while I’m here, today’s fic and any future ones will be crossposted to my AO3 if that’s more your jam! anyway go read froggie’s fics so she gets excited and writes more I’m desperate for content thank you
Summary: A taste of freedom leaves you wanting more — and a bounty hunter rolling through your town is more than happy to offer it.
Tags: Fem!Reader, Western AU, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Biting (slight), Multiple Orgasms
Word Count: 3.2k
Notes: This is an unofficial sequel to @froggiewrites' Big Iron, please go read it first if you haven't yet!
It’s been months since your encounter with the outlaw. The gossip has nearly died down, attention moved on from your brief tryst to other, fresher scandals. You have not moved on so well, bourbon doing nothing to dilute the taste of him on your lips.
You haven’t seen him since. It’s probably for the best, you reason, both for your heart and his safety.
The town has been crawling with lawmen ever since— horse upon horse carrying the next self-righteous man that thinks he’ll be the one to catch the outlaw and bring justice to the West. You watch them come, and you watch them go. Most never bother to speak to you. You, in turn, never bother to speak to them, serving their drinks with a thin-lipped smile and slipping their meager tips into your pocket before they get on their way. And you don’t say anything, either, when you see what’s left of them pass back through the other way, a box with a body being returned to wherever it came from. If they found him, it didn’t end well.
Today’s visitor feels… different. He doesn’t have that performative air about him that most of them do. His spurs don’t shine in the sunlight like theirs, dulled with dust and scratches. His gear is weathered, and so is his horse. Both have been in the elements for quite some time. Unassuming, unimpressive. You’d hardly know he was anything other than a regular traveler, were it not for the three— three?— guns on his belt, and the wicked scar across one eye.
That’s not to say he isn’t confident. As he drops himself at your bar, there’s a sparkle in his eye. And unlike every one of them with a shining badge and a brand-new gun that’s found himself at your bar— this one looks at you.
His one good eye looks you up and down for a while, not offering a single word. Eventually you, ever the professional, break the silence.
“What can I get ya?”
“What would you recommend?”
His voice is low, and a little hoarse. He’s been on the road for quite a while.
“Mm…” you pretend to think. “You strike me as a whiskey man. Maybe some lemon and honey for that scratch in your throat.”
The corners of his lips twitch up, the smallest hint of a smile.
“That, then. And maybe some conversation, if you’ve got a minute.”
You survey the bar. Quiet, pretty empty. Your father’s out on a supply run, and shouldn’t be back until dark. A few regulars nurse their drinks and pretend not to watch you, but other than that, it’s just you and him.
“I can spare some time.” You give him a smile and get to mixing his simple drink.
His name is Zoro, he tells you, as you slide him his drink. He’s a bounty hunter, and he’s on the trail of your Blackleg.
He calls him that, not you. Yours. He slips it into his sentence so casually, as if it’s a matter of fact that everyone knows.
For a moment, your resolve cracks.
“What?”
“Blackleg?” He sips his drink, as if nothing happened. “Sanji, if you prefer. Handsome bastard. Good with his hands. But you knew that already.”
You don’t know what to say. You open your mouth to retort back, to argue, to tell him Sanji isn’t your anything, but you decide against it.
He gives a short bark of a laugh when you close your mouth in defeat. And then his gaze darkens, the sudden seriousness piercing you to the core.
“Whatever he gave you, I’ll double it. I just need some information.”
You ponder this. You know he means money, but… well, that’s not what Sanji gave you, now is it?
Focus. Not the point.
“And what makes you think— even if I had met him, which I’m not sayin’ I did— he would have told me anythin’?”
“Oh, he didn’t.” He leans across the bar, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how he towers over you. “He’s smarter than that. But that’s not what I asked, now is it?”
The regulars are staring, now, as you meet his gaze defiantly. He’s big. He would terrify any normal person like this, send them running for the hills before he even drew his gun.
He could rip you in half.
You kind of wish he would.
“And what kind of information are you looking for?”
He finishes his drink without breaking eye contact.
“The kind you’re already giving me, sweetheart.”
You go to take his glass, and his hand catches yours before you can pull away.
“I want to know how you broke him.”
Another customer breaks the spell before he can throw himself over the counter and take you like an animal in front of the whole bar. Which is good, because you kind of think you’d let him.
“Uh… miss?” An unassuming young man calls for your attention from a few stools away. “Sorry to interrupt, I just—“
“You aren’t interruptin’!” You insist, a little too loud. The bounty hunter leans back, a satisfied smirk on his lips. He got to you, and he knows it. You ignore the look, and instead, tell him like any other customer: “I’ll be back with you in a few. Sit tight for me.”
You bounce away to take the other patron’s order. And once you finish making the drink, serving it with a smile, you turn back to the seat where you left the bounty hunter… he’s gone.
—
“I’m goin’ for a walk, Papa. You got cleanup handled?”
Your father is wiping down the last of the glasses after a long night.
“Sure thing. Be safe, would ya? Don’t want you comin’ back with any trouble.”
“Of course. Just need to clear my head.”
And then you’re gone, slipping out the doors and into the dusk that’s settled over your small town.
You don’t know where you’re going. It doesn’t matter, really, because you always end up back in the same spot. A familiar back alley, where just for one brief night, you knew what freedom felt like. Some part of you hopes, every time you come here, that he’ll be waiting for you. That he’ll whisk you away like he promised, call you “princess” and “angel” every day with the same adoration that he did the very first time.
Instead, however, there is a different man waiting for you. The moonlight catches the edges of his form, making him look less like a man and more like a ghost.
“It’s not safe to be out here alone, sweetheart.” He calls to you. “There’s dangerous men about.”
“Maybe that’s the idea.” You reply. “What’s life without a little danger?”
Zoro chuckles, but doesn’t say anything more. You, however, do.
“You skipped out on the bar.” You walk towards him, trying your best not to look nervous.
“I left you money for the bill,” he corrects. “And enough left over for a pretty nice tip for my beautiful bartender.”
“Well… then you skipped out on me. Wasn’t done talkin’ to you.”
“Never thought you were.”
You’ve nearly reached him, now, and you can see that danger in his eye again. His hands rest near his hips, thumbs slipped behind the belt. Calm, yes, but not relaxed— half a breath’s time and he’d have guns in both hands.
“What did you mean I… broke him?”
“Blackleg’s a careful bastard. Most of these sheriffs and officers can’t even get a whiff of a trail to follow him by. But he comes here… and suddenly he’s sloppy. And it could have been anythin’, really. The town, the timing. I couldn’t put my finger on what could have tripped him up. ‘Til I saw you.”
One hand frees itself from his belt to find your waist, pulling you close. You yelp in surprise, and he laughs. The rumble of it in his chest goes straight to your core.
“You’re different than the others. You’ve got spirit. Attitude. I can see why he’s so smitten.”
A twister of emotions swirls up in your chest. The others. Of course there were others, but it still hurts to hear. Everyone wishes they were the only one. But different, smitten… those words get your heart racing.
Even more so, when his lips brush against your ear to whisper: “I might have to get a taste for myself.”
He doesn’t ask, and you don’t answer. It just happens— like a tornado ripping through the plains, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The kiss is messy and rough. It’s not quite like the desperate hunger Sanji found you with. This is fierce, claiming. Zoro is not asking. He is taking. And you are more than happy to give.
His hand tangles in your hair to pull you tight, holding your lips against his like you’ll slip away if he lets go. And only when you start to see stars at the edges of your vision do the two of you break for air, panting hard.
“Bet he didn’t kiss you like that.” He grunts, sounding almost… smug. Was he jealous?
You can barely catch your breath, let alone answer. But before you can even form a coherent thought, he’s pressing against you again, strong arms wrapping around your body to hold you tight.
“Fancy a ride, beautiful?”
Something hard presses against you, straining against his pants. You can’t hold back the whine that escapes your throat, and he rolls his hips against you in response, with a satisfied groan.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s get a move on.”
And then your feet are off the ground, your legs swept into his arms as he carries you toward his horse. You don’t know where he’s taking you. You don’t care. All you can think about, as he situates you on the saddle, is about how he’s here, he’s real, he’s big, and he’s holding you like he never wants to let go.
He’s pressed against you for the entire ride, murmuring in your ear about how you’re so patient, so lovely, such a good girl. How he can’t wait to ruin you until you can only remember his name.
Once you reach your destination, he wastes no time in whisking you inside, tossing you onto the creaky inn bed with purpose.
Only now, does he ask.
“You sure you want this?”
You nod enthusiastically, still breathless from the ride.
“Need your words, sweetheart.”
You reach up to find him, and your fingers slip between the buttons of his shirt. They’re already hanging on for dear life without your help.
“I’m pretty damn sure.” And then you yank as hard as you can, ripping his shirt open without a second thought. Buttons go flying across the room, and he laughs. A real laugh, big and warm and excited.
“I knew there was somethin’ special about you.”
He wastes no time in removing your clothes about as forcefully as you did his. You hear some ripping as your blouse disappears, and almost care enough to be sad about one of your favorite shirts. But one look at him and it’s gone, as he looks at your body like a man starved.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, as if on instinct. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”
You reach for his belt, but he stops you. His fingers wrap easily around your wrist.
“Let me handle the firearms, actually. Don’t want a misfire to ruin the mood.”
He carefully removes the belt and holsters, laying the entire setup neatly on the dresser.
“There you go. You got it from here?”
You do. Deftly, you undo the buttons and straps on his tight riding pants.
