n/a

a hunter is a hunter, even in a dream.

[yharnum-a]

very impulsive, i’ve moved blogs for a fresh start and functioning tags. nothing huge, same as always on @yharnum.

[yharnum-a]

very impulsive, i’ve moved blogs for a fresh start and functioning tags. nothing huge, same as always on @yharnum.

[yharnum-a]

very impulsive, i’ve moved blogs for a fresh start and functioning tags. nothing huge, same as always on @yharnum.

[yharnum-a]

very impulsive, i’ve moved blogs for a fresh start and functioning tags. nothing huge, same as always on @yharnum.

[yharnum-a]

very impulsive, i’ve moved blogs for a fresh start and functioning tags. nothing huge, same as always on @yharnum.

[yharnum-a]

i tend to just pair all my game muses that have a cc player to my oc @daylighter so that now extends to minthara and gwyndolin however that’s just for consistency on my end because these fandoms seem small ... always open to writing with other tav’s / ashen one’s what have you.

[forwrath]

whilst they shook from nerves, he became their anchor. sturdy and steady, knowing they would do for the realm what those before them couldn't. artorias believed in them, the good and righteous moon light that sung within their very veins. how gwyndolin had looked after the realm long before it was their duty. even in the absence of fatherly love, or affection were they studious to those that would inhabit anor londo. it felt much like preparing a knight for battle in a sense. as gwyn would have to face their people, those that may have had machinations against them too. to either forgive, or punish. they would never forget, and even if they did, artorias would not. he would inherit her rage, let it soak through his skin and manifest in his veins. for his love for gwyndolin was enough to inspire his own cruelty to those that would wish them harm.

❝ patience is all i have for you, my liege. paired with my love, my adoration and my blade. ❞ there is a quieter murmur now, one lacking formality. the knight commander knew gwyndolin was perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, but there existed a trust that could be taken advantage of. ❝ no harm will come to you while i am here. i promise you this; i will make them fear me as they should. for my heart is always entwined with yours, your wish my command. ❞ leaning down to press his forehead to theirs. a moment to linger, he'd not make them late with his heart felt affections. they knew what he would do to any who sought to harm them again. he'd show everyone so that there would be nothing to leave to imagination.

[yharnum-a]

never free from the dizzying array of expectations, yet where they had comfortable endured this from the shadows, they have now found themselves situated where the light was brightest. by no work of their father, rather by the doing of their own hand; yet without the warmth of sunlight, it was the sure and cold glow of the moon that now crowned their little city of wonders and old treachery. they fuss unnecessarily with the clasps of their clerical belt at the front, whereas the knights hands carefully button the back. only when he turns them do their heads touch, & they let their lithe fingers rest over his chest. seeking the surety that his heart still yet beat, even if it were with the impossible miracle of the seeing void. ❛  ah, ’tis well met. i give thee gratitude.  ❜ pale fingers curling into cloth, the lord exhales unsteadily. a sharp of memory of those knights turned against the goddess— what dark still lingered?

but gwyndolin takes comfort in his words. he had already saved them from the greatest peril that could have washed everything down in ruddy catastrophe. with a second exhale, they stifle the urge to close their ears to it all, but they would not. soft & long limbs circle around his neck like ribbons or snakes. ❛  they shall know fear of you, though 'tis but a pale reflection to the love i hold for thee. thou’rt bidden to remember.  ❜ now, pushed forward on the stretch of serpents for a greater height, they chastely attempt to steal from him a single kiss before mindfully letting go. what did it matter, those turncoat fiends, when they had in their hand, the greatest of knights to command? ❛  we ought not tarry. i must placate the court; we shall speak anon, i swear to thee.  ❜

[exitvelo-a]

he is more amusing than most of his kind, that she will admit, although his rough etches are as apparent as the rips at the edge of a torn page. how he goes around with this kind of disguise, hidden from the top of his head down to the scuffed toes of his boots, florence doesn't entirely understand though she gathers it is a safety mechanism as these things seem to be for most in gotham. it is an odd city, a shadowed little thing, where she comes and goes as she pleases since people usually pay a hefty sum for something lifted from the mansions in the more well-off part of the city. some think you can just knock into a window of wayne manor and take whatever the deceased parents of the brooding millionaire have left behind in their untimely wake, as if it isn't the most notorious place to consider crawling into in all of this city - but such are the minds of those with money to burn, they only ever want what others of their ilk may or may not have. where someone like the red hood fits in there, as far from this ilk as florence herself if not more so, she isn't so sure. that's part of the secrecy, a straight line from his red-clad head to the floor he is standing on.

