. Too close. Too awake.
You stared at the ceiling, one hand clamped over your own mouth.
Under the blanket, Law’s fingers dug into your thighs.
The voices slowed. For one horrible second, you thought they would stop. Then the footsteps continued down the corridor. Their voices faded. The ship hummed again. Silence settled.
Law did not move for another few seconds, then his mouth pressed one slow kiss to the inside of your thigh.
You whispered, shaky and furious, “You didn’t let me finish.”
He emerged from under the blanket just enough for you to see his face. His mouth was wet. His hair was a mess. His eyes were dark in that flat, devastating way that made him look meaner than he actually was.
“I wasn’t trying to make you finish.”
Your brain stalled. “Huh?”
His hand slid up your thigh. “I wanted to taste you.”
You stared at him. He looked completely serious.
“Do you ever hear yourself?”
“Unfortunately.”
“You’re disgusting.”
His mouth curved faintly. “You’re wet.”
You had no response ready for that. He kissed your stomach once, over your shirt, then climbed over you with an efficiency that should not have been attractive. His hand caught your hip.
“Turn over.”
Your pulse jumped. “Ask nicely.”
Law’s eyes narrowed. Then he leaned in, mouth beside your ear. “Turn over before I decide you don’t get to come at all.”
You huffed and turned. Fast enough that you heard him exhale a quiet laugh behind you.
“Asshole.”
“I’m about to fuck you into the mattress and you’re still insulting me.”
“You started it.”
“I’m going to finish it.”
He pushed you flat onto your stomach, hand between your shoulder blades, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to keep you there. Your legs were pressed together beneath him, thighs tight, body stretched out under the blanket. He straddled them from behind, knees bracketing your legs, trapping you in place with his weight.
The position made you feel pinned before he even touched you.
It made you quiet.
Law noticed that too. His palm slid down your spine, slow, possessive. “There,” he murmured. “Finally learned something.”
You turned your face into the pillow. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” His hand slid beneath you, finding you between your pressed thighs. He felt how wet you still were from his mouth and went still for a second.
Then his voice dropped. “Still dripping.”
You squeezed your eyes shut. “Stop talking.”
“No.”
He leaned over you, chest against your back, and his arm slid around your throat, forearm firm across your upper chest and collarbone, hand gripping your shoulder, holding you exactly where he wanted you. Your breath hitched anyway.
Law’s mouth brushed your ear. “Tap twice if it’s too much.”
Your hand found his wrist. You tapped once just to be annoying.
He went still, then you dragged his arm tighter around you. “Bad idea,” he whispered.
“Then stop.”
He did not. His other hand disappeared between you, belt shifting, fabric dragged down just enough. You felt him press against you from behind, hard and hot, sliding between your thighs first, coating himself in how wet you were.
Your fingers curled into the sheet. “Law.”
His hand came over your mouth again. “Quiet.”
Then he pushed in.
The angle stole your breath.
Because your legs were together, because he had you pinned flat, because he was above you and around you and everywhere, he felt deeper than before. Tighter. Hotter. You made a broken sound into his palm and his arm locked more firmly across your chest.
He stopped halfway in, forehead dropping against the back of your head. “Fuck,” he breathed, so low it barely had sound.
You clenched around him. His hand tightened over your mouth.
“Don’t.”
So you did it again.
Law went silent, then laughed once, dark and breathless.
“You really are asking for it.”
He drove in the rest of the way. Your body jolted under him, trapped between his chest and the mattress. His hand swallowed the sound you made. The blanket hid the movement, held in the heat, made every thrust feel secret and filthy and too close.
He didn’t fuck you fast at first.
He fucked you hard.
Slow, deep, punishing thrusts that made your thighs tremble together under his weight. His arm stayed around your throat, holding you up just enough that your back arched beneath him. His mouth hovered near your ear, breath rougher than he probably wanted it to be.
“There,” he murmured. “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”
You nodded against his hand.
His hips snapped forward again. “Of course it was.”
Your eyes rolled shut.
“Look at you,” he said, voice low and mean. “Couldn’t stay quiet from my mouth, and now you’re trying to take this without waking half the ship.”
You whimpered into his palm.
He slowed just to make it worse. “That was not quiet.”
You bit lightly at his hand.
His rhythm faltered. Barely.
But you felt it.
Law’s mouth pressed to your temple. “Careful,” he whispered. “I’m already being nice.”
You almost laughed. It came out as a muffled sob when he started moving again, rougher now, hips grinding deep every time he buried himself inside you. The pressure of your legs together made everything tighter, every stroke dragging against your clit through the way he had you pinned.
It was unbearable.
He knew. He had to know. His hand slipped from your mouth only long enough to catch your jaw and turn your face slightly.
“Breathe.”
You dragged in air.
“Good.” Then his palm covered your mouth again. It should not have been sweet. It wasn’t, not really. But there was something in the way he kept checking, kept holding you together while taking you apart, that made your chest ache under all the heat.
Law’s voice roughened near your ear. “You can take it.”
Your nails dug into his wrist.
“You can,” he repeated. “You’re doing it.” A hard thrust made your whole body jolt. “Quietly.” You made a desperate noise into his palm. His breath shook. “Mostly.”
That almost ruined you. The dry little correction. His voice half-wrecked, still somehow sarcastic while fucking you into the mattress under a blanket with people sleeping down the corridor.
You pushed back against him as much as you could.
Law’s grip turned rough. “Greedy.”
You nodded.
“Yeah?” His mouth brushed your ear. “That all you wanted? Me pinning you down so you’d finally stop pretending you don’t like being handled?”
Your body clenched hard around him.
He cursed under his breath. “Thought so.”
