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.
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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.
they all have a favorite place to kiss you ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡ and they all get a little softer when it comes to you (｡•́‿•̀｡)
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Monkey D. Luffy = cheeks
Monkey D. Luffy kisses your cheeks like it is the most natural thing in the world, always rushing in without hesitation, pulling you close first like he cannot wait even a second to feel you near him.
Monkey D. Luffy repeats cheek kisses when excited, each one messy and loud, followed by laughter that makes it clear Luffy is not thinking, only reacting to how happy you make him feel.
Monkey D. Luffy gets extremely clingy when jealous, refusing to let anyone stand too close, immediately wrapping arms around you and pressing your cheeks repeatedly just to make his presence obvious.
Monkey D. Luffy holds your face in both hands when emotional, kissing slower for once, like he suddenly realizes he wants to stay like this without moving away at all.
Monkey D. Luffy never understands subtle affection, so everything becomes obvious—loud kisses, tight hugs, and constant closeness that makes it clear you are his favorite person on the ship.
Roronoa Zoro = forehead
Roronoa Zoro kisses your forehead like it is something unspoken, usually happening in silence when you are just close enough for him to reach without thinking about it too much.
Roronoa Zoro keeps a steady hand on your head or shoulder afterward, like he is grounding you and himself at the same time without needing to explain anything out loud.
Roronoa Zoro becomes noticeably quieter when someone flirts with you, not reacting dramatically but instead stepping closer, positioning himself like a barrier without saying a single word.
Roronoa Zoro pulls you in more firmly when jealous, forehead kiss turning slower and heavier, like a silent warning that he is not in the mood to share your attention.
Roronoa Zoro stays beside you longer than necessary afterward, like distance suddenly feels unnecessary, and his presence alone becomes enough to keep others away.
Black Leg Sanji = back of hand
Black Leg Sanji kisses your hand like it is something sacred every time, always starting by gently holding your fingers first as if asking permission without ever needing words.
Black Leg Sanji looks at you with constant admiration, like every single kiss still feels new to him, no matter how many times he has done it before.
Black Leg Sanji gets visibly more protective when jealous, standing closer without realizing it, eyes sharpening whenever someone gets too comfortable in your space.
Black Leg Sanji keeps your hand longer after kissing it, like letting go feels wrong, and the silence afterward is softer but more emotionally charged than anything he says.
Black Leg Sanji always acts composed in public, but the way he holds your hand tighter shows everything he refuses to say out loud.
Trafalgar D. Water Law = fingers
Trafalgar D. Water Law kisses your fingers slowly, one by one, like he is studying something important but refusing to admit how natural it feels to him.
Trafalgar D. Water Law pulls your hand closer without asking, expression calm and unreadable, but his actions always make it clear he is not planning to let go anytime soon.
Trafalgar D. Water Law becomes quieter when jealous, but his presence grows sharper, like the space around you suddenly shrinks until only he feels close enough.
Trafalgar D. Water Law keeps your hand held firmly even in silence, finger kisses turning repetitive like a habit he uses to stay grounded in the moment.
Trafalgar D. Water Law never looks away for long, like he is memorizing every reaction you have without saying a single word about it.
Sabo = forehead
Sabo kisses your forehead carefully every time, always removing his gloves first like even the smallest barrier does not belong between you and him.
Sabo stays close after pulling away, like distance feels unnecessary once he has already touched you like that.
Sabo becomes quieter when jealous, but noticeably more protective, positioning himself closer without making it obvious to others around you.
Sabo pulls you in gently, never forceful, but always certain, like there is no version of reality where you are not beside him.
Sabo speaks softly after, “I’ve got you,” like it is not reassurance but a fact already proven.
Eustass Kid = neck
Eustass Kid kisses your neck without hesitation, pulling you in immediately like he has no patience for distance or subtle affection at all.
Eustass Kid keeps a strong grip on your waist, making sure you stay exactly where he wants you, like space between you simply does not exist.
Eustass Kid becomes more intense when jealous, not softer, getting closer instead of backing off, like he is proving a point through presence alone.
Eustass Kid leaves lingering kisses on your skin, rough and heated, like he is marking attention in a way that cannot be ignored or misunderstood.
Eustass Kid lowers his voice near you, saying less but meaning more, like everything he feels is already obvious without explanation.
Portgas D. Ace = lips
Portgas D. Ace kisses your lips like instinct, always hesitating for a second first like he is grounding himself before actually closing the distance.
Portgas D. Ace cups your face gently before kissing you, like he needs to make sure you are real before anything else happens between you.
Portgas D. Ace becomes quieter when jealous, pulling you closer instead of speaking, like words are suddenly too slow for what he is feeling.
Portgas D. Ace stays pressed close after kissing, forehead resting against yours, breathing slower like he is trying to steady himself through your presence.
Portgas D. Ace always looks relieved when you do not move away, like staying near you fixes something unspoken inside him.
Shanks = corner of lips
Shanks kisses the corner of your lips like it is always half-tease, leaning in like he is about to say something serious before stealing the moment instead.
Shanks laughs softly after most kisses, but never lets go of your waist, like affection is casual but never careless with you specifically.
Shanks becomes quieter when jealous, watching more than joking, smile still there but noticeably less relaxed than before.
Shanks slows down his kisses when serious, turning teasing affection into something more controlled and deliberate without ever making it obvious to others.
Shanks keeps you close the entire time, like distance was never part of the conversation in the first place.
Nanami had never considered himself a jealous man.
possessive, perhaps, in small ways. protective? certainly.
but jealousy? it was messy. the sort of thing that clouded judgement and made people act irrationally.
Nanami preferred facts.
and the fact was that you were free to spend time with anyone. the fact that your smile didn't belong to him. and the fact that he trusted you completely.
but why—why had he spent the last twenty minutes staring at his phone?
the photo on the screen was harmless for god's sake!
a group picture from a company dinner. you sat near the center, smiling oh so sweetly to the camera.
but the problem is there was a man sitting beside you.
nothing appropriate or suspicious. just a coworker. a coworker whose arm was slung casually over the back of your chair.
a coworker who seemed to appear in every photos your friend posted. a coworker whose name you had mentioned bunch of times this week without realizing it.
Nanami locked his phone and set it face down on the table.
he hated this feeling. Not because he distrusted you.
there was no reason for the knot tightening in his chest.
there is no logical explanation for why he suddenly found himself wondering whether you smiled that brightly around everyone. or whether you looked at everyone the way you looked at him.
the apartment door opened suddenly, snapping him out of his trance.
"Kento?" your voice drifted through the hallway.
you stepped into the living room, smiling when you saw him.
"There you are."
Nanami returned the smile automatically.
but as you sat beside him and started talking about your day, he found himself listening for one name. and when it finally appeared in the conversation? his jaw tightened.
your words faltered. "Kento?" you looked at him carefully.
for a moment, neither of you spoke.
then, quietly, you asked. "Is there something wrong?"
he met your gaze briefly before looking away.
the silenced stretched. not uncomfortable, just heavy. Nanami wasn't entirely sure how to answer.
you knew your husband too well to notice when something was off.
"Kento."
"Hm."
"You're doing that thing."
his brows furrowed slightly. "What thing?"
"The thing where you pretend nothing's bothering you."
you moved closer on the couch, turning toward him fully.
"Did something happen at work?"
"No."
"Did someone annoy you?"
"Not particularly."
"Are you tired?"
"Always."
your expression only softened.
your fingers reached for his hand without thinking. you interwined your fingers with his.
"C'mon, talk to me?"
you waited patiently, giving him space to speak.
Nanami hated that he was making this difficult.
eventually, he said, "Who is he?"
you blinked. "...who?"
"The coworker."
your eyes widened slightly. "Oh."
for several seconds, you said nothing.
then, "Are you jealous?"
Nanami closed his eyes briefly. "Perhaps," he sighed.
your expression softened even further.
you shifted closer until your shoulder rested against his.
"I found him annoying," you started. "He talks too much, he steals food, he's arrogant too."
the corner of Nanami's mouth twitched. you caught it immediately.
"There he is."
"I was here the entire time."
"No, you were somewhere in your own head."
you brushed your thumb over his knuckles.
"I don't smile because of him," you sighed. "I smile because i was having fun."
his gaze softened. "I know," he admitted.
"Then why are you suffering by yourself?"
a faint huff escaped him, not quite a laugh.
"Because," he pulled your joined hands closer. "I was hoping it would stop if i ignored it."
"Did it work?"
"No."
you laughed. "That was unfortunate."
he laughed along with you. "It was."
the knot in his chest began to loosen.
not because the jealousy had vanished. but because you were looking at him exactly the way you always had.
ace looks at you with a raised brow as the two of you are sitting on the couch, watching something on youtube while trying not to freeze to death in this cold temperature.
he puts the phone away to the side and looks at you, a smile slowly starting to grow at the corners of his lips before he tangles his fingers in your hair, brushing it out gently. “sure, but why?” he asks before you get up to search for the multiple colored pencils you own.
“because it would look cute, and i like your tattoos,” you admit before coming back to him, putting the pencils down on the table close to the couch. “promise you won’t wash it off immediatly?”
you’re looking at him with a small pout on your lips, fully aware of the effect it has on him, how could he ever say no. “i promise not to wash it off immediatly,” he places a kiss to your cheek before you’re taking his arm in one hand, a colored pencil in the other.
at the sight of the pink color, he shakes his head but lets you do whatever you want. you’re taking you’re time filling the different letters on his arm with color, drawing some hearts around it as well. “sucks that my back tattoo already has color,” he mumbles jokingly as you’re focused on his arm.
“yeah, you’ll have to get more tattoos,” you smile softly while finishing coloring the few tattoos he has on his left arm. “what do you think?”
he looks down slightly towards his tattoos and the way you’ve covered them in pink. “very pretty, baby. i’ll make sure to protect it from water for as long as i can.”
“G-god baby! i might j-just fall on top of you- damn!”, y/n says. unable to stop the roll of her hips agaisnt every strong push of Ace’s tounge, as he laps up a little more “A-ace- baby-!”. “Forgive m-me sweetie ?”? he mumbled out, barely able to contain his grunt as you sink onto his face, crashing from the stimulation of his thrashing his tounge at your core. He grabs ur ass, squeezing it and tugging you closer, pulling you close as possible above him, Devouring you like this favorite chunk of meat, biting the labia, sucking your clit. “Shit.. just one more for me baby.”
How would Zoro, luffy and Law (if you write for him) react if they find out their s/o loves to fangirl about them to the crew behind their back. i.e. all the strawhats except zoro know reader is always squealing about how good zoro looks whilst he’s training. How would he react when he finds out the reader is his superfan (sorry if this doesnt make sense it’s nearly 2am n i’m struggling to type 😭😭)
a/n: eeeee yes boost those men’s egos!! i haven’t gotten to law yet (🙉) so i’m adding ace instead & ofc sanji my mans
warnings: flirting, established relationships, banter, reader LOVES her bf, a few suggestive comments, mild language, reader is like a feral cat, sanji FOLDS so fast
Giggling and Kicking Your Feet
⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⚔︎
Zoro was at it again. torturing you slowly, meticulously and agonizingly. or, maybe just working out. he was in the middle of the deck, hot sun blaring down at him as if challenging him to push himself even further. he never did it intentionally— he just trained like he always had and would continue to do daily. you couldn’t even be mad about being up so early to watch him when his abs were displayed in full glory as he lifted his swords above his head and—
“ohhuh,” you felt your knees weaken slightly as you stumbled to grab onto the banister. your head was spinning, vision dancing slightly.
zoro was a hazard to you.
you stumbled into the kitchen, nearly tumbling into sanji, who looked up from the sink in alarm. upon seeing that it was you, he smirked, eyeing you knowingly. “mosshead training again?”
you groaned in answer, your head falling against the counter slightly too hard.
