Something about little Noibat/Noivern and Greninja perhaps?
-@starswithinscars
This made me realise there is exactly 10 episodes between Greninja's evolution and Noivern's one. Which is very interesting to think about for many different reasons :3c
Noibat hears the moment Ash and Greninja become one.
She doesn’t know how to say it, how to explain it. she doesn’t have the words yet to encapsulate the feeling. She floats inside of a cave, darker than dark if it weren’t for Braixen’s firelight, and listens to the unity live on-air. She watches as they breath, pant, move. She watches them live. She watches them fall.
She’s still watching when Greninja looks back, irises as red as Ash’s cap.
You have to eat, ma petite.
Noibat blinks.
It’s evening now. The food is set, and Noibat comes face to face with food that is icky and gross. She doesn’t get why everyone is eating it—not when it is so bitty and plain and crunchy but the wrong kind. She shakes her head, ridding the memory and the reality, clamping her mouth shut. Ears flat and eyes squeezed shut keeps all that chaos inside, all that screaming that hurts everyone else. Hawlucha sighs, a muffled sound, and waits. His waiting lasts as long as he hears his own name and responds, not moving from his spot but instead moving his concentration, just a bit.
Noibat still finds herself thinking about the cave in the absence. About the battle, the sounds, the fear. She whines, breath escaping as she is remembering the pain of something sharp digging into her. She opens her eyes instinctively and finds wetness in her eyes and rubs it away quick-quick, because she is a big girl and she does not cry. Does not need to cry. She is no longer one week old, no longer land-locked, no longer weak, and that meant there is no reason at all. No reason to—
She pauses the movement, feeling the wetness on her fingers. She can see the drop tremble in her grip, and wibble and wobble, and as she brought both fingers together they dropped down onto the ground and form a wet patch of earth.
Noibat remembers that moment. Can almost hear it.
When all the Pokemon are roaring with laughter she looks, and listens, and finds.
It doesn’t take long. Greninja is never slow, and Noibat knows that she is good at listening, even better at picking things apart. She finds him sitting alone by the side, not near the humans or near the Pokemon, and she waddles towards him.
She sits. He sits. She listens, and his heart is the same. His breathing too. It is nothing like before, nothing like then.
She looks at him. He does not look any different to any other time. She tilts her head, recalling how he was once a ‘Frogadier’, and how he ‘evolved’. Was that it? Was that all?
She opens her mouth just as Greninja says, Are you alright?
Noibat blinks, before squinting. Was she crying again? Oh, she couldn’t be! Not now! She rubs her eyes and finds no wetness, and so she turns her attention to the frog, who could be playing a trick on her like everyone else does. I’m not crying! she called out, voice somewhat accusatory.
I never said you were. His voice is the sound of rushing water, burbling river, and it is a coarse reverberation. Her ears bend down, slightly, and he takes notice, lowering his tone. You don’t usually leave the others.
You’re still with us though.
A shrug.
She nods her head. So that means I didn’t leave.
Greninja graces her with a bemused expression. Whatever you say, hatchling.
Noibat feels the condescension ripple through those words and clicks at him, making her displeasure known. She is not a hatchling anymore! She is getting bigger and stronger and that meant she has to be taken seriously! Just like him! He doesn’t change his position but he doesn’t push it further, and that was enough to get her to stay. Just for a moment. Just enough to get to the question at hand.
The question.
(The night drips on. The chatter continues. Noibat needs to know.)
Does evolution hurt?
Greninja opens his eyes as he looks down, looming, all long limbs with no feathers or wings like a human. Noibat is not built like a human—neither is Hawlucha, or Talonflame. In that moment, in the cave, Greninja looked almost like Ash.
Sounded almost like him too.
What do you mean?
Noibat feels a vibration rumbling inside her and she can’t describe it too, but she knows what she wants. So much so that she is tripping over the words, stuttering, trying to spit it out. The- cave- you- different- water— She shakes her head and jumps to her feet, balancing herself by outstretching her wings before calling out, You were so strong!
…Is that what it’s about? Greninja turns his head away, disinterested. We just did what we had to.
But did it hurt? she needles. She needs to know. If she is going to get bigger still, get stronger soon, that means she also has this potential. And she’s never seen it before. Has never been there for it.
Evolution is a jump— you look like one thing, and now you look like someone else. Fletchinder was suddenly Talonflame, and he said it was a rush of fire and flame. He said he didn’t think about it until it happened. He said it’s better this way.
Everyone says you can’t go back. But Greninja did. Back in the cave, when scary people were shouting scary things, Greninja changed and then changed again. He was water and fluid, and so was Ash, and then they split. Cut clean in the middle.
Greninja doesn’t turn back. His eyes don’t glow. But his heart is racing when he says, softly, It felt right. That’s all there is to it. Noibat watches a little longer, listening more, but nothing changes. Nothing echoes. He said his piece, and even if it didn’t make sense, she can’t ask any more.
Her fur spikes up as someone calls her name, probably noticing how she didn’t eat anything yet. Or they will notice once they hear her stomach rumbling, loud and clear. Greninja covers his mouth with a fist as Noibat sinks her maw into her chest fur, wishing that she got more concrete answers. Why did everyone have to be so mysterious? It’s going to happen sooner or later, so what’s wrong with a clearer answer?
She says as much to Greninja, and he shrugs. Just like before. Those same words lay on his tongue, slippery and wet and annoying to the touch, You’ll understand when you evolve, and she groans.
Again. Always. That’s what everyone says, she complains, and there was a glint of something in Greninja’s eyes as he raises an eye ridge. All knowing and mysterious, just like his answer.
She has to try this!
She can’t keep stalling. It’s going to happen. Everything does.
‘You’ll understand when you evolve.’
It’s best if you eat before pondering such big thoughts, he says, and Noibat almost misses how familiar and soft those words were as she takes up the Berry he hands her. How they were a cocoon, warmer than what any nest can offer her, as warm as hands cradling her form, those hands that brought her into this world.
She bites into it. It’s soft and sweet. The same, the very same.
✩ Intimacy Alphabet — Riki Mauss
✩ Maki x Fem!Reader (18+).
✩ A/N: Well, everyone's been waiting for this one — me included. I feel like Maki actually got the MOST requests, which was funny to me since I was already gonna do him eventually. Patience next time, grasshoppers.
A = Aftercare ("after" the deed):
✩ Somehow, Riki feels more awake after pulling out than he did before. Maybe it's the dopamine rush, or maybe he's just a little strange in that way; either way, you're getting pulled on top of him so he can cuddle the shit out of you. You fall asleep almost immediately...you can't help it! He's warm and strong — a dangerous combo.
B = Body part (their favorite on themselves and you):
✩ Please. We all know he's proud of his arms, and he should be. The definition...fuck. He knows you go feral for them, and who is he to deny you? Holds you down easily, gently manhandles you if you're losing your sense of direction, holds you tight after you're both spent (I'm fucking melting writing this omfg). Purposefully wears tighter shirts to tease you, and yes — he likes it when you playfully bite him. He'd like you to do it more, actually.
✩ ...How is this a question? THIGH AND HIP MAN RIGHT HERE!! We all know it; he's not subtle with the fucking tracing thing he likes to do. He loves to hold you by your hips in public, just squeezing their plush mindlessly while he eavesdrops on other conversations. Also likes to do the same in private — holds your hips still while he fucks into you, because he wants to be the one doing the work. Also, crush him with your thighs. Please. Do it. He wants it. He wants to suffocate. Bring him to the brink of death; it'd be a wonderful way to go.
C = Cum (...self-explanatory):
✩ So, to continue, he loves to watch your combined releases drip onto your thighs. It's dirty, and it might make you feel a little grossed out sometimes, but he's absolutely mesmerized. He gets his favorite view (thighs) plus the straight erotica of knowing that you're his, and he's yours.
D = Dirty secret (what might they be keeping from you?):
✩ He'd never admit it, but sometimes when he's alone, he comes completely untouched just by thinking about you. In a hotel somewhere across the globe, he's remembering how good it feels to have you under him, whining for him and grabbing him...and, oh. He busts and goes red from embarrassment. He's generally shameless in his intimacy with you, but he just feels pathetic.
E = Experience (how experienced are they?):
✩ Like I said with Taki, bro was training to be an idol when he was a fetus. He's a horny little mf now, but I doubt he's actually been with anyone.
F = Favorite position (speaks for itself):
✩ Classic missionary fella here. He wants to see you and the expressions you make when he hits your sweet spot, and it's all too easy for you to wrap your thighs around his waist. In some cases, this evolves into a mating press, and you're completely trapped under him with your legs hooked over his shoulders. It makes no difference to him — as long as you squeeze around him, he's happy.
✩ I'd be remiss if I didn't say he likes to bend you over random places — namely couches and counters. You've done the deed too many times in your bathroom, bent over your sink with your feet barely touching the ground. He's got good access to your ass and hips, and hitting from the back just hits different on some days. Be careful picking stuff up around him; if you bend over too far, he might be snatching you up and hiding you away for a good ten-minute quickie.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):
✩ Mr. Chalant here is more soft than anything else, probably pretty cocky, but it's Maki at the end of the day. He likes to be silly, and it's rare that he's not grinning around you. Sex, at the end of the day, is fun to him, so you know he'll just be as happy as a clam all throughout.
H = Hair (how well-groomed are they?):
✩ Uh. Well. I uh. Heh. He likes to clean — he keeps it neat. (I'm sorry. If I tried to write this in full, I'd lose it. I'm already drooling.)
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):
✩ SOFT BOY!! LOVER BOY!! I know a lot of us like to think he's more teasing and condescending than anything, but I just can't see past him being an absolute lovesick fool. He lives for the gentle touches and eyes full of tears of joy. He loves to show his love for you physically, and what's more physical than sex? Holds you close after and just kisses you breathless.
J = Jack-off (a masturbation headcanon):
✩ It stays in the shower, mostly, just for convenience (and cleanliness). He's terrified you'll find out that he uses your body wash sometimes, rather than water or spit — sue him! It smells good, and he just loves your scent. He has to be careful, though. If he does it too much, he'll pop a boner just by walking by you and catching the scent of your hair.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):
✩ I'm 97% sure he's a service top. I mean, look at him. He wants to feel needed; it fulfills this urge in him that he can't wrap his head around. It makes him feel important when you beg for him or tell him you're needy, and he gets cocky knowing that he's the only one who can make you feel that way. Whether you're older or younger than him, you're his, and he wants to be able to make you feel loved.