Both of you groan when you free his cock. It is, to put it simply, big. You don’t know what you expected, really. But there it is, proud and hard, beads of precum already at the head.
Your thumb swipes across the tip, wiping the droplets away, and he groans in pleasure at the touch. Another noise follows, quickly, as you lick your thumb clean.
And then he remembers who’s in charge, and your back slams back against the bed. He straddles you, knees on either side of your hips, and his hands find where they want to be. One hand to your breast, calloused fingers massaging the flesh and toying with the sensitive nipple. The other finds its way between your thighs, pushing your legs to reveal your soaked core.
“Did he get you this wet?” He grunts, swiping a finger through the moisture. You whimper. He tastes it, and practically purrs. “Doesn’t matter. This… is all for me.”
His hand returns between your legs, and he coats a finger in your arousal before plunging it inside you. Just one finger already makes you gasp, and he follows it quickly by another, and then a third. He works you open quickly, fingers rough while he groans your praises with every motion.
“You’re doing so good. Like you were made for me. Such a good girl.”
His other hand continues to work at your chest, and you squirm under the attention.
“Did he get to see you like this?” He asks, suddenly, and you manage to open your eyes enough to see him watching you. His cheeks are red, his pupil blown.
“No,” you answer, honestly. The outlaw hadn’t laid you bare like this. You’d have let him— but he hadn’t gotten the chance. “Only you.”
“Good. Perfect.”
His fingers increase their pace, working you open while his thumb circles your clit. The motions aren’t as deft as the outlaw, but you get the sense mentioning that to him would be a hit to his ego he’d never recover from.
As if sensing your mind wandering, he pulls his fingers from you with a wet sound, the other hand vanishing from your chest, and you whimper at the loss.
“No, please—“ but you stop, as he uses those hands to measure his length. He then carefully lays that measurement along your body, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
“Think we can make that fit, baby?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, and lines himself up at your entrance. “Only one way to find out.”
You don’t try to hold back the scream as he slams into you, all the way to the hilt in one swift motion. Pleasure borders on pain, but doesn’t cross the line into unpleasant. Your eyes flutter shut. He joins your cry, moaning with pleasure as your walls squeeze around him.
“Fuck, that’s perfect. Like you were made for me.”
He, thankfully, gives you a moment to adjust. He waits for your breathing to steady, for your eyes to open again so he can meet your gaze.
“Ready for more?”
“Please,” you gasp. “Fuck, please.”
He grins. It’s sharp and dangerous— just like the rest of him.
And then he’s moving, setting a wicked pace from the start. In and out, in and out, unholy slaps and wet squelches filling the room with every thrust.
He pushes his fingers against your lower belly, the pressure forcing you to feel him even closer. Meanwhile, his thumb matches the pace of his cock in a relentless attack on your clit. He’s not letting you have a moment’s peace on any front. It’s wonderfully overwhelming— you don’t have a single second to think. All you can do is moan and scream, not caring who could hear you like this. You could wake up the whole town— he isn’t stopping you.
You can feel the pressure building in your core, a coil winding tighter and tighter with every passing moment.
“I’m gonna—“ you start to warn, and he grunts in approval.
“Cum for me, sweetheart. Just remember who’s making you feel this good.”
Your eyes close, your back arches, and your first orgasm tears through you with a cry of his name.
“Zoro!”
He grunts in approval, working you through it. He pauses only for a moment as you start to come down. He lets you catch your breath for an instant. Then, when your eyes open once more, he slams back into you, and you gasp.
“You think I’d leave you at just one?”
He doesn’t break his pace as he hunches over you, lips and tongue and teeth finding your ear, then your neck. He nips at you while you cry out, praise murmured against your neck with every new noise that escapes your lips.
You feel yourself getting close again in a matter of just a couple of minutes. As you feel yourself clench around him again, you start to warn him, and he cuts you off.
“Me too. On your mark, beautiful.”
You tumble over the edge together. His name is on your tongue once more, and yours is on his, over and over again like a prayer as his pace stutters and warmth fills you. He fucks you through it, pushing every drop deeper until he has nothing left to give, and he finally pulls out. You can feel his cum leak from between your legs as he pulls out, leaning back on his heels as he admires his work.
“Careful, baby. You’ll make a mess.”
His head disappears from your field of view for a moment, as you flop your head back on the pillow.
Then you gasp. A tongue swipes across your folds. Cleanup work, as he tastes your shared juices with a satisfied hum. A quick flick of the tongue at your clit makes your whole body twitch.
“If I didn’t think it would break you…” he trails off. You would have welcomed it, if you could handle anything more.
After a beat, you feel him shift, and he flops onto the bed beside you. Like this, naked and smiling, he doesn’t seem quite so intimidating as the massive man that rode into your town this morning.
“I’ve half a mind to go to sleep right here like this. Feels right.”
“Mm-hm.” is about all you manage, until you remember. “Oh, shit. I need to get home. Papa’s gonna be furious I’m out so late.”
“You’re a grown woman. You can do as you like.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? Now, where’d my skirt go?”
He pulls himself out of bed with a reluctant groan.
“I threw it over here. Stay put, I’ll find everything so we can get you home.”
—
The bounty hunter is back at the bar the next afternoon. Your father, if he had any inkling at what you had been up to the night before, provided no indication. He does, however, insist on serving the bounty hunter himself— telling you “you’ve been handlin’ all the interesting customers lately. Like it isn’t my bar.”
And so, you’re pretending to be very interested in rearranging the glasses for the twelfth time this morning as the men talk.
“Where are you headed next, if you don’t mind me asking?” Your father makes idle conversation, as the bounty hunter sips his drink.
“Y’know,” he answers thoughtfully, “I’ve been thinkin’. Blackleg is a wily little bastard. And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s faster than me. No use in runnin’ after him.”
For a moment, you’re relieved. Your Sanji will be safe, wherever he is. But then the bounty hunter flicks a quick glance to you, and your heart drops.
“But I‘ve got it on pretty good authority he’ll be headed back here sooner or later.”
“Why’s that?” Your father, truly, has no idea.
“I think he got a taste of somethin’ no man in his right mind would leave behind for long. And when he comes back… I’ll be waitin’ right here.”
Ties that bind is sooo good, when do you think you’ll update?
Thank you!!
So it's been uh,, pretty terrible in Froggieville lately (my girlfriend got in a really bad car accident), so unfortunately I don't have an ETA on the next chapter. I have about a third of it done, so hopefully it won't take me too long once I'm able to get to it! I want to thank everyone for being patient with my sudden absence, I've been going through it, the car accident is just the latest in a series of unfortunate events for everyone around me 😭
been playing a lot of honkai recently, building my mydei team and every battle i get to hear "accept your punishment!" and just. yes mydei whatever you say 😍😍😍
Summary: You have spent your entire life preparing to meet your soulmate. Even with the words inked on your skin, you could never have imagined how badly your other half would hurt you, nor how much you'd want him anyway.
Content: GN!Reader, Angst, Soulmate AU, Imprisonment, Medieval AU, Yearning, Unwanted Soulmates, Eventual Happy Ending
Word Count: 3.2k
They were embedded on your ribcage, just above your heart. Your mother had always thought the placement was romantic, proof that your soulmate was going to be strong and steady, just like your heartbeat.
Your father was more concerned with the content of the phrase, afraid for your future safety, what the context could be.
I’d kill you this instant if I could.
The words scrawled across your skin marked you as someone’s other half, part of a perfect, unbreakable pair.
Your mother often insisted you were lucky. She reluctantly admitted your words weren’t ideal, but at least you had them. Some people were born bare, nothing to guide them in the world. Maybe they’d never meet their soulmate, or maybe they never had one at all. But you? You were promised something great.
You tried to share her optimism at first, but the older you became the more you questioned it. What happiness could you find with someone who would say something like that to you, let alone have it be the first thing they ever said to you? A soulmate mark didn’t guarantee you love, necessarily. It simply promised you an equal, another half. Maybe for you that was a combatant.
You never told anyone why you first picked up the sword. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that you were good at it, great even, and no man or woman that the universe sent to you would take you down without a good fight.
It only felt natural that you’d join the military when you came of age. That you’d have few friends, too focused on the battle ahead. On preparing yourself, no matter how painful of a process it was.
Your words were kept a secret. From the few friends you managed to keep, from your superiors, from those foolish enough to try to court you. Out of shame or fear you didn't quite know. You just knew that you couldn't stand the idea of seeing that familiar look, the one on your father’s face when you mentioned them, like your life was over before it began. Maybe it was.
You were a machine of war. You didn't need fate, you would insist. But you dreamed anyway. Of kind hands, loving smiles, gentle lips meeting yours. You chased them away in the morning, but they always found their way back.
You hated the smell of blood. The sound of metal upon metal, the sound of crushing bones. But you were terribly good at bringing these things about. So you kept moving up in the world, kept gaining accolades you didn’t care for. Maybe someone else would appreciate them more. Maybe someone who wanted them didn’t deserve them. But things that could be don’t matter as much as things that are.
General, they called you. You often wonder if most of them even know your name.
You don’t know if the steps you took lead you here or if this fate is what determined those steps. Maybe it doesn’t matter, considering the destination is the same. But you’d like to imagine there was some choice to it.
The enemy Commander is fury incarnate, slashing through your men like they’re paper. Despite the carnage, you can’t help but admire his strength and grace. There’s something almost hypnotizing about the way he moves, like a dancer.
He’s unarmored. A foolish move, but one you can’t help but admire. Facing death like that is no easy task. He’s a brave man, or a stupid one. Sometimes you think there’s no difference between the two. They live and die just the same.