“oh, love…” sanji sounded pitying, though he was still smirking in amusement. he slid you a glass of water and clicked his tongue, “suppose you could stop watching him every day? avert your eyes to literally any other direction…”
you scoffed, eyeing him like he was insane.
“oh, of course… of course you couldn’t. how silly of me…”
“cook,” you flinched as if you had been shot as zoro stepped into the gulley. he took you in, eyes softening, dangling shirt shifting from his hand to over his shoulder.
“morning,” he nodded to you, the faintest smile evident on his face.
“morn—“ the rest choked out and was cut off as your eyes drifted south, to where his abs gleamed with sweat and the v of his—
sanji whistled and you flinched. you flushed scarlet, eyes dropping to literally anywhere else.
“can i get some water?”
you stumbled over your own feet and beat sanji to the faucet to fill him a glass. sanji just eyed you incredulously, still thoroughly amused.
“are you okay?”
you watched him down the water, swearing time seemed to slow as his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
“i think she just needs a cold shower. she may have overheated a bit…”
you shot sanji a glare but zoro was already moving, hand outstretched towards your forehead, eyebrows knit with concern.
“i’m– no, i’m okay—“
zoro eyed you with a worried intensity, sliding the glass back towards sanji as he looked you over, “you seem alright… is there anything i can get you? do i need to get the cook to make you something?”
sanji hummed, slicing potatoes into thin cubes, “not sure i have what she’s wanting… it’s not exactly on the menu—“
you stomped backwards, heel landing on sanji’s foot with clear intention. sanji cursed and muttered under his breath, looking up at you with wide, slightly tearfilled eyes.
zoro just looked at you, looked to sanji, then blinked. sometimes you wished he was slightly less oblivious. especially when it came to you and the painfully obvious effect he had on you.
nami was sighing in time with you, batting her eyelashes sarcastically as you ogled over zoro once again. she was watching you, torn between annoyance and amusement. anyone who saw you half bent over the guard rail and doe eyed would call you pathetic— and they would be right.
“you’re going to cut yourself in half if you don’t stand up straight.”
“just look at him— i mean, that physique shouldn’t even be possible.”
“he works out for at least an hour every day… of course he’s going to be fit.”
“fit.” she said it so casually and you snorted, “you say that as if he’s not… like, utter perfection. sculpted by—“
“zoro!”
zoro glanced up, eyebrow lifted.
“put on a shirt before your girlfriend chokes on her own drool.”
your face flushed and you looked at nami furiously. you glanced back at zoro and nearly shrieked when you found him inches away, now eyeing you with a smirk.
shit. holy shit, he was even nicer up close—
as if you hadn’t seen him a million times and woken up with him smothering you as he snored and nearly suffocated you with an arm across your cheek.
“you look a little red…”
you tried to glance anywhere but him but he took two fingers and pulled your head to face him. “it’s hot.”
“is it?” his voice held that dangerous tone, voice rasping just slightly. your legs turned to jelly and his smirk deepened.
“if you see something you like, you can just ask… i would be happy to make special arrangements so you can touch the merchandise—“
you cursed as your stomach flipped and heart raced, eyes meeting his likely like a deer in headlights. zoro only grinned wider, smug with that expression that promised something you couldn’t entirely handle. zoro tilted his head, smirking, “have you always been this interested in my workouts? and have they always gotten you so….”
he gestured vaguely, eyes hungry as his smirk remained, “hot and desperate.” you crossed your arms, eyebrows lifted in exaggerated offense.
“i’m not judging you, sweetheart. it’s quite flattering. who knew i didn’t have to touch you to get this worked up.” he leaned down and shifted his fingers to your jawline, tilting his head slightly with a smirk. “would you like me to do something about your predicament? sanji mentioned a cold shower… or we could try other methods…”
you stumbled and nearly collapsed into him at his words, exhaling shakily as he caught you with a smirk, “come on, sweetheart. i’ll help you to our room…” he scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
ঌ ঌ ঌ ঌ
Ace never wore a shirt— in your defense, it wasn’t hard to stare at him. he was taller than almost everyone else, broader than almost everyone else and again– had a cruel and torturous aversion to shirts. really, it was harder to not stare at him. it wasn’t just you, either! anytime you were out with him, there was at least four women eyeing him like he was a prize stallion up for auction. you really couldn’t help yourself… he was, in every way that counted, exquisite. sculpted by the gods, freckles hand painted to look like the stars you loved so much.
the problem was your beloved boyfriend didn’t seem to realize just how much effect he had on you. and he had truly no shame when it came to sprawling out on the deck; tanning or napping, doing push ups, doing sit ups— or gods forbid— pull ups. the pull ups… the way his veins popped and sweat glistened off him reminding you of some dessert you very much would lick frosting off of—
“ahem.” you wheeled around so quickly you lost your balance and nearly sprawled out on the deck like a corpse. there was snickers as you huffed and brushed yourself off.
“sorry.” you tried to regain your bearings but the glazed, out of it expression wouldn’t leave your face– nor would the blush that was the result of your stomach twisting and heart racing, “what?”
“gods, he has got to give you a break.”
“i wasn’t— we weren’t—“
gods, your mind was in the gutter. you rubbed your face and cursed the effect he had on you– and how it was obvious and insulting to everyone else on the crew. marco was smirking with his arms crossed over his chest. izou only glanced between you and ace with an exasperated smile that he didn’t fully mean.
“hey, hot head!”
ace lifted his hat off his face and squinted into the sun. he grunted slightly as he stood up, muttering under his breath about uninterrupted nap time. he stretched, horrifyingly, arms above his head, muscles drawn tense as he flexed and stretched out before yawning again.
“one hundred berry says she faints.”
izou snorted and eyed marco with an amused smile, “again…”
you rolled your eyes and huffed, sending both of them an irritated glare, “perhaps you’re just jealous. because we’re happy and i’m obsessed with my—“
izou clicked his tongue and snorted, “no, no, sweetheart. you can have hot head. he is all yours. i got my booze and the sea. i have no desire for all….” she gestured rather grotesquely and you fought back a smirk, “that. or anyone…”
“we hear enough about it already to ever have a desire for what…you two have.”
“i have never once gone into detail!”
“no need, sweetheart! you always look at him like he’s the first meal your starving ass has ever seen.”
your cheeks flushed slightly but your smirk only grew.
“not to mention it’s not a very large ship.”
“oi, and the walls are thin…”
other crew members had gathered around you and joined in on the snickering and apparent betting on how soon it would be before you fainted or walked off the side of the ship just to cool off. you gritted your teeth and breathed out slowly, thrilled that your attraction and fondness of your boyfriend was such an amusing group spectacle.
“what’s going on here?”
ace had crossed the ship and stopped in the middle of the heckling crew, lifting an eyebrow with a skeptical expression.
“making bets, hot head.”
“oh yeah? two hundred berry on whichever side is against marco.”
you fought back a smile but it didn’t last long before someone else opened their mouth, “actually, we’re betting to see weather your girlfriend will pass out or drown herself before she implodes.”
ace paused running his hand through his hair, eyebrows raised, amusement turning to concern, “what?” he turned his attention to you, suddenly wide awake, “why would she do that?”
you moved to take several steps away from him, but marco smacked you on the back with a phlemy laugh, “i think she’s got the hots for you.”
ace furrowed his brows, waiting for him to elaborate, as if that wasn’t already obvious since you had agreed to that first date you had nearly begged him for.
“i think she’s just hot…”
“and bothered.”
you cursed under your breath and glanced over your shoulder, considering if a jump off the plank really was worth avoiding this. ace eyed you, confusion and cluelessness written on his face. you opened your mouth to laugh it off and tell him to ignore them, but apparently the crew’s grievances about you constantly tripping over yourself and drooling over your well established boyfriend had them finally fed up.
“oh she doesn’t shut up about you. she was chopping vegetables this morning, going off about the color of your eyes.”
“she tripped and knocked over barrels of whiskey because you were cooling yourself off yesterday.”
“next time you’re exercising those muscles you’ll have to warn us so we can at least blindfold her first.”
oh, yes— drowning would have been better than this.
you were envisioning how to slowly kill each and every member of your crew, when ace finally turned to you. your brain short circuited and you once again fought the urge to just shrivel up and die.
ace was smirking. not just his usual playful or flirty smirk— no, this smirk was lethal. it was smug and egotistical, as if he had gotten away with stealing the entire universe.
“is that so?” ace crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head slightly in a way that made your knees nearly buckle. godsdamn him for being so lethally attractive. even without his smirk. or those dark eyes that locked you in place.
you knew you were blushing. you knew your face was so red that you wouldn’t be able to look at anyone for a week. even still, you couldn’t let him win. you couldn’t let him keep that satisfied, smug smirk on his face.
stupidly, you crossed your arms and tilted your chin up, challenging him, “and what about it?”
ace narrowed his eyes slightly, smirk deepening as if the thought of you challenging him made this even better. your hands were shaking, your knees threatened to drop you. his tongue flicked across his bottom lip and you broke. your knees dropped, stumbling forward into him with a shudder. ace was ecstatic. his smirk turned to a grin and you breathed out shakily.
“sweetheart.”
you braced for the comment or nickname or suggestive words that would inevitably be your killing blow.
“yes, ace?” you sighed, bracing for impact, bracing for collapsing into the floor once again.
“if you ever stop being this in love with me, please let me know… i shall walk myself right off the side of the ship.”
you scrunched your nose up and tugged him down to finally kiss you— as if that was payment for torturing you and enjoying it.
౨ৎ ౨ৎ ౨ৎ ౨ৎ
Sanji was attractive; this was plain to see to everyone yet it still baffled you that he had never once had luck with women. zoro and nami constantly gave him shit for it, pointing out how much effort he put in just to be shot down repeatedly. when you had first met him and he flashed that charming smile and met you with those blue eyes that locked you in place, you were done for. truly. you had never once believed in love at first sight until you met sanji.
even more shocking- when sanji flirted with you it worked. too damn well… sanji was so caught off guard that he stumbled through the menu and mispronounced half of the wines, visibly sweating and trying to stay standing. you couldn’t keep your eyes off him and zoro wondered if he had put some kind of spell on you.
sanji had almost thought you were joking when he first asked you to dinner— a private dinner he had cooked, somehow away from luffy— and you had said yes. he was rather pathetic when it came to you- going out of his way to do anything and everything without being asked. you practically melted the first time he took your hand and kissed your knuckles, your arm, your shoulder, finally your neck— he was everything romantic and chivalrous and didn’t at all belong on a pirate ship or on a wanted poster.
months in, and you were still just as pathetically and grossly obsessed with him. zoro was on the deck shirtless, sweating and being slightly in the way, while luffy and usopp dared him to add more and more weight to lift. “are you enjoying the view?” you snorted in amusement and shook your head, eying nami with a playfully incredulous expression. nami laughed and nudged you, “i forgot, you only admire sanji. when he’s cooking, when he’s smoking, when he breathes…. when he’s sleeping.” you smirked to yourself, not about to deny a fact. you just smiled smugly and stepped into the gulley where your preferred and favorite view lied. sanji was at the counter, slicing vegetables like it was an art. you bit your lip as he rolled his sleeves up and wiped condensation from the steaming pot off his forehead. if sanji glanced at you now, he would fold like a piece of paper. the eyes you were giving him, the flush of your cheeks, your lip tucked between your teeth… he would abandon lunch completely and once again everyone would have you to blame for a late meal, burnt food and a heated make out in the kitchen that someone accidentally walked in on.
sanji looked up as soon as you were close enough to him for him to sense your presence. his eyes lit up and he leaned over the counter to kiss you, “hello mon amour… is there something i can do for you?” you tugged at his shirt collars when he moved to pull away, deepening the kiss as if he had been so cruel and unjust as to withhold kisses from you since this morning.