" sure your face just looks like this, little red riding hood. your mirror must be thrilled, " florence deadpans with a roll of her eyes. she has crossed paths with a few vigilantes, usually with more criminals than those heroic figures, but she thinks red hood is more alike to her mind than the kind of sewer-dwellers that all fan themselves over the possibility to be the city's next-best clown when the real one's locked away ( or hiding wherever . . . hopefully far away from florence's grayscale area of expertise. ) she's been considering declining more of her job offers in gotham, but sometimes the reward is too good to pass up, and she also sees it as an exercise in her work, a challenge to rise for, to meet. " wow, you really put thought into someone asking you why you're in this costume. that's actually impressive, " she hums at the end, giving him another look up and down, and wonders how he even manages to move around as well as he does in, well, all of that. it seems more of a hassle than a party trick.

as he seems to consider her words, which are the truth, she can't help but giggle, something that turns into enough laughter she has to put a hand in front of her face to keep it from spilling over too much. " are you really this averse to talking to people? i can't even see your face and i bet you look like i wedged a lemon between your teeth. my god, yes, i want you to spill your guts and i can spill mine. that's how we get to know people that we meet more than once. so foreign to you, cowboy? " righting herself again, florence holds up one hand and then starts a count on it, one finger after another. " one, you ask their name. two, where they are and who they come from, or run from. three, now you get to the juicy, sordid parts. i like skipping small talk, i don't have the time for it - well, i do, but only after i got the to the good parts. c'mon, loosen up, no secret worth it when you're this tense about it. "

[yharnum-a]

❛  who is the reddest of them all?  ❜ speaking of mirrors, few were ever needed for those slinking away in shadows. he wasn’t sure the last time he had looked at his own. even fewer who ever bothered to consider or look for one. their reflections seemed to come to them only in stacks of money or the suffering of others. probably the only ones she needed were those round enough to steal. he doesn’t answer back when she retorts about his decisiveness on clothes, but offers a mockingly curt nod of his head in response. it wasn’t an unfair suggestion to think it should be impossible. red as a flare to the eye. hardly as lithe as she was slinking around like a cat’s shadow. six foot and none of your business tall with guns to split peace. & yet here he was, disappearing without a trace or consequently, arriving without disturbing even lint.

she would know how that worked better than the back of her hand. to be contortionists of shadows. the world was better off never knowing more than that. she laughs in the quiet of where they are but there are no brooding villains or manic clowns to burst in on them now. really can’t remember the last time he’d ever made anyone laugh, let alone hear it without remembering— his visor is still trained on her & a close up square outlines her too amused eyes eager to engage. he steps closer to where moonlight cuts in through the shattered window of their abandoned outpost, daring to illuminate him but not quite. he thinks on her encouragements, careless enjoyment where he seems too wound up, not buying it for a second. still, he can’t help but think for a way to wriggle himself in and out of here for the fun of it.

❛  alright, fine. here goes.  ❜ he folds his arms and his finger taps away at his bicep, his own manner of counting down secrets the way she had held up her hand and counted down her methods. he had listened to every word & they could agree on at least one thing, this disdain for small talk. she looks back at him attentive and he waits to see how she responds: tirelessly amused or sick of the patchwork answer of bullshit? ❛  i am so good at stealing, i once stole a batwheel. i have forty-six brothers. my name is definitely jason borne. although some people think i look like the joker. i hate matcha and i read brontë a lot. what else, let’s see ... oh, i’m also an undead, practically speaking. died a while back and crawled out of a grave. it’s been fun.  ❜

unfolding his arms, the red hood lets them hang at his sides before gesturing to her as if to say, happy? ❛  so, how’d i do? on the whole opening up thing. your turn, @exitvelo.  ❜

[yharnum-a]

ada and leon’s relationship is so special to me they do Not conform even remotely to traditional expectations around what a relationship should be nor is it gender role confirming. he bitches at her and she says nothing he pushes and she saves his life again and again. they are in a cycle of changing the courses of eachother lives in the small ways that matter in the grand scheme of things when they can’t change the larger things like being entangled in their careers. both of which btw can get them killed if they disobey. she’s gone out of her way to disobey her superiors because likely after a life of having no faith or hope in the way humanity operates he has successfully persuaded her not (just) with love and care but with actions that there is still hope.

tell me how they aren’t tangled in their little red string of fate. he tells her (with no shortage of self criticism and regret) that he’s failed to save even one person in an effort to save many, then she hears wesker say he’s willing to let billions die to create/save one, and ada chooses leon’s argument. leon continuously believing in her capacity to be good to the point he’d raise a gun against chris to defend her and ada has not let him down in that regard once, the same way he’s not let her down by giving up or believing in the nihilistic view of humanity she has known all her life.