He easily grows closer, twisting and twirling through the crowd, leaving devastation behind him. You wonder if he knows those men have families they’re leaving behind. You wonder if he cares.
You see no trace of guilt, no hesitation in his swings. For a moment you think you may hear a laugh carried by the wind, one filled with a mania that frightens you. But that cannot be true. No man can take joy in such carnage.
You’re forced to turn your attention away, to clash swords with another man who snuck between your defenses. You may not be stronger than him, but you’re certainly more skilled. You down him quickly, spilling red onto the soil and depriving yet another mother of her son. You stop for only a moment, just one. Just to catch your breath, to remind yourself that you too have a mother waiting for you, a family who would mourn you. It was him or you, you tell yourself, as you always do.
Before you realize it, there is a sword between your ribs.
He is in front of you, menacing and glowing against the vivid orange sky behind him. The sun is setting, obscuring most of him. A shame. You’d love to get a close look at the man who killed you.
You wait for him to retract his blade, to feel the blood start to pour out in earnest. You expect to christen this field with your blood, die with dignity like you were meant to. A warrior’s death is a fine one.
But he doesn’t move.
Instead he leans forward, allowing you to see the sharp cut of his jaw and the cruel twist of his smile.
“I’d kill you this instant if I could.”
Your heart skips a beat at his voice, rough with fury, a deep timbre that rattles you down to your bones.
You look up to see the eyes of your soulmate, a deep and vibrant green, as they glare at you with hatred.
He's beautiful, even more than you imagined.
He wants you dead.
“But you’re needed elsewhere, General. Take care not to bleed out before we get there.”
He doesn’t remove his blade, even as he easily pins your arms behind your back and ties them, even as he carries you as though you were little more than cargo. Trying to stem the flow of blood, you suppose.
You don’t recall most of the ride back. There are horses involved, a carriage or two. Hands poke and prod you, but you can hardly feel them. People speak, but not to you.
You don’t know how long you sleep. You wake up aching, your side burning, your head resting against a cold stone floor. There’s a blanket over you, if you could even call the pathetic scrap of fabric that, and a thin straw mattress under you. You’re behind bars, a zoo animal on display. There’s a tray of moldy bread lying near you. You feel as though there’s acid tearing through your stomach, but you don’t dare to eat.
You try to sit up, but the searing pain quickly tells you that’s a bad idea. You’re trapped here, waiting for whoever or whatever is coming, if anybody is coming at all. Perhaps the Commander simply decided you deserve to rot down here, wanted to deprive you of the warrior's death you deserve.
It feels like hours before you hear the creak of a door somewhere in the distance. You pray that it’s the reaper, come to release you, but you’re not that lucky. Those footsteps march to the beat of war; a soldier is coming for you.
“Good morning, General.” You can’t see him, but you recognize his voice instantly. You can hear his smug grin, the teeth he most definitely has on display.
You open your mouth to answer, but then it strikes you. You haven’t said a word to him.
He doesn’t know.
He’s captured his other half, his destiny, and locked them in a cage, and he’s none the wiser. If he did, would he free you? You doubt it. Disloyal soldiers with weak hearts, those that can be swayed, rarely reach the rank of Commander. Commanders will give their lives to the cause. Why wouldn’t he give yours?
You could tell him anyway. Torture him with it, let him know everything he’s giving up, everything he’s cursed you both to. A lifetime alone for him, one cut woefully short for you.
Or you could…spare him. A small act of mercy. You could carry the burden alone. Would he even have words, if you never spoke to him at all? Maybe he’d simply think he didn’t have a soulmate, live the rest of his life not knowing what he’s lost. Maybe that’s for the best. He can be normal. Happy. And while it’s hard to wish for happiness for a man who wants you dead, it’s quite easy to wish it for the man you’ve been waiting for.
You close your lips, closing your eyes and focusing on nothing but the sound of your own breathing. You can be merciful. You can be kind. Someone has to be.
“What, you’re ignoring me? How disappointing, General. I heard great things about you, I didn’t think you’d do something so childish.” There’s irritation in his tone, but something deeper as well. He’s disquieted by your silence, and he doesn’t know why. Maybe even though the man doesn’t know you, his soul does. It reaches out to yours, begging you to speak, begging you to finish the connection the universe has prepared it for. Your own soul does the same, your heart pounding as words threaten to spill from your lips. Nothing with meaning, just mindless babble, anything to let him know. But you wouldn’t be a soldier if your willpower was so weak. You do not speak.
“You know, General, I really respected you. I saw the way you fought. You cut people down without hesitation.” You wince at that. “But you aren’t cruel about it. That’s important in a warrior. The joy of a fight shouldn’t come from the inevitable death.”
There is no joy in fighting for you. It’s easy not to revel in cruelty when you can hardly stand to hold a blade in your hands after you pull it out of some poor bastard’s chest. You can’t imagine finding anything worthwhile in the heat of battle. You’re only here because of him, a curse put in place by some higher power that’s enjoyed watching you struggle, enjoyed watching you retch and sob after your first kill, the way the light left your eyes the same time it left the body.
You squeeze your eyes shut tighter. Those memories are of no use to you now. You need to find out how to either get out of here or speed up your execution so your suffering isn’t prolonged.
“It’s a shame to watch a worthy opponent die in such a shameful way.” It hurts worse, the way he sounds like he means it. There’s genuine pity in his voice, a sort of kindness his hardened exterior can’t hide. “But orders are orders, I suppose.”
You want to disagree, but the orders that put you in this cell aren’t that different from the ones that put you on the battlefield, and you hate to be a hypocrite. You shift, trying to put less pressure on your broken ribs, but you simply make the pain worse. You can barely bite back a whimper. You hear a sigh behind you, a small sign of defeat.
“Don’t kill yourself before one of us can, General. And try to roll onto your left. You have less bruises on that side.” Those marching steps lead away from your cell, down the hallway and back out into the sunlight you’ll never see again. With great effort, you roll onto your other side to find it is more comfortable that way, or at least less agonizing. You may be able to sleep this way, if you’re lucky.
The Commander doesn’t return before you fall asleep, but a meek little footsoldier brings you sustenance at some point. You hesitate to call the strange foul-smelling broth food, but it’s something. You can’t sit up to eat it yourself, so the poor lad props you up slightly, wincing when you groan.
“Sorry,” he murmurs nervously. “You need to eat.”
“No need to apologize. You’re not the one who stabbed me.” You huff out a laugh, which only makes it hurt worse. He stares at you with widened, fearful eyes, and you’re not sure if he’s scared you’ll hurt him or that you’ll drop dead on the spot. When he brings the mug to your lips with shaking hands, he does so a little too quickly, and you can feel the unpleasant sting of a burned tongue. You don’t bother to pull back or to stop drinking. What’s one more injury?
He only pulls the cup away when it’s entirely empty, before quickly standing and beginning to scurry out. He pauses for a moment once he’s past the bars, safe from the injured beast trapped behind them. “Someone will be back to change your bandages soon.”
“No, they won’t.” They don’t actually intend to keep you alive in here, you know. Sure, you making it to your scheduled execution would be a nice morale boost, but they’re not going to waste resources on treating a prisoner of war.
He doesn’t respond, and you can hear him skittering out of here, away from the stench of your blood and the rotting cot beneath you. It’s too soon to say the place reeks of death, but the stale air is a reminder that it will come soon.
You’re asleep when the next person enters, and you haven’t even had the chance to open your eyes before there are hands on you. You whimper, from the pain and the fear, the exhaustion weighing you down, but a familiar voice gently shushes you. “It’ll be quick, I promise.” The Commander’s hands are callused and rough, but they’re soft against your skin, and pleasantly warm. You manage to crack open your eyes to see his handsome face above you, his good eye narrowed in concentration as he takes in your state. “It’s going to hurt, but you’ll feel better after.”
You can see bandages on the ground next to him, as well as a set of clothes. They seem a bit too big, but it’s certainly better than the bloodied rags they left you with after they stripped you of your armor. He moves with the confidence of someone who has done this hundreds of times before. Was the Commander once a wartime medic, patching up his fellow soldiers? Or was he simply adept at patching up his own wounds?
“This is going to be the worst part,” he murmurs. You feel something cool against your torn skin, a pleasant chill running through you before the burning starts.
You scream.
It’s embarrassing, really, a soldier being reduced to screaming and sobbing simply from a bit of antiseptic. But whatever this is stings much worse than the salves back home, and your wound is much worse than any you’ve suffered before. You feel the burn down to your bones, piercing your marrow and turning it to ash. You’re losing something vital, part of your foundation, threatening to collapse you entirely.
It isn’t until his hand brushes your cheek that you realize you’re sobbing.
“I know,” he whispers. Part of you is furious at the pity in his voice. Another craves it, craves any sort of gentleness or comfort, any distraction from the pain. “It’s awful, it really is. It’ll be over soon, and then we won’t have to worry as much about infection.”
You’re not worried about infection. You’re not worried about making it out of here at all right now. You’d gladly welcome the executioner’s axe, embrace the hangman as though he was your oldest friend. Anything to make it stop. Anything at all.
It feels like hours before the burning subsides, but logically you understand it couldn’t have lasted more than a minute. In that time, you seem to have grabbed his hand, and strangely, he allowed you to. It is only once your whimpers quiet that he removes his fingers from yours and gets to work redressing you. The scratch of the gauze against your exposed muscle and viscera feels like a gentle kiss compared to your earlier suffering. He has to lift you to fully wrap you, his rough hands pressing against your very broken ribs as he unhurriedly pulls your bandages tighter. While he does not rush, he does not linger to revel in your pain.