His thrusts got rougher then. Less patient. His chest stayed pressed to your back, his arm around your throat, his hand over your mouth. You were completely trapped under him, legs together, body pinned flat, taking every deep stroke while the bed barely creaked beneath the blanket.
He was trying to keep it quiet.
That made it hotter, because you felt how much effort it took him. The strain in his arm. The way his breathing kept catching. The way his hips wanted to move faster but he forced them into deep, controlled thrusts instead.
“You’re close,” he said.
You nodded quickly. His hand slid from your mouth to your throat for half a second, just to hold your jaw, to keep your face turned enough that he could see you.
“Not loud.”
You swallowed. “Then don’t make me come.”
His eyes darkened. Wrong answer. His hand returned to your mouth, and his other arm tightened across your chest.
“I told you,” he murmured. “Brat.”
Then his hips changed angle.
Your whole body went rigid.
He had found exactly the spot he wanted, and because he was Law, because he was cruel when he was right, he kept hitting it. Again. And again. Deep and rough and controlled, his mouth at your ear, talking you through every second like he could feel your mind slipping apart under him.
“There. That’s it.”
You shook beneath him.
“Don’t fight it.”
Your fingers clawed at the sheet.
“Just stay quiet.”
You came with his hand clamped over your mouth and his arm locked around you, the orgasm tearing through you hard enough that your body tried to curl under his. He held you down through it. Kept you flat. Kept fucking you while you pulsed around him, every sound trapped against his palm.
Law groaned into your shoulder. Not quiet enough. Not nearly as composed as he wanted to be.
You heard it and clenched again, that made hips stutter.
“Don’t,” he rasped.
You did. His control snapped in a way you felt more than saw. His thrusts turned shorter, harder, less even. His face buried against your neck, teeth grazing your skin, breath hot and broken. “You’re unbearable,” he muttered.
You made a muffled sound that might have been a laugh.
His hand pressed more firmly over your mouth. “Still not funny.”
It was absolutely funny.
Then he drove into you deep and stayed there, his whole body tensing over yours as he came with a rough, smothered sound against your shoulder. His arm around your throat held you close while he shook twice, breathing harshly into your skin.
For a while, neither of you moved.
The cabin was silent except for both of you trying to remember how to breathe like normal people.
Then another set of footsteps passed outside.
He froze instantly. So did you. His hand was still over your mouth. He was still inside you. The footsteps paused.
Your eyes went wide. Law slowly turned his head toward the door, expression murderous in the dark.
Someone outside yawned, then kept walking. The footsteps faded.
You started shaking beneath him. Not from fear. From trying not to laugh.
Law’s hand tightened over your mouth, but his own breath hitched once near your ear. “Do not,” he whispered.
You shook harder.
He pulled out slowly, and you both winced. He cleaned you up with infuriating efficiency, still under the blanket, still half-dressed, still trying to look like he had not just lost several pieces of his sanity. Then he dragged you back against him, your back to his chest, his arm around your waist this time.
Much safer. Much less threatening. Still possessive.
You whispered, “You didn’t make me explain.”
His mouth brushed the back of your neck. “Next time.”
Your stomach flipped. “You covered my mouth.”
“And you still almost got us caught.”
You smiled into the pillow. Law exhaled slowly behind you, then pressed one quiet kiss to your shoulder. Soft enough to make the whole thing worse. After a moment, he muttered, “You okay?”
You reached back and touched his wrist. “Yeah.”
His fingers laced with yours. “Good.”
Morning on the ship was usually quiet in a way that felt medical. Dim lights. Low engine hum. People speaking in tired voices because being loud before coffee was how accidents happened.
Law walked into the galley looking like death had filed a complaint against him and lost. Hat on. Shirt buttoned. Face blank.
Completely normal.
You were already at the table with your cup in both hands, trying to look like a person who had slept. You had not. Not properly. Your legs still felt suspicious. Your throat had one spot that made you want to slap him and kiss him every time you swallowed.
Law did not look at you first. That was how you knew he was looking at you.
Bepo was making breakfast with too much cheer for the hour. Shachi and Penguin were half-dead over their plates. Ikkaku was reading something and pretending she was not watching the room with deeply feminine intuition.
Law sat across from you. Calmly. Like he had not had his hand over your mouth a few hours ago because you were both idiots in a submarine full of people with ears.
“Morning, Captain,” Penguin mumbled.
“Morning,” Law said. His voice was normal.
Terrible man.
You lifted your cup to hide your mouth.
Law reached for the coffee pot, then stopped. Just for half a second. Barely anything. His fingers flexed around the handle.
You noticed because you were a bad person. A ruined person. A person with evidence.
His hand was close to his face, and he had smelled it. Not strongly. Not obviously. Just enough.
His eyes went flat.
Oh.
Oh no.
You looked down into your cup so fast your neck nearly cracked.
Law poured his coffee with terrifying precision.
You were going to die.
Not from shame. From trying not to laugh.
He set the pot down. His thumb brushed once over his index finger, like he was trying to decide whether his own hand was guilty of a crime.
It was.
You bit the inside of your cheek.
Across the table, Law’s gaze flicked to you. Sharp. Warning.
You widened your eyes innocently.
His jaw tightened. That was when it got worse. He took a sip of coffee. Then his chin dipped slightly, and the faint shadow of his beard brushed the rim of the mug.
His whole face changed by exactly nothing.
But you saw it.
He smelled you there too. On his own skin. From last night. From under the blanket. From the way he had buried his face between your thighs and then still had the nerve to act like breakfast was a normal social event.
His eyelids lowered for one second.
He stared into his coffee like it had personally betrayed him.
Your shoulders started shaking.
Law looked up slowly. “Something funny?”
“No.”