“oh gods, not again–“ nami stopped in the doorway, looking torn between irritation and a small fondness for how happy you truly were.
“something you need, nami?” sanji barely took his eyes off you, still leaning to kiss you.
nami crossed her arms, lifting her eyebrows in question, “can i make a request?”
sanji shrugged, glancing over at her with minimal interest, waiting for her to continue.
“stop making out in the kitchen.”
sanji’s mouth twitched, eyes returning to you with that intense hunger that always made you fold, “if you can’t stand the heat, nami, get out of my kitchen…”
sanji placed one more delicate kiss on your forehead and you inhaled shakily as he returned to the stove. he always dropped whatever he was doing to greet you and make sure you knew you were the priority. sanji pushed the diced vegetables around in the pan, lifting a cigarette with his other. your mouth hung open slightly as he lit it and inhaled deeply. he readjusted his sleeves above his elbow and exhaled. you watched the smoke curl up from his lips like a trance, unaware of how utterly pathetic you looked. nami snorted and you barely noticed. sanji ran a hand through his hair and your knees buckled; you nearly collapsed onto the floor, had your hands not been gripping the table, white knuckled.
“good grief,” nami eyed you like she was in awe of your brain function getting lesser and lesser when it came to sanji. sanji glanced up, over his shoulder, eyeing you with lifted brows, “are you alright, my darling?” the softness in his tone nearly had you folding again and nami huffed, “that’s going to make it worse, sanji. care less… ignore her. do something—“
you glared at nami briefly, but sanji just lowered his head to place another kiss to your forehead, “i would never ignore you, mon cherie…” your grip on the table tightened and nami choked out a laugh, thoroughly amused that him being so reassuring and loving just made you all the more worked up.
sanji held your hand as you glanced into every shop window you passed. you had lost the rest of the crew somewhere between docking and the town square though neither of you would complain or worry about rare alone time.
“if you see something you like, mon amour, please don’t hesitate…”
you glanced up at him shyly, smile slowly starting to spread. sanji eyed you with a soft amusement, “mon cherie, i’m offended you didn’t speak up. what is it? anything you want and it’s yours…”
you tugged on his hand for him to follow you back the way you had just come, though sanji didn’t need to be pulled— he was already following you before you had taken a step away from him.
you returned to the agreed upon meeting place five minutes late, flushed and slightly out of breath, with sanji both carrying your bags and asking if you were okay— the former was why he had needed to ask the latter. nami was staring— she nudged zoro who was smirking in utter amusement, “get lost?”
“not at all. my angel saw something she liked…”
nami glanced at zoro and his smirk widened even more, “whipped.”
nami sighed, shaking her head in amusement, “if only he knew the truth. neither one of them would ever be able to stand straight or be in the same room…”
sanji lifted an eyebrow, “what are you two smirking about?” you held your hand out to take the bags from sanji, to which he switched the bags to his other hand, put his free hand in yours and then brought your hand up to his lips.
oh, that had done it.
zoro and nami watched your brain short circuit and your breath catch as you breathed out shakily. you were now staring at the ground, trying very hard to stay standing.
“are you alright my—“
“for goodness sake, sanji! don’t say another thing to her if you want her to remain conscious.”
sanji froze, glanced at nami, wide eyed and confused, then glanced at you in concern, “what’s going on? did i do something?”
“oh, you were pretty much just born…” zoro sighed and shifted on his feet, hand resting on his swords like he was tired, “and then she met you in a restaurant. and we’ve not stopped hearing about you since…”
your eyes shot to zoro with a look that you hoped promised a slow, painful death.
nami was almost laughing now, clearing her throat to find a voice that was playfully meant to be you, “oh, sanji is cooking again… i’d better make sure i’m in there to drool over him.”
zoro smirked, amused and joining in, “oh, he rolled his sleeves up, someone better catch me when i inevitably pass out—“
“he’s smoking again, someone better dump cold water on my head—“
“alright! thank you…. for that.” you had seemed to shrink several inches, posture tense and awkward. sanji was eyeing you with a questioning expression, a small, timid smile on his lips.
“are they…. do you…do that?”
“do i— well— i just— i think— i—“
sanji looked very near to melting. his grip had tightened on your bags and his hand shifted from your hand to your chin, gentle. “i never noticed?”
“i was hoping not… half the time u don’t realize im doing it… you’re just so—“ you gestured to all of him and zoro scoffed.
you braced for a comment, a flirtatious remark, a smirk that would bring you to your knees— maybe even for sanji to throw you over his shoulder and sprint you both back to the merry.
instead, sanji knelt down— knelt down– in front of you and took your hand in both of his. there was a choke behind you but you couldn’t even focus on your surroundings. the world slowed, your head spun—
“i’m undeserving of you, my darling… you love me so well. so much… after all this time. to think you look at me the way i look at you. to think i am loved even a fraction of the way i feel for you— thank you. thank you, my angel… please let me spend the rest of my life with you. please let me keep loving you and being with you…”
zoro coughed, nami stood with her mouth open and luffy and usopp were just showing up, both applauding cluelessly. you just nodded, nearly as stunned as nami, though much much closer to passing out.
“i should get a ring— i should—“
you dropped to your own knees, despite sanji quickly standing and trying to pull you to your feet and make sure you never lowered yourself for him– you met him half way with a kiss that had both of you wrecked— but it was a very good thing you were both already on your knees…
᳂ ᳂ ᳂ ᳂
Luffy had grabbed you so suddenly that you hadn’t even yet been aware of what was happening. sanji and zoro were already approaching as luffy swung his first strike. you never really got used to the rubber thing… every time he fought or went out of his way to pull you against him, it was like seeing it for the first time— ironic, since luffy was all hands and all consuming all the time. he had saved you enough times now that you had learned to stay out of his way and not to question him if he was randomly pushing, pulling or dragging you rapidly away.
zoro and sanji stopped beside you with a sigh, “what now?” you just shrugged, eyes watching luffy in the fight that you hadn’t heard the beginning of or reason for.
regardless, luffy always looked good fighting. he managed to keep his hat on, which was a remarkable achievement of its own, when he was all limbs and flailing half the time. you winced as a single blow landed on luffy, though he either didn’t feel it or didn’t care—
“not the face…” you sighed, crossing your arms. zoro snorted, while sanji shook his head, “our captain is more than capable, as you know by now…”
“doesn’t mean i want his pretty face bruised.”
you pouted slightly, though your eyes were playful. luffy flew through the air suddenly and you cursed.
“do you think we should help him—“
zoro had his hands on his swords, though no sooner than he moved did the opposing foe drop to the ground. luffy returned to you with a small smile, only slightly out of breath.
“what was that about?”
“he looked at her.”
you almost snorted, eyeing him with an amused disbelief.
“your girlfriend was worried about your face, by the way…” zoro returned his sword to his side and smirked only slightly.
luffy turned to you, brows furrowed, “really?” you expected him to say something cute, but he wiped at his face in determination, “was there food on it?”
this time you did laugh, “no, luffy… believe it or not, i don’t want you buried and broken.”
he grinned at this, realizing you were being cute. he moved closer to you, arm around your shoulders, “not to worry, then… it all bounces off me.” he placed a messy kiss against the side of your cheek and you grinned.
his kisses were always messy and wet, sometimes acting more like he was tasting you than kissing you. “i think it’s cute that you worry about me.”
you scrunched your nose up slightly as he pulled you even closer until you almost couldn’t breathe, “and i just think you’re cute.”
luffy let out one of his laughs, loud and obnoxious, warming your chest like a hug. he flushed only slightly, hand on his hat like he was worried he would lose it. he kept his hand in yours as he moved to return his attention to food.
“i think luffy could beat anyone…” you shrugged innocently, pushing your half finished plate towards luffy, who would have no problem finishing it off.
“anyone?” nami eyed you incredulously.
“yes, anyone… name a single fight he hasn’t walked away from.”
“well arlong—“
“using sea water doesn’t count, nami.”
“i mean it is—“
“no, nami. using someone’s weakness isn’t winning…”
nami opened her mouth to argue, but sanji just shook his head slightly, as if warning that this was a useless argument. you truly believed luffy would beat anyone— would win any fight. sanji reminded nami of this and she just huffed.
luffy looked at you with wide eyes, glancing over his plate. he didn’t need you to defend him- he didn’t need you to believe in him, yet you always had. since they day you met him and joined his crew.
“it’s nice that she thinks so highly of me… if i ever stop believing in myself, i know there’s someone who will.”
you smiled softly at him from across the table and luffy just went back to eating, as if that hadn’t been one of the most romantic things he had ever said.
“you know she talks about you all the time… even when you’re stuffing your face, somehow… she thinks you’ve hung the stars.”
you flushed slightly, but zoro wasn’t lying. luffy’s eyes found you again, softer, the slightest amusement hid behind that loving expression.
“i know… i hear her. it’s nice… it makes me feel important.”
“you are—“
luffy lowered his now empty plate and took your hand, “i’m really glad you’re here. thank you.”
you fought away a stupid smile, sinking further into your chair as your heart swelled. “always, luffy… i would follow you anywhere.”
luffy stood up in his chair– much to everyone’s horror and dismay– and leaned down to kiss you. messy and fully, both hands on your face, like he was trying to absorb you.
nothing is ever wrong when it comes to you; if anything, choso worships the ground you walk on and rarely punishes you. ignoring your bratty behavior and choosing to praise you anyway.
“you’re beautiful. can you keep kneeling for five more minutes?”
cupping your jaw and stroking your cheek lovingly, never taking his eyes off yours. the bulge in his pants was growing bigger, and the mark on his face was changing to a darker black because of the blood rushing throughout his body.
you’re the only one who can get him like that, make his whole body hot with want.
every word that comes out of his mouth is praise, making sure that you know how good and special you are to him, how you never fail to make him feel better.
putting you in front of a mirror while he stands behind you, one hand on your hip and the other holding your jaw in place, making sure you stand still looking right at yourself.