✩ I debated between a couple, but I think he's really into overstimulation, and it goes both ways. There's something about cumming so hard and losing your vision, and then going further, that really strikes him. It's absolutely intoxicating, and it kind of hurts sometimes, but he enjoys it. Especially when you get even whinier and lose control of your body, so he has to really hold you down to make sure you can't fall off the bed or jerk out of his grasp...phew.
L = Location (favorite spots to get off):
✩ I honestly think he's down for anywhere, but he'd rather wait until you're home. It's just the most convenient and comfortable. However, that doesn't mean you've never gotten it on in the car or backstage somewhere; he just has to be more careful there.
M = Motivation (what gets them going?):
✩ Another guy who's always up and at the ready. To be specific, though: Outfits that really show off your figure, when you hold onto him/his arms, when you get frustrated (will elaborate later), and when you make him feel needed.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
✩ He's not hurting you. Sorry, but no. He's too drunk in love to ever try anything that might cause you pain. If anything, I think he's very aware of his strength and is always careful when maneuvering you just so you're not pulled around too roughly (unless you beg for it. Even then, he's still holding back.)
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
✩ MUNCH OF THE YEAR. Give it to him anywhere, any time, and position. I think he likes oral more than penetration, actually, and it's hard to say who enjoys it more — him or you. He just loooooves to eat it and cums just from fucking you with his tongue. Also, wbk: King of face-sitting. He wants you to plop your cute ass on his face, and if you even try to hover, he's locking your arms around your hips and pulling you down, holding you against his relentless mouth. He'll keep at it for hours if you'll let him, and he's real messy with it. If his face isn't drenched and you're not on the verge of unconsciousness, he's not done.
✩ He does have a soft spot for receiving, though, and it's probably one of the only times you'll ever hear him whimper. He knows he's big, and he doesn't expect you to take all of him — so you have to take him by surprise and let him hit the back of your throat. He's a little unsure, a little impressed, and a little intimidated...but who doesn't like a nervous man?
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):
✩ Another man who is completely capable of both, but he does prefer it a little harder 🤭 Slow nights are reserved for when you’re feeling sappy. When either of you are needy, or just in the mood to fuck, Maki is eager; plus, he’s hyper as hell. Let him drill you pls 🙏
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):
✩ Is totally down for them any time and any place, as long as you can’t get caught. They’re the best when you’re expecting company, or when you just need to let off a little steam. Either way, don’t be surprised when he drags you away to eat you out sloppy style.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):
✩ Riki’s pretty chill, so why not? As long as it’s not crossing his own boundaries or hurting the both of you, he’s down. Like I said for Q, he’s all for trying to give you head as fast as possible before you have to go out before people start asking questions.
✩ S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):
✩ Oh, boy. Hyper boy pt. 2. The longest the two of you have ever gone was…get ready….five rounds — with breaks, of course. He just gets so lost in the sauce that he can’t find a reason to completely stop. Half the time, honestly, you’re starting it by clenching around him so tightly that he chokes (maybe intentionally, maybe not). He’s just got a lot of energy and a lot of love…let him give it to you!
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):
✩ He’s not really a fan, honestly. Why use silicone when you’ve got him? I highkey think he’s the type to get jealous of a vibrator if he finds out that you use one when he’s not home.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):
✩ RUDE WITH A CAPITAL R. Listen, I know I said he’s a softie, but we’re still talking about Maki. He likes to tease, push, and pull. He likes to make you needy for him and then wonder aloud what you could possibly want. The only way to react is to give it right back to him — rile him up and watch his brain fucking melt. He’ll give in eventually, right?
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):
✩ In the beginning, he’s self-conscious. No one wants to hear a dude whining during sex, right? WRONG!! You want to hear him, and you tell him so. Therefore, he loosens up a little: Grunts when he’s thrusting into you, moans when he goes down on you, and cute whimpers when you go down on him — pup style.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):
✩ Maki is one of those little shits who intentionally pisses you off so you can yell at him. He gets so bricked up when you tell him off that it becomes painful. He just stands there and tries not to smile before enveloping you in a hug, cooing in your ear about how he’s sorry, and he’s just so mean. How can he make it up to you? Can you sit on his face and use him until you’re not mad anymore? Can he fuck the anger out of you? He promises not to pull any fast ones (lie).
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):
✩ Well. He’s tall, jacked, and half-European….he’s hung. Real hung.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):
✩ Probably one of the horniest of the Teamies, next to Yudai and Yuma. He’s always ready to go, and goes for as long as he can physically. If you get fatigued easily, perhaps consider starting on a vitamin.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):
✩ Not as quick as you’d think! He’s more awake than asleep, and he just lies awake at night, watching you dream. His thoughts become very introspective, and while you sleep, he just smiles up at the ceiling. He’s so lucky to be in love with you.
summary: your boyfriends relentless attempts to keep you sun safe prove pointless as you swear you never burn. we’ll see how that goes for ya…
warnings: swearing, sunburn, manhandling
a/n: heh, so can yall guess what happened to me this summer !
It felt like an eternity since you’d been at the beach.
Between Chan’s never ending schedule, jam packed with training, producing, writing, performing, filming, AND your own fucking job, safe to say finding time to take a vacation was out of the question.
But Chan had been so dedicated, and he had given so much to the group and overall idol life in the past year. He had to take a break, no matter how little he believed he deserved it, or how much he worried about getting back into routine, it was a non negotiable.
And what better place to go on holiday than your very own backyard?
“But the members won’t manage y/n!”
“You know damn well they will.”
“What about Jeongin-ah? He can’t be left alone in the dorm? Someone is bound to end up pregnant”
“As if you don’t stay at my apartment half the time?”
“I need to get a head start on the comeback.”
“I thought you already finalised the next one?”
“I meant the one after that…”
That’s how most of your conversations went. But in truth, all it took was a bit of sweet talk and he couldn’t help but admit how much he missed home.
You were beyond excited. You simply couldn’t wait to walk down the streets of your childhoods, tell each other little stories from your lives before you met, visit family and friends. And finally get a fucking tan.
Australia bought back the fondest of memories for Chan.
Primary school days, summer spent at the family pool club, running on the hot beach sand without a care in the world.
Whilst he can’t remember all of the more intricate details of his childhood, one thing he’d never forget is how unforgiving the Aussie sun is.
So when you decided to spend a day at the beach in damn near 40 degree weather, Chan was taking no chances.
You opted for a more secluded beach, bright sand, clear water, nothing but the sound of waves hitting the shore. Choosing peace over the national treasures, undoubtedly bustling with people, that you’d both visited a million times was always the go for the two of you.
Hand in hand, the two of you walked along the shore, silently searching for the perfect spot to sit. It wasn’t easy, Chan lingering near the shaded areas while you frolicked in the sun.
Eventually you found the perfect place, a spot where you could sit in the sun and easily roll into the shade as you pleased.
Your slightly more mature boyfriend was taking all the necessary precautions.
Hat
Sunglasses
Thin Flannel
And of course, the most important on the list, sunscreen.
Slowly and attentively, Chan lathered his ivory skin with the product, careful to reach every inch left exposed to the cruelty of the UV rays.
He handed the tube of sunscreen to you with a content grin.
“Can you get my back babe?”
You took the sunscreen and tried to hide the way you still blushed at the question.
“Happily my love.”
It should not have taken that long for you to finish covering his back with the product, but you relished every second, elongating the minutes as long as you could. You were giving yourself as much time as possible to feel up your man’s muscles without shame.
But when you were finally done, Chan asked the inevitable question.
“Your turn?” He spoke softly as he handed you back the tube you’d just placed in his hands.
You sat for a moment, thinking about how to approach the matter, knowing exactly what your boyfriend would be thinking.
“I’ll do it later” you shrugged.
Chan looked at you, he read you like a book, seeing straight through your little facade.
“No you’re not you little liar” he laughed.
“Channie it’s fine I don’t need it.”
“C’mon, y/n you’re gonna get burnt.”
“No I won’t” (you made sure to elongate the “o” in won’t)
He sighed then, just like he always did when he was at odds with your stubbornness.
“Then I guess you’ll just have to stay right here all day. In the boring shade you hate so much.” He said.
You scoffed at first, but then, an idea hit you, and suddenly you could only grin. “is that so?”
You slowly inched your way into the sunlight, carefully standing up from the sand and taking small steps further away.
“No y/n” Chan giggled, knowing exactly what you were planning.
You smiled ever so sweetly, watching as Chan moved towards you, before bolting off.
“Baby please, put on some sunscreen, I can’t have my girl all burnt?”
Chan had caught you mere minutes after you’d made your escape. Which, to be fair, was a couple minutes longer than it would usually take him. Running in the sand was certainly no easy feat.
“I don’t get burnt Channie, I told you” you said through giggles as he hauled you over his shoulder.
“I haven’t tanned in so long babe-uh” you whined.
He only laughed at your antics, he knew you’d always adored having that “healthy summer glow” thinking it made you look hotter. But in truth, no matter what shade you were, Chan would always think you were most drop dead gorgeous woman to walk the earth.
After many rather laborious attempts, you finally broke loose from Chan’s grasp. In a fit of victorious laughter, you made your escape to the clear blue water ahead of you, swimming out as far as you could.
Chan rushed onto the pier, looking down at you in utter defeat, paired with a soft smile of course.
“Jump in, I dare you!” You taunted.
He laughed breathlessly, “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”
But he did it anyways, because it’s you, and how could he deny you? He’d harness the sun if you asked him to.
After hours of debate, procrastination and pushing buttons, Chan was finally able to shield you from the sun.
By that I mean he snuck up behind you, (gently) tackled you and held you down as he applied the sunscreen with utmost reverence to your soft skin. Although you hate that he won, you sure didn’t mind being manhandled.
You groaned and whined in mock frustration, but all Chan cared about was protecting his girl. Even if it was, perhaps, a tad bit too late.
The first signs came on the drive home. The lingering heat on your shoulders causing you vague discomfort against the leather interior of the car. You brushed it off, it had been a while after you’d been in this kind of heat, maybe you just forgot what it was like?
But it never went away, on the contrary, it only worsened.
By the time you pulled into the driveway of your beach house, you were wrecked. Frozen in your seat, every movement sending shock waves of pain across your skin. Shit.
You tried to get out of the car as nonchalantly as possible, your hisses of pain dying in your throat. But Chan, ever the observer, noticed the way you awkwardly situated yourself before the pain even hit you.
