Sideblog. You know. For Sideblog stuff.

How the hell are VINSMOKE SANJI and RORONOA ZORO both balls deep inside of you and still arguing?

“Don’t — hn — you dare come, curly,” Zoro grits, one wide palm locked around your wrists, pinning them back against your spine. He’s beneath you, earrings bobbing, teeth knicking your pearled nipple. His eyes, piercing and dangerous, flick between your blissed-out expression and Sanji’s slack-jawed pleasure, “We’re tryna prove a damn point here—”

“Fuck you, Marimo,” Sanji’s words splinter into a low, desperate moan; his hands, braced on either side of Zoro’s head, have gone white in the knuckles, “Shut — damn it — Shut the f-fuck up—”

Sanji’s forehead falls to your shoulder, and his hips stutter, and Zoro bites his own lip so hard he tastes blood. Blonde hair tickles your neck, and your back arches. Zoro’s hand on your hip tightens enough to bruise. He’s closer to the edge than he’s letting on.

You figure the arguing probably does something for him.

He’s a man of honor, as much as Sanji is. Your little comments earlier about lasting the longest earned you this spot between the two men.

It’s a lot of sensations — too much, almost. You’re stretched wide, and inside of you, Zoro’s cock drags against Sanji’s. Sanji’s drags against his. Every thrust between the two, into you, is messy and uncoordinated.

And it feels good. Really good.

“She had a mouth about this, about lasting longer. So, she comes first,” Zoro grits out, like he’s reminding himself, “Right, cook?”

“’Course she will,” he whines, and you figure this is the closest you’re going to get to amicable teamwork when it comes to double penetration, “She… yea — L-Ladies first.”

Sanji pants into your neck, and Zoro lets a sound slip out of his chest that sounds suspiciously like a moan. The white-hot coil of pleasure in your belly only winds tighter and tighter, their cocks pump in and out and in and out, massaging one another, massaging that certain spot.

Their names tangle on your tongue, quickly followed by a moan that is unbecoming of anyone with a shred of dignity left.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Zoro rasps, and you swear his voice is shaking. His words are punctuated by his thrusts, “Y’like it when we — when we use you like this?”

“I think she does,” Sanji makes a noise that sounds like a laugh being punched out of him. His pace is faltering. He’s clinging to the edge. “Sure sounds like it.”

“You’re gonna come,” Zoro huffs, cock dragging in and out against Sanji’s, “And then, we’re gonna fill you up—”

“Nice and deep,” Sanji’s muttering in your ear, cock dragging in and out against Zoro’s, “Y-You want that?”

Yea. Yea, you do. And you tighten, slicken, and they notice.

They’re playing dirty. Might as well play the same game.

“Must be nice,” you snark, somehow maintaining some semblance of brattiness despite the circumstances; where you find the thoughts or words, you’ll never know. You know it drives Zoro insane, and you know Sanji finds it so delightful, “Finally rubbing your cocks together—”

You have no idea who comes first.

All you know is that it isn’t you.

And for the first time all night, they’re not arguing.