Your voice was too high.
Shachi looked at you. “You okay?”
You nodded quickly. “Coffee went down wrong.”
“You didn’t drink any.”
“Emotionally.”
Ikkaku’s eyes lifted from her page.
Law’s stare could have amputated you.
Bepo turned around with a plate. “Captain, do you want eggs?”
Law did not answer immediately. Because he had moved his hand again. Because his fingers were near his mouth. Because, apparently, his own body had decided to spend the morning reminding him exactly what you tasted like. His nostrils flared once. Very slightly.
You pressed your lips together so hard it hurt.
Law shut his eyes for half a second. He looked like a man trying to survive war.
“Captain?” Bepo asked, worried.
Law opened his eyes. “No eggs.”
Bepo’s ears drooped. “Oh. Sorry.”
Law’s face softened by a millimeter. “It’s fine. Rice.”
“Okay!”
You watched him pick up his mug again. His hand was steady. His face was blank. His control was flawless. Except his ears were faintly red.
You placed your cup down very carefully.
He looked at you. You looked back. Neither of you said anything. Then you smiled.
His expression turned dangerous.
Under the table, his boot nudged your ankle.
A warning.
You nudged him back.
A mistake.
His eyes sharpened. You looked away first because you were not suicidal before noon.
Penguin squinted between you both. “Why is it weird in here?”
“It’s always weird in here,” Shachi said into his plate.
“No, this is different.”
“It’s your face.”
“My face isn’t weird.”
“It’s morning. Everyone’s face is weird.”
You made the mistake of glancing at Law again. He was staring at his rice like the entire concept of appetite had become complicated.
You knew exactly why.
You imagined him trying to eat breakfast while still smelling you on his chin, still catching it on his fingers every time he moved, still pretending that it was not making him think about throwing the whole tray across the room and dragging you back to his cabin.
He would rather be executed than admit it.
That made it so much better.
You took pity on him. Mostly. You leaned forward slightly and said, very casually, “Captain?”
His eyes lifted. “What?”
“You have something on your face.”
Law’s stare went black. Ikkaku slowly lowered her page. Bepo turned around. “Where?” Bepo asked, deeply concerned.
Law did not move. You reached across the table before he could stop you, thumb brushing lightly over the edge of his chin.
His skin was warm. His eyes did not leave yours. The whole room narrowed around that tiny touch.
You pulled your hand back and looked at your thumb. Nothing there. “Nevermind.”
Law’s expression stayed perfectly blank. Too blank.
He was going to kill you.
Penguin blinked. “What was it?”
“Nothing,” Law said. His voice was calm enough to be a medical threat.
You took another sip of coffee. This time you could not stop the smile.
Law leaned back in his chair, one hand around his mug, the other resting on the table. His fingers flexed once.
Still guilty. Still remembering. Still pretending. Then he said, without looking away from you, “You’re assigned to inventory after breakfast.”
You stared at him. “What?”
“Medical inventory.”
“That’s not my job.”
“It is today.”
“That sounds personal.”
“It’s organizational.”
Shachi pointed his spoon at you. “You should never question medical inventory. That’s how he gets mean.”
You looked at Law. Law looked back.
There was no expression on his face.
None.
Except his eyes said very clearly: Keep laughing and I’ll give you something to be quiet about later.
Your stomach flipped. Unfortunately, your mouth was still alive. “Do I need gloves?”
Law’s hand stopped around his mug. Ikkaku made a tiny sound and hid behind her page. Penguin frowned. “For inventory?”
You looked at Law with the innocence of a war criminal. “Just asking.”
Law stood. Very calmly. Pushed his chair in. Very calmly. Picked up his tray. Very calmly. Then he leaned down as he passed behind you, close enough that only you heard him.
“You are going to be quiet when I deal with you.”
Your smile vanished so fast it was humiliating.
There you are. I knew you would stay.
The Masterlist is here. If that still does not satisfy you, requests are open.
Pairing(s): Zoro x reader; Ace x reader; Law x reader
Genre: Smut, fluff
Warnings: This content is for a mature audience. All characters in this fic are 18+; they just have strict/controlling parents.
Synopsis: "Run away with me."
Author's notes: It's been a while, but between depression and work things haven't been as easy. Sorry. I decided to post this one in two parts because I knew I'd never post it if I didn't divide it. We'll say this one is just Author's favourites, 'k? Would you guys like to see Luffy, Sanji and Sabo in this scenario? Please let me know in the comments. Enjoy! I've been sketching this one for some time.
Masterlist
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Zoro
Sanji still cannot believe he’s the reason you and Zoro are together.
Why in the fuck did he think it was a good idea to take you to the same gym Zoro trains?
“Hey, Ji. Is your green friend single?”
Well, fuck him.
What he hates even more is that Zoro is usually completely aloof with this kind of thing. Hiyori had flirted with him for a year before he even noticed it.
But now here you were. At an underground fight, cheering your boyfriend's name in the crowd. Your heart is beating loudly, and worry is filling your head.
He always wins, yeah, he does, but what if this time he doesn’t?
He’s going against a taller, blonde guy whose face is covered in bandages. They call him Killer, and that does nothing to ease your poor heart.
But Zoro fight is quite the view, the way his muscles flex, the passion and concentration on his face, how strong he is. Ugh, you love it so much.
And while you may be worried, you never fail to be on your knees in his dressing room every time before a fight.
Mascara tears running down your face, lipstick smeared all over your cheeks, and saliva covering your chin are the kind of motivation Zoro needs to win.
“Just like that, girl. Come on, keep sucking that cock. You are my lucky charm, baby girl.”