However, Chan knew not to call you out on it. He could read you better than anyone, he of all people knew the embarrassment, guilt, and frustration mixing like toxic chemicals within you at the moment. And he was certainly not going to be the catalyst for this explosion.
The confirmation came when you rushed up to your room before collapsing on the couch like usual.
Staring in the mirror, you cautiously peeled off your shirt, going as slow as physically possible. After a few harrowing moments, you glared back at the reflection of your bright red skin, burnt, regretful, and oh so painfully sore.
Your body felt like it was on fire and in the arctic at the same time. You decided to take a shower in hopes the water would force the sensation to take a backseat. Fair to say you were wrong.
It was a challenge. As if the feeling of water hitting your skin wasn’t already hellish enough, trying to wash your hair and body, you swore the darkest pit of hell had opened up to swallow you whole. (peep the fnaf reference)
You stepped out of the shower like a shaken soldier, migrating around the space with slow, concentrated movements. You threw on the loosest shirt you could find, one of Chan’s of course, and decided that would do.
You’re leaned your head against the door, contemplating whether to admit defeat or commit to a lie. You had so confidently promoted the idea that you were immune from the inescapable harm of the sun’s UV rays, that you had well and truly dug your own grave.
You always hated being proven wrong, especially when you’d get teased for your own optimistic misjudgment. You refused to let anyone hold that against you, especially not your boyfriend.
Perhaps you were softer at heart than you appeared?
But your descending spiral of thoughts you were caught in was soon cut short by the sound of the door opening behind you.
Turning around, you saw your boyfriend leaning against the frame of the door, a worried expression adorning his face.
“You okay?” He asked genuinely.
“Yeah yeah I’m fine babe” you replied, a bit too enthusiastically you must admit.
He tilted his head at that, a soft smile grew upon his lips, telling you he knew everything he needed to know.
You cracked instantly, exhaling with a heavy sigh. You dropped your head and buried it in his chest.
“I’m in so much pain” you whined.
While most would take the opportunity to say ‘you should have worn the sunscreen like I told you,’ but Chan knew better. He knew you.
He was well aware that you had quite clearly learnt your lesson, you’d only be more pissed off if he reinstated it as if you weren’t suffering the consequences already.
So what did he do? He reached into his pocket and pulled out the sunburn cream he had packed in preparation for this exact instance.
You looked back up at him and damn near shed a tear. He knew you better than you did.
Once he had covered every burnt inch of your body in the miracle cream (heh), Chan guided you out to the lounge where he had set down a fluffy blanket so you could lay down without sticking to the leather, a bottle of water, and a fan, ready to start the next episode of the show you had been watching together.
He held you so gently, aware of how very sensitive your skin was in its current state. He wanted to hug you tight and tease you for not listening, but he loved you too much. So instead, he opted to gaze at you with all the love he couldn’t physically give you.
You felt his eyes on you, and you prayed he wasn’t mad.
“I’m so sorry” you spoke, voice just above a whisper.
He was confused at first, but then he smiled solemnly.
“Don’t be sorry baby, I should have been more careful.”
“Channie, it’s not your fault. I should have just listened to you. Now I’m gonna be a gross peeling mess” you respond.
Chan scoffed a little at that, but then he went quiet for a few seconds, leaving you to ponder what he was truly thinking. Worrying if he was dreading having to sleep next to you while your skin literally decides to exit stage left.
“Y/n, you’ll always be the most beautiful woman on earth. No matter how…intact, you may or may not be.”
He always knew exactly what to say, you just never knew the extent to which he meant it. The words he spoke were pure truth, and he needed you to feel that.
For the first time since you got home, you smiled, a real smile.
Because no matter what, your boyfriend, your Chan, would always be right by your side supporting you. Even when you fucked up.
can’t lie to you my bbgs I lowkenuinley rushed the ending but I hope it was ok !
✦ their partner suddenly cracked a naughty, suggestive joke
Ace Trappola
“Ace, if I said I was craving something sweet, would you let me eat you tonight?”
Ace does a triple take.
He was smug 0.3 seconds ago, probably teasing you then you dropped that. Now he’s choking on air, smacking his chest like the world just betrayed him.
“W-Wait, WHAT?!! You can’t just say stuff like that!!”
He's red all the way up to his ears and can’t stop laughing nervously. He tries to match your energy but flubs it completely:
“I mean—well, I do so… you know, maybe just—NO WAIT, FORGET I SAID THAT—!!”
You’ve destroyed him. He’s flustered, embarrassed, and very, very interested.
Good job.
Deuce Spade
“Deuce, you can call yourself a delinquent all you want, but the only law you’re breaking is how damn hot you look shirtless.”
He explodes into sputters. A man of justice? Gone. Rule-follower? Obliterated. He’s trying SO HARD to maintain composure but his brain is screaming in all caps.
“T-That’s totally… y-you shouldn’t say—w-what if someone heard you?!”
His face is beet red. His hands are shaking. He literally doesn’t know where to look.
Later, after he calms down. He pulls you aside, all serious, red-faced:
“U-Um… I’m not mad. I just… no one’s ever said something like that to me before.”
And then he smiles, sweet and embarrassed and maybe flexes just a little next time he takes off his jacket.
Jack Howl
“Jack, you’re always telling me to train with you… is that an invitation to get sweaty together?”
Jack stops. Just… freezes.
He blinks. Turns to you slowly. You see a deep blush start at his cheeks and work its way down his neck.
“...Did you just make that kind of joke with a straight face?”
He wants to scold you, but your smirk has his heartbeat skipping. He crosses his arms, flustered but trying to stay cool.
“You’re seriously dangerous when you talk like that.”
Then, he looks away but you definitely see the tail wagging.
Epel Felmier
“Epel, you may look cute, but I bet you could ruin me if you try hard enough.”
He CHOKES on his apple.
Epel wants to be seen as strong and manly, so when you hit him with that unexpected filth?? He blushes so hard he almost combusts.
“Y-You—You can’t just SAY THAT kind of thing!”
He waves his hands, his voice cracking, clearly trying to look cool but absolutely unraveling.
Then you watch as the gears turn… and suddenly he’s smirking.
“Heh… maybe I should prove it then.”
Now he’s teasing you.
Careful—country boys have bite.
Sebek Zigvolt
“Sebek, you guard Malleus so well… would you protect me like that in bed too?”
Sebek.exe has short-circuited.
“WHAAAAAAT?! H-H-HOW DARE—! I-I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS—”
He goes into full-blown panic mode. He’s flailing. His volume triples. His face goes bright red and he’s SHOUTING over his own thoughts.
“T-This is highly improper!! WHAT IF MALLEUS-SAMA HEARD?!”
But here’s the thing: he’s not actually mad. He’s mortified… and very, very aware that maybe he likes it?
Later, once he’s calmed down, he gets super formal and serious:
“You mustn’t speak so freely… unless you intend to make good on your promises.”
𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀 : for seven years, you've been almost everything — almost chosen, almost debuted, almost enough. long after your mother's death, long after friends left and opportunities disappeared, the only thing that remained was the stubborn refusal to quit. then a last-minute decision places you in CORTIS, a group built without you in mind, and suddenly the future you've spent years chasing is within reach. but resentment has a way of lingering in crowded rooms, and belonging isn't something that can be assigned by a company. especially when you're the sixth chair at a table set for five
𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 : contemporary fiction, idol Industry, drama, coming-of-age, found family, slow burn, miscommunication, slightly character driven, comedic at times (I try my best okay?)
𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 (chapter) : multiple descriptions of burn out, dissociation, slight signs of mental health issues (seek help if you need help, be smart), reader is a tea drinker, physical exhaustion, awkwardness cause this fic thrives on it, so many introverts it's physically hurting me to write ts, complicated character mindset, discussions of not eating properly and reader attempting to justify it, for more in depth warnings check out masterlist tagged above
𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 : comment or dm to be added
cherry 🍒 speaks : I'm insanely grateful to all the people who supported fpt. so double chapters heh
Juhoon had spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about it the night before. Not because you intimidated him—you didn't—but because he couldn't work out what the normal thing to do was. You weren't exactly a stranger anymore, yet calling you a roommate felt equally wrong. Somewhere in between, apparently. He'd eventually given up trying to figure it out and decided he'd just deal with it in the morning.
When he opened his eyes in the morning, they drifted automatically toward the mattress beneath the window. It was empty.
The blanket had already been folded neatly at the foot of the bed, your suitcase zipped shut beside it as though you'd never unpacked in the first place. He frowned, glancing at the time on his phone.
'6:50'
He could hear the faint clink of ceramic echoing from somewhere down the hall, followed by the soft hum of the kettle when his bare feet hit the cold tiled floor.
Beside his own bed, James was still dead asleep, sprawled diagonally across his bed with one arm dangling off the side and the duvet twisted around a single leg. The headphones he'd been looking for yesterday sat abandoned on his chest, rising and falling with each slow breath. Juhoon watched him for a second, equal parts amused and jealous.
A heavy wave of exhaustion weighed down his eyelids, making the early morning air feel unusually thick as he forced himself to stand and rubbed the back of his neck as he headed for the bathroom.
Somehow, knowing you were already awake made saying good morning feel more complicated than it had any right to.
A year and a half.
Outside the company, people usually reacted as though that was a lifetime. They'd widen their eyes, ask if it had really taken that long. Inside HYBE, it barely counted because there was always someone who'd trained longer. Someone who'd given up more or someone who'd been waiting since middle school.
Juhoon had never liked comparing those things. It turned gratitude into something awkward. You couldn't apologise for getting lucky, but pretending luck had nothing to do with it felt dishonest too. So he'd always settled somewhere in the middle and tried not to think about it.
Yesterday had made that difficult, He found out that you had trained for six years from their trainer. The number had followed him home without asking. Not because it made him feel guilty. But because he couldn't make sense of it. It was more than Martin's, and everyone else.
A year and a half had been enough for him to miss birthdays, forget what weekends felt like, and wake up sore often enough that he'd stopped noticing. Six years though. Now that was different. It wasn't just longer, it was long enough to become normal.
That was the part his brain kept circling back to: six years sounded different when you realised most of them hadn't happened as an adult. He wondered what kind of person that made you. Then he caught himself. You weren't a question to solve. So he should not treat you like one either.