He pulls the oversized shirt onto you, and the scent of soap envelops you. A welcome distraction from the stale air. It’s a little stiff, the texture a little rough, but you certainly won’t complain. For the first time since you arrived you feel protected, as though they hadn’t stripped you of your armor. A loose pair of pants follows, but the best gift the Commander has given you today is a warm pair of woolen socks. You can finally feel the chill from the stone beneath you begin to fade, a soft warmth beginning to fill you. You don’t know if it’s from the fabric surrounding you or from the gesture, but either way you cannot help the smile that makes its way onto your face, the picture of contentment.
“Feeling better?” His voice is kinder than you expect.
You just barely stop yourself from expressing your gratitude, the pain and subsequent relief blurring your mind and softening your heart. The clarity only comes when you see a small light in his eyes as your mouth opens, an innocent excitement at the idea of hearing your voice. Even though he doesn’t know why he so desperately wants to hear it. You press your lips together, instead giving him a tight small and a nod.
He sighs, his gentle bedside manner dissolving nearly instantly. An enemy remains. “Still not speaking?”
You shake your head softly, giving a small shrug and hissing through your teeth at the sting that follows the movement.
He lets out an offended huff. “You spoke to one of my men.”
You nod.
“But not me?”
Another shake and an apologetic smile.
“I see.” His lips press into a tight line, disapproval radiating off of him. He clearly thinks this is some kind of snub, an act of rebellion. You were never prone to such things, but how could he guess that? You’re a stranger, no matter how tightly you’re linked by fate.
He doesn’t speak again, silently ensuring your bandages aren’t too tight and ensuring the clothes fit as well as they can. You can see him quietly simmering with rage, upset by your apparent rejection, but you can’t feel it in any of his actions. He’s putting it aside for you, even as an ungrateful stranger. There’s a small ache in your chest, a small shred of longing you try to bite down. You had always hoped your soulmate would be kind.
He leaves without a word, only a small grunt that you think is his form of goodbye.
There’s nothing left to do but wait. For tomorrow, for his next visit, for your inevitable end. And so you allow yourself to fall back into a fitful sleep, dreaming of a different life; gentle touches, warm smiles, and the way the sunlight would dance in green hair.
Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay
Summary: You wonder if she tastes like tangerines.
Warnings: Fem!Reader, Mild Angst, Internalized Homophobia and Implications of In-Universe Homophobia (mild), Bathing Together, Making Out
Word Count: 3.1k
You wonder if she tastes like tangerines.
You aren’t allowed to wonder things like that, you know. That has been made very clear to you, again and again, your knuckles bloodied from slaps from rulers and your knees sore from hours pressed against the stone floor as your prostrated yourself. This ship though, with the laughter carried on the wind and the warm arms almost constantly wrapped around you, it almost makes you forget.
It makes your eyes linger on her exposed shoulders, the bit of stomach she reveals when she stretches. It makes your heart skip at the sound of her laughter, at the smell of her perfume gently carried to you by the sea breeze. It makes you wonder what she would think of your wondering.
You feel a tap on your shoulder, and you know instantly it’s her. “Hey!”
You spin around, and Nami is frowning at you, her forehead crinkled in concern. You hate when she frowns. “What?”
“I called your name a dozen times! Are you okay?” The wind blows, and she’s so close her hair tickles your face for a second. You’re overwhelmed by the smell of her shampoo, citrus and something else you can’t quite place. Once, when you were overwhelmed by the longing, you used it, just a bit, so that night you would be surrounded by the scent and pretend she was right next to you. You had dreamed of her that night, soft lips and wandering hands and gentle words that you can hardly bear to remember, knowing they’ll never be real. You hoped she couldn’t hear your quiet sobs when you awoke. You knew Robin had, from the pity in her gaze the next day, her gentle hand on your shoulder. She didn’t make you talk about it, probably didn’t even know how to, but she let you know she knew. That she accepted you anyway. That meant everything.
“I’m okay, I’m just a little out of it today. Did you need something?” You give her a smile you hope is convincing. It becomes a little more real with every passing moment, the longer you look at her. You can’t help but feel your burdens lift in her presence. She has that effect on people. Or maybe just you.
You nearly jump out of your skin when her hand takes yours, when her fingers intertwine with yours. “I want you to come with me today. We’re going shopping. Are you in?”
“Of course. Anywhere you want.” You’d go anywhere she took you, to hell and back. But you can start with down the road.
She smiles at you again, a full grin, nothing held back. When she smiles at you like that, with a pure carefree joy you’re not sure she ever felt before you met, the fluttering in your chest doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like the only good and natural thing in the world. She instantly pulls you into her side, keeping you close as you practically dash off of the ship. She must have something special in mind, for her to be so excited.
That something special, as it turns out, is actually for you. She shoves you into a dressing room the moment she reaches the boutique, a shine in her eyes and a slight upturn on her lips as grabs a stack of dresses. She squeezes into the dressing room with you, her chest brushing against your back just for a moment as she slides onto the bench behind you, but for you it feels like an eternity. You know your face is red, and you pray like hell the blood leaves your cheeks before you turn around. This is normal, you reassure yourself. It doesn’t mean anything that she’s going to watch you undress, her eyes lingering on your cheeks and hips for longer than socially appropriate. It’s normal the way she slightly bites her lip when you start unbuttoning your shirt. Her eyes don’t leave you for a moment, and while you feel vulnerable, you don’t feel embarrassed like you expected. You feel safe with her, appreciated in a way no one else has ever made you feel.
When you slide into the first dress, a beautiful pale blue sundress you think would look far better on her, she takes your hands in hers. “You look beautiful,” she whispers, full of wonder. Instead of pulling away and grabbing the next dress from the pile, she lingers, staring into your eyes for far longer than you expected. The warmth of her gaze pulls you in, and the light seems to catch small flecks of gold in her eyes. You knew they were there, of course. You know every part of her you’re able to, every part you’re allowed access. You can’t help it, the way you’ve memorized her face or the way her fingertips feel as they brush against your skin, the touches always far too fleeting.
You could spend eternity like this, slowly being pulled into this woman, in this small space where there is nothing but the two of you and infinite possibility between you. But then a noise from outside, a quiet chime of a bell indicating other customers, and the spell is broken. There are other people in this world of yours, none of them as wonderful or as lovely as the woman across from you. Your hands fall apart from each other. You’re not sure whose leave first. You’re not sure it matters, as reality sets back in. But part of you hopes it was you. That she would be willing to keep hold of you as long as she could, if only you weren’t afraid. Of putting a name to the feelings in your chest, so delicate and fragile you’re afraid the words might shatter them. Of the possibility that you really are alone in this, that every quick touch and lingering glance is nothing more than they seem and you’re simply reading into them. That you’re so hopeful you’re finding something meaningful where there’s simply nothing to be found.
There’s a word for what you feel, what you want her to feel. You know that. You want to say it so badly, to scream it until your lungs give out, to let this thing with wings free from your chest and allow it to soar beyond the boundaries you’ve set for yourself. But you’d suffer in silence for the rest of your life if it means Nami stays here with you, by your side, her warmth only a step away if you were brave enough to take it.
“Here’s the next one,” she murmurs, placing a verdant silken gown in your hands. It’s far nicer than anything you own, something far too nice for a pirate. You try to tell her as much, but she insists. “I…just want to see it on you, just once. Can you do that for me, please?”
“Anything for you,” you whisper, the words leaving before you can think. The fabric is cool against your skin, falling just right, as though it was made for you. You’ll never see a ballroom, you know, can never truly belong among such a crowd. But it’s nice to imagine, for a moment, what it might be like to twirl under the flickering lights as they catch the honey highlights in Nami’s hair, as she leans into you, pressing her face into your neck for just a moment, whispering words that are just for you as the crowd watches, and no one says a word. As enraptured with her as you are, surely.
You don’t notice you’re crying until her thumb wipes the tear from your cheek. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you insist, beginning to hastily slide the dress off. “I’m fine.”
She purses her lips, and you know she won’t let this slide. She never does, always determined to uncover your pain so she can soothe it in whatever small way she can. You don’t know if anyone has ever cared for you as much as she does. “I don’t like it when you lie to me.”
“I don’t like lying to you, either.” And it’s true. But the truth is a dangerous thing.
“Do you–”
“Not here, please,” you beg. Not in this little closet, only a thin door separating you from the cruel outside world. You can’t admit anything here.
She looks at you for a moment, her eyes searching for something, before she sighs. “Okay.”
You try on the rest of the dresses in silence, knowing you’re not going to buy a single one. They’re all beautiful, everything she touches is, but every single one brings to mind another image you can’t cope with. The two of you walking hand in hand down a busy street, laughing. The two of you on the deck of the Sunny, her arm wrapped around your waist, your faces softly kissed by the sea breeze. The two of your intertwined, her lips on yours, her hands sliding up your thighs, under this damned dress and up to–
You take the crimson dress off so quickly you nearly rip it in half. You make up a quiet excuse, something about needing air, before bolting from the store as Nami calls after you. You need to be alone, before your thoughts bubble over and start to infringe on reality. You can’t risk it. You couldn’t stand if you were wrong, if your hopes led to distance between you that you can never surpass.