“look at you, so beautiful and smart.”
his words were low, almost quiet.
all he’s known his entire life is to provide, to be that provider for people, and for as long as he’s lived, the only time his body has ever felt good from being that is with his brother and you.
it’s not always sexual, but he still feels the same way whether he's washing you down in the bathtub after fucking you nonstop for an hour or he's washing you off after a long hard day and all you want is his comfort.
his body still feels the same, buzzing with the same pleasure he would’ve gotten if he were balls deep inside of you.
choso loves the feeling of having to take care of you; it makes him feel good and gives him a purpose. if he can make you feel good, relaxed, or buzzy, then he succeeded.
even when you’re the one on your knees swirling your tongue on the head of his dick making him cum, he’s not worried about himself; he’s worried about you and if that made you feel good, praising you heavily.
when he sees that sparkle in your eye, then that’s when he soaks in the pleasure, more cum leaking out, his body heating up fast from you alone and you being so good.
pampering you even harder after. washing you down with your favorite body wash, drying you off, putting on his favorite lotion he likes for you to wear, and then feeding you until you get sleepy.
this is his purpose, and he has no problem with that; as long as he has you, he's happy.
ace who visits islander!reader whenever he can, surprising her with gifts he stole found from the various places he’s visited. jewelry, hair accessories, flowers that he tried his best to keep alive, small kimmidolls etc, all things that he’d think you’d like.
the only issue is that whenever he brings you these stolen gifts it ends up in rejection and a soft spoken lecture on how you won’t accept his stolen gifts because of karma! his cabin on pop’s ship is full of trinkets that were all softly denied by you.
he’s is constantly questioned by his brothers on all these random items in his room but were only met with a deep sigh. ace was a pirate, why should he buy gifts and treasures with his hard taken earned berries when he’s a globally feared devil fruit user? he just doesn’t get you.
you were in your hut, bangles jingling as you moved around the candle lit room, gathering medicine for a child who waited behind you. the girls mother was sick and was sent to go get medicine from you, you with a devil fruit that could make any plant you knew of. you who provided for the islands village whether it was prayers or medicine. you who didn’t charge for anything because you thought you had everything you needed in life already.
you put the medicine into a small jar, closing the top tightly before kneeling in front of the child and handed it to her.
"two spoonfuls a day, one in the morning once at night. take good care of your mother, okay?"
"yes, miss [᪥]. thank you!"
when the child left, you sighed as you stared at the familiar hatted shadow outside of your hut.
"ace."
there were a few seconds of silence before he stepped in. shirtless per usual. he took off his bright orange hat with a small sack that made the same jingling noises as your wrists.
"hey, [᪥]."
he looked almost bashful, sun-kissed skin glowing from the candles as he relaxed in the arms you wrapped around him and pressed your lips to his cheek. he stiffened a little when your hands felt up his arms, gentle squeezes on his biceps to feel the man you haven’t seen in cycles.
"your gained a little. in a good way."
ace was still stiff under your touch, suddenly pushing the pouch into your hands.
"got these for you. didn’t steal ‘em this time either. promise."
your eyes widened a little, opening the pouch to reveal jade bangles that would go perfect with the gold ones you wore on your wrist already. you examined the very much real jade in your hands, sliding them gently past your fingers and thumb and gave them a little shake. they were beautiful.
"where’d you get these? they’re beautiful."
"got them from some trader in alabasta a while back for you. been sitting in my cabin for a while."
his words came out in mumbles, eyes fixed on a lit incense on your table. nervous hands planted on your waist as you took off one of your necklaces to put it on his neck. the gold layered with his red beads that lingered above his chest.
he was about to protest before your lips pressed into his, fingers trailing to cradle his face. gods did Ace miss you.
a/n from layla ❀: first time publishing for one piece and don’t know how to feel.. was kinda inspired by the first scene of smoke and annie from sinners. i miss aceeeeeuhhhh.
Your best friend Choso accidentally sends you an nsfw video pt. 2 | Choso x fem reader, part 1 here!!!
.ೃ࿔*:･
When you woke up today, everything was off.
For starters, morning had passed you by entirely; you'd been sprawled out across your bed in deep REM sleep until a quarter after one, waking abruptly with sleep in your eyes and a knot in your stomach.
Only when the initial morning afternoon haze faded did you remember the events from the previous night, a night spent more on tossing and turning than rest, all thanks to a 60-second video.
Choso's video. His pierced tongue lolling as drool spilled onto his veiny cock, the way he said your name with his hand desperately stroking his length—memories that corrupted your dreams still occupied your waking thoughts, reigniting the feeling in your core that felt so wrong but so inexplicably right.
It was almost an hour before you so much as touched your phone, the screen lighting up to reveal an onslaught of messages and missed calls from "Cho 💜👾."
From what you deduced after stringing together your best friend's frantic texts, Choso was drunk and that video was never supposed to make it out of his camera roll, least of all into your inbox. But that didn't answer the myriad of questions still swirling around in your head. So you poured your mind into a text before deleting it all and settling for "come over" instead.
And he did just that—showing up 10 minutes later despite living 15 minutes away on a good day, tired brown eyes wide as he regarded you like some kind of wild animal, clearly unsure of what to expect and afraid to get too close.
Seeing him standing before you felt disorienting. The distance felt small no matter how far you stood, his voice sounded different—heavier now that you'd heard him say your name so intimately, his gaze more intense and his lips magnetizing in a way you never even considered before. You wanted him.
He entered without asking, because that's what you do when you've known someone for years and they're your best friend in the world, before immediately launching into a frenzied explanation for his drunken mistake.
But you couldn't focus on his words, only his lips. You traitorous eyes zeroed in on the glimpse of his silver piercing each time he spoke, and you shivered, a reaction to the mere thought of how the cool metal would feel against your sensitive cl—
It was your name, spoken with palpable concern, that snapped you out of the momentary trance; only it sounded different than it ever had before on his tongue and sent a wave of complicated arousal coursing through you.
"I didn't mean to send it to you." He whispered, avoiding looking into your eyes like it might very well kill him.
"But you meant to take it. Do you always record?"
"Y-yeah," he confessed, like it cost him something to admit. "I guess I have a collection."
The idea of a library of videos like the one that made it to your messages planted a lewd idea in your head, one you decided to follow through with before you could talk yourself out of it.
"Hm." You hummed thoughtfully, relishing the way Choso swallowed nervously the longer your thoughtful silence stretched. "Okay, get your phone out."
He obeyed without question, nervous hands fumbling his phone before extending it towards you without a hint of hesitation. You took the device gingerly from his hand, using his passcode—your birthday, of course—to unlock it and open up the camera. After pressing record you handed it back to him, angling it down before sinking onto your knees in front of him. "Hold it like this."
"W-what are you—"
"Making a video," you answered steadily, as though freeing your best friend's hard length from his pants on camera was an everyday occurrence. "For your collection."
His cock rested heavy in your hands, so much prettier in person that you couldn't help but lick your lips, and the sight alone made him twitch. Without breaking eye contact your tongue swiped a wet stripe over his tip, a teasingly fleeting touch, and your thighs clenched at the sound he made in response.
"Fuck," he whined, phone visibly shaking in his trembling hands. "P-please."
You blinked up at him, tugging your tank top down just enough so that the top of your tits spilled out, painting him an irresistible picture. "Please what, Cho?" You purred.
"Please," he pleaded, any shame he might've felt for begging his pretty best friend long gone as he gazed down at you through lidded eyes. "Do that again pl—"
His words warped into moans as your mouth worked up and down his shaft, drool slipping down to the base as you traced each thrumming vein with your tongue.
It wasn't long before you hollowed out your cheeks and sealed your spit-slick lips around him, bobbing your head up and down while your gaze flicked between him and the camera he struggled to hold onto.
You pulled away from him with a pop! and his eyes fixated on the trail of saliva that covered the distance between your tongue and his tip before your head bobbed back down, taking him to the base until his tip reached the back of your throat.
"Oh my god," he groaned, brown hair messy as he leaned forward to get a better view, phone and any hopes of recording long forgotten.
You were a gagging, drooling mess before you pulled away to look up at your best friend with doe-like innocence despite the vulgar display you put on for him moments prior.
"Tell me where you wanna cum, Cho."
His eyes were dark with lust, his cock leaking as he answered, his response catching you off guard in the best way. "Inside of you."
It wasn't long before you were in your bed, climbing on top of Choso to straddle him as he sat with his head against your headboard. Large hands eagerly made their way under your shirt, groping and grabbing at your tits, teasing your sensitive nipples and tracing up and down your waist before his lips captured yours.
You leaned into the kiss, grinding slowly against his painfully hard cock and whimpering at the feeling of the thin lace of your underwear dragging against your clit while his tip prodded at your entrance.
"I need to be inside of you," he breathed, forehead resting against yours. "You have no idea."
Only you did have an idea, because as he lifted your hips and lined himself up with your entrance, you felt it too, and just as much.
The second you sank down on him, walls stretching but still impossibly tight around his length, he knew he was a goner. A broken sound left his mouth, more a whimper than anything, one that he didn't think himself capable of making.
Not that you were faring any better; once you sank down, taking him to the base, your head fell back and a ragged moan left your lips, already breathless just from the sheer size of him.
Gaining stability, you rested your hands on his muscular chest, feeling his heart thump erratically against your palm. Your hips rolled in small circles, riding him at a teasingly slow pace and Choso whined in response to your cadence, so desperate for more friction that his hips began to piston in and out of your wet cunt.
The new, unexpectedly dominate stimulation had you grinding on him harder and faster, hips circling and rocking back and forth while your nails pressed red marks into the pale skin of his chest and abs.
"Choso mmm-fuck!" You mewled, head falling back and losing all control as the pleasure took over. You thought it couldn't get better; the angle, the intense stretch of his huge cock filling you up.
Until Choso sat up and pushed your back flush against the mattress, lifting you by the hips to drive each stroke impossibly deeper until his bulging tip was visible in your stomach with each thrust.
Something about the sight of you, lips caught between your teeth as you bit down hard, eyes crossing and rolling, made him snap; his fingers began to indent the soft flesh of your ass and your thighs hard enough to bruise, while he fucked you with more fervor, whispering profanities and praises all the while.
"You—fuck have no idea," he started through gritted teeth. "How long I've wanted to fuck you like this."
His voice came out strained, as if the action of forming words was almost too much when paired with the mind blowing pleasure of fucking you.
His words sent a fresh pulse of arousal coursing through you, and your walls clenched around him in time for a line of saliva to roll off of his pierced tongue and onto your clit.
Choso wasted no time before his thumb was circling, spreading a mixture of slick and saliva around your sensitive spot and making you see stars.
"Mm-gonna cum Cho I'm so close," you whined, voice shaky.
"Yeah, yeah m-me too baby." Choso's hands tightened on your legs, and the contrast between the pain of his grip and the sweet praises spilling from his lips was ultimately your undoing. His name left your lips while you came around his cock, feeling him twitch inside of you not long after as his orgasm followed suit.
Both your eyes and his fixated on the spot where his length disappeared inside of you, at the white sticky seed dripping out onto the bed below you.
"I'm on the pill," you said without thinking, noticing where his eyes had landed.
"I know," he answered casually, and you wondered what else he paid attention to that you never considered before.
"If I'm honest," he began after a stretch of silence, eyes finding yours shyly. "I don't really think I actually recorded any of that."
You giggled, remembering the phone and the recording and the reason you were in this position with your best friend in the first place.