But he still had no idea whether to say good morning nor did he know whether leaving you alone would be kinder. He'd spent far too long thinking about it while brushing his teeth. The toothpaste had foamed at the corners of his mouth before he'd reached a conclusion. He rinsed the sink, looked at himself in the mirror for a second, then shook his head.
'Get over yourself,' he thought, 'for fucks sake.'
You hadn't asked him to figure you out. Hell you had barely asked for anything at all. Juhoon wiped the last of the water from his face and draped the towel over his shoulder before stepping back into the hallway. Yesterday had ended with an announcement. This morning began with proof that you were here.
Not in the abstract way a signed contract made someone real, but in the ordinary details. A pair of shoes by the door, or a mug resting on the kitchen counter and the faint smell of tea drifting through the apartment.
From where he stood, he could only see part of you. One shoulder and the sleeve of your oversized t-shirt. Steam curled lazily between you and the window. You looked at ease. Or maybe that wasn't it.
You looked like someone who'd realised the apartment was easiest to exist in before everyone else woke up. That thought lodged itself somewhere unpleasant.
Back in the conference room, he'd watched you do what anyone would've done. Your eyes had moved from face to face, lingering just long enough to build a first impression before moving on to the next. You hadn't looked nervous so much as... careful.
Careful people were usually trying to answer the same question. 'Am I safe here?' He really did wonder what answer you'd found.
Juhoon had just existed. He'd moved his things without complaint. Made room in the bedroom. None of it had been unkind. None of it had been particularly kind, either. That was the frustrating part. He knew, with uncomfortable certainty, how yesterday might have looked from your side. A room full of strangers. Three of them trying, in their own ways. Two of them barely saying enough to leave an impression.
If he'd been a better person, perhaps he would've walked over before everyone dispersed. Asked if you needed anything, whether six years of waiting had made the past few days feel like a relief or another disappointment. Said something—anything—that wasn't technically required.
Instead, he'd done what came easiest. He'd kept to himself. It wasn't because he didn't care. It was because he was tired.
Because he'd spent the last year and a half with his head buried in practice rooms, learning choreography instead of conversation. Because talking to new people had never become easier, no matter how many evaluations he passed. Because sometimes, after a long enough day, even kindness felt like something that required planning. Back then days passed without him noticing how little he'd spoken.
Then Martin had started dragging him into conversations he would've happily avoided. James refused to let silence survive for more than a minute. Keonho asked questions about anything that crossed his mind, and Seonghyeon had a way of sitting beside him without expecting words at all.
Somewhere between late-night convenience store runs and practice rooms, they'd done the talking until it stopped feeling like work. By the time Juhoon realised it, being around them had become easy and comfortable.
He hadn't had to introduce himself in a long time and he had forgotten that, for everyone else, he still had to. None of those reasons would have mattered to you. Silence didn't come with subtitles. All you'd seen was a boy who barely spoke.
He let out a slow breath. Regret was funny like that. Adjusting the towel on his shoulder, Juhoon finally stepped into the living room.
"Morning."
The word caught him completely off guard, and Juhoon looked up a fraction too quickly. You had now turned around and he had no idea because he was too busy mentally monologuing.
The kettle had already gone quiet. Steam curled lazily from the mug in your hands as you stirred your tea with slow, absent circles, as though you'd known he was standing there.
"...Morning" he replied back, but it came a beat too late. You just lifted the mug, blew across the surface then took a careful sip, your gaze lingering on nothing in particular for another moment before setting the spoon quietly beside the sink. Unfinished silence filled in the blanks. He could've asked if you'd slept well. Whether the room had been warm enough or whether the tea tasted alright (of course it did, dumbo)
None of them were difficult questions, they only felt that way. His mouth opened, yet nothing came. The conversation, if it could even be called one, had ended almost as soon as it'd begun. Oddly enough, that should've made things easier. If anything, it made him more aware of how much thinking he'd done over a single word.
He wondered if this was the version of him you'd settled on: the one who answered when spoken to, then disappeared back into himself before a conversation could begin. The thought stung more than he expected. He couldn't even slap an 'It's unfair' onto it, because in the back of his mind he knew, that it wasn't.
Yesterday, he'd convinced himself you probably wanted to be left alone. This morning, you'd greeted him before he'd managed to gather the courage to do it himself (so much for that theory.) He'd managed to spend the better part of his morning preparing for a conversation that had lasted less than three seconds.
Now he found himself doing what he always did whenever he reached the edge of uncertainty. Nothing, because every sentence suddenly felt heavier than it should've. He'd never understood people who could talk to strangers as though they'd known them for years.
Maybe they really were that comfortable. Maybe they were just better at pretending than him. He gave a small nod you probably didn't even see, turned quietly on his heel, and walked back down the hallway.
Juhoon sat on the edge of his bed, the towel still draped around his shoulders, and unlocked his phone. The announcement was exactly where he'd left it yesterday. He stared at it for a moment before opening the comments.
hybe really found another crazy talent I'm sure
Wonder why they added him so late.
I'm getting wooyoung flashbacks oh my atiny heart 💔
Five was more than enough tho... gonna trust hybe ig
It wasn't the first time he'd read the last comment. The strange part was that he understood what people meant. Not because five was somehow better than six, and certainly not because you didn't belong. It was just that, somewhere over the last year and a half, five had stopped being a number and had become habit. Maybe that was why the last few days had felt so strange.
Nothing had been taken away from them. No one had left. They were still the same five people they'd been the days before. The only difference was that now there was someone new learning the shape of a life they'd already settled into, while they quietly learned how to make room for someone else. It wasn't resentment. If anything, it was the opposite. He found himself hoping the adjustment wouldn't be harder for you than it already had to be.
A sleepy groan pulled him from the though. James rolled onto his back with all the enthusiasm of someone personally offended by consciousness.
"Awake long?" he mumbled.
"A little."
James cracked one eye open, spotted the phone in Juhoon's hand and grimaced sleepily, "....comments?"
Juhoon gave a small hum.
"Bad idea," James muttered, scrubbing his hand over his face before rolling over and squishing his face into the pillow, "Internet's weird—" He trailed off with a loud yawn. Juhoon looked back down at the screen. His thumb hovered over the comment one last time before he locked the phone and set it beside him. Five had become effortless. He supposed six would too. Yet he wasn't sure whether that made him unfair or not.
James dragged the blanket over his shoulder with a sleepy groan before going still again. Juhoon smiled despite himself.
A moment later, footsteps sounded in the hallway. Juhoon glanced up as you appeared in the doorway, a mug of tea cupped between both hands. You didn't say anything as you crossed the room, lowering yourself onto the mattress with a quiet exhale before setting the mug carefully on the floor beside you.
It struck him, not for the first time, how little space you seemed to take up.
Your suitcase was tucked neatly beneath the window and the blanket had already been folded away. Even now, you sat close to the edge of the mattress, shoulders slightly drawn in, as though instinct had taught you to fit yourself around other people's lives rather than expect them to shift around yours.
The thought lingered longer than he expected.
James let out a low groan and rolled onto his back, squinting against the morning light. He lay there for a second before pushing himself upright, his spine protesting loudly enough to make him wince. "Jesus..." He rubbed at the back of his neck with a grimace. "I'm getting old."
Silence.
James blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes, finally noticing you sitting by the window. There was a brief pause—no more than a heartbeat—as he remembered the room wasn't just theirs anymore.
"...Oh."
James glanced between you and Juhoon, then scratched absently at his hair, looking as though he had something in mind, then seemed to think better of it. Whatever he'd been about to say dissolved into a small yawn. The silence returned, familiar enough for Juhoon, though it seemed to settle differently now. Not tense though. Just aware.
James eventually disappeared into the hallway without much ceremony. One moment he was sitting there, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and the next he was dragging himself toward the door with a vague promise to wake everyone else up. A few seconds later, the apartment started responding to him. Like a door opening, some muffled complaints. Someone telling him to stop and another insisting they were awake when they clearly weren't.
This was all familiar chaos to Juhoon, which slowly returned, filling the spaces between rooms.
Juhoon remained on his bed, phone loose in his hand. Across from him, you sat on the mattress with your tea beside you, looking out the window.
Yesterday, he would've taken your silence as a sign that something was wrong. That maybe you were uncomfortable or maybe he should be doing something to fix it. Now he wasn't so sure.
His eyes drifted briefly to the windowsill.
The stuffed rabbit sat where you'd left it, slightly worn, one ear bent differently from the other, stitched with blue thread. It didn't match the rest of the room. While everything else still looked temporary—the suitcase, the half-empty wardrobe, the mattress that had clearly been added at the last minute, that looked like something that had already survived a few places before this one.
Juhoon looked away almost immediately. It felt strange noticing something that personal when he barely knew you. He didn't ask about it, maybe because he wasn't sure if curiosity was the same thing as care.
The noise from the hallway grew louder. James had apparently succeeded in waking someone else, judging by the complaining that followed.
Time had a quiet way of disappearing inside the apartment.
Somewhere between the kettle cooling and James bullying Keonho out of bed, morning had fully arrived. The hallway had become a constant stream of footsteps, bathroom doors opening and closing, sleepy complaints, and someone insisting they were already awake while proving the exact opposite. Martin's voice drifted through it every now and then, calm enough to keep everything moving without ever needing to compete with the noise (which Juhoon admitted was slightly uncharacteristic for him.)
The bedroom, somehow, remained untouched. Juhoon had changed into a fresh T-shirt and was sitting cross-legged on his bed, absentmindedly looping and unlooping the drawstring of his sweatpants. Across from him, your empty mug rested on the floor beside the mattress. Neither of you had spoken since exchanging good mornings in the kitchen.
The tea was gone. You reached down for the mug and rose from the mattress, turning toward the door with the vague intention of taking it back to the kitchen, when the door burst open.
"Has anyone seen my black hoodie?"
James walked in, towelling his damp hair as he spoke. He didn't wait for an answer, crossing straight to the wardrobe and digging through a pile of clothes for all of three seconds before pulling something free with a triumphant, "There you are."
He turned and kept his eyes somewhere else, "Jju, catch."
The hoodie was already in the air. Juhoon barely had time to realise what was happening before it sailed straight past James. You had barely taken two steps.
Fwhump.
Something soft collided with your face, the oversized black hoodie swallowing your vision in an instant. The fabric landed squarely over your face.
James froze with one arm still half outstretched and Juhoon stared while you, very slowly reached up, and peeled the hoodie off your head, and looked at it for a second before looking back at James.
"...Right," colour rushed to James's ears.