You don’t realize how fast you’re moving until you’re forced to stop and catch your breath. You sprinted nearly the entire way back to the Sunny, back to safety, back to the place the thoughts don’t feel so scary, don’t feel so wrong. Back to where you’re allowed to dream of the taste of tangerines, if only until dawn breaks.
It doesn’t take long for Nami to find you on your bench, hunched over, head in your hands. You aren’t crying, not quite. The well has run dry, you think. Instead you just force yourself to breathe, press your hands into your eyes hard enough to see stars and imagine you’re back out at sea, surrounded by nothing but the love of your friends and the sea.
She doesn’t ask if you’re okay this time. She knows better. She just gently peels your hands from your eyes before pulling you up. “We should get back.”
“Yeah,” you agree softly, not even daring to look in her eyes lest the thoughts overwhelm you again. There’s a bag in her hands, tissue paper hiding whatever she decided to take home. You hope it’s something for herself. She deserves it.
You don’t speak on the walk back. Her fingers brush against yours once, and you make a whimper resembling a wounded animal. She doesn’t do it again.
You plan to hide when you get back, to wrap yourself in your blankets and let your mind run through whatever scenarios it needs to get them out. You take a bath first, to wash away the embarrassment of running away, the shame of it. You’re surprised when you hear a knock on the door, but you instantly know who it is. You would know her anywhere.
“Do you mind company?” Nami’s voice is uncharacteristically timid. You’ve never known her to be.
You should say you do, you know. You won’t be able to keep your eyes off of her, and there’s only so much plausible deniability left. But you’ve never been able to say no to her. “No, of course not. There’s plenty of room.”
And there isn’t, really, not when her presence fills every room she’s in until you’re drowning in it, but oh, what a good way to go. If she forced your head under the water right now, all you would do is relish the feeling of her fingers around your throat before your consciousness faded.
You manage to avert your eyes until she’s under the water. You expect her to sit across the tub, taking her own space to unload her burdens, but she sits right next to you, her thighs touching yours. They’re as soft as you imagined.
You try to control the beating of your heart as you sit there, aware of every breath that she takes. “Do you want me to wash your hair?”
You blink. “What?”
“Your hair? I’ll even let you use my shampoo if you promise not to tell anyone.” There’s a slight gleam of mischief in her eyes, and you wonder if maybe she noticed that bit missing. She’s always been an observant one.
You should say no. Maintain what little distance your weak will allows you to. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
You’re hopeless.
Her fingers are gentle as they scrub the sweet smell of citrus into your scalp, as she surrounds you with the scent of her, with her warmth. Her breasts brush against your back, and for once, you allow yourself to simply enjoy the feeling instead of biting the inside of your cheek so hard it bleeds. It feels…domestic. Another forbidden word crosses your mind, as you wonder if this is what it would feel like to be doted on by your wife. You don’t force it out of your brain as quickly as you normally do.
She gently pours water over you, washing away the suds, before moving on to the conditioner. She’s very thorough in her application, and when she’s done, she lingers for a moment, her body pressing into yours.
“Am I alone in this?”
“What?” You try to move and look at her, but she wraps her arms around you, keeping you in place. Maybe you’re not the only one who loses their nerve when your eyes meet.
“You feel it too, don’t you?” She sounds almost desperate. “I don’t want to push you, I wanted to wait for you to come to terms on your own, but I–I can’t stand not knowing any more.”
God, you feel it. You’ve felt it from the moment you first saw her. Maybe from the moment you were born. Every single second before you met was simply time you were waiting for her, even if you didn’t know it yet. Every dream you had of soft hands against your skin, of warm lips against yours, of love and lust and everything in between, they were all of her. You just didn’t have a face to put to them yet. But can you say it? Let free what you’ve been keeping trapped for so long?
“Please, just tell me.” Her soft voice pleading with you is far stronger than the fear that’s been holding you back your entire life.
“Yes,” you whisper as you turn to face her. “I feel it. I always have.”
She tastes like tangerines.
That was the only thing your dreams got right, however. Her lips are softer than you could possibly have imagined, and her hands are calloused from the nonstop fights that come with your lives. Somehow the slight scratch of roughness against your thighs is far better than the softness ever could have been. In your excitement, you both crash into the water, the thundering splash sending what feels like half of your bathwater onto the floor. You can’t bring yourself to care. You’d happily drown down here, let her steal the air from your lungs, the blood from your veins, your heart from your chest. Anything she wants of you, she can have. It was always hers.
You come up for air only when you have to. Even when you do, she keeps her arms around you, presses her face into your neck, clinging to you like you’ll slip from her fingers the instant she loosens her grip.
“I dreamed about this,” she murmurs. “So much.”
“So did I,” you whisper back, a giddy smile on your face. “I never thought it could happen.”
“It had to. It was meant to be.” She says it with a confidence and finality that doesn’t at all match the hesitation she showed earlier. You’re glad. Boldness has always suited her. She shines the brightest that way.
The words you’ve been suppressing spill forth without abandon, finally done begging for release and simply escaping themselves. “I love you.”
She smiles against you, joy forcing giggles from her. “I love you, too,” she whispers.
The water is freezing once you finally leave, lips swollen and suspicious bruises marking both of your necks. The crew does not comment, content to allow you to enjoy your moment, knowing how long and grueling the path here was. Tomorrow you're sure there will be knowing glances, needling jokes and jeers, but tonight is only for you. They’d never take your joy from you, your dear friends.
You don’t know when you agreed you’d be sharing her bed. You don’t know if you even talked about it at all. You simply followed her there, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Before you rest, she places a familiar bag in your hands, and inside you find several of the dresses you tried on earlier. The blue sundress, the silken gown, the tight red one that you tore off in your haste to leave.
“I wanted you to have them,” she insists.
“I thought you hated spending money.”
“No, I like having it. That’s entirely different. I just like you more.”
Your heart still flutters as it always does, but the feeling isn’t quite so suffocating. Her arms wrap around you the moment you set the dresses aside, her legs intertwining with yours. Your body fit together naturally, as though they were always meant to. She presses her nose against your pulse point, taking a deep inhale.
“You should always be here.” It isn’t a command, not exactly, but she certainly isn’t asking. Perhaps she’s simply stating a fact: you were meant to be here, by her side, just as she was meant to be by yours.
“I always will be,” you reply. You mean it more than anything you’ve ever said.
You dream of her that night, as you always do, but the warmth doesn’t leave when you awaken. She is in your arms, your nose buried in her hair, and she shows no signs of leaving. You never thought you could be so lucky.
Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay
give me any more crumbs of vampire law and I'll start a revolution in your name. and if you do something for vampire sanji.......... then I'll just have to give you my first newborn
Anon, this request has been turning over in my head since you sent it. The reason it took me so long is genuinely because I got so excited I had too many ideas! There's so many different ways someone can react to undeath, and all of them are so fun to explore. I hope you enjoy this, I had an absolute blast writing it.
A Human's Touch
Pairing: Vampire!Sanji x Hunter!Reader
NSFW
Summary: You've never hesitated in your path before, but your latest quarry attracts you far more than you want to admit.
Warnings: AFAB!Reader (gender neutral pronouns used), Mild Angst, Blood Drinking, Biting, Oral (Reader Receiving), Vaginal Sex
Word Count: 4.8k
Your quarry tonight appears to be in his early twenties. He’s handsome. Most of them are, really, but there’s something different about him. He’s not just attractive in the way most monsters are, in that dangerous and sharp way that pulls you in. When he smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges, he’s almost…cute. Approachable.
It almost makes him look alive.
You clench your teeth, reminding yourself again and again that he isn’t human. It’s the ones that can pass as normal that are the most dangerous. The ones you feel sorry for, the ones some naive part of you wants to save. There is no saving these monsters. What you do is the closest thing they’ll get to absolution, to peace. It’s not natural for the dead to walk among the living.
You make your way to the bar next to him, flagging down the bartender. You know very well how to play the part of an easy victim: the vacant eyes, the wide smile. This time you act as if you’re already a few drinks in, having taken a quick swig of whiskey from your flask in the parking lot to ensure you smell right. Vampires have an excellent sense of it, you’ve learned, and you don’t want to risk tipping him off.
You feel a tap on your shoulder, and you know you’ve got him.
His smile is like the sun. “I’ve never seen you around here before, angel. What’s your name?”
You open your mouth to tell him the one that matches the fake ID you just flashed at the bartender, the one your car is registered to, the one you’ve been living under recently, but instead you make possibly the biggest misstep you’ve ever made on a hunt. You tell him your real name.
His eyes soften a bit at the sound of your voice, something in them growing fond. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the creature fell in love with you at first sight. How sad that would be. “It’s a beautiful name. It fits you.” You’ve heard that same empty compliment a thousand times from things like him, wearing the faces of beautiful men and women who thought they could reel you in. It shouldn’t move you. But your heart, the wretched traitor, it skips a beat anyway. It believes he means it.
“Thank you,” you murmur, cheeks warming despite yourself. “Do I get to know yours?”
“Sanji. It’s a pleasure.” He reaches for your hand, bringing your fingers to his lips. The brush of them against your skin is so gentle you can almost forget the sharp canines behind them. “Do you have company tonight?”
You lean forward a little, purposefully flashing a bit of skin to draw his eyes to your neck and chest. It works flawlessly. “I don’t know, Sanji. Do I?”
He grins. “You can have anything you want from me, sweetheart.”
He’s going to regret that.