Your dad is not stupid. He knows Zoro is an athlete, but he finds it weird how your green-haired boyfriend shows up with random bruises, yet he’s never heard of him fighting anywhere. So, he quickly figures out that Zoro is fighting, just not within the law.
He forbids you to continue seeing him. He didn’t like him before; he didn’t like anyone who was friends with that Luffy kid, but now he has an excuse to keep you away from him.
“He’s going to get you arrested!” “Dad, I don’t know what you are talking about. He just likes boxing as a hobby.” “Don’t lie to me, young lady. He’s trouble, and I want you away from him, okay?” “But daddy, I love him!”
Perona helps you sneak out. Her looks might not be to your father’s approval, but he thinks she’s a nice, responsible girl. The one child of Mihawk’s he can trust. (Why? Gods know. Perona might be worse than her brother.)
But after some time, your dad starts growing suspicious. And so he decides other measures need to be taken.
So, he sets you up with a guy he deems worthy of you. Yonji. Sanji’s younger brother.
“He comes from a nice, respectable family. You like green so much, this one you can have. I’m sure Judge will also approve of your relationship.”
(If you are quiet enough, you can almost hear Sanji screaming in the background.)
You feel like throwing up every time Yonji looks your way. You hate him; he’s an asshole.
But don’t worry. Your man would never allow it.
And that’s how you end up hiding inside one of Franky’s boats.
You and Zoro are running away. Well, that was the original plan until Luffy decided he wanted to come along and then Nami, Usopp, Sanji and Chopper tagged along. And Robin, of course, but that’s cause Franky would never leave his wife behind. (Also, she has a thing for danger)
You are bent over the window. Your head and tits are poking out. And Zoro is behind you fucking you with no mercy. You tried hiding your moans and cries by holding your breath and biting your lips, the taste of iron filling up your mouth, but it’s useless.
“Shit, Zoro! Slow down!” Tears run down your face, and your legs threaten to give up; you are holding onto dear life to the window’s frame.
Earlier, he left hickies and scratches from your neck to your lower back, and now he’s admiring his work. His marks on your body. He’d never allow anyone else to have you.
“You are mine. You are mine. Mine, mine, mine...” He repeats in your ear like a mantra.
The grip on your hips gets tighter, the rhythm of his thrusts becomes desperate and harsher, the tip of his cock bruises your cervix and makes you clench harder around.
“Come on, baby. Give it to me. Cum for me.” And you do. Juices splash against his belly and thighs, you cry out in ecstasy, and your knees give out. You are trying to catch your breath when he pulls your chin between his fingers.
“Open your mouth, baby.”
No hesitation. You let him fuck your mouth, rough, urgent. His cock hits the back of your throat, and your cheeks are swallowed in as you try taking him deeper.
“Fuck!” The moan he lets out is guttural and louder than you’ve ever heard him before. His seed fills up your mouth, “Swallow.” He says in between gasps, and you just do as he says, showing him your clean tongue after. Then, he took you into his arms.
He feels content with the decision he’s made. He loves you. And he may not say it, but he was scared. He feels like he almost lost you. And he never wanted to go through that feeling again.
“Love you, woman.” He whispered against your temple before kissing it.
“Goddammit, mosshead! I’m trying to sleep here!” Sanji will never be a fan of your relationship.
Ace
From the very first time you heard his cherry red motorcycle roar, you knew you were done for.
He appeared one early morning at the coffee shop where you worked. Sweaty skin, freckles, and blushed, chapped lips; leather jacket, shirtless and black jeans. He took off his cowboy hat and ruffled his hair as he approached the counter, looking at the menu. Thank the gods above, he didn’t hear the gasp you let out; the blood in your cheeks was incriminating enough.
“You wouldn’t happen to also sell beer, would you?” He said, lowering his eyes to finally look at you. His eyes widened, his heartbeat went crazy, and a bright bloom appeared beneath the small dots on his face.
And the rest is history. Not even a week later, you were riding on the back of his bike, holding onto dear life by his strong belly and the sides of his jacket.
Then at his place, you were riding him, bouncing on his cock, hands against his chest and legs aching. Throwing your head back every time the tip pushed against your G-spot.
Danger and freedom seemed to be Ace´s life mottos, but he did slow down a bit just for you. He didn’t want to harm you in any way.
Drinking and parties became part of your life. His brothers and friends are quite nice and fun. And Whitebeard’s booze barrels make for a damn good time.
Sneaking out became easier. Guilt abandoned your mind after the third time. Ace’s dick and arms ease the anxiety.
The word quickly spread around about how you were hanging off his arm everywhere he went. And while opinions were mixed, your dad’s was certainly clear; he didn’t like the idea. Not. One. Bit.
“I won’t allow my daughter to date that good-for-nothing brat!” “But daddy, I love him!”
In your dad’s eyes, who’s a marine, everything about your narcoleptic lover was a red flag. The fact that he’s Whitebeard’s kid, Luffy and Sabo’s brother, owns a motorcycle, works as a firefighter/mechanic/handyman/and-whatever-he-seems-to-want-to-do-that-day (Ace would say he’s just a firefighter with a few extra tricks) and is strongly against authority and the government. Your dad still can’t believe he’s Garp’s grandson (neither can Garp tbh).
“Get off my property, you punk!” Your dad said as he opened the door with a kick and pointed his gun at your boyfriend.
“Dad, stop! What the hell are you doing?”
“Come on, sir... Gramps threatens me with a rifle every weekend. Your gun looks like a toy to me.”
“Ace!”
Your dad had made you quit your job at the coffee shop because he knew Ace would visit you there. Kept you from going outside or seeing anyone he didn't approve of, changed the door locks, and kept an eye on you 24/7. Every day, he would lecture you about your decisions, how irresponsible you were and how you should one day marry someone like Koby or Helmeppo. Each day, it got harder to see Ace.