"I keep forgetting."
He crossed the room in three quick steps, taking the hoodie back with an awkward nod before pulling it over his head. His face disappeared for a moment, reappearing through the collar with his hair sticking up in every direction.
"My bad."
He glanced between the two of you before pointing vaguely toward the hallway.
"Martin said we're leaving in... ten? Fifteen?"
"Ten," Martin called from somewhere outside the room. James winced. He scratched the back of his neck, muttered something under his breath about Keonho still being "ninety percent asleep," and wandered back out.
Juhoon looked down at the drawstring between his fingers. He let the thoughts sit for a moment before glancing up.
"...He forgets where he's throwing things." It wasn't much of an explanation.
Probably not a very good one. But it was the closest he could get.
"It's fine," you muttered, then looked at him for a moment. Just with that same quiet, unreadable expression you'd worn that day in the conference room, as though your brain had wandered off somewhere before remembering it was supposed to answer. Juhoon recognized that look.
A light knock sounded against the bedroom door. Martin didn't step inside. He rarely seemed to occupy more space than he needed to.
"The producer called," his gaze found you, "He wants to meet with you before we head to practice." You looked at him, the empty mug still in your hands.
"He said there are a few things he wants to go over."
Nothing in his expression hinted at urgency. It sounded like another item on the morning's schedule. You sighed, but it was inaudible, "Okay."
"We're leaving in ten." He glanced at Juhoon before giving a single nod and moving on. Already halfway down the hallway by the time his words were registered by the two teenagers inside the room.
You stood there for another moment before humming quietly to yourself. There wasn't much else to say.
You rinsed out your mug, changed into work appropriate clothes, slipped your notebook into your backpack, and gave your pockets a quick pat—phone, wallet and earphones. The order never really changed. It was one of the few things that didn't.
By the time you were done, the apartment was already in motion. Somewhere behind you, Seonghyeon emerged with his phone already in one hand, looking as though he'd been awake for hours despite evidence to the contrary.
Martin checked the lock of the door once out of habit, and headed downstairs. The others followed without thinking. It was the sort of rhythm that only appeared after living together long enough to stop discussing the small things.
Outside, the black Carnival waited by the curb. Martin climbed into the front passenger seat. James disappeared into one of the seats mid-conversation, picking up a story he'd apparently been telling before he'd even opened the car door, Keonho slid in after him, still looking faintly betrayed by the existence of mornings.
You waited until Juhoon settled in before you climbed in last beside the window, and closed the door, followed by the familiar chorus of seatbelts clicking into place.
Almost without thinking, you reached into your pockets for your tangled-wire earphones. You slid them inside your ears, the edge gently resting against your waiting ear. Before you pressed play on anything, shutting out the car without quite shutting out the people inside it.
The recording studio was more ordinary than you'd expected. Disappointingly so.
Computers hummed softly beneath the desk, cables coiled across the floor, and somewhere behind the glass an air conditioner rattled to itself. The room smelled faintly of coffee and warm electronics, with the sharp, almost chemical scent of acoustic foam lingering beneath it.
"Let's have a look." He sighed, while the monitor flickered to life, revealing the session file. Tracks filled the screen in neat rows, each labelled with a member's name. Harmonies stacked beneath lead vocals, ad-libs tucked into their own colours, every waveform sitting exactly where someone had decided it belonged weeks ago.
Martin's voice opened the track, steady and familiar before James slipped in on the next line. Juhoon carried the verse forward, Seonghyeon's harmony tucked neatly beneath his, until Keonho's voice rounded out the phrase. One after another, the arrangement unfolded exactly as it had been written, each part handing itself to the next so naturally that it was difficult to imagine the song any other way.
First was Go! Then was FaSHioN, and then Joyride, then the other tracks.
The producer paused the playback of 'Joyride', halfway through the second verse and dragged his cursor lower down the session. A new track appeared beneath the others, sitting there with nothing but the word Untitled beside it.
"That's yours."
The empty track looked strangely out of place beneath five finished ones, as though the software itself hadn't quite caught up with the decision either.
"The problem isn't recording another vocal," the producer said cooly, zooming into the chorus. "It's that every part here was arranged for five voices. If we simply drop another one into the harmonies, everything starts fighting for the same space."
He highlighted a handful of tracks and nudged them around, letting everyone watch the arrangement shift across the screen.
Martin leaned forward slightly. "But like," He started, pausing and glancing at the producer, "We can leave the structure alone right?"
"For the most part," the producer replied, though he didn't sound convinced. "Some sections can stay exactly as they are. Others..." He stopped, dragging the cursor over the pre-chorus before circling back to the chorus. "I don't know...something has to give."
"What about the pre-chorus?" Seonghyeon asked, leaning back in his chair. Every head turned toward the screen as the producer zoomed in.
"If we split it three ways—" He stopped himself halfway through the sentence, "...someone loses half a line."
Nobody spoke for a while.
The session file remained open on the monitor, five coloured tracks stacked neatly above a sixth that sat empty beneath them. The producer scrubbed back and forth across the timeline, stopping every few seconds to replay another section. Every answer seemed to uncover a different problem.
Martin leaned back in his chair, raking a hand slowly through his hair before letting it settle against the back of his neck. His notebook had been open for nearly ten minutes yet the page was still blank.
"If the chorus changes..." James said eventually, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the monitor, "the formations change too."
No one interrupted him.
"The centre changes, the transitions. Partner work." He paused, mentally running through choreography only he could see. "Every camera rehearsal."
"Plus the blocking," Martin added quietly.
James gave a small nod, "Yeah."
The room fell silent again.
Across the table, Seonghyeon reached for the mouse, zooming into the chorus before sliding over to the bridge and back again. His expression hardly shifted, but his fingers lingered over the waveform a little longer this time.
"What about the harmonies?"
"They move with the arrangement," the producer replied.
"And the ad-libs?"
"We'd have to rewrite those."
"The guide track?"
"We'll cut another one."
Seonghyeon sat back, "So we're basically rebuilding the whole thing."
Your eyes never left the screen.
For six years, you'd imagined debut in a hundred different ways. Recording booths, album jackets, and music show stages. You'd never imagined watching someone else's work being pulled apart to make room for you. The worst part? Nobody even blamed you. That somehow made it worse.
The producer broke the silence by closing the session. The coloured waveforms disappeared from the monitor, replaced by a blank desktop.
"There's no point deciding anything until we know what we're working with." He looked over at you. "I've heard your evaluations."
He shrugged, "They're evaluations." Martin picked up a pair of studio headphones and held them out, and the producer gestured toward the vocal booth beyond the glass.
"I'd rather hear your actual tone."
The heavy door eased shut behind you with a soft click, muting the room beyond the glass. Someone reached for the keyboard. The producer turned back to the monitor, and the conversation that had filled the studio only minutes ago dissolved into an attentive silence. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Martin leaning forward over the table, Seonghyeon's notebook lying open beside him. The rest became little more than reflections in the glass.
The engineer's voice crackled through your headphones, "Can you hear me?"
You adjusted one earcup, "Yeah."
A few keys clicked on the other side of the glass.
"We're not recording anything yet. We just want to hear where your voice naturally sits." It was Martin's voice. Calm and collected but you know that moments before he was rubbing the bridge of his nose, completely and utterly frustrated
The producer leaned toward the talkback, "Don't overthink it. Just sing."
You almost smiled.
Six years of training had made overthinking less of a bad habit and more of a reflex, "What do you want me to sing?"
"Start from the first verse of Joyride, Lets see."
"The original?" He nodded at your question.
The instrumental faded into your headphones.
You closed your eyes—not because you were nervous, but because it was easier to hear the pitch that way.
The first note left your mouth with the same control it always had. Careful, measured, instinctive. Years of practice had long since turned that much into muscle memory.
The producer watched the session more than he watched you, his eyes drifting between the waveform, the level meters, and the arrangement on his screen. Halfway through the verse, he dropped a marker onto the timeline before letting you finish as you faded into the chorus of Joyride.
The last note faded, and for a moment, nobody moved.
The producer rewound to the beginning of the verse, listening to the first line before skipping ahead. He paused in the middle, then near the end, replaying the same three words twice before soloing your vocal. The instrumental disappeared, came back, then disappeared again as he dragged your temporary track beneath the existing session.
Keonho frowned, "What?"
His question went unanswered. Instead, the producer muted Martin's harmony, played the section, then Juhoon's. One came back while the other stayed muted and he listened again.
Nobody in the room said a word. Juhoon had unconsciously leaned closer to the speakers, while even Seonghyeon had stopped pretending to write.
The playback ended. The producer stayed looking at the screen for another second before leaning back in his chair with a sigh, "I kinda see it."
A few of the people replied with a question, a small 'See what?' under their breaths.
He nodded toward the speakers. "Listen," He played it again.
This time, your voice settled naturally into the arrangement—not squeezing for a space above Martin's, not beneath Seonghyeon's. It filled a space in the harmony that nobody had realized was empty until it wasn't.
The producer finally looked up, meeting your eyes through the glass.
"...I get why they put you here." He nodded thoughtfully.
His hand rested on the mouse as he glanced back at the arrangement. "I thought we'd have to rewrite half this song." A small shake of his head, "Turns out we don't."
Martin let out a slow breath of relief, leaning back in his chair. "So we're not starting from scratch."
"No." The producer zoomed out, studying the session one last time before a faint smile crossed his face. "We've already got somewhere to start."
Across the table, Seonghyeon finally lowered his eyes to his notebook. This time, when his pen touched the page, it didn't stop.
"You've got a little more texture than I was expecting." He clicked the mouse, replaying the same line. "Your voice isn't chasing the top end. That's why it works."
You handed Martin the headphones as you stepped out of the booth, absently smoothing the front of your jacket. Maybe talent had always been a translation problem.
You'd spent six years trying to explain yourself, as you rounded off edges, chased notes that never wanted you, and mistaked versatility for disappearance.
Then a producer you'd met less than an hour ago listened to a minute worth of it all and translated your voice into something useful. Craftsmen rarely loved their materials. They learned what each one was built to survive, where it bent without breaking, where it fit.
Maybe people weren't so different. Maybe all anyone had ever wanted from you wasn't brilliance. Just placement.
"I'm going to get some air."
Martin glanced up from where he was slouched on the floor of the dance practice room, "Ten minutes."
You nodded once and headed for the door.
"Wait."