It’s a quick ride back to his place. You generally prefer not to follow vampires back to their lairs (it’s bad for one’s health, generally, to fight a monster on their own turf), but the carpet in your motel room is white, and you don’t want to have to spend hours scrubbing your own blood out of it. You’re hoping that he’ll feel more comfortable in his own home, relaxed enough to make mistakes, to underestimate you as they usually do. You rely on it. Even the strongest human is nothing compared to the weakest monster.
“Make yourself at home,” he offers, after holding the door open for you. A small measure of politeness you aren’t used to. Usually they don’t show that kind of grace to their prey.
“Thank you.” You give him what you’re sure is a heart-stopping smile, one that’s well practiced. He reacts accordingly, smiling back widely, a bit of red coming to his cheeks. You stop short for a moment, entranced by the sight. You didn’t know they could blush. You don’t know a lot about them other than how to kill them. Before you know it, you’re leaning forward slightly, hand reaching for his cheek, desperate to know if they’ll be warm beneath your fingertips. You come to your senses about halfway, hand hanging limply in the air as you both stare at it. It’s your turn to blush as you wretch it back to you. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s alright.” This smile is gentler, kinder. “I’m not one to deny the warm touch of another, or the connection it brings. You don’t have to hold back with me, dear.” You don’t miss the depth of sadness in his eyes, the longing. He wants what he can’t have, what his kind can never provide him. There’s no such connection amongst the dead, amongst predators like them. They aren’t family, aren’t friends. They can’t even really be allies. They’re competition. The most a vampire can be to another is an intrusion on the other’s hunting grounds.
For some reason, you take his hand in yours, leading him back with you. His eyelashes flutter for a moment when you make contact, as though he’s savoring the feeling. His hands are ice, but instead of the normal revulsion the feeling brings you, you feel sorry for him. How awful it must be, cursed to an eternity without the warmth you once took for granted. A foolish thought, but you’re having many of those tonight. The greatest mercy you can give him doesn’t require the pity that’s clouding your mind, or the warmth that spreads in your belly at the sight of him unbuttoning his shirt.
He’s sculpted perfectly, of course. As if you needed another reason to be distracted. You take a deep breath, focusing as best you can. You slide the stake out of your boot (thank god he didn’t ask you to take them off earlier) and pounce as quickly as you can, praying your aim is true. Before you feel the wood plunging into his chest, you feel a hand on your wrist, grip firm but not bruising. Your back is against the bed, your stake is somewhere out of your reach, and there is a vampire on top of you, tying your hands to the headboard with his tie.
When he looks down at you, he has the gall to look genuinely hurt. “I was hoping you would give up on that.”
You can’t help but laugh in his face. “What? You expected me to let you go around preying on the innocent because…why exactly? Because you’re handsome and kind of sad? That’s par for the course, Sanji.” You ignore the fact that you’re still calling him his name now that you’ve dropped your innocent act, that you’re still acknowledging him as a man instead of a monster. It’s better for your pride not to think too much about that.
“Because there’s a connection here, but I guess I should have known you wouldn’t admit it. Prideful things, hunters. Some of you are worse than things like me.” He finishes his knot, taking a moment to admire his handiwork, before he looks down at you. His eyes linger on your neck for just a moment, and you know he’s thinking of how you’ll taste, of the feeling of the life draining out of you. For some reason, he pulls away, standing up and brushing himself off. He picks up your stake with two fingers, holding it away from him and looking at it with a crinkled nose (which is adorable, though you’d die before admitting it). “Did you carve this yourself? It’s nice craftsmanship, though it’s sad to think of such beautiful hands doing such rough work.”
“Worse than thinking about them being used to kill?”
He hums. “No, I guess not.” He drops your stake into the trashcan near the door. You hear the quiet thunk of it hitting the bottom, and you know there’s no way in hell you’re ever getting that back. A bummer. You’d spent weeks carving that. “It’s still a shame, though.”
“What, that I wasn’t an easy kill?” You tilt your head to the side, exposing more of your neck, taunting him. He doesn’t fall for the bait, instead turning away from you with a sigh.
“That the world’s made you into a killer.” He walks toward the window for a moment, closing his eyes to bask in the moonlight. “It shouldn’t be your job to keep monsters in check.”
You tell yourself this is a ploy, that he’s just saying what you want to hear, but something about him seems so horribly genuine. He sounds truly disappointed with the world for taking away your freedom, for placing this burden on you. No one’s ever empathized with your plight like this before. “Well, a lot of things that shouldn’t be are. The world’s not a great place. Someone has to try to make it better.”
His lips quirk up into a soft smile at that. “It’s admirable that you want to do that. You remind me of someone.” For a moment he’s lost in a memory, one that might be centuries old. To the man he used to be, to the people who used to love him. Then it’s gone, grief weighing down his shoulders once again. “But I still think the world is worse off when good people sacrifice themselves and their happiness to try to offset the evils they fight.”
“Well, I won’t have to sacrifice my happiness forever. Maybe I’ll retire.” It’s a lie, of course. The only retirement you’ll get is a set of fangs to the throat, a quick end to the misery.
He chuckles. “You’re a bad liar, too. You really are like him.” He shakes his head, dismissing the nostalgia, instead focusing on the task at hand. “How can I convince you to let me live?”
You purse your lips. “You aren’t living. That’s a large part of the problem.”
He sighs. “How can I convince you to let me keep existing?”
None of them have ever asked you before. “If I say no, will you kill me?”
He looks horrified at the thought. “What? No!”
You blink. “What?”
“Why would I kill you?”
“You’re a vampire, and I’m trying to slay you. This always ends with one of us dead. What, are you new to this?”
“No, I–God. If I can’t convince you to let me go, I’ll just…leave. Go somewhere you can’t find me. And then call someone to come and let you out in a few hours.”
“Call who?”
“I don’t know, the cops?”
“And they find me with several fake IDs and a shotgun in the back of my car? I’ll get arrested.”
He closes his eyes in thought. “Do you have any friends?”
No, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I’m not giving a vampire my friends’ numbers.”
“Do you have your phone on you?” He slides a hand into your pocket, pulling out your phone as you weakly try to wiggle away. He turns it toward you as you try to look away. You aren’t fast enough, and you can hear the telltale sound of it unlocking. Fuck.
He goes through it for a moment, a frown settling on his handsome face. “You…don’t have any contacts?”
“That’s not true!”
“I don’t know who Guns (Legal) and Guns (Less Legal) are, but I imagine they’re not exactly close friends. You really have given up your life for this, haven’t you?” The look in his eyes isn’t pity. It’s far worse. It’s mourning, plain and simple. Grieving the life you could have lived, and the fact that you’ve chosen not to live it of your own free will.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you say weakly. “I chose this.”
“I know.”
You maintain eye contact a moment before he looks away, standing and walking away from you. “I could untie you now.”
“I’d kill you.” You don’t know if that’s true anymore.
“Maybe I’d let you.” He places your phone on the dresser before opening the bathroom to look for something. You can see shards of glass on the floor, hear the crunch of them beneath his dress shoes. “But maybe you won’t. Maybe we can just have a conversation, two people who know things no one should have to.”
You bite your tongue at his referral to himself as a person. He’s far more human than any other vampire you’ve met. Maybe even more than some of the humans, if you’re being honest. You’re not particularly prone to honesty these days. “A conversation, huh?”
“Just a peaceful little talk.” He looms over you, reaching towards your wrists. You can see what he grabbed in the bathroom: a bottle of lotion, just in case you had chafed your wrists struggling against the restraint. A small, thoughtful thing. You think he must have been kind in life. “I’ll answer any question you have, and hopefully you’ll be open to answering some of mine.”
You could use this as a way to get information, but you don’t want him to think you’re going to turn it against him. You should, but something in you stops you from leaping off the bed and rushing for your weapon, instead allowing him to gently apply the lotion to your skin. You give him a wry grin. “Alright then. How do you style your hair so perfectly if you can’t see yourself in the mirror?”
He sighs humorlessly, eyes focused on his task. "That's a myth, my dear. As many things people like you think you know are."
"If it's a myth, why do you try to avoid them so badly?" You look pointedly to the mirror above the dresser he's covered with a blanket, not to mention the broken shards that remain of the ones in the bathroom. He looks you in the eye now, and your breath is taken away by a self loathing deeper and more violent than any hate you've ever known. For a moment, the gentle and mild mannered man is gone, replaced with something far closer to the tortured soul you’ve come to expect on your hunts.
"When I was alive, I hated monsters. I was made by one, and I was convinced I would become one someday." He laughs, a soft, empty sound. "I made a friend promise me...promise me if he ever saw me start to walk that path, he'd kill me."
He stands up, beginning to pace in a path he has clearly worn into the carpet beneath his feet. "When I woke up after the change, I knew right away what I was. What I could do. Who I could hurt. And do you want to know what I did?" He stops in front of you, eyes wide and frantic. "I ran. I ran as far as my feet could take me, then a little further than that. All of my talk, my spirit, everything I promised...it was all nothing. Empty words. Because in the end, I was just too scared to die."
You pity him. God, you’re weak. None of your quarries have ever broken down by this, admitted to fear. You thought they were incapable of that sort of animal weakness. Your voice is soft when you speak next, gentle. “It’s only natural to be afraid. It’s only–” You cut yourself off, voice catching.
“Only human?” He finishes for you, his words dripping with bitterness. “I tried telling myself that, but I think I can finally be honest. I’m just a coward.”
“I don’t think a coward would untie one of the only people in the world that could kill him, Sanji. I don’t think a coward would spare me when killing me would be so much easier.”
He cringes. “I don’t–Killing people isn’t easy. And it shouldn’t be.”