[cautionarys]

it felt nice and light, this brand of flirting— easy and fluttery as though they weren't here to basically punch someone's lights out. creeps could take it. she felt no remorse at all as she leaned into jason's touch and anticipated both the intimacy they'd likely share after (maybe in the nearest room, depending on how they felt...) and the rush of a fight. she liked to get things done with him; liked that they fell into step with one another, their styles and movements complementary after so much training and tangling and entwining. jesse didn't liked groups very much, fond as she was of individual heroes she'd worked with; but this partnership settled in her core like a warm hearth, fulfilling, and didn't it help, that it was her boyfriend? they didn't exactly throw the label around, not like some obnoxious couples did, (yes, she saw their relationship as superior, just better) but it was there still, sealing what they had. a sign of growth.

❛  ugh,  ❜ she began thickly, sarcastically, mouth curling as he tipped her chin up to get a better look at her. their eyes slotted and held, chemistry thick enough to slice with a blade. ❛  wait. give me a sec, i'm snapping out of it. right. done. what got into me? how dare i tell you what you already know? ❜ that he was special— trained. obviously far above average, exceeding even her strict, cynical expectations. more teasing in the air between them, more flirtations. though they really did have to get moving; standing there, jesse felt the familiar tug of impatience within, the desire to keep him precisely where he was and hoard him, hog him. kiss him stupid, fall into chides that weren't really chides because they cared about it each other. it always brought bliss. but there'd be time for that later. she could wait; the adrenaline rush sure to swarm them both in the next fifteen minutes would be fantastic, and they could ride the high together. ❛  and in public no less.  ❜

moving with him, letting his body guide hers because he knew the layout of the building better than she did. they had to stop as someone dressed as sexy shrek barreled past, drawing a raised brow from jesse; the smell of cheap beer and sweat filled the air, unpleasant, and she was comforted by the familiar smells of @yharnum, a factory reset on the senses. they settled in front of the stairwell, then, out of view of others. indulged in quips for a little while longer because the playful tinge had not yet faded even as they prepared to work and beat with fists. jesse was half-sated on kisses, willing to wait for more, and she smirked, shameless and blunt, none of the hesitance she showed at the start of their dynamic present now. the mask was back up, shielding jason's pretty face. no matter, jesse had it memorized.

❛  told ya, and i'll hold you to it. just be prepared to lose. ❜ one could argue that they'd been in a dick waving contest from the moment they'd met; it'd just grown softer now, choked with fondness. mischief briefly set aside, they discussed the logistics of the fight that lay ahead, and jesse nodded, said she understood. moved at his command, following his lead. and when they got to the top step, she darted forward in a flash, too smooth for the human eye to catch; the girls she grabbed yelped in confusion as they were swept up by insistent hands, a meddling librarian if they ever saw one.

she deposited them one after another at the junction between club and hallway, and they clutched their heads, moving toward the exit. toward safety. toward other people. jesse shouted a quick 'sorry!' because she knew they were dizzy, heads spinning, spirals in the vision, yet alive, safe. and then she was by jason's side once more, the force in her heels and blood. only six seconds had gone by. her fist caught the oncoming offender with ease, and she grinned over at jason because he'd been right. then she crouched before the guy could scramble or reach for a weapon, snatched him up by the back of his collar, and held him high for jason to deal with: to whack or grab himself, to threaten. he looked good like this, in his element, proving her earlier praise. her eyes were blue and alert and full of devotion. faux pitbull thrashed, kicking his legs out to no avail, unable to wrench himself free— jesse's single-hand grip was too strong. ❛  awe, ❜ she said, unkindly. as if he were a misbehaving child.

[yharnum-a]

they would have time for all their gambling and competitions. if not, then they would certainly go out of their way to make time for it. he couldn’t put sense or words into the easy feeling of satisfaction he felt ribbing with her even on the go; there was a natural casualness and familiarity with it that he had only recently come to realise he was starved of. or rather, that it was the same thing he had been starved of as a child, all his life, and that he had somehow retained the ability to still recognise & feel it even after death was the real kicker. did it matter at all if it was the real thing or merely the body’s memory of one? he didn’t have time to debate it now, not when it felt too inconsequential in the grand scheme of things when he was beside her. they were sharing grins and knowing looks, their fists the same strength of ready. he would leave it for night-time, when dreams had an easier time torturing him with that.