Keonho was already on his feet, stretching until something in his back gave an audible crack, "I'll grab drinks." It sounded less like an offer and more like something he'd remembered halfway through standing up.
By the time you reached the door, Keonho had caught up. For a brief second, the two of you stalled in front of it before he stepped aside, gesturing toward the hallway, "...After you."
You slipped past him. The studio door shut loudly behind you both.
The corridor stretched ahead, long and quiet. Neither of you spoke. Keonho kept his hands buried in the pocket of his hoodie; yours stayed tucked into your trousers. Your footsteps echoed faintly against the polished floor, falling into an accidental rhythm as you walked.
Just two strangers heading in the same direction, neither of them feeling particularly obligated to fill the silence.
The vending machines sat at the end of the corridor beneath a row of fluorescent lights that buzzed just loudly enough to be noticed. Keonho stopped in front of them, digging a handful of coins from the pocket of his hoodie, "You want anything?"
You shook your head as he nodded once, fed the machine, and pressed the button for a sports drink
The motor whirred, then stopped, whirred again—yet nothing dropped. He pressed the button again, yet again the same mechanical hum but the drink remained where it was.
He leaned forward, squinting through the glass as if that might somehow help, "Seriously?"
Without saying anything, you reached into your pocket for a coin, "I've got one."
He looked over almost immediately.
"No, it's fine."
"It didn't work."
"I know."
"Uh," He rubbed the back of his neck, already sounding faintly embarrassed, "I've already paid for this one so...I should probably get this one first."
You stared at the green Gatorade, "It isn't coming."
"I know," He stared at it for another second before giving the side of the machine a tentative tap with the heel of his hand.
His shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, as he sighed disappointedly.
A light tap landed between your shoulder blades. Both Keonho and you looked behind you at the sudden interruption.
For a moment, your brain searched for a name before your memory caught up. Then it hit you.
"...Yujin?"
Her eyes widened.
"I knew that was you."
She laughed, half in disbelief. "I was looking at you from down the hall and I was like there's no way that's her!"
A small smile tugged at your mouth, "Hey"
"Hey?" She looked offended, "That's all I get after disappearing for, what... two years?"
You huffed a small tired laugh, "Has it really been that long?"
"Yep," she nodded, "Just about."
You smiled, for the first time in quite some time. Your cheeks ached, but it was nothing compared to the relief you felt to see a familiar face after so long.
"You look," she paused as if searching for the right word, "Older."
"Ouch?" She grinned, before adding a, "Nah- you just look tired, that's it—Oh!" She quite literally jumped, grabbing both of your hands, "I heard the news. I'm so proud of you."
Once you could've carried those words home and turned them over for weeks, polishing them until they shone. Now they reached you the same way everything else did. Slightly muffled, slightly delayed, as though they belonged to someone standing right behind your shoulder.
"Y/n?" You jumped, eyes snapping towards her in an instant. She frowned, "You're eating properly right?" Behind you, Keonho straightened suddenly, and pressed the button multiple times. Frustration bordering anger (or so you think.)
Your head shook up and down before you'd even thought about it, "Yeah." The lie slipped out clean. Not that it mattered clearly. Trainees and idols skipped meals all the time. Half the people in this building probably lived on caffeine and convenience store kimbap. There was nothing unusual about it.
Yujin watched you for another second, Then, mercifully, she let it go.
"You know..." A smile crept back onto her face. "I still remember you arguing with all those trainees back then. Good times." She sighed.
"I wasn't really arguing, " you retorted, but there was no anger behind it, "It was a minor disagreement."
"You told some of them they were wasting everyone's time."
"...cause they kind of were," You shrugged. A laughed slipped out of her involuntarily, "Some things never change."
You almost said, some things do. Instead you let the thought pass. Yujin glanced down at her watch and her smile faltered, "I gotta go back before they start looking for me."
"Mm," you nodded before she took a step back, "It was nice meeting you again, I'll see you around I guess."
"Don't disappear on me for two years again."
She laughed loudly, lifted a hand in mock salute, "I'll try ma'am," before she disappeared down the hallway.
The corridor was silent again. You glanced over at Keonho, "We used to train together.." His followed Yujin's disappearing figure down, with his eyes before humming a 'Figured so' under his breath.
"The vending machine," he said at last, "still isn't working."
The bottle was still stubbornly pressed against the glass inside the machine. Rubbing his neck, he sighed, "Guess water it is."
The walk back was as silent as the walk before but this time it didn't feel as u familiar as it did before.
When the two of you stepped back into the practice room, the music wasn't playing. That, more than anything, made you pause.
Juhoon was sitting cross-legged on the floor and Martin stood over his shoulder, one hand braced against the back of a chair as he read whatever was on the screen that their manager held out in front of him. The atmosphere was laced with confusion.
The sort of confusion that made people reread the same thing over and over, hoping it'd change the second time around.
Keonho slowed behind you, "Who died?" His attempt at poor humour was not noticed by neither the already stressed leader nor the members. James didn't look, but beckoned Keonho closer. There was no sense of urgency on his face, just bewilderment.
Keonho crossed the room, stopping beside him. "...What is it?"
Martin pinched the bridge of his nose with a slow groan, "Are you fucking kidding me?"
James let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "No, seriously."
❤️🔥 i take that as a yes. (18+ MDNI) │ZORO x bounty hunter!reader fic [5k]
💦 summary ⇥ the handsome swordsman on your hit list clearly has an oral fixation.
⚠️ no ai prompts used, all writing is original ♡︎
[🔥T A G S .] » smut, hooking up, lethal doggy & ride combo to K.O. your local swordsman ⚔️, masturbation + oral (f receives, guy's a pleaser), intox kink, licking feet, using a katana for clit stim, zoro is obsessed w/ pussy & deepthroating his booze bottle he is so bisexual 🌈😭, harmless use of haki during sex, unclear dom/sub roles
[ read it on ao3 ]
↬ aye @ all my fellow zoro girlies don't forget to reblog & comment if you liked it, enjoy 🫦👋🏼
💌 a/n. zoro = king of the mating press 🥴🥳 OPLA is bringing all the zoro hard hours mood right back, it simply had to be written. cause i fucking love me a good 'pretend enemies to bed chem explosion' trope 😏✌🏼 especially when he has the stamina
Upon your request, Zoro teased your clit with the golden hilt of Kitetsu, however not opting to poke it through your panties too much. Everything in easy moderation: At first. The sheath, of course, was still on, and the ship gym was locked twice: You already were one sneaky intruder enough.
„C’mon. Just make me drunk already,“ he continued to pretty much growl in your ear, but with a smirk so humored, Zoro was barely as intimidating as his recent grisly bounty picture had suggested. The scars, dark clothes and everything. He was actually quite charismatic now that you saw him up close. The scary poster was good promo, though.
Seated and somehow crooked, Zoro leaning against the wooden wall panels of the gym so very cheekily, lazily, bottle in hand, was all too inviting anyway.
The money you could collect for catching him could honestly wait. The fight you’d have, too.
Those pants were too tight not to peel off first, which you did, no time to waste.
Hooking your red lacquered nails into his training gear, which seemed both modern and traditional in tailoring, gave you a real high. Tight waist… toned hips. So nice. Master of the blade, Zoro had no pubes to speak of, either. Everything nice and groomed, all the way down from his hardbody abs that truly made you stop and stare. Zoro had no problems being your eye candy. He just felt a lot of thirst.
„You want to provoke? Open your mouth, then,“ you picked up his generously full bottle, undoubtedly the size of the tent in his wrap underwear. Zoro did as you said, downing the first gulp, or rather a series of it, with a satisfied chuckling sound. More than a quarter of the delicious fizzy liquor was gone in a hot minute or less. You really wanted him inside, damn. The smell of sea salt in his spiked-up hair mixed with his laissez-faire body language really was a surefire bull‘s eye for you.
„That one gives me such a buzz,“ he confirmed, letting the rough taste linger on his aggravated tongue. „If only we could take this a little further, Miss. It’s not like we can sword fight if my crew mates are asleep. We need an… alternative for that, heh.“
You damn well did. This place clearly wasn’t big enough to go all out with the pompous slices and jabs and lunges and jumps and 360 attacks, was it.
Well then. A second swallow, and a lousy third, until you put the bottle down to remove your underwear rather unceremoniously. Time to speed this up a little. Zoro admired what he saw with a huge, bold smile pretty much immediately.
You were turned on like crazy from hearing his husky voice ask you this alone.
One of the bouncy black training mattresses that Zoro often used to buffer jumps - and to protect the floor from dumbbells… plus himself - he quickly pulled close to raise his brows towards, suggesting rather than urging. He came on strong, and his ambition was not a lie, but he was laid-back as hell, too.
„So… What position does my assassin fancy before taking me out?“
That just had to make you laugh.
Zoro had been fascinating you ever since the news broke how a former pirate hunter now loyally chopped up island tyrants for the craziest, most fantastic-elastic individual of all time (for heaven’s sake, Monkey D. Luffy’s bounty could settle your village for fifty lifetimes). So why not seek him out if he’s in the vicinity of your hunting grounds, you thought.
Why not? You dared yourself to get some pretty dick. Entire islands spoke about how great sword number four looked after people were spying on him in the local onsens. Peeping being a creep move aside… Just paying him a visit with clear intentions seemed to pay off quite pleasantly, with no onsen needed to undress this stellar body of his. The bulge you’d uncovered had an impressive straight shape and much to hold on to. Unwrapping him further, you really did start to get to the bottom of things.
This is what you came for.
A tan flush bordering coral depth around the sculpted, balanced tip, a sleek shaft between crazy girth and wispy slimness. And yes, above: A line that separated where the sun had kissed his torso right above his belt seam. It should have looked funny, but Zoro made it work. Especially because he was completely erect already.
„Geez… You know damn well,“ you climbed onto the mattress after deciding to go forward with this, liking what you saw. On all fours, suggestive: Catty, but curling your feet. Zoro could see everything from where he sat like a darn statue. Even your top came off now. Statue was no more, he started moving. Time to join his esteemed guest on the feathery mattress.
What a nice fucking outline, he thought to himself, almost half mumbled, that female form just has to be more beautiful than almost any katana on earth.
Even if he’d betrayed the profession and title you now held, it was obvious he couldn’t resist a little blast from the past. Of course fellow bounty hunters flirted with one another. It was only natural, given how their rivalry for the next big catch was a hotbed for tensions turning sexual.
Though, this wasn’t about ex-pirate hunter meets active pirate hunter anymore, was it.