But the fact that it was difficult didn’t mean impossible.
This is where his extra tricks became especially handy. Climbing up the window, picking the ten locks that secured it and shutting off the alarm was as hard as it may seem (not when your love and pussy seemed to be the reward).
You were making out on your bed. Him between your legs, your hands on his hair and his on your bottom. Grinding against each other as his lips slide from yours down your neck and even lower.
You moaned, “I miss you, Ace.”
“I know, baby. I miss you too.” He said in between kisses.
You pulled him closer, desperate to feel him against you. You needed him, not just right now, every day, everywhere, you felt like you were drowning, and he’d become your oxygen.
One of his hands made his way into your panties, rubbing your clit with his thumb and thrusting inside you with two fingers. Your entire body buzzed with pleasure, your hips pushing against his hand and your lips letting out small whimpers.
“You feel so fucking good, Babygirl. Fuck, I’ve missed your pretty pussy so. so much.”
“Ace...” You whimpered, gripping his arm to keep you grounded.
His rhythm grew faster, harder. His fingers worked expertly, knowing every single spot that drove you crazy. The words that he whispered in your ear kept you on the edge.
“Give it to me, baby. Come on, I know you want to. Give it to me, and I’ll give you my cock.”
He pushed himself deeper inside you and drew tighter circles on your clitoris. His lips sucked on one of your nipples, pulling on and biting it, leaving marks on the skin around it.
Your climax came fast and hard, every nerve on your body tingled, sparks appeared in your eyes, and a moan, which was quickly covered by Ace’s hand, announced the pinnacle of your pleasure. Your lungs gasped for air, and your hands held onto Ace as you tried coming back to Earth. He pressed small kisses and words of affirmation against your temple.
Locking eyes in the dark, you shared a kiss. That’s where he finally made up his mind.
“Run away with me.”
Law
After days and days of your friends begging you to come to this underground party, you decided to give in.
Lying to your dad isn´t something you usually do, but there´s no other way.
You are there, between a hundred other people, a red cup in your hand with God knows what inside of it and sweat in the back of your neck.
The only thing you can think of is how badly you want to go home.
But then your friends pull you through the crowd until you are in front of the stage. And that’s where it all starts.
A white shirt with the chest buttons unbuttoned and rolled up sleeves. Allowing you to see in all its glory the heart tattoos that covered his skin, and just how toned his muscles were. Black pants covered his thick thighs, and black boots were on his feet.
All air abandoned your lungs; your mouth went dry, and your eyes went wide.
You made eye contact. Your heart threatened to come out of your chest. His eye bags made his eyes appear even darker. A second ago, he looked distant, cold, annoyed even, but now, now he looked slightly intrigued.
Ikkaku shook you by the shoulders as the “Heart Pirates” began playing, screaming the name of one of the other members, but for the entire set, you could only look at him.
That night ended with you making out in the back of his car. There you learned his name, his number and about the piercing he had on his frenulum (didn’t see it, but touching it gave you a pretty clear idea)
You showed up to rehearsals, shows and random hangouts. You got high and drunk and slept on the back of the band’s van. (You told your dad you were staying with Ikakku, which technically wasn’t a lie since she was sleeping beside you).
He tried teaching you how to play the bass, but it always ended with you riding him on the couch or bent over it. He did manage to learn how to smoke pot without coughing your lungs out.
Law didn’t usually do this. He never got attached, hell, he didn’t even do casual hook-ups, but in his eyes (and heart) this was different.
You helped him practice and write lyrics. You convinced him to give medicine another chance. Gods, even Cora loved you already.
But there was someone who wasn’t a fan of your relationship.
Your dad respected Sengoku and Rosinante. He thanked them for their service. But that didn’t mean he liked Law.
“He’s a lazy lowlife! Always disrespecting everything his dad and grandfather fought for! “He is not! He just points out injustice and corruption; Cora does the same exact thing! “You are not to see him anymore! I don´t want you to throw away everything I've given you for someone like him. “But daddy, I love him!”
He threatened to send you away. And when you didn’t listen, he began making plans. You heard him on the phone talking to someone, Uncle Kizaru, probably. You being an adult didn’t mean anything to him; he would find a way, he always did. That night, you ran to Law with tears in your eyes and begged him to do something.
You grabbed onto each other with desperation. Kissing, sucking and biting every inch of skin so as not to forget what it feels like, tastes like. Your heart is beating faster than ever. Law´s hands gripped your hips, helping you bounce up and down on his cock. His lips attached to your breasts. You pushed his head closer to your chest.
“Law...” You moaned, pulling on his hair.
“You feel so fucking good, baby.” He moans against your skin.
You can feel everything. How much he’s stretching you, the small silver piercing sliding against your walls, the smacking of your bottom against your thighs, the way his experienced fingers toy with your clit.
When you met, Law expected him to be a groaner, more on the silent side. But you were nicely mistaken. He’s a full-on moaner; he sometimes tries to hide it. But in moments like this, where he’s too far gone, too pussy drunk, his brain can no longer fight it.
“Oh fuck, love! Fuck, you have the prettiest pussy ever.” He says, looking down to where you are joined. His lips opened and closed, his throat letting out all kinds of noises.
“I love you, Law.”
“Love you too.” He moans against your mouth.
His hips push against yours as he begins trying to match your rhythm. Sweat runs down his neck and chest, and with every second that passes, you both lose more of your composure.
You can feel like it. You are close, your belly is getting warmer, your legs are shaking, and your core is crying out.
“Fuck!”
