in this light (I swear, you're mine): 1/3 hurt, 1/3 comfort, 1/3 smut sanzo oneshot
every other freckle: based on @breathing-and-stuff's prompt - Zoro knows the exact number of freckles on Sanjiβs face.
in your warmth: (for @starrynightarchive) what if zoro got wet in the rain⦠and uhh⦠sanji was dry and warm⦠and they cuddled about it??
Double Trouble: 40 year old zosan meeting 19 year old zosan (explicit)
drawn to you: based once again on @breathing-and-stuff's prompt - 3am/3pm. includes gartic phone shenanigans with a lot of wonderful fandom friends.
To new beginnings. (To the goodness in your heart.): written for @esotericeribos as a secret santa gift! blacksmith zoro/on the run from his family prince sanji.
Pharmakon: written for @lekoppadraws as part of the @zsvalentinesexchange! their prompt: The cookβs too sick to make dinnerβto his surprise, Zoro is stepping in to keep the crew fed, and encourage him to get his rest.
multi-chapter:
sweeter than any drug: sanji and zoro are idiots in love - trying to replace their addictions (smoking & drinking alcohol) with sex without talking about how they feel
green (like hope): modern day enemies to friends to lovers slow burn with lots of straw hats shenanigans
addicted to your touch: bouncer zoro/genderfluid sanji. zoro works at a queer night club. candy attracts his attention with ease. she treats him like a dog (but he's into that)
gifts made by other artists/writers (this is just a collection for me π)
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At night, if I hold very, very still, I can hear another heart beat alongside mine. This thing in me, it slithers to the back of my head and burrows a home for itself there.
The horror of it is unimaginable. I am not alone in this body. There is something in me.
It is akin to a tumour, I imagine. Silent in its conquest, merciless in its desire. It spreads its flimsy wings and flies leisurely in my body, filthying it as it pleases. I can feel it at the back of my throat sometimesβthe shimmer of those wings. The smoothness of its scales.
I dream of screaming, "Get it off me! Please!" but when I awake I am quiet and complacent. I eat and remain hungry. I do nothing I want to do. There is something sinister digging through my brain. My insides shudder, but I remain calm. It's all a bit boring, really. There is something monstrous and foreign making the hollows of my body its own. So what? I swipe down to the next reel.
At the kitchen, I stand in front of the knives and imagine for a moment picking it up and hacking off all that is wrong with me. The thought is mango-sweet, almost perverse in its simplicity.
Cutting this thing out, it doesn't require delicacy. I cannot lay under the hands of a surgeon and hope his scalpel can strike true. No, this is messy work. It needs a butcher knife and a packet of cigarettes. It needs the hands of an alcoholic and the desperation of a teenage girl. I need to hack this out, piece by fucking piece.
But here comes the problem: I have let this thing grow in me as it pleases and now I don't know where it ends and where I begin. I don't know if we are different, or the very same. I don't know what it is I want to cut out of this body: the thing, or myself.
The panic rises. "Do something!" I am screaming at myself, "Move!" But the thing has always been good at keeping me quiet. The fit passes, and once again I am staring at my phone. I'm hungry. I don't remember why I was so scared. There is a sound coming from the backs of my eyesβ a strange mix of hissing and purring. It sounds pleased.
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this was meant do be a foot study but. lol. iβll work on this more once i learn how to fix my many colouring sins & also lighting & alsoβ¦β¦ everything π«‘
It's impossible to sneak up on Zoro. When a hand trailed up the back of his arm, his reaction was not one of surprise, but of relief. Fucking finally, he thought. I was worried the damn cook had broken his brain with all that fucking poison, but if he's still a horny loser who comes to me when he can't get a lady to look his way, maybe things aren't actually as fucked as they seem.
Zoro made a sound somewhere between a hum and a grunt. He let the barbel he was crunching fall to the floor with a resounding crack that would have Frankie no doubt griping on about hull integrity or whatever later on.
The hand trailing his arm started roaming the planes of his back. A second hand wrapped around his front and came to rest on his belly. Breath ghosted at his neck.
"Usually you're such a stickler for manners, cook," Zoro said mildly. "You think it's gentlemanly behavior to grope a man before asking?"
"Like you ever needed much persuasion," snorted the response. The cook's voice was mellow, warm. His roaming hands, however, were worryingly cold. Zoro grabbed the one exploring his belly and intertwined their fingers.