This was about carnal interest, not monetary plans and pirate reps. Shit bounty be damned. He wanted this, too. A Roronoa Zoro wasn’t easily seduced, but if a lady with a sword waltzed in to take him hostage, maybe he should barter with his body assets. A kenshi never knows what floats somebody’s pirate boat, right. Why not give this a try. You looked beyond appetizing, Zoro couldn’t lie.
„Hey. Nice toes,“ he bit his lips, and picked up your left foot with ease. Did he want to bend you into some exercising positions? Pump up the gym? It was plausible enough, if you were being honest. He probably found it arousing to make a woman fit and sporty. But… judging by his following antics, no.
Enthused, Zoro started licking up and down your foot’s sensitive arch, your calves, and even the back of your thighs, even if he had to twist himself a little to reach down, fairly tall as he was. But who was he if the muscle tree couldn’t bend a couple branches.
Zoro’s potty mouth had a mind of its own there to begin with.
Eventually, and you’d looked forward to this, he used his naughty rice wine lips to pleasure you from behind, unafraid to get close. His sharp facial features, his sharp kenshi tongue. Right on the spot. Well, why’d he ever miss? Target practice was key for swordsmen. The unapologetic level of suction told you he practiced on those whiskey bottles of his (maybe to simulate the male genitalia as well – Zoro wasn’t rumored to be picky with bedmates on the Grand Line), didn’t he. Naughty as he was, Zoro mumbled just how much he couldn’t stop. And that went on for a good ten minutes or so.
„Tasty as fuck. Why didn’t you show up earlier, hmph…“
Not much later and Zoro was putting sword four to some depth work. You just couldn’t stand it anymore and propped your ass up on his abs, making the next step all too easy.
Judging how he kept you in motion, his grind game was naturally good. Drunk and humming happy tunes, Zoro played away at your clit while slowly swaying in and out, balls tucked away by his samurai belting. Those… were just too big and uncontrollable to be released into the wild just yet. Maybe on a later occasion. This was precision work. And a good way to train stamina.
Shit, it felt amazing inside. Meaty, slick, and spongy, pressing him and providing a vacuum effect that made the pirate more delirious than sake ever could. Regardless, maybe out of habit, he grabbed the familiar wine bottle to guzzle just about the next quarter, nearing the last sparkly third. Some liquid ran down his shaved chin and dropped onto your back. Shivers.
Zoro couldn’t be more glad someone this horny showed up to get his head for cash.
Well, he did give you money. Bribing you to have an incentive not to stab him in his drunk sleep, essentially. He knew bounty hunters loved the Berry, and the Berry loved them. Nami would kill him. He’d say he spent it on an island map to pacify her later.
You did get Zoro‘s head for this, though. In two senses of the word. And hey, you thought he was hot shit, too: Weren’t you supposed to pay him? Zoro looked like a fucking top tier stripper! Body for the gods, hair styled, three swords, and protection ready? Of course you wanted him from behind. And he did not just plow away mindlessly.
What Zoro did in the 3D was always deliberate. His entire position was well-thought-out.
„Amazing pussy… you should see this.“
You were panting hard already. Zoro was in deep.
„W-what should I see?“
„Heh. Everything about it.“
Shit. You already stuttered. This guy was unbelievable.
Everything about it.
The inside muscle squeezing him, the lips all stretched outside. How soaked you were, and clingy, soft. Sucking him in so tightly. Yeah, he didn’t even bother retracting too much. Just staying nicely up close. Steady, pumping, and controlled.
He wanted to impress you, not go berserk. This could never make him lose his cool. If he pounded the ever-loving shit out of you like a crazy drill machine, you’d probably kill him with your devil fruit powers to begin with. Zoro knew he didn’t stand a chance. Nor did he want it to be painful, brief. The way you’d wanted to kidnap him had just been way too promising.
This was a whole progression of mutual teases, he very well understood that.
„Fuck, Zoro. Just put those hands on my shoulders already,“ you spurred him, then: Hot in the face.
„Someone loves to pull and grip me, huh.“
„And someone is addicted right away.“
„Hell yes, hah. Exactly that.“
Damn, this guy was big and gorgeous. But he was careful, and it made you moan.
Zoro’s veiny, tipsy hands being all grabby at your breast gave away just how deprived he’d been, especially with the muscled reflection in the mirror that was hard and taut. But this was just right up his alley. A drop-dead sexy woman coming for his ass personally, with a luxury jewel sword able to cut cliffs and cements?
Sign him up.
Zoro already knew how the bounty industry worked: And didn’t even care. It wasn’t hard to tell you’d tracked him down because you were curious. Any ambitious hunter would have caught him solitary on an island and would have already tortured out vital info. Who the fuck would use a tiny boat to come to a ship with several wanted superpirates governed by „Steel Fist“ Nami The Smart? Hunting a former bounty expert who uses his teeth to do sword fights only using one eye? Led by Rubber Man 2.0?
You were either a lunatic, an amateur, suicidal, or extremely bright and stronger than the whole damn crew.
… or literally just a horndog ready to rip his clothes off, so.
Zoro wasn’t too worried given how you‘d revealed yourself from the shadow of his hammock early, having tied his hands with his headband. And properly. He was such a slut for this.
He’d seen the glare of your silver sword. Wavy and diamond-laced, pointed, and expensive as hell. Fuck, he wanted to try it so bad. Or fight it. Both was a nice test. You probably paid the blade by catching – and frying - a real big fish. To convince the Marines you were actually doing your job.
Truth be told, Zoro had such a boner for strong opponents. Were you a stalker? A ninja? A mobster? Shit, that is so foxy of her. How did you even get inside the ship without disturbing Chopper’s fine deer senses. Didn’t Sanji’s heart eyes activate as soon as a woman was within a five-mile reach? You knew your chops.
After you woke him, he just got up and followed you to the gym without waking anyone else in the room (even though he got lost twice). Yes, even in the dim light, he‘d recognized your equipment and way of moving. That could only be a pirate hunting sleuth: Good old days, huh. You even – albeit very threateningly - untied his hands so he could drink to that.
It was just a game. No real attack there (yet). He’d be dead and you filthy rich by now if the mission was serious. Or maybe you wanted dick and the bounty? Better give a woman what she asks for, old swordsman rule of law!
As a consequence, instead of devastating the ship with a huge brawl, he just wanted to have sex, too. And good sex. No matter if he was the prey. So, he put major effort into his strokes.
And followed suit with his hands on your shoulders.
You loved it.
Those husky groans were godly. Zoro really savored this. Unlike with Perona’s harassment in the castle, constantly trying to get into his pants, he’d be damned not to agree to this. Best feeling in the world. Frankly, he even struggled his own ass off.
„Ahwh, fuck…“
He understood why Sanji was so crazy about girls, girls, girls.
All day every day. The chef enraged him so because Sanji said the things Zoro thought in his head out loud, although a little more shamelessly, without the respect a swordsmaster should have for the female sex. The rule of a kengō was to never be obtrusive, and only ever accept her if she came to the master by choice rather than making her start on the backfoot: Swordsmen knew the idea of power imbalance very well.
That’s… also why Zoro had a real kink for getting groped.
At least Sanji’s motto was to never lay his hands on a woman. Zoro could get behind this, although he believed in sword fights being an honorable female profession. If you wanted to chop him up, he’d probably admire and enjoy it. But at the end of the day, right in his hammock, Zoro had masturbated for hours on end many times, wishing someone bounced on him in the craziest of ways. He was no better. Albeit less forward than Sanji. He rather enjoyed women being the pushy ones.
And just like that, finally he was free from jacking off. It’s been a while.
„Oh, like this–! Zoro, fuuck! That feels so good!“
Music to his misanthropic ears, which were usually plagued by people nonsense 24/7. He didn’t want to see no damn prostitute. Waste of cash, easily attainable on every island, and it was her job to pretend to like and get him off quickly, mostly to make space for new clients. That was pretty bleak and mechanical to him. Zoro wanted real passion.
Going to bed with one‘s opponent was a swordsman‘s kind of courage.
A shame that Mihawk wasn’t into that kinda stuff besides a bit of psychological domination. His ass was flatter than Zoro’s, and behind that handsome angularity, there didn’t seem to be any chaotic lust. Zoro just didn’t like that type of stiff and dusty vampire daddy. He wanted to kick it with someone seductive who didn’t annoy or scare the living hell out of him, a person confident they really wanted Roronoa Zoro, and Roronoa Zoro’s body especially.
Although he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d survive this later on, you were beyond perfect for that.
„Mhh… you’re gonna touch yourself to all of what we’re doing here, that I know…“
„Tch, just keep it going, now…“
In, out, a slowly tantalizing rhythm thrilled the two of you to a light sweat and a special type of evening heat permeating the room, tempest brewing in the distance: Especially when he found his best angle. That didn’t take too long. He was an athlete. Sword position mattered.
Though Zoro really didn’t want this to end, either. Head thrown back, fully in physical bliss, he tried his best to extend this little retreat you had. Yes, even if he was dizzy from the wine, nose all pink and mouth wide open. He didn’t give a fuck if he looked in any way pathetic. He got his fill, he enjoyed that. Zoro kept it up, and he twitched, and he groaned.
Five minutes later: Same thing. To prevent stagnation, and mostly to see that sexy scarface of his, you asked to ride him casually.
Which Zoro agreed to. If not giddily. That’s what he’d fantasized about.
It was his favorite thing next to pleasuring someone over the counters in Sanji’s treasured kitchen. Or the legs over his shoulder thing, which he wanted to try with you as well (unless you shot him with a hidden gun or something).
So, he leaned back, flopping his heavy frame onto the mattress. Dick crazy hard, standing tall and aching for contact again. What a ginormous tease this guy was. No time to waste, then…
Getting on top of him, Zoro helped you settle your knees and hands in a way that suddenly made everything easier. And Zoro wasn’t stingy with some noise, either. He just let it out freely. Palms on his ripped chest, you picked up the pace and let your body do what it felt like doing.
„Fuck, so beautiful,“ Zoro was left falling apart underneath your grabby fingertips, really feeling it. „Yes, grope my pecs, shit…“
You worked Zoro up until he knew he had to supply you with some hip action to really tap into a more intense bit. Breaths loud and heavy, Zoro turned the prior slip and slide into a scorching push and pull. Circumspect so you wouldn’t contort or fall off, he secured you in place with his swordsman hands: Zoro‘s primary tool of work and life, after all.