"That's okay, I guess we'll just have to do it again."
.ೃ࿔*:･
a/n: idk why this took me so long but here's pt 2 angels hope you love
Boxer!Cho fucks you as a pre-match good luck charm!. ݁⋆ ꫂ᭪ ݁˖ . ݁
“Ch—cho!” Wet slaps filled the bedroom, slick smeared across the apex of your thighs Choso has been pounding you for what felt like hours despite only half an hour passing.
He’d penetrate you mercilessly from behind with your ass lewdly colliding with his hips every thrust. Each pre-match fuck was entirely unpredictable and depended on the status of his opponent. He was flashy and determined. Each time he dicks you down right, another win from Choso flashes across the TV screen of thousands.
“Ngh—Who’s your opponent?” You huffed the words out. Your teeth clamped on your pillow in a response to a sharp thrust of his hips. He groaned, pressing on your spine. “Yuji Itadori, fucker’s been teasin’ me all week. Gotta let em’ know older brother’s still in charge.”
A gruff chuckle slipped past his lips, following a low whimper with the shift of your hips. The sharp thrust of his hips halted before he slid out. “I need my baby to get me right, get her nice n’ full” He flipped you abruptly, back hitting the mattress with his hands quickly spreading your plush thighs.
He appreciated the view of your sappy cunt. Your clit swollen and puffy, opening still mildly gushing in slow pulses from his last load. His touch was tender as a silent apology for fucking you so rough just a second ago. Typically wasn’t his forte till he learned that you preferred to be fucked like you were in trouble. Sharp ministrations to push you to your high in minutes
“We’re gonna beat that smartass. M’right baby?” He questioned, licking a lengthy stripe over your slick thighs. Attending to cleanup duty before shoving his face into his favorite girl. That needy pussy he treated like the last feast in a famine. “Ah—I don’ know Cho, Yuji’s pretty strong” Your spine arched off the mattress He nibbled your puffy clit as punishment for your response. “By the time i’m finished with this pussy, you’ll be thinkin’ otherwise.”
obsession is just another form of devotion. and no one is more devoted to you than choso is.
masterlist
wc: 6.8k
um. i apologize in advance. this version of choso is very special to me and so is this reader, which is why it took so long to finish. i love them!!
content: stalker!choso, obsession, toxicity, dark romance, power dynamics, yandere in many ways, unchecked limits but not dub/noncon, choking, slapping, biting, bruising, spitting, restraints, praise, ownership, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f! receiving), religious undertones, worship/devotion, subspace, u and choso are NOT normal about each other like at all
18+ please <3
choso has always paid attention.
people don’t expect that from him. he’s quiet, the kind of presence that blends into the background. most people assume it means he’s not listening, that his stare is vacant instead of calculating.
they don’t understand. he notices everything.
he notices when you use a new mascara. he notices how you reach for your phone when you hear a notification, even when it’s not yours. he notices the way your lips part before you laugh, how you tilt your head when you’re listening, the way your eyes linger on someone when you want them to stay.
he notices because it’s you. and you make it easy for him. you’re open, unaware.
it’s normal, the way he watches you.
he’s your friend. you trust him. you say his name when you see him.
morning, choso.
his chest tightens every time. it fits there, in your mouth, like it belongs to you.
would you still say it like that if you knew what it did to him?
your friendship is easy. you text him late at night when you can’t sleep. you pull him into conversation when he’s too quiet in a group. you lean against him when you’re tired, press your fingers to his wrist when you need his attention.
you let him in.
so it only makes sense that he knows you better than anyone.
he doesn’t think it’s strange that he watches you leave your apartment every morning. or that he walks the same route. or that he knows how long you’ll pause before crossing the street. this is part of his day, too.
he doesn’t think it’s odd that sometimes, he gets close enough to touch the loose thread on the back of your coat. or the nape of your neck.
once, you dropped your phone and bent over to pick it up. if you had turned around then, he would’ve been right there, standing too close.
but it’s not stalking. he’s not obsessed. he’s just making sure you’re okay.
+++
choso likes keeping things.
it started small. innocent.
a receipt left on the table after lunch. a pen you let him borrow. a candy wrapper, the foil crinkled between your fingers when you pressed it into his palm. he didn’t mean to keep them. he just…never let them go.
then, a bit more personal.
a cherry chapstick left in his car. an earring—he remembers watching it fall, small and shiny and delicate. a tissue, blotted with lipstick.
none of it was on purpose.
but you leave so many pieces of yourself behind. you’re careless, in a way that only makes sense to him. he had to start paying attention.
the things he keeps now are less accidental.
a bracelet you thought you lost. a nearly empty perfume bottle. strands of your hair, pulled from his hoodie after you borrowed it. a bloodstained tissue, from the time you cut your finger cooking for mutual friends.
your voice in his head hours after you’ve spoken. your fingerprints burning his skin like you meant to leave them there.
a photo of you sleeping. that one’s his favorite. a little secret, tucked between pages of a book. a moment you don’t remember, but he does. proof.
he knows things about you that you’ve never told him.
he knows your passwords. your wifi login. how much money is in your bank account.
he knows what you search for late at night, when your body is warm and restless. he knows what you watch twice, what you turn the volume up on, what you come back to later. sometimes, he watches with you.
at the bottom of his drawer, there’s a single zip tie. red and sturdy, waiting. it isn’t yours.
but it makes him think of you.
it’s not wrong. he’s just keeping you safe.
+++
afternoons are harder.
your lunch breaks are less predictable than your mornings, but even your unpredictability follows a rhythm. sometimes you run an errand. sometimes you meet a friend. others, you stop into a cafe, settle by the window, scroll through your phone between bites.
today, it’s the latter.
he leans against a brick wall across the street, observing you through the glass. you’re alone, stirring sugar into your drink, the sleeve of your sweater pulled over your hand.
then some guy slides into the seat across from you.
choso doesn’t recognize him. doesn’t care to.
the guy says something. you laugh and tilt your head, play with the edge of your napkin as you talk.
he’s seen you like this before—warm, engaged, giving. he knows it’s nothing. he knows that. but the sight still twists in his chest.
it’s not about fear. he doesn’t worry about losing you. that’s impossible.
it’s about keeping you.
about being on the receiving end of that smile. your attention, your laughter—they belong to him. no one else deserves them. they don’t know what to do with them anyway. they don’t hold them the right way, don’t understand how dangerous it is to waste them.
if he walked into the cafe right now, crossed the room, took your wrist—would you let him?
he imagines it. leaning close, lips brushing your ear. let’s go home.
your breath catching. your body tilting toward him on instinct. your little nod.
but he won’t do that. you have to come first.
he remembers the last guy. the one who texted too much, who made you laugh too easily. the one who stopped showing up.
he got the message. you didn’t even notice he was gone, but choso did. he noticed every second that passed before you stopped checking your phone, before you moved on like he never existed.
how long before this one needs a message, too?
his hands flex in his pockets. he takes a step forward. but he exhales, lets it go. he turns before the thought can take root, before the want takes shape and he can’t push it down.
he walks away, but the feeling doesn’t.
+++
when evening comes, choso’s right back where he belongs, watching your apartment from a distance, waiting for your windows to light up.
you should be here by now. he’s been standing here long enough for his body to register the cold. long enough for his pulse to slow.
he waits. this is easy to do when it’s for you. when he knows that, eventually, you’ll come home.
it’s fine.
maybe you stayed late at work. maybe you lost track of time. maybe you ran into someone.
it happens.
his fingers tap against his thigh once, then again. then again. a pattern, his body tracking the time even if he doesn’t mean to.
twenty minutes.
a car passes. the street lamp flickers.
his jaw tightens, but his breathing stays even. it’s not impatience. not paranoia. just an understanding of how things are supposed to be.
thirty minutes.
the cold bites at his knuckles. his fingers flex. the rhythm on his thigh picks up.
forty minutes.
his hand stutters.
something’s wrong.
he doesn’t decide it. he doesn’t even process it. the knowledge just settles, heavy and absolute. like sensing a storm before the clouds roll in.
his hand slips into his pocket.
your key fits nicely between his fingers.
he crosses the street.
+++
your apartment smells exactly like you: floral, a little sweet, undeniably familiar.
he moves through your space, cataloging. your blanket on the couch, waiting for you. the unopened mail stacked neatly on the counter. a single glass in the sink. everything is where it should be.
but something’s wrong.
his eyes flick to your bookshelf. the order is off. books are misaligned, there are gaps where there shouldn’t be. choso’s not even sure you’ve touched these shelves before—they’re always perfectly neat, always the same.
his gaze dips lower. a box, tucked away. not well enough.
he hesitates.
then he crouches, pulling it out, fingers ghosting over the lid. he doesn’t know why he holds his breath as he lifts it.
the first things he sees make him smile, just a little. a matchbook from a bar you both went to. a concert wristband, still looped closed. he carried you on his shoulders that day. a pin he gave you once, the clasp slightly bent.
his hand skims over them. he’s always known you were sentimental, but seeing it like this—seeing himself in it—makes something in his chest loosen. he thinks you’re cute.
then, a polaroid. the two of you, smiling. a moment he remembers. he runs his fingers over your image.
underneath it, another. just him.
he stares for a second before setting them aside.
the hoodie string he thought got lost in the laundry, coiled in the corner. a cigarette butt, flattened at the tip. his brand.
when did you find out he smokes?
his hands move slower now, pulling each item from the box, laying them out beside him.
a receipt—his, not yours—crumpled, then smoothed back out. a lock of his hair, neatly tied with a ribbon. his scalp tingles like he can feel where it was taken.
more photos. him again, but he’s not posing this time. stepping off a curb. shopping for groceries. sleeping.
his heartbeat pounds in his throat.
his fingers graze a slip of paper, the ink faded but still legible.
choso is restless today.
he doesn’t talk much, but his weight shifts when he gets impatient. his breathing changes when i touch him.
he watches me more when he thinks i won’t notice. i always notice.
i wonder if he knows how soft his voice goes when he says my name.
i could listen forever.
his fingers press into his thighs, his breathing slows, his mind splintering at the edges.
it’s not the same as him. it’s not.
he reaches the last few items in the box.
a mirror, small enough to fit in his palm. his name in lipstick, smeared over the glass where a finger had brushed.
a knife. the one that should be at the back of his nightstand drawer.
the room presses in around him. his body stills. his thoughts feel slow, thick.
he’s missing something. he must be.
before he can decide what it is, the door unlocks.
choso stays frozen where he is. his breath pulls in his throat.
you step inside, closing the door behind you. your movements are easy. fluid. unbothered.
there’s no shock, no fear when you see him. no gasp or startled jolt. you don’t even hesitate.
you walk to the living room entrance and stop there. and instead of asking why he’s in your apartment, looking through your things, you just look at him expectantly.
his fingers tingle.
you shouldn’t be this calm.
his gaze moves over you, searching for a flicker of guilt, a flash of panic—something.
but you’re steady. unblinking. he feels like prey.
is this a test?
the silence stretches taut, and something inside him bends with it. part of him already knows where this is going.
he should say something. ask something, demand an explanation. how did you get those pictures? his knife? his fucking hair?
but his breath is caught somewhere between inhale and exhale.
you tilt your head. the corners of your lips curl upwards.
and then, lightly, “you found it.” your voice is sweet, but underlined with a tone he’s never heard before.
his stomach clenches. his fingers tighten around the box.