You both come with a gasp. His seed fills you up until it overflows, making it run down to his thighs. You continue moving for a few moments before the overstimulation becomes too much. You tremble in his arms, and your lungs are gasping for air, and your brain still hasn’t come back down to earth.
Love fills the air, but so does uncertainty. You cling to each other but know you can ignore reality. Law feels helpless, frustrated, and though he hates asking for help, he knows that’s the only way.
***
Rosi sat in front of the TV. A plate of burnt, heart-shaped cookies, a warm cup of tea and a small (very poorly rolled) joint (for medical reasons, of course), in front of him. Yeah, tonight is going to be a good night. That’s what he thought before he saw you two appear on his porch at one in the morning. You told him everything, you trusted him with your life, but still had a small doubt that he would send you right back to your dad, just as Sengoku would.
He stared at both of you for a couple of seconds, thinking, then he sighed and got up to look for his phone. “You kids are going to make me age even faster.” He went out to make a phone call.
𝒛𝒐𝒘𝒊 is a university student, she works and has been writing fanfiction since 2015 (but started getting good circa 2020). she lives in a small town in argentina, her first language is spanish.
she owns two black cats, mother and son.
her bf is sanji's #1 simp and introduced her to one piece.
her favourite colour is black!
𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒐... ♡ [in spanish] patricio rey, six sex & dillom [in english] lana del rey, arctic monkeys & oasis.
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𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 ⠀𑇛 your drink stop at the local bar in loguetown turns into an unexpected encounter with certain marine captain.
wc 3k :: smoking, hair pulling, rough sex, semi-public sex, raw sex, creampies, rushed ending (sorry) :: where my smoker girlies at?? *crickets*
Loguetown.
“Look at this place!” Luffy, your captain, looked around the main square of the city with sparkly eyes, a breathy laugh accompanied his excitement. You understood him, though, as this was the first stop on the road to the One Piece. This marked the start of your adventure with your new crew after they saved you from some nasty pirates who decided to kidnap you from your town.
You were known for your poison knowledge, an interest you picked up from a very early age. You weren’t sure the exact reasons why you were kidnapped, but it surely had to be your poison detection ability and resistance from all those years trying them out to study their effects. Thankfully, destiny led the Straw Hats to that ship, and now you were safe with them as a part of that wacky ensemble.
As Luffy continued to get excited about the history of this place, getting louder and louder, you looked around. There were a lot of banners set up high on the buildings, a lot of tourists roaming the streets, too.
“It looks like they’re having some kind of festival.” You noticed, pointing at the “22nd Anniversary" signs.
Beside you, Zoro nodded, humming in agreement. “Mhm, for Gold Roger’s execution.” He added.
“Not so good for laying low.” Said Usopp.
He was right. You were here to buy provisions and anything necessary for your future route. To dock at a Marine town was dangerous enough, now this festival would mean you had to be even more lowkey and not attract any attention. Which was easier said than done, judging by your captain’s inability to stay out of trouble for five seconds.
“I want to see the execution platform!”
Of course he did.
Nami rolled her eyes and started to assign everybody a task. Sanji and Luffy were in charge of the food. Zoro was going to buy new swords. Her and Usopp were going to do some shopping for clothes. You wanted to go with Zoro, so he wouldn’t be alone, but you also needed to buy some stuff for your experiments, and some more makeup and clothing—so you stayed with Nami and Usopp at the end. Hopefully things go well for the swordsman.
Nami was thrilled with your decision, she loved the idea of going shopping with another girl. To your surprise, she didn’t even give you a budget for your stuff, she let you spend like they were your own berries.
You got all the stuff you needed. Glass jars, gloves, ingredients, makeup and some cute outfits. You considered yourself an avid shopper, but the way Nami and Usopp couldn’t get enough of browsing around the markets was too much, even for you. So, with your new belongings in a bag, you told them you were gonna take a walk around town. They just hummed, too busy looking around the stall you stopped at.
During your scenery walk of the city, you stumbled upon a nice-looking bar. It had green vines growing on the outside, the warm lighting outside paired nicely with the orange and purple sunset sky, and through the windows, it seemed to have a good vibe going on inside. So you entered it, walking confidently through the wooden door. Each step you made clacked from your heels. Most of the people there didn’t bat an eye from the new person’s entrance, which was good. Although, internally you pouted, it would’ve felt nice to strike someone’s attention. A little flirting goes well in a bar.
You made your way to the counter and sat on one of the stools, your bag settled on the stool next to yours.
“Cherry liqueur.” You said to the bartender. She nodded and, while she went to do her job, your eyes roamed the establishment. People were busy with their partners and friends, chatting and drinking.
Then, your eyes caught the glimpse of a figure sitting at the far end of the counter, completely drowning out the ambient noise around you, a silhouette so big you couldn’t believe you missed it when you got in.
Even from the corner of your eye, the man was massive. He wore an unzipped marine coat despite the chilly evening air and two large cigars were clamped firmly between his teeth, sending thick plumes of white smoke curling up towards the ceiling. He looked entirely out of place in a cozy local tavern but there was an undeniable gravity to him that made it impossible for you to look away.
He turned his head, as if sensing your gaze. Deep, sharp eyes locked onto yours from beneath a mop of white hair, as white as his smoke. He didn’t look away, neither did you. Instead, you let a slow, playful smile tug at the corner of your lips, raising your newly served cherry liqueur in a daring toast.
The man’s lips sucked in a slow drag from his cigars, blowing a ring of smoke that drifted almost comically your way, his eyes tracked the movement of your lips when they drank from the glass. A low, gravelly hum rumbled in his chest—so deep and so loud you could feel it even with all the noise surrounding you.
“You’re a long way from home, sweetheart,” he grunted, his voice a grinding drawl, rough yet captivating. “And that is a dangerous look you’re giving a Marine.”