You pause. “You–you don’t kill people?” A vampire pacifist. Now you’ve really seen everything.
“I don’t murder. I’ve defended myself, sure, but I try not to hurt anyone.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Maybe it’s just something else I’m scared of.”
“I don’t think that’s it. I think a lot more things like you kill out of fear than spare people for it. Maybe you’re just…a good guy.” An insane thing to say, and an even more insane thing to believe. But you do, really. When you look into his eyes they aren’t the empty black pits you’ve seen in so many other bloodsuckers. When you look into his eyes, you truly think you see his soul. You have no idea how he kept it after the horrible, gruesome fate he’s been forced into, but it’s there. You half expect there to be a beating heart beneath his chest.
He looks up at you, shock evident. “Do you really mean that?”
“Somehow, yes.” You shift forward a bit, leaning toward him, taking the sight of him in. The shining blue eyes, his blond hair reflecting the moonlight from the window and the shitty too-bright fluorescents of his apartment, the pallor of his skin. He almost looks like an angel, cast out from heaven. Forced to wade among the muck and grime of humanity, a world he was never meant for.
“I want to be,” he mutters.
“Good?”
“A guy. Human. Not...” He can’t even bring himself to say it, gritting his teeth when he tries to force out the word before giving up. “You know.”
You can feel your eyes soften as you look at him. “I really wish I could help you with that.” And you mean it, really. You wish you could save him.
“Maybe you could.”
“Hm?” Your eyes flick up, and you see something shining in his eyes that you don’t quite recognize.
“You could help me feel alive again, even if only for a while.” He approaches you slowly, no threat in his stance. “Make me feel like my heart’s beating again.”
“And how would I do that, exactly?” This is the strangest way you’ve ever been hit on.
“Just…feel something. Touch me, please. Treat me like anything other than a monster.” He’s in front of you now, kneeling, his eyes pleading.
“What?”
“I’d prefer you love me, but I’ll take anything. Hate, fear, whatever you’ll offer. Please, I just need something.” He’s on his hands and knees in front of you, eyes wet and glossy. “I can’t be alone anymore. I can’t take this.”
There are tears streaking down his face. You've never seen a monster cry before. Something inside you, something soft and weak that you thought you had buried, whispers that you still haven't. That the thing on his knees in front of you, begging for you, is only a man, bearing his tender parts to you and begging for you to be gentle with them. You don’t know if you’re capable of being gentle anymore.
Your hands move on their own, resting on his cheeks, your thumbs brushing at the tear tracks making their way down his face. He sniffles quietly, as though he still needs to breathe. You almost laugh at the absurdity at it all. You’ve killed dozens of monsters, saw yourself as a hero, a defender of humanity, and all it took to take you down is one pathetic man on his knees. You won’t be angry with him later when his teeth brush your throat, when they tear through your skin and take everything you have. You’re letting it happen, here and now, and you can’t be angry with him for acting within his nature. “I…I can help you. Just for a little bit.”
He looks at you like you’re his salvation. “Thank you, angel. You have no idea what this means to something like me.”
“Someone,” you correct softly, instinctively. You can’t take the word back once you say it, not when you see the look on his face. His hand rises to cover yours, cradling you closer, savoring the feeling.
He inhales, taking in the scent of you, before diving in. His lips brush against yours, softer than they have any right to be. They’re a bit cold, as you’re sure all of him must be, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. He’s slow as he rises, overtaking you and pinning you down. Giving you ample opportunity to run, to come to your senses. You don’t.
The first thrust of his hips makes you gasp, which allows him to slide his tongue into your mouth. He savors the taste of you, exploring every inch as he ruts into you, the friction from the fabric between you making your movements sloppier as you get distracted. Your hands are everywhere: in his hair, running down his chest, grabbing at his ass. Every inch of him is perfect, almost frustratingly so. Some part of you is hoping to find some flaw, something to break the illusion that he’s just a lonely man, but you find nothing. Even the brush of his fangs against your lips doesn’t do anything to stop the lust clouding your mind. Instead of revulsion, the feeling of him nicking your bottom lip to suck on is disturbingly hot. You can’t even tell if you’re actually bleeding; even just the idea of him taking something from you, savoring you, makes you clench around nothing.
You grow so lightheaded your vision almost blacks out before he pulls back. “Sorry,” he pants. “Forgot you need air.”
That traitorous part of you thinks that would have been a nice way to go, all things considered. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, and he’s not at all trying to hide how he stares at your tits under your shirt. “Is it a little hot in here?” You coyly reach your hands down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, watching his eyes follow your movements. You can see his pupils grow wider, his gaze grow hungrier, with every single inch.
He tries to speak, you think, but the only sound that leaves him is a ravenous growl. His hands reach for your waistband, removing your pants and underwear in a single smooth motion. You tense, preparing yourself for him to plunge in instantly, but instead you feel his nose brush against your skin, his beautiful clear eyes staring up at you in permission. You close yours, overwhelmed by it all. His teeth graze against your thigh. You can feel him smile when you make a small squeak of surprise, can feel his cold breath quicken. His voice is thick with excitement when he speaks. “Will you give in to me?”
You should say no. You should run from here as fast as your legs can carry you. But he looks so pathetic, so desperate, and really, he needs this, doesn’t he? Why shouldn’t you help him? “Yes,” you murmur, breathy and strained. “Yes, take me, Sanji.”
And so he does. You expect the bite first, but Sanji is determined to give you your pleasure before he takes his. His tongue is against you before you’re ready, and you can feel him shiver with excitement when your thighs close in surprise around his head. His nose brushes your clit, causing you to squeeze harder, and this time he openly moans against you. His tongue explores you eagerly, ceaselessly, and you can feel him respond to every little twitch and quiver you make. He listens for every little moan, every hitch of your breath, every single noise leading him closer to finding exactly how to make you climax. His fingers grab at your ass, pulling you closer, practically drowning himself in you.
As he continues, his fingers find your clit, working in tandem with his tongue to bring you over the edge. The pressure keeps building, every muscle in your body growing tense, your thighs threatening to crush his skull, before finally the dam bursts, and you let out a screaming moan that you’re sure the neighbors can hear. He works you through it, tongue continuing to lap greedily at you, savoring every taste. Only once your thighs have relaxed and your back has once again hit the bed does he pull away, gathering your remaining slick with his fingers and popping them into his mouth. His eyes practically roll into the back of his head as he deeply inhales, overwhelmed by the pure essence of you.
“Darling,” he whispers, voice thick with want, “You’re the most delicious meal I’ve ever had.” With that, his teeth plunge into your thigh, the act as gentle as such violence can be. You only feel the sting for a moment before you’re overtaken by a rush of euphoria. The post-orgasmic bliss is nothing compared to this. Every part of you relaxes, even parts you didn’t think could. It feels as though your muscles are unwinding themselves, as though the fibers that make you up are unraveling and falling to pieces in Sanji’s hands. Your body isn’t you anymore, but you can’t bring yourself to be upset over it. This is the kind of peace you’ve been searching for for years, the kind your purpose and drive never gave you. This is the kind of joy that makes you unafraid to die.
You whimper when his teeth leave you, your hands reaching for him, trying to pull him back to you. Surely he needs to drink a little more, even if just for a second. Just another moment of bliss is all you need.
He doesn’t follow your guidance, instead rising to kiss you softly. There’s less heat now, the flames having calmed to a gentle and loving warmth that envelops you from the inside out. “Thank you, angel,” he murmurs. “Let me give you your final reward.”
He nuzzles into your neck, his teeth not grazing you for even a moment. You don’t know when he shed his pants and shirt, but you come back to yourself for just long enough to admire his fully naked and vulnerable form as he’s lining himself up with your entrance. He’s beautiful, every inch of him, with a few inches in particular catching your current attention. You don’t even have time to imagine how lovely the stretch will feel before he slowly and carefully pushes forward, inserting just the tip before stopping.
You immediately whine, clawing at his shoulders, begging wordlessly for him to keep moving. He tuts softly, kissing your cheeks, and you realize you’ve been crying. “Patience, love.”
You have none, uttering a sound that’s close enough to a childish no! for him to get the message. He chuckles, clearly endeared by your vulnerable state, before slowly sliding the rest of the way in, inch by delicious inch. When he’s fully sheathed, he takes a shuddering breath, pressing himself deeper into your neck and taking a long inhale. His hands wander before settling against your back, pulling you toward him possessively. “This is what I need,” he whispers against your skin. “You. You make me feel alive. You make me feel human. You make me feel connected.”
He snaps his hips far faster than you were expecting, stealing your breath away. He quickly corrects himself, setting a slow and steady pace, but you’ve already seen how his self control is slipping.
“Need you,” he murmurs. “Not just now. Not just tonight. Please, stay. Please.”
You don’t know what to say, so instead of answering you simply pull him closer, moaning into his ear as he steadily brings you both to the edge. You lose yourself in the feeling, in him. The slapping of skin echoes through the room, along with his quiet grunts and your increasing cries. As the tension in your body grows almost unbearable, you can feel his hips starting to stutter, his pace starting to falter. With one final, beautiful push, you both come undone as he collapses on top of you, the feeling of you clenching around him proving to be too much. He pulls you impossibly closer, even though there’s no real distance to be crossed. Every bit of your skin is touching his, and you can feel his weight pressing you into the mattress. You aren’t going anywhere. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to.
“Please,” he quietly pleads again, voice breaking. “Please stay.”