“i left it there for you.”
his mind fumbles for an answer, a reason this isn’t what it looks like. but nothing comes.
it’s exactly what it looks like.
you left it there. for him.
he should be horrified, but the pieces fit too well. the truth clicks too easily.
you’re just as bad as he is.
realization winds through his ribs like smoke. relief follows soon after, dark and cool.
he places the box down beside the scattered items with an exhale. his arms are looser now, his muscles relaxing.
he understands.
he stands and takes a step forward. then another, tilting his head, voice low. “say it.”
amusement glints in your eyes, your lips parting slightly.
“you first.”
him first.
choso doesn’t move, neither do you.
but something shifts—pulls—like gravity bending around you. his hands flex at his sides, his jaw working against the weight of the moment.
then, finally, he reaches for you.
one hand cups your jaw, the rough pad of his thumb grazing over your cheek. the other slides down, curling around the delicate skin of your wrist. he presses your pulse, just enough to tell you he’s here.
he lifts your hand, turning it, bowing his head in quiet worship. his lips brush the inside of your wrist, featherlight, careful.
warm breath fans over your skin, then his teeth, sending a tremor through you.
the scrape of enamel blurring into the glide of his tongue is overwhelming.
he feels the way your fingers twitch against his palm, hears the sharp inhale you try to bite down. his thumb rubs slow circles into your cheek.
he lifts his head, moves in, and then he’s kissing you.
it’s needy. built from tension too thick to hold any longer. heat and teeth and hands—one pressing your wrist behind your back, the other sliding to the base of your skull, pulling you close, closer.
you give it back to him. your free hand tangles into his hair, nails scraping. his hair ties come loose one by one, and you slip them down over your wrist. a quiet keepsake. for later.
the moment is raw and unsteady. his mouth explores, breathless against your jaw, then lower. his teeth scrape below your ear, testing, waiting for a reaction.
you press forward, not willing to stop this.
he exhales against you, then moves, walking you backward until the edge of your desk presses into your spine.
his belt slips from his waist in one motion. the leather slides over your skin, smooth as his hands work, looping, tightening, adjusting.
he pulls it snug, your wrists now pinned behind your back, the press of leather holding you in place.
he thinks of the zip tie in his drawer. red, uncut, waiting.
not tonight.
then he lifts his gaze, searching.
“you could stop me.”
it’s a door. you could stop him. he’s telling the truth. if you pulled away right now, if you said no, he’d let you go. taking was never the point.
but the thought of stopping him doesn’t even form properly.
how could you?
you don’t pull away. you don’t resist at all. instead, you tilt your chin up, watching him.
and then, a smile.
something inside him aligns, seamless and final. everything before this was waiting. his mind quiets. the constant restlessness, the gnawing hunger—gone.
you’re his. you always were.
he tightens his hold for just a second before taking a step back.
the sight of you, wrists bound, waiting for him—he just needs to see it. to convince himself it’s real, to prove that this isn’t just another fantasy unraveling in the dark. that he’s not imagining the way you’re looking at him right now.
he drags his gaze over you, memorizing. you look exactly how he imagined you would. better.
you shift, testing the belt. his eyes track the movement, feeling the pull of you. he exhales, slow and controlled, and moves back in.
his hands explore, pushing your shirt up, fingers pressing, tracing. his lips aren’t far behind. he takes his time, dragging teeth and intention over you. marking you.
his fingers slide lower, brushing your inner thigh. he watches the flutter of your lashes, the pull of breath in your throat.
then softly, “i should keep you like this.”
a pause. his fingers move higher.
“tied up.”
a flick of his fingers through layers of clothing.
“waiting for me.”
how long would you last like this? how long before you’d beg?
the longer your wrists stay bound, the deeper the inevitability settles into you. you lean into it, let it take root.
he drags a thumb over the waistband of your pants. he undoes the button. lowers the zipper.
you don’t help him. you can’t—and that’s the point.
his fingers press into your hips as he works the fabric down. your panties follow. you watch as he stuffs them into his pocket and drops to his knees before you.
his hands settle against your thighs, and choso lets himself feel the gravity of this. it’s hypnotic, the way you open up for him, the way you let him take what’s his.
he’s craved this. dreamt of it. and now you’re here. bound, vulnerable. every version of this moment was different—except for one thing. you always looked at him like this.
he half-expects to wake up still standing across the street, waiting for the glow of your windows.
but this isn’t a dream.
he dips down, pressing an open-mouthed kiss above your knee. then another, and another.
you want to touch him. to twist your fingers in his hair, to pull him closer, to feel his shoulders flex under your hands.
he takes his time. works his way up, teeth scraping, tongue flicking against sensitive skin. he closes his eyes as he breathes you in, but he doesn’t give you anything.
a sharp nip to the crease of your thigh. a lazy drag of his tongue there. he kisses right above your clit—so close, so fucking close, but not enough.
you whine. you need him.
he smirks. “you open up for me so easily.”
his tongue presses flat against you, slow at first, moving through the heat of you. you let out your first unrestricted moan.
then deeper. more.
he groans into you. “shit—” he drags his tongue through your slick again, his mouth starting to water. he savors your taste, taking his time, patient and thorough.
his mouth covers you completely, sucking, dragging you higher, working you open. you’re moving, pressing closer, needing more. the slow build makes you dizzy.
but just when your breath stutters and your thighs start to shake, he pulls away.
your head jerks, a whimper slipping out, raw need spilling over.
but he just slides his fingers through your opening, coating them, spreading it.
“you shouldn’t let me do this,” he says, but he’s already lifting his fingers to your face. his lips curve. “but you’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?”
when you take his fingers into your mouth without hesitation, fire surges in his chest.
his pupils blow wide, his breath catches. he pulls his fingers out, spreading them over your lips, your jaw, rubbing wetness in, watching it shine under the dim light.
“so fucking pretty like this.”
he buries his face back between your thighs with a moan. his tongue moves rougher now, making up for all the time he’s spent wanting and waiting.
you can’t move, can’t do anything but sit there and let him have you.
the pleasure builds too fast, too sharp, and you realize—he’s dragging you over the edge whether you’re ready or not.
his hands, his mouth, his breath—you swear you can feel him everywhere. on your skin, under it. in your cells, unraveling you from the inside out.
he keeps you spread open, his tongue fucking into you until you break.
you come undone, sharp and shattering, your body arching and your vision flickering. he growls against you, greedy, drinking in every sound you make and every drop of your release.
you tremble, breath coming in jagged, desperate pulls, aftershocks rolling through you.
he doesn’t stop until he’s done. until he’s sure he’s tasted everything you have to give. only then does he pull back, breathless, flushed, his face slick with you.
his hands don’t leave you. one stays firm on your thigh while the other drags up your body—slow, possessive, tracing the marks he’s already left behind.
his lips follow the same path. butterfly kisses at first, soft and fleeting. a press of his mouth to your hip, your stomach, your ribs, his breath warming your skin.
by the time he reaches your chest, he’s standing again, crowding you. his mouth teases each of your nipples, then moves up to your collarbone, your throat, then your lips—deep and heady, like he’s sealing something in place.
you taste yourself. it should be filthy, humiliating. but the way he does it, the way he runs his tongue against yours with so much care, like it’s meant to be this way—you shudder, melting into it.
his hands move behind you. he unfastens the belt, unwinding it with slow precision. your arms drop, the tension leaving so suddenly that a tremor runs through them. before you can move, he catches your wrists, holding them gently.
“you okay?” his thumbs smooth over the tender marks.
you nod and smile, just slightly, but it’s enough. he takes in the gesture, tucks it into the little box in his mind reserved for you.
his grip on you changes—firmer, more intent. the next kiss is messy, the way he presses into you, the solid weight of him between your thighs.
you feel him, hard and thick, putting pressure on your core through his jeans. he rolls his hips once, and the friction pulls a moan out of you.
your fingers twist into his hair, pulling so tight it must burn, but he keeps moving against you. he whispers your name, a quiet, broken sound.
does he even hear himself? does he know how much weight it carries, how needy he sounds when he says it? what it does to you?
you push.
your teeth catch his lower lip, biting down hard. enough to hurt, enough to bleed. you drag your tongue over it, tasting him, wanting to thank him for giving this to you.
he moans, growing desperate and grinding into you again, gripping your thighs, holding himself back. “you make me insane.”
before you can answer, he moves.
he lifts you effortlessly, walking you through your apartment like he’s lived here forever. his mouth is everywhere—kissing, biting, tasting—as he presses you against a wall, a doorframe, and finally the bed.
he sets you down. his hands move to his shirt, pulling it over his head in one motion, muscles shifting under his skin. his pants follow, and then he’s back, sitting and reaching for you, drawing you into his lap and guiding your legs around him.
he moves one hand down to run his length through your slick, wetting himself up before easing you down onto him.
he’s thick, almost too much to take, and you whimper softly as his fingers slide up your sides, grounding you.
“you’re okay,” he coos. “you’re doing so well, pretty girl.”
he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t move at all to speed the process. he just watches you, takes you in, drags his hands over your skin like he finally has what he wanted.
his arms wrap around you when you eventually sink all the way down. he wastes no time rolling his hips, feeling you, reveling in the way you whimper at the stretch.
the position is deep, intimate, almost tender. but the way he holds you, the way he grips and takes and owns as he drags you down and snaps his hips up to meet you—there’s nothing soft about it.
you pull back enough to look at him, really look, and it makes your stomach churn.
he belongs to you. you love him. you love him too much. more than is reasonable, more than is safe.
you want him to know what this feels like—the unbearable ache, the madness, the constant need that grips you so hard you don’t know what to do with it.
before you even realize what you’re doing, your palm cracks against his face.
his head jerks to the side, his jaw tightening as something dark flickers in his eyes.
he stares, breath measured, holding something in his throat. the red on his cheek spreads like watercolor, stark against the black ink on his skin. a smile tilts at his lips.
”again.”
so you do it again.
his hand slides to the back of your neck as he lets out a breathless laugh, his other arm locking tighter around your waist, forcing you up and down, over and over again.
he’s fucking lost in it. in you, in this, in the way you give and take and ruin.
your body is stretched open, raw and aching, so fucking full, drunk on the way he claims you, the way he needs you.
then, lower, slurred against your skin, “please—baby, spit in my mouth.” half-lidded eyes lift to yours, and you realize he’s not just asking. he’s offering himself up.
you’re pulling his head back by his hair before he’s even done speaking.
his lips part, tongue barely peeking out, ready and waiting.
you let it drip into his mouth, and he groans like you’ve blessed him as he drags you into another desperate kiss.
it’s not enough. it’s never fucking enough. you need more.