AS he took a sip from his whiskey—you took a guess, brown liqueur looked all the same—you tilted your head. “Is it?” You leaned towards him just a bit, your heels clicking against the stool. “Good thing I’ve always had a thing for danger, huh?”
His sharp gaze raked over the shopping bags next to you, lingering on the glass jars. “A girl carrying a bag full of unlabeled glass vials and wandering into a naval port alone during a festival,” he stated, voice dropping an octave as he rested a massive forearm on the wooden counter. “Around here, that makes you a suspect, y’know?”
You let out a soft, breathy laugh, swirling the red liquid in your glass. You looked at him through your lashes, letting the warmth of the bar’s lighting catch the edge of your smile. You knew exactly what he was doing, you’re no flirting novice—you lived with Sanji, for fuck’s sake—and you weren’t one to back down.
“Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer…” you leaned into him, letting the smell of musk and tobacco invade your nostrils. “…Smoker,” you purred, the name dripped from your lips with a deliberately teasing innocence and a naugthy spark in your eyes. “I’m just doing a little shopping. Is it a crime to want a drink after a long day?” A dramatic sigh followed your feign offence.
Smoker’s eyes turned a dark-almost-black colour, the smirk finally tugging at the edge of his lips around his cigars.
“A good girl wouldn’t be trying this hard to test the local authority,” he muttered, finally standing from his stool. His imposing frame cast a shadow over you as he closed the distance, stopping just close enough for you to inhale the smoke dancing in front of your face. “And I’m not an officer. I’m the Captain.”
"Even better,” you whispered. “A captain ussually knows how to handle a challenge.”
Smoker didn’t anwser with words. He just tongued the inside of his cheek and let out a dark chuckle that sent a cold shiver down your spine. His hand shot out, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist with a grip that looked rough, but felt surprisingly careful.
“Imma need to interrogate you some more, princess,” his drawl melted in your ears.
By the time he dragged you towards the back door of the bar, your drink was long forgotten, left sweating over the coaster as you followed that rough man into the alleyway.
With every sharp thrust—desperate, relentless—the grip on your hair kept you anchored, grounding you in the intense rhythm he dictated. The rough brick wall was cool against your hot skin, pressed against it, his hard chest trapping you from behind. Wisps of smoke began to escape his mouth, curling over your shoulders and wrapping around the two of you, almost like a shroud, hiding you in the dark safety of the Loguetown shadows. The index finger of his free hand circled against your clit, an especially delicious brush drawing out a high-pitched whine from you.
“Quiet,” he gritted against your ear, his own breath coming out in a ragged breath. “Unless you want the whole town to hear how much of a good girl you are taking my cock.”
Your eyes went wide, and a loud, shattered cry echoed into the alleway, instantly muffled by Smoke’rs hand slamming over your mouth. The tug on your hair tightened just anough to keep you pinned, holding you steady against the wall. His hips gave another hard thrust into your cervix. An involuntary eyeroll accompanied a moan that died down on his calloused palm. He didn’t wait for your answer, he just kept going—kept fucking you raw against that wall.
Oh, the friction of that big cock hammering into your dripping cunt was almost dizzying, really. Slamming hip to hip with a bruising force, the wet slapping mixed with your naughty cries and his deep grunts in a lewd symphony.
“Please,” you breathed out.
Smoker pushed your head into the wall, your cheek smushed on the cold stone. “Please what?” His voice rasped, hot breath washing over your exposed neck just a secod before his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin where your shoulder met your neck, making your back arch into him and your toes curl inside your heels.
“Please, captain.”
A ragged chuckled blossomed from his chest and melted into your ears. With a deliberate, commanding tug, he pulled your hair back, forcing your head to tilt up and exposeing the long line from your throat. A sharp whimper escaped your lips. “Ya look so cute when you’re not talking back,” he growled against your ear, feral and low. A finger went back to press on your sensitive little bud as his pace turned completely ruthless. The weight of his torso pinned you flush against the wall, leaving no place to escape from the overwhelming amount of stimulation.
Your back was pulled back by your hair into a punishing angle. You were forced to take him deeper with every frantic, heavy drive of his hips as the calloused fingertip pressed down your swollen clit. You couldn’t hold back the high, broken whimpers anymore as they tore from your throat. Your heels scraped uselessly against the cobblestones, your fingers clawing desperately into the mortar of the wall just to stay upright under the force of his pace.
“Look at you,” purred Smoker, his voice a filthy whisper that vibrated straight through your spine. “Leaking all over me, such a good girl.”
Smoker pulled out nearly all the way, pausing for one agonizing second to let you catch your breath, before driving back in with a brute force that made your knewws buckle. He caught your weight effortlessly, his large hand abandoning your hair to grab you by the hip, digging his fingers into your skin hard enough to leave future bruises.
With both hands anchoring your hips, he behan to hammer into you with a relentless speed. The sheer friction and heat of him was overwhelming, threatening to shatter you. There were still white smoke pillows billowing from his lips, dense and pouring around your thighs, holding you in place like physical bindings. The alley comepletely dissapeared around you, reduced to nothing but the smell of hot, sweaty skin and the unadultered heat of his cock splitting you wide open.
“Tell me how much you want it,” he grunted, slamming his palm back onto the brick right next to your head, chest heaving against your back. “Let me hear it.”
“Smoker—please—more,” you gasped out, voice wrecked and entirely breathless, head rolling back against his massive shoulder. “I’m so close. Please.”
A dark, satisfied smirk spread across his face. He didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed your hair again, pulling until you let out a sharp cry, and began to drill into you with a desperate ferocity, chasing his own peak as well as yours. The bruising pace of his hips left your mind fractured under the sheer intensity. With his hand wrapped firmly around your hair, keeping your neck exposed and your body perfectly aligned with his cock. There was absolutely no escape now.