“I will,” you whisper back. His arms tighten around you again, as if you’ll slip through his fingertips if he loses his grip for a moment. Maybe you will. Maybe you’ll grab your stake from his trash and drive off into the sunset, accepting your one and only failed mission, running back to the life that lets you run away. But maybe tonight you’ll stay in the first gentle embrace you’ve felt in years, lured in by the irrational feeling of safety it brings you. The gentle circles he rubs on your back and the feeling of his ear pressed against your chest, listening to your heart, almost make you feel alive.
Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay
Literally inspired the hell out of me to make some princess/regal era fics
✨Duke Usopp, that no one really likes or trusts because he's cowardly and a bit of a liar, but the princess that adores him and his stories( she got hurt a bit in an assassination attempt, so he's crying)
✨And Prince Sanji that's sent away by the kingdom Germa to marry who's supposed to be a cruel and hideous empress, but quickly debunks the rumors when she turns out to be a beautiful and surprisingly caring ruler towards her people AND wife to her new husband.
This was so fun!｡:ﾟ(;´∩`;)ﾟ:｡
✨Get in on this Taggies: @cookieswithay , @triangularz , @bokutosbiceps ,
I LOVE SMOOCHES. zoro- always #1. I'm like a couple weeks into free! and a few of those dudes are killing me- like mikoshiba seijuro- this is my version of him post-swimming, before his hair spikes
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THIS WAS TOO CUTE THANK YOU FOR THE TAGGGG YOU GUYS LOOK SO SOSOSOSOSOSO ADORABLE!!!!!
Tagging @tetzoro @eussstasss @tetsuskei @fanaticsnail @lawva-girl @vampirepirate-syd @emmrichswisp and anyone else who sees this!!!
Thank you for the tag, Nina! Look at you and Law! So cute. I love it. I did Heat x Tobiuo because I love them.
Tagging: @remisloves @i-am-vita @feral-artistry @indydonuts @thenotsofantasticlifestory @sheerxfiction @physics-of-one-piece @queenmimi2817 and whoever else would like to kiss their blorbos, or have their OCs kiss their Canon.
Thank you for the tag, Snail ❤️❤️❤️ Haha, I totally didn't scream and rushed to make this. Noooo. I think I'm the first Doffy one here. Yaay! Love my flamingo man 🩷🦩 Always wanted to kiss him when he's smiling with those big teeth, he just looks so kissable then 🥺🥰
thank you for the tag @froggiewrites !! absolutely no one surprised at who I picked several posts deep into the one piece chain
and bonus points I actually used this same picrew a while back to make one of my ocs! also a zorokisser, who I made distinctly before I actually started watching one piece
her name is nes please ask me questions about my ocs i am begging you
uh I don’t know who to tag so anyone who wants to do this consider this your tag!
hi I had another idea for a request! dealer’s choice on the character(s) (but if you’re stuck for an idea maybe law?), but maybe the reader gets hurt in a fight and their (slightly in denial about being in love) future love interest nurses them back to health? can be fluff or smut or whatever you want I’m not picky I just love seeing your words
thank you I still love your work please keep it up
This request is from @toadmakes, on anon since it's her sideblog!
I thought this idea was so sweet, so I just made a really fluffy, self indulgent little piece. Also, I let Law be cool last time I wrote about him so of course I had to make him a flustered little nerd in this one. I hope you enjoy it!!
A Helping Hand
Pairing: Law x Reader
SFW
Summary: You get hurt protecting Law, and he's not pleased.
Warnings: Fluff, Lots of Banter, Very Little Hurt/Lots of Comfort
Word Count: 1.3k
You don’t remember throwing yourself in front of Law, or being carried back to the Tang. You don’t remember the screams of your friends, or the shaking hands that so carefully bandaged you back up. But that’s alright, because they were all too eager to tell you how stupid you had been once you came to.
“–disgustingly irresponsible! Not to mention unnecessary! What good reason could there possibly have been to do that?” Law is the most furious you’ve ever heard him, and you fear it may be because he’s the most scared you’ve ever heard him. You don’t know how close of a call it was, but you know you hurt all over, and his eyes are shining with something someone who didn’t know better might confuse with tears.
“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” You try not to say it like an excuse or a plea. It’s simply fact.
His eyes shoot away from yours. You swear you see a hint of red on his cheeks, but just as quickly as you notice it, it’s gone. He clicks his tongue with displeasure before continuing. “I wasn’t going to get hurt. I could have very easily moved out of the way. You–” he sighs. “Don’t do anything like that again.”
“Well I don’t think I’ll be doing it anytime soon.” You try to give him a wry grin, but it turns more into a grimace as you shift, pain shooting through you. You’re covered head to toe in bandages, every part of you sore and bruised. You’re surprised you’re upright and conscious right now, honestly. “Can I get some painkillers?”
“You’re on enough to take down a horse.”
“But it still hurts.” You pout, and he grits his teeth and looks away from you again.
“Yeah. Almost dying tends to do that.” Even with the gruffness in his voice and face, his hands are gentle as they begin to fuss with your bandages, checking over every inch of you to ensure you’ve been properly taken care of. You could swear he hesitates slightly at checking the bandages around your thighs and chest, but he perserveres, ever the professional. You wince a few times when his hands brush a particularly tender spot, yelping when he makes slight contact with your ribs. He fiddles with the IV in your arm, and you feel a flood of relaxation and relief hit you. Looks like he found a reason to give you more painkillers after all. “You’re going to be out of commission for a long while, y’know.”
“How long?”
“At least six weeks, but probably longer.”
“What?”
“That’s nothing compared to what it could be. You have a couple broken ribs, not to mention all of the cuts and bruises. You’re lucky your organs weren’t crushed.”
“Can’t you like…shambles it away?”
“No.” His voice is flat. You look at him with wide, pleading eyes, and he scoffs at you. “Well, more like I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“If I just fix it you’ll run off and do it again, and next time you might not be so lucky.”
“Oh…so you’re just worried about me?” You giggle, filled with warmth at the idea. And maybe the pain meds. “You could just say so.”
“That’s not–” he lets out a soft choked sound when he realizes there’s no way to deny it without insisting he doesn’t care about you. As grumpy as he can be sometimes, he would never say something so unkind. Not to you. “Shut up.”
“Hey Captain?” You feel your tongue loosening with things you would never say, but you’re too out of it to stop yourself.
“Yes?”
“Do you like me?”
There’s definitely a flush to his cheeks now. “What?”
“I think you like me. A lot.”
“I–No!”
“You don’t like me?” Your voice cracks a little, tears coming far too quickly. Whatever he gave you is powerful stuff.
“That’s not–I–agh!” He roughly runs his fingers through his hair, desperately avoiding eye contact with you. “I like you. As a crewmate.”
You puff your cheeks out a bit with displeasure. “That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“I’ll believe you if you look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
“You’re looking at the headboard over my shoulder, Captain.”
His eyes flick to yours, and he turns an even more brilliant shade of scarlet. “I li–” His shoulders tense and he suddenly shoots up and turns away from you. “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about this. You’re high off your ass. I bet you won’t even remember this when you wake up tomorrow.” You can see the tips of his ears burning as he gathers his things and prepares to leave.
“You’re gonna abandon me?”
“I have work to do!”
“I’m a patient, I am work!”
His voice is rising with frustration. “You’re already set up, what else is there to do?”
“I don’t know, Captain, I’m not the doctor here!” You try to raise your arm to reach out to him, only to let out a soft whine when you can barely move it.
“Please stop trying to use your broken bones.” He comes closer to gently hold your arm down, concern clear.
“It doesn’t feel broken.”
“It will soon.”
“You’re gonna let me hurt? On purpose? You’re so mean to me, Captain.”
He sighs. His thumb starts rubbing small circles onto your hand, though he doesn’t seem conscious of the action. “If I fix you up, do you promise not to do anything like that again?”
“No.”
The affectionate movements stop. “What?”
“I can’t promise that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I’m strong, I can take a little pain.”
“But I don’t want you to.” You know you sound petulant and childish, but you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t want you to hurt at all, I don’t care if you can handle it. You shouldn’t have to.”
“So you should?”
“Yes.”
“That’s stupid.”
You huff. “You’re stupid.”
He can’t help but break into a rare laugh, a chuckle that rumbles through him and makes your heart skip a beat. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s lost himself until he looks up to see you staring at him, eyes wide and cheeks red, mouth slightly agape. “What?”
“I really like you, Captain.”
He grows horribly flustered, but for once he doesn’t pull away from you. He keeps looking you in the eye, even as every part of him screams to run and avoid his embarrassment. “You do?” His tone is heart-wrenchingly hopeful.
“I do. So, so much. You’re the most beautiful and wonderful person in the world.” You can feel your smile grow dopey and lovesick. “I’d take a million hits for you. A billion, even.”
“What if it’d make me happier if you didn’t take any hits at all?”
“Then I would say you shouldn’t have let me join your crew. Getting hit is part of the job. But that’s okay. You’re worth it.” You lean forward, begging him for a single touch, since you currently can’t lift your arms. You can feel your eyes drooping, but you fight to keep them open long enough to receive what you want.
He sighs, but you can see the affectionate smile creeping onto his face. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, resting a hand against your cheek so tenderly you could weep. “Get some rest. I’ll fix you up in the morning.”
You hum as he uses his palm to gently push you back down, his other hand on your shoulders to recline you slightly. You’re fading fast, finally losing your fight with sleep, but before you go, you swear you feel the ghost of his lips against your forehead.
snowghoul
vaporwave
2087
discoholicmusic
kianamaiart
dededos
romaincrisis
janainaart