Well, why not. He could do with blowing off some steam, and he didn't need to be gentle when rolling around with Sanji. He could give as good as he got. Zoro had missed that. Zoro had missed a lot about this.
You haven't even made me dinner, Zoro very nearly said. He choked down the joke. It would be in poor taste these days, since Sanji lost his heart for cooking. Zoro was trying to be more thoughtful and shit, after all.
It was exhausting, though, having to sensor his words. The most unexpected things set Sanji off lately. Zoro wasn't used to feeling so out of step with the cook. It kept him on edge more often than not.
This, though. This was familiar.
Familiarity was a relief.
Sanji's free hand came to rest on Zoro's waist. It played with the hem of his pants. Sanji shimmied closer, until he was pressed up against Zoro from hip to shoulder. Subtle.
As subtle as the hard line of Sanji's interest pressing into the cleft of Zoro's ass.
"Worked up, are we? Hanging out with Nami or Robin left you flustered and wanting?" Zoro sneered.
"Nah. This is all you, Marimo."
Zoro felt himself flush. The shit cook didn't usually admit to finding Zoro attractive, even when they messed around. He always had an excuse.
"That a problem?" Sanji sounded genuinely curious.
Zoro grunted. He brought their intertwined hands to his crotch to show the cook just how much of a problem it wasn't.
After that was a flurry of violent movement. Zoro twisted around and they crashed together like the years apart meant nothing. Both of Sanji's hands were fully on Zoro's ass. Zoro was feeling up every part of the cook he could get his hands on. He groaned into Sanji's mouth. It tasted like home.
Fuck, that was a stupid line. Zoro promptly decided to stop thinking lest something even more idiotic came to him.
Somehow they made it to Zoro's bed. Sanji wouldn't let go for even a moment, so they stumble-fell onto the mattress like a bunch of messy teens. Zoro chuckled against Sanji's lips.
Sanji, a man on a mission, it seemed, wasted no time in straddling Zoro's lap. He ground their hips together aggressively and they groaned in unison. Sanji was an absolute menace in bed. Insatiable and rough. Zoro loved that about these infrequent little trysts.
Zoro opened his eye to make a joke about Sanji lasting, but something gave him pause. A strange reflection in Sanji's eyes in the candlelight.
Sanji immediately closed his eyes and dove back in for another firm kiss, but Zoro could tell he was hiding something from him. He'd known Sanji for years. He could tell when something wasn't right, and he could tell when the bastard was being cagey about it.
Zoro grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. He didn't know what else to do. It worked; Sanji's eyes opened in a squint, and suddenly everything was clear.
Even in the candlelight, he could see it. Pink rings around his irises. That absolute dickhead.
"Are you fucking high right now?!"
Zoro hated himself for not realizing sooner. He hated Sanji for doing this to him. He hated that a small part of him wasn't surprised that the only reason Sanji had sought out Zoro's company in the first place was because he was blasted off his gourd.
Zoro shoved him off. His skin was crawling. He felt vaguely nauseous. He needed to hit something. Many somethings. Very hard.
"Oi!"
Sanji had the gal to sound affronted right now?!
"Fuck off," Zoro spat. He grabbed his shirt from where he'd discarded it before starting his ruined workout.
"The fuck's wrong with you?" Sanji muttered, half to himself.
"Me?! Youβ" Zoro felt something pop in his brain. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this angry, and hurt, and humiliated. He turned away.
"Just get your shit together."
They could probably hear the slamming of the door from clear across the ship.
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My favorite human ritual is the unspoken rule that if you enjoyed a concert, you must clap without stopping at the end (if you were seated, you may rise to express further respect). The musician will bow, then exit the stage, but you must keep clapping. The musician must return and act surprised, bow again, then exit once more, and you continue to clap. Then, the musician will return and play one or two extra numbers (you stop clapping during the music) and at the end after they leave for the last time, you can clap as long as you wish but the musician will not return. Itβs just such a cute song and dance. I've been to shows where the musician expects it (to the point that i could see their timer backstage that indicated how much time they had left for the show and they bowed for the first time with 20 minutes to spare) so they just go through the motion of pretending to end the show but the extra number is completely planned and we all expect it. Everyone in the audience is in on it but we all just do it anyway because itβs like a conversation were the audience and the musician are saying Thank You to each other over and over. Makes me feel some type of way
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