“That’s it. Take it.”
The tight coil in your lower stomach finally snapped. You came completely undone, your body convulsing in a sudden, violent wave of release that had you crying out loud. Your vision went hazy as the intense spasms of your climax gripped you, squeezing him so tightly it broke his remaining restraint.
A loud, guttural groan escaped Smoker, his grip on you—your hair, your hip—tightening for one last second as he buried himself as deep as he could possibly go. He buckled against you, his upper body pinning you flat against the wall as he came, pumpin wave after wave of thick ribbons of cum deep inside you.
Your legs gave out entirely, and you would have collapsed onto the cobblestones if his massive arms hadn’t immediately wrapped around your waist, holding you flush agaisnt his chest.
For the longest minute of your life, the only sound in the narrow alley was the ragged breathing and his heartbeat hammering on your ear.
You went along your way after a goodbye kiss to the captain. The cool air of the night caressed your damp skin and made you wish you bought a jacket. Your heels clicked against the cobblestones as you made your way towards the meeting point of the crew—you hoped your detour didn’t take too long.
But the night was too calm to be true and, like clockwork, you found your crew involved in a fight at the plaza. Buggy and Alvida found you. The marines surrounded the place. Your captain was about to be beheaded on the same platform as Gold D. Roger.
What. The. Fuck.
And if that wasn’t enough, a certain captain rolled over in a motorcycle to put order.
Love ur fics! Can I recommend one where sanji or ace (or another character of ur choice) accidentally walk in on you changing. A cute fluffy tale with them all flushed and embarrassed that slowly leads to nsfw would be perfect!
𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒋𝒊 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 ⠀﹒୨𝑒 nsfw, based on this ask
with a quiet huff, you rummaged through your clothes, after shuffling through hangers you’ve decided to pull out the whole wardrobe onto your bed and start from there instead of pulling outfit after outfit. the accumulated clothes flew around your room, discarded for not being good enough—not when you wanted to look your best for your on-deck crush.
you’ve been like that for a couple of minutes, wearing only a cute set of underwear while you looked through your clothes. it was a simple lacy set that always got you a boost of confidence, and today you wanted to see if sanji would like to have a drink with you after dinner. you hummed a soft tune as you pick a skirt from the pile on your bed and walked over to the mirror to check it out.
that’s when you hear the door open, the loud creek of wood startling you. “my lady, have you seen the—”
sanji stood there, paralyzed with his mouth open, almost slack-jawed and face beet-red. his visible eye was open with shock and the cigarette almost fell down to the floor. you could see his nostrils flare, you’ve known him enough to know that was a major nosebleed threatening to occur. the wheels were obviously turning inside his head, but the shock of walking in on you, seeing you in nothing but that lacy underwear that covered practically nothing must have him frozen in place.
you huffed and covered yourself with the nearest blanket, draping it over your chest and holding it to cover your bare ass too—you were still standing in front of the mirror, after all.
at this point, not a sound has came out of sanji, which was rare. the woman-loving cook seeing one of the crew girls’ naked and not even a screech of excitement? no, he just…turned. the door slammed behind him so hard it surprised you it didn’t come off its hinges.
“…sanji?” you asked, softly, trying to supress a smile.
“I AM THE WORST MAN ALIVE.” he screamed from the hallway. you laughed at his dramatic reaction. “I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING, CHERI—ohmygod i saw everything.”
you were now laughing out loud, satisfied that he did actually react to seeing your body almost naked, and positively so. that had to mean something, right?
“IT’S NOT FUNNY, DON’T LAUGH.”
“it kind of is.” by that moment you were already dressed in the previously picked skirt and a tight top. his embarrassed whines fueled something in you that fed off his attention, they served as a nice background music as you finished getting ready.
you opened the door and found him down on his knees in front of you. one of your brows raised, interested in this whole situation. “i’m decent now, sanji.” if you forced your voice to sound smoother, it was something only you had to know.
and—okay, the way he looked up to you kind of turned you on, and his kneeled position didn’t help your situation. you couldn’t help but fall for that puppy-eyed look, how his thick eyebrows furrowed preoccupied and his lips pouted, a faint pink line staining his cupid’s bow. his visible eye roamed over your figure from below, and you noticed the moment it landed on the underskirt view of your panties. his face redened again, but this time he tried to hide it by lowering his head.
“i’m so sorry, my angel, it was unchivalrous of me to walk in on you without knocking.” you had to supress the excited eyeroll when you hear that pouty murmur.
“it’s fine, sanji.”
“no, it’s not fine, ma chér, please let me make it up to you.”
oh, well. your plan could finally become true after all.
“let me think about it…”
“hmm, fuck! there, sanji—ohmygod.”
electricity traveled from your belly through your legs, his skilled mouth worked with a blend of hunger and reverence between your quivering thighs—broad strokes along your wet slit turning into more precise, more hard circles around your swollen clit. his index and middle fingers held your folds open for him, between licks they even thrusted shallow into your hole, teasing you.
he was good, sososo good. it felt like he somehow knew your whole body; how fast, how hard, where to pay special attention.
his lips latched onto your clit and your hands automatically pulled at the blonde strands on his head. the low, long hum he produced vibrated against your pussy and sent even more fuzzy sensations to your core.
he separated for a second to look at you, and you almost cried when he did—you were so close. he laughs, wiping the mix of spit and juices from his redened lips. “mm, you like that, mon chéri?” your hips jerked at his words, a fresh wave of slickness coating your slit from the raspy accent of that beautiful man.
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