“tell me you love me.”
it tumbles out, raw and unguarded. you both know it’s not a request—it’s a demand. a life sentence. a tether neither of you will be able to break.
his answer is instant. “i love you.” it lands like a vow, like a promise. like knowledge he was born with.
it floors you. tears brim in your eyes, and before you even process what he’s just given you—“i love you, choso.”
you love him. you love him. and that destroys him. his name belongs here, with you. always has.
his arms crush you, a vice around your body. like he could break you open and crawl inside, stay there forever. his thrusts turn brutal, desperate, unhinged, carving you into his shape.
he wants to say something, but nothing comes. just you, just this.
because the realization is too much.
because he never thought he’d hear this from you. never expected to be allowed to have this, to keep this.
because he’s been content just knowing you, quietly keeping you safe.
but this? this is something else entirely.
his grip tightens, almost desperate as his rhythm grows rough, erratic. your name spills from his lips like a prayer, over and over, his body going tight.
he moans freely against your skin, holding you flush to him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you. he’s locked around you, unyielding, trying to hold the moment in place, trying to stop time itself.
and it undoes you.
the warmth of him pressed into you, the way he swells inside you as he releases, the way he stays, like he belongs there—it sends you spiraling.
you tighten around him like a vice, gasping his name, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as your body locks up. your nails rake down his back, desperate, needing to mark him, keep him, to ruin him the way he’s ruined you.
his breath stutters, still drowning in his own pleasure, but he cradles your head, fucking you through it. “that’s it, pretty girl. let me feel it.”
and you do. you give him everything. every wave, every pulse, every broken sound as the feeling rolls through you. your body trembles in his arms, spent, oversensitive, but he just holds you, smoothing a hand down your spine, pressing slow, grounding kisses to your temple.
he pulls out of you, a slow retreat. the absence leaves you aching, still open for him, your combined juices leaking out.
time slows. your heart pounds against his. the heat between you lingers, warm and hazy. his fingers trace lazy patterns over your skin, letting you relax into him as you both come down.
once you’ve both settled, he lifts you off of him carefully, reluctant to let go. his hands guide you, breathing you in, smelling sweat and sex and something unmistakably yours.
his thumb drags down your back. he watches the way your body responds, still trembling, still open. he fits a pillow beneath your hips, shifting you into place.
he hovers, kissing you—over your shoulder, your spine, the side of your ribs, soft but weighted. his body follows, pressing you under him, where you belong.
“you’re not done yet.”
a shudder moves through you.
his lips press between your shoulder blades, lingering, exhaling before he pushes back into you.
the position lets him sink deeper than before. the stretch is slow, unrelenting, and you let out a low moan into the mattress.
his groan is rough, his voice wrecked. “you take me so fucking well.”
his pace builds—deep, ruthless. he’s everywhere, taking you apart, remaking you in his image.
you feel his teeth on your shoulder. his teeth on your neck. his tongue dragging fire over your skin.
you’re too sensitive. it’s too much. you reach back, trying to slow him down, but he’s faster. he grabs your wrists and pulls them behind you, dragging you upright into him like a puppet on strings.
your body bows into his. his breath is hot against your ear, his lips brushing over your jaw, your cheek, your throat.
his hands pull you down onto him again and again, pushing you beyond yourself.
fingers trace your collarbones, his thumb finding the soft dip in your throat before he wraps his hand around it. he doesn’t squeeze—not yet. but he feels the way you clench slightly around him.
“you like this?”
a whimper escapes you—not an answer, but enough of one. your hips rock back, body moving on instinct.
slowly, methodically, his fingers flex around your throat, measuring, testing.
then he closes his hand, cutting off everything but him.
your breath is gone.
everything stills. the world narrows—collapsing to the points where his hand meets your throat, where he’s buried inside you.
you clench around him hard as your limbs go weightless. a slow, creeping quiet drags you under, like slipping underwater.
you can feel your own pulse weakening under his hand. you can feel the numbness creeping up your spine, feel your eyes roll back, feel how completely you trust him to guide you.
he could kill you like this. is that what this is? a kind of offering? if he asked, would you give him even that? you both know the answer. he could demand your life right now, and you’d hand it over. just like he would if the roles were reversed.
he’s studying you, observing every reaction, watching you slip, mentally recording the sounds you make as you fight for air. his thumb strokes your jaw, coaxing you deeper.
and in the haze, you think:
he’s made you something sacred, something holy. a body to bow down to, a name to whisper between gasps. if this is devotion, you’ll kneel. if this is love, you’ll let it kill you.
everything is soft—your vision, your breath, your body. he’s siphoning the world away, tightening his hold even more. the floor drops out, and you’re falling, though you don’t know for how long or to where.
he lets go.
your body seizes as air floods your lungs, a shuddering inhale that rattles in your chest, half sob, half plea.
an orgasm overtakes you without warning or control, tearing a ragged cry from your throat. your vision flickers, your body spasms around him, but he doesn’t slow down.
“oh, fuck—” his voice is ruined. his hands keep you open for him as he fucks you straight through it. “keep fucking cumming for me, pretty girl.”
you try to squirm away, the pleasure making you hot, blinding you, too much.
“no—no, stay here,” he grits out. his palm spreads over your nape, forcing you down, shoving your face back into the mattress to take it.
he fucks you like a punishment, like a gift, dragging more sounds from your lips and tears from your eyes, letting you feel everything—every thick push, every deep stroke, every pulse of him inside you.
you were made for this. you were made for each other. shaped by each other’s hands, bound by each other’s will.
your body can’t decide if it’s too much or not enough, because somehow—somehow—you’re cumming again, clenching so hard around him he’s nearly forced out of you.
your body breaks open, pouring out and soaking the sheets, soaking him, feeling the delicious release as the force of it drags you under.
his breath stutters, his grip bruising as he chases it. he buries himself, spilling inside you, filling you and leaving something permanent behind.
his forehead presses against the back of your neck. his body stills, but his arms tighten around you, sealing you in the moment with him.
because this is it.
if you ran, he’d find you. if you fought, he’d break you down, drag you back, make you forget why you ever wanted to leave.
his fingers slide into your damp hair, pushing it off your forehead. he tilts your face just enough for his lips to brush your temple.
his breath is soft, warm when he whispers, “thank you, pretty girl.” you don’t know what you’ve done.
+++
you’re drifting. the world is muffled, distant, like sound traveling through water. your limbs don’t work, your mind doesn’t move. you just exist—empty, light, gone.
somewhere, you know choso is holding you. you can feel his warmth at the edge of your consciousness, an anchor you can’t quite reach.
but you’re safe here. his.
his hands shift, adjusting you away from the mess on the bed. you hum—more of a breath than a sound—pliant in his grip.
“baby?”
no response.
his thumb presses lightly into your jaw, trying to coax a reaction, but there’s nothing. your body is slack in his hold, breath coming too slow.
his stomach dips, sharp and visceral. his hands are calm when he cups your face, but his breath isn’t. his heart isn’t.
his fingers press against your wrist, searching for your pulse. still there. slow but steady.
but you don’t move. you don’t even look at him.
“baby, you with me?”
a hum, noncommittal, far away.
it’s not enough.
his throat tightens. his hands shake, just barely.
what if he went too far? what if you don’t come back?
the realization curls like smoke under his ribs.
he smooths your hair, tilting your chin up, a thumb stroking your cheek. “i need you to look at me, pretty girl.”
nothing.
“please.” his voice breaks on the word. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, breath shaky, exhaling slow. grounding himself before he grounds you.
“okay,” he murmurs, softer now, steadier. “okay, baby, i got you.”
his lips rest against your temple. he breathes you in. your breath, shallow and warm against his skin. the quiet rise of your chest against his. your weight, soft in his arms.
his stomach clenches. he shouldn’t love this, not like this, not while you’re gone. but part of him does—how tender you are, how easy you are to hold, how completely you’ve let him have you.
his thumb brushes over your parted lips. something possessive curls inside him, unshakable.
“you’re so fucking beautiful.” he kisses the words against your skin, the bruises on your neck, the fading heat where his grip had been. his lips ghost your forehead, your cheek, your jaw.
“need to clean you up, baby. can you move?”
nothing. you don’t even try.
you just burrow closer, pressing your face deeper into his chest, a quiet little sound slipping from your throat.
his breath catches. something pulls. twists.
you don’t want to move. you don’t want to leave him.
his fingers splay across your stomach, feeling the steady rhythm of your breath. he strokes a hand up your side, cups the nape of your neck, presses his lips your pulse point.
“you don’t have to.” he exhales. “i’ll take care of you.”
he lifts you, cradling you against his chest as he carries you to the bathroom. the warmth of the room contrasts the cold counter when he sets you down, but you don’t seem to register it.
unease tugs at his ribs, but he tamps it down, turning the faucet and watching steam rise from the bath.
when he settles you into the water, you lean into the warmth lapping at your skin.
something sharp lingers in his chest. he wants you back.
he strokes your hair back. his voice is soft, but there’s something dark beneath it.
“stay with me, pretty girl.”
choso washes you like he’s caring for something fragile. strong hands smooth over your arms, your back, your legs. each touch is a silent plea.
“breathe, baby.”
the words feel distant, like they’re coming through a thick fog, but something in you listens. you inhale, slow and deep.
“just like that. you’re safe.”
the haze clings to you, wrapped around your limbs. but beneath it, you feel him.
“you were so good for me,” he says, almost to himself. “so perfect.”
he wraps a fluffy towel around you, pulling you into his chest. your head tips forward, resting on his shoulder. a small shift, a silent seeking.
his stomach tightens. “i got you,” he says, voice softer now.
he carries you back, setting you on the bed. the world fades in and out, but the weight of your body is returning. the first thing you register fully is him.
he dresses you—clean panties, soft shirt. his touch is attentive, reverent, but his mind is restless.
he needs you back.
his hands are calm as he pulls the fabric over your head, but when your fingers twitch against his bicep, the lightest touch, something in him holds its breath.
“that’s it, baby.” his voice is raw, aching. “come back to me.”
the haze thins, peeling away in pieces. awareness pulls you in slowly, settling, anchoring.
you exhale. stretch.
choso watches, still, silent, breath held.
your lashes flutter. your gaze lifts.
and then you meet his eyes.
his whole body exhales, something releasing inside him.
“there you are.”
it’s quiet, almost a whisper, but his voice is full of something raw and undeniable.
the weight of what just happened settles in his chest.
it’s not regret.
it’s proof.
that you need him. that you trust him. that you belong to him.
you always have.
and when your fingers curl weakly into his shirt, holding him there, he wavers, unsteady.
you’re back. fully. you feel the soft fabric of the shirt against your skin, the scent of clean laundry, the steadiness of your own breath.
and him. always him.
choso watches you, unmoving, like you might disappear if he blinks.
your lips part, about to speak, but you don’t get the chance.
he’s kissing you. slow, deep, and final.
his lips move against yours like he’s sealing something permanent, like he’s branding you. a promise. there’s no hesitation, no question or room for doubt.
he feels it now, how irreversible this is. you were supposed to run. even if you wanted him, even if you eventually let him, you were supposed to pull away just once, just enough for him to know that there were lines between you. but there aren’t. you didn’t. you never even thought about it.
his fingers drift over the marks on you, pressing gently on them like he can make them deeper. “mine.”
you tighten your hold on his shirt, anchoring yourself to him, and when he pulls back, you whisper—”say it again.”
his breath hitches. then, lower, rougher, “you’re fucking mine.”
he kisses your jaw, your cheek, following the words with his mouth, speaking them into your skin like a prayer.
you exhale and nod, soft and small. you don’t even have to say anything. he sees it in your eyes.
you’re his.
something breaks inside him. something desperate, something he’s been holding back for so long that he didn’t even realize it had slipped.
he presses his forehead to yours, breath shaking, and then—
“you’re never leaving me.”
it’s too dark to be sweet, too honest to be a threat.
his eyes sting. and you see it, in the way his hands tighten around you, like he’s holding onto something fragile, something precious. not just you, but the knowledge that he has you now, that he can’t ever lose you. he’s afraid.
you could still ruin this. you could say something else, shift the balance, make it so he has to do something drastic.
but instead, you smooth your hands up his chest, over his shoulders, curling around his neck, grounding him.