„How’s that,“ he grinned. „Is that what you want?“
„Nnngh… Fuck…“
„Tell me more about it.“
„So good… Touch me everywhere… Zoro, please, more.“
„I’m taking that as a yes,“ he was content and restless now, committed to make it perfect. His hands were all over your ass and shoulder blades, your stomach, your thighs. At one point, he kept on going with your breast in his mouth, nipping like no one was watching.
You had to admit that some pirates really were fine as hell.
Fuck, his ultra ripped body in motion made you see rib muscles you’d never seen before. No wonder the guys were queueing for this masterpiece as well, though Zoro was without a doubt a part-time power bottom rather than a sadistic top. Robin was that kind of stone cold domme. You wouldn’t dare pursue her bounty. This woman busted balls harder than Boa Hancock herself (…you’d seen her once. You couldn’t believe she’d switch for Luffy). Zoro, however, was still very impressionable.
First you’d hypnotized him with your ass, now the front view made his eyes go wide, staring at what was happening. Someone was blushing all shades of green and red. Even his heartbeat was brisk now, and this guy never really had a pulse to speak of.
Zoro starting to lick at your neck and arms was the last straw. You were so stimulated, you really wanted to cum. Your counterpart rapidly started to understand this. Observation was everything as a swordsmaster. He couldn’t be fooled.
The view was perfect to masturbate you to orgasm with two skilled fingers, making sure to keep you riding nicely parallel to that. It was so hot and messily wet, you accidentally slipped off and Zoro continued with his hands regardless. He knew not to stop and break your build-up at this point.
Instead, and now the ideal moment came, he folded your legs over his buff shoulders, put his thumb squarely across your swollen clit, and treated you to more of him inside. Truly Zoro’s favorite position. He was so into your legs. And your excited face.
Tongue out, Zoro sent you the sauciest one-eyed wink he could muster, knowing you would not experience the next few minutes without shaking legs. Thumb pressure rising, he rubbed you down despite how difficult it was to do this with wetness everywhere, but he was Zoro doing Zoro things.
Sending you towards the edge, that is.
His tunnel vision glare was gluttonous to see you come, and he wouldn’t go back to sleep without making you reach the top. He just stayed balls deep, knowing you were relaxed and lubricated enough for it, and bent you into a mating press, much to your enjoyment. Zoro’s furious left hand intensely buffed into your clit (was that fucking Haki?), and he was taunting in your ear:
„Pirates do it better. Remember that.“
„Zoro, you’re so—Fuck!“
You could barely keep composure. The stimulation was absolutely reeling. Your eyes rolled back… because the leg shakes did come around the pleasure corner. Zoro took this all in, pumping your pussy without any rhythmic blunders. Spreading your legs ever so expertly.
„Ahhh… That’s the spot! Zoro, please don’t stop!“
He probably didn’t have to bribe you anymore.
He’d prepared you nicely for this: Fully fixated on your eyes with a real conviction. Of course he was the most-wanted swords guy out there. Those finger tips were lightning fast and astoundingly accurate. To the point where you clenched your teeth and braced yourself.
„There it comes.“
„Nh—ahh!“
And this is what I came for. Louder, please.
Zoro slowed down when the first powerful twitches came, making your feet curl as before, only harder. Heartbeat takeover. You climaxed for almost half a minute, the contractions robbing you off your senses temporarily. Because everything was focussed on it. Trusting Zoro, you knew he wouldn’t do anything hasty now, and he didn’t. He just enjoyed the gorgeous show. Smug.
The thumping really was a rapid-fire wave of heatedness, making your whole pussy pulse over an over. Zoro courteously slipped out not to overwhelm you, leaving you breathless anyway. The throbbing carried on for longer.
Jesus, this guy.
Took you a minute to remember anything else.
„Don‘t you wanna cum as well?“
You eventually asked, but Zoro held you by the hips, preventing you from scurrying around and putting him back in.
„Already did,“ he gave another rendition of his goofy grin. „Twenty-five minutes ago, in fact, heh. I knew I was not a match the minute you managed to sneak into the most infamous ship of the seas.“
Your jaw truly hit the floor like it was Franky dissembling.
„W-what? I didn’t notice you came!? Wait a minute.“
Zoro truly drove his own race at all times. Fuck, how did that even happen.
„You really think doggy doesn’t make me lose it? You, from behind... that’s like a good fine rum you find on treasure islands,“ Zoro chuckled to himself, clearly not resenting. „I just held the line from there, ma’am. I’m not a spoilsport like that egocentric eyebrow bitch of a chef.“
Christ, it was 25 minutes ago? Holy crap, Zoro’s discipline. That fucker was next level. He really forced himself to stay convincingly upright and powered through. Cumming this fast, you didn’t expect it from him at all. Were there signs, though?
Well: Yes.
You did notice he was crazy into it right away. But that didn’t stop him. So much so, he even gave you a prime ride with his balls damn empty.
„That must have been painful, though? Zoro-san! You should have said something so we could have paused…“
„Meh. Don’t care if something hurts. Body aches are my life, ma‘am. I only bother if it feels good for you.“
„Zoro, with all due respect. I know that’s pretty cavalier and you’re a pirate. But it’s supposed to be fun for two people.“
„To be honest, you know… I had a good time anyway,“ he postured himself confidently as you knew him, genuinely shrugging, and Zoro really was a badass. There was a reason why his ambitions preceded him. He got shit done. No matter what. He really had you cumming like crazy at 2 in the morning.
If he could keep his dick hard after getting drained, and completely shitfaced at that (didn’t alcohol kill your erection at one point?!), you couldn’t even imagine how superhuman his other gym and sex regimens were. At this point, and the swordsmaster was damn seasoned for his age, did he practice jacking up his dick with his armament haki or some gimmicks like that? Probably. And this dude was only 21. They bickered like anyone else, but the way these strawhats could regulate themselves. That astounded you a lot. Zoro was on top of his game, and didn’t just think about himself at all, you gave him that.
Another reason you would spare him. The Grand Line needed that type of energy nowadays. Selfish pirates, they sucked ass. They just didn’t get it.
„Thank you, then. Zoro…“
„No problem at all, heh.“
„I just didn’t know you had to muster all of that,“ you pulled your top back on. „I didn’t want to go so rough on you.“
Maybe, Zoro really was demonically deranged. Such body control wasn’t for the weak, was it.
„Endurance, practice. Power of will. Every master needs to have it. It’s not like I could help the sexy grip in the first minutes, though, huh. Oi, I’ll do it better next time. But rough is what I like, can’t you tell.“
You were glad you only showed up to see and tease him (should he be as attractive as you hoped, which he was). This crew could probably turn any opponent into minced meat for Sanji’s ready cooking. All with a big ole smile and Brook shaking his bone butt in the background.
„Hah, sure can. Would be a shame not to repeat this and try again some time.“
„Oh… someone’s back for more. Too collect more sex intel on wanted pirates cause you love to blackmail us for fun?“
Oops. You’ve been found out. How could Zoro tell?
„Let me put it like this,“ you pinched at his blushy nose. „It would be a waste to lock you somewhere cold in Impel Down. The whole place would overheat and burst like crazy as soon as you strip down, anyway.“
„You don’t say.“
What a spicy prison break that would be. You imagine the headlines. Jacked Kenshi Greenhead Flees High Security Penitentiary Stark Naked, Rustic Bottle of Beer In Hand and Fifty Mesh-Stocking Drag Queens Supporting Him.
„So, I’d just have to catch you escaping again and again. The tax collectors for Akainu‘s budget and Impel Down itself sure would love that. The people of the Grand Line… not so much. I’d rather watch you cause some havoc and invent some new sword styles. It’s far more entertaining.“
Oh, that just broke the one last bit of ice.
Zoro truly was the happiest mosshead on earth.
The last stations of the crew‘s journey had been exhausting, to say the very battle-laden least.
Even if Zoro was ready for any sacrifice, the swordsman really didn’t want to see his nakama struggle. Luffy almost lost a large-scale fight. The recovery week was awful. This was a welcome change in tone. Tonight was some proper icing on the cake for letting the good times roll now.
To celebrate it, Zoro stood up to catch his favorite light emerald robe. A second one, pitch black and unworn, he gave to you as a gift. And a sign of respect also.
Another master swordsman rule. Don’t give women a reason to feel cold or steal your clothes: Just let them own your wardrobe whole and stay humble!
„Looks like prison needs to wait for me, huh. You should come here often, actually,“ Zoro laughed at his own audacity to say this so drunkenly, but it wasn’t a lie.
„I do reside in a nice bay tavern on the next island… in just about 16 days from now,“ you clicked your tongue, storing the robe in your hunter bag. It was too precious to wear, in your opinion. You’d use it in your sleep instead. „You can join me for dinner before I catch some bad guys the next day, as far as business is concerned.“
„Bay, island, 16 days. Thanks for the pointer,“ he elegantly belted his green gown, then reached for a sweat towel from his exercise supplies. „Although dinner sounds a little too fancy for me. Just say eating and hot stuff later.“
„Eating and booze and hot stuff later,“ you corrected Zoro, all while he got busy cleaning you up, removing protection discreetly after. „You bring your best wine to the tavern backrooms, I get the fun in the sheets.“
„That’s a deal, heh. I’ll put on my greyest cloak for that one when I step off the ship,“ Zoro added with his signature low swordsman twang. „No need for people talking. But the hands tied we can do again.“
„Sounds good to me, sailor. If you want to… we can swap swords for the day, then. I know you wanna test my diamond blade, don‘t you.“
„God. You’re so sexy… Can I really use it? Holy fucking fuck.“
„Alright. I take that as a yes.“
He didn’t even have to nod. Zoro knew this wasn’t the last time you’d have a ton of fun.
Looks like you’d report to the marines that the evil pirate Zoro „pushed you off the ship and made your devil fruit powers defunct“ so you weren’t able to catch him at all. He just escaped.
Until next time.
[ bookmark it on ao3 ]
💋💋💋 final note. finallyyy i made a fic about my favorite swordsmaster character!! especially since it's about him coming into contact with his former profession. i used to write a lot about zoro by hand in my little scrapbook when OP came out on tv in the 2010s but i never published anything. now that i've done a lot of writing on tumblr i figured it was time to come out as a zoro veteran girlie and join the ship crew now that OPLA gives us a crazy rennaissance.
like swordsmen? i also write about levi x reader a lot.