“i never wanted to,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
his grip tightens. “you mean that?”
it’s a question. but you both understand that he’s not asking if you mean it.
he’s asking if you understand what happens if you don’t.
ace who visits islander!reader whenever he can, surprising her with gifts he stole found from the various places he’s visited. jewelry, hair accessories, flowers that he tried his best to keep alive, small kimmidolls etc, all things that he’d think you’d like.
the only issue is that whenever he brings you these stolen gifts it ends up in rejection and a soft spoken lecture on how you won’t accept his stolen gifts because of karma! his cabin on pop’s ship is full of trinkets that were all softly denied by you.
he’s is constantly questioned by his brothers on all these random items in his room but were only met with a deep sigh. ace was a pirate, why should he buy gifts and treasures with his hard taken earned berries when he’s a globally feared devil fruit user? he just doesn’t get you.
you were in your hut, bangles jingling as you moved around the candle lit room, gathering medicine for a child who waited behind you. the girls mother was sick and was sent to go get medicine from you, you with a devil fruit that could make any plant you knew of. you who provided for the islands village whether it was prayers or medicine. you who didn’t charge for anything because you thought you had everything you needed in life already.
you put the medicine into a small jar, closing the top tightly before kneeling in front of the child and handed it to her.
"two spoonfuls a day, one in the morning once at night. take good care of your mother, okay?"
"yes, miss [᪥]. thank you!"
when the child left, you sighed as you stared at the familiar hatted shadow outside of your hut.
"ace."
there were a few seconds of silence before he stepped in. shirtless per usual. he took off his bright orange hat with a small sack that made the same jingling noises as your wrists.
"hey, [᪥]."
he looked almost bashful, sun-kissed skin glowing from the candles as he relaxed in the arms you wrapped around him and pressed your lips to his cheek. he stiffened a little when your hands felt up his arms, gentle squeezes on his biceps to feel the man you haven’t seen in cycles.
"your gained a little. in a good way."
ace was still stiff under your touch, suddenly pushing the pouch into your hands.
"got these for you. didn’t steal ‘em this time either. promise."
your eyes widened a little, opening the pouch to reveal jade bangles that would go perfect with the gold ones you wore on your wrist already. you examined the very much real jade in your hands, sliding them gently past your fingers and thumb and gave them a little shake. they were beautiful.
"where’d you get these? they’re beautiful."
"got them from some trader in alabasta a while back for you. been sitting in my cabin for a while."
his words came out in mumbles, eyes fixed on a lit incense on your table. nervous hands planted on your waist as you took off one of your necklaces to put it on his neck. the gold layered with his red beads that lingered above his chest.
he was about to protest before your lips pressed into his, fingers trailing to cradle his face. gods did Ace miss you.
a/n from layla ❀: first time publishing for one piece and don’t know how to feel.. was kinda inspired by the first scene of smoke and annie from sinners. i miss aceeeeeuhhhh.
black fem, goth!reader, goth!choso just a rlly short little drabble about a married couple intensely fucking:)
wc: 0.8k
song suggestion 🎧
just a little smth until I’m able to get back writing full time. I rlly do miss y’all and writing longer stuff but I don’t want to put any more strain on myself for the time being. Hope yall don’t mind!!
“Yeah I know, I know…you’re even starting to come a lil’ bit. But not yet, you gotta hold it a little longer, okay?”
there wasn’t a scene quite like it..two bodies passionately entangled under the dim lighting cast over them. Contrasting hues of skin clashing together but bound the same silky black sheets that draped each of their thighs. Both riddled with an abundance of tattoos and silver jewelry, including the glossy charcoal colored band on your ring finger, signifying that the two of you were bound for eternity. It wasn’t a privilege that your husband took lightly..he loved each and every square inch of your body. He worshiped it as a devout disciple would do their savior ... .kneeling to the altar that was your sacred treasure; one he didn’t take for granted. If such a place existed, you were a divine gift sent directly from the heavens….and he wanted to give his thanks in the best way he knew how.
“Besides, I know you can fuck me much better than this, can’t you?”
Glaring up at you with a smug look written across his face, Choso knew the answer before your lips could even part. He knew the treat he was in for once you found your stride. As you remained positioned on top, straddling his cock while it sat dormant inside of those soft folds, he’d await your next move. Those strong hands firmly gripping that waist to keep you steady. When your legs began to tremble a bit, your loving husband took the liberty and sheer pleasure of pounding up into you. Bucking those hips and hammering away at that spot until you felt as if you were going to fall off. But he’d keep you reigned in with a stern hold, making certain you felt every inch, every rivet and every vein marking your insides. A territory no one else could claim dominion over…. now or in the next five lifetimes. over…hence the marks from his teeth and handprints all over you after some rough and passionate fucking. And vice versa with your nail marks clawing through his back and bruises left from him begging to be choked and slapped as you straddled him. Instead, he’d wait for you to gather your balance and allow you to have the lead. Which didn’t take long to initiate…
“…yeahhhh…fuck, that’s it. Ride me. C’mon, just like that. You’re doing so good.” Despite him doing a majority of the work, he wanted you to feel like the star of this show.
your beautiful moans rivaling that of a symphony the way you cried out and called to him ... .hands planted on his chest to keep you steady whilst your lower half did all of the work.
“Yes! You’re so fucking perfect, angel. So fucking tight but you take me so well. Your pussy’s so creamy and wet.” Crying out your name as he held you close to him; showcasing that brute strength that seemed to hide in plain sight. His large muscle coiling around your back and a hand snaking up to pull at those gorgeous braids. Just one of the many beautiful, diverse hairstyles you sported; always adorn with some sort of jewelry to accessorize them. The flickers of dimly lit candles illuminated the room, highlighting the red and black decor, including the Victorian Gothic style bed shaking underneath you as if it were a seance commencing. The perfect display to a scene of passionate, raw, disgusting lovemaking between two interconnected souls. Bound by more than just mortal flesh and existence….this was a love that transcended all eternity and beyond. Two souls knowing that you would find one another again, even when these vessels ceased to exist.
“Kiss me…”
forcing you down to meet his lips with a firm grip to the back of your neck…not in a violent or harmful manner, but in a way that assured you that your dominion in its entirety belonged to him. As your tongues wrestled with one another’s and those moans coagulated, his hands would roam further and further ... .until those soft, supple asscheeks resided in his hands. Before long, you’d find yourself being forced up and down yet again….thrashed around on that fat dick by his doing. Your face nestled securely into the crook of your husband’s neck.
“Babyyy…fuck!”
The bridge of your nose brushing against his silver chains and those lips ever so slightly dredging against the tattoo running along his throat that resembled barbed wire.
“That’s it, gorgeous ... .just shut your brain off f’r me…stay still while I pump you full of this dick…you don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of you…”
not just words uttered in the throes of ecstasy but ones that came from the depths of his very core and that he lived by. After all, his world as he knew it would cease to exist if you were not a part of it.
i know ace is hot and all but some of y'all's fantasies are too generous that mf is gonna fall asleep mid fuck and then wake up with his dick still in you and ask if you got any snacks and before you answer he's in your kitchen butt ass naked (with the hat probably) eating the entire package of deli ham slices in your fridge and you're too scared to ask if he forgot what y'all were doing 5 minutes ago or just doesn't give a fuck
Buggy - puffs out his chest like the proud bird that he is and his smile is beaming like that for a spotlight. He’s really proud of himself that you felt such a way about his company, whether this was due to the fact that you might in fact be the only one who actually does find enjoyment in his presence, for everyone else tended to shoo him away the minute his theatrics started to get on their nerves.
Yet with you, you always seems to find his theatrics actually funny and even participate in them sometimes, playing innocent little pranks on others using his powers and trading crude jokes like you’ve been doing it since you were children, you didn’t mind a single thing he did and that healed and bolstered something within Buggy. He becomes more playful but a little more vulnerable at the same time, he was and is an insecure man who acts like he was anything but insecure, yet his tell tell signs were in his eyes and his posture and need to always be within the eye line of someone.
You were happy enough to be that someone for him and Buggy can’t help but feel ecstatic but tries to act ask if this was something he was told constantly, but the way he seemed to scoot closer to you during the next time it was just you and him to you otherwise, he looked like a calmer version of himself who traded jokes but you could tell something deep had changed.
Ace - he lets out a laugh as he sings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you close to his chest, teasingly saying how you were stuck with him forever now. Yet he finds it a massive relief that you enjoyed his company, didn’t find him overbearing or annoying or anything like that in the slightest for he may come across as cool, call and collected at times he often let the worst of his thoughts come to him and ruin anything good he ever gave himself.
So hearing you say you enjoy his company had him feeling as though he wasn’t as much of a nuisance or bother to be near, he didn’t want to constantly be seen next to you but couldn’t help it, it was as if you were drawing him in with that smile after your confession that made him want to rest your resolve by spending most of his time with you. He felt giddy and warm inside knowing that his company was deeply enjoyed, appreciated that he would be smiling for the rest of the day, completely unbothered and lost within his own mind before Marco asks what got him smiling like that with a knowing smirk across his face.
Ace didn’t really care if he was being obvious, he was just happy to have someone whom found as much enjoyment in his presence and he did yours.
Law - he stiffens as he tries his best not to keep you in his company, yet he finds himself doing so against his better judgment, something he’s still trying to find the deeper undertaking to within the books of his room. Yet there was apart of him that craved a connection, even if you were just standing next to one another in utter silence it was better then isolating himself, closing himself off from what he felt and what his body told him he needed.
So hearing you say you enjoy his company, even if he lacked words to spare during these times, not able to find what would be deemed appropriate in those moments when it’s just the two of you. So he would find himself continuing to gift you silent companionship more often after your confession, finding that while you enjoyed his company he could himself finding peace, finding enjoyment in your company as well that left him tugging his hat down to conceal his face so that no one noticed the small smile upon his face.
Zoro - he feels pride but wouldn’t show it upon his face, he’d only scoff and say that he’d be concerned if you didn’t enjoy his company, -concerned even- yet deep down he’s proud of himself for making you feel safe and seen within his company even if he didn’t do much talking as he preferred to let his actions speak for when he doesn’t need to, nor feel the need to verbally express his innermost feelings.
He’s a man of few words and lots of afternoon naps, yet he finds himself accompanying you more afterwards, and yet when confronted about it by the other Strawhats Zoro kept silent or kept his response to a minimum amount of words as he didn’t see why he needed to explain his reasoning for being seen by your side more often after your confession. He’s just stood by your side like a silent protector, a silent protector who traded playful jabs with you now and then as a smirk comes across his face before he inevitably drifts off to sleep. Zoro never left your side afterwards really, he claims it’s to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid, but you had a sneaky suspicion that there was a deeper meaning there somewhere, you just gotta give it time before it comes to light.