❛  in your dreams— i ain’t losing.  ❜ he hadn’t lost his hunch at the very least. the gaggle of goons reacted pretty much the way he’d dictated they would from the start. a slight against his street was a slight against him, & he knew by the way the bald-headed freak thrashed in jesse’s arrested hold that he knew exactly what this was about and where it was going. although jason hadn’t donned the too-obvious colours of the red hood, making it easier for him to have snuck in tonight, that was the real moniker they feared. it took only a few minutes for the guy to piece it together. this stranger with the green eyes and black hair and covered mouth. red hood, he gasped out, that’s you ain’t it— fuck! and who’s this bitch?!

he was unimpressed they hadn’t been paranoid enough. a few weeks of quiet after they had terrorised the street where his old home had been & they’d taken it to mean the red hood simply hadn’t caught on. maybe they’d get away scot-free. oh, but he’d caught on just fine. ❛  hey now.  ❜ jesse’s fist had left a dent in the guy’s right eye. insane. he smacked his left, got a few crawling screams out of him. why the leeway? why reveal so much of his face? this idiot knew why. ❛  that’s no way to talk. by the way, i’m just a messenger; old dan says hi.  ❜ later he would head back to the bar and old dan would ask him if he talked it out with bald-head. he’d say he did and ran the guy out of town and old dan would heave out a sigh of relief knowing to trust his word. he would think nothing more of it and, preferably, that was for the best. ❛  okay. well, he didn’t say anything else. so that’s it for you.  ❜ another scream between pleas for mercy. his gun hissed hello, barrel point up, and he shot him dead out of jesse’s hand.

later, he walked through the disarray of the lounge. bouncers knocked out, their boss bleeding out with a bad headache he’d never recover from. tulip glasses shattered & money-rot splayed over the pool table. he kicked his boot out lightly but no downed body moved. slowly, he replaced the cloth around his mouth with the red hood.

❛  think we’re done here. hey— where’d you go?  ❜

[cautionarys]

❛  forgive me, ❜ jill said very suddenly, very quietly, the sounds of the sea breeze wooshing through the air, though she didn't fully mean it. was less sorry about her intent, more sorry that her outburst might've put him in an awkward spot. ❛  that was— loud. ❜ what had happened? what was she apologizing for? the day had been quite beautiful at first, and quiet, unchanging. after a long, passionate night together filled with sighs and vows and whispers against panting throats, pleasure that made you weep, they'd got up, ate, watched the shore together, and enjoyed a peaceful thirty or so minutes in solitude before visitors arrived, one of them unfortunately the dame.

a lovely woman, objectively, yet jill was still cross with her, never forgetting those early interactions, the playful (and deliberate) teasing that had made her jealous. it hadn't meant a thing to the dame, of course. harmless words; she wasn't even attracted to clive like that. but for jill it was a ruffling of the feathers, and now, with the world changed, and their bodies changed, and joshua gone, magic gone, she was at her most protective. and sensitive.

no one could drift close to clive without first enduring her quiet judgement. do you mean him well? every lifted brow seemed to say. he needs his rest. how fully joshua would approve! and pity the fool who dared ask clive to complete a task while his body and mind healed from what he'd dealt with.

isabelle had done exactly that, though her request hadn't even been properly voiced before jill quieted her, quick and sharp. small talk, well wishes, cordial greetings. all of it perfectly friendly and natural. jill had slid off a little ways to the side as they spoke before clive clasped her arm lovingly, halting her. as if sensing her emotion. and she watched, listening, silent until the words came, 'i have a proposition for you...' at which point jill sternly said: he has been back but for a month. accomplish your own errands for once. words like a whip, isabelle had initially startled at this, then taken it all in stride as women in public spheres often did, saying they'd speak later. vanishing no doubt to find a meal. traveling was weary business. the couple had been left in silence after that, their limbs still hooked. jill, of course, spoke first, turning to catch clive's eye, free hand alighting his collar. soft mouth fixed into a frown. ❛  speak to me. was that the right call, @yharnum? i know i ought to have waited to discuss it with you in private, but the audacity... ❜

@yharnum ... drama! but make it cute and full of yearning.

[yharnum-a]

the oceanic terrain of their livelihoods holds still. clear water, a cold breeze, and clear skies, the first of many. his quiet nature is nothing out of the ordinary, but there is a sharper edge to it, a hollow mourning that continues— seemingly endless, despite his relief of the betterment around them. despite the continuity of his leadership and the kindness that was his own. he is clive as they have always known him, cid as they have always trusted him to be. only, his muted expressions and minimum words are a change from the curiosity they are use to, and so his lack of engagement offers them little insight into his heart. he speaks even less, nods his head instead of elaborating, and hums curtly in agreement for their demands, then goes off; & each time he returns home, his eyes wander to the corner of the railings just by the lift, where no evidence remains of his brother, only his saddened memory of him.

he found his peace could exist only her powerful hands. though he had little desire to present himself today, such luxuries were not afforded; they needed him, and so he untangled from her naked limb,s & when she had wrapped around him from behind by the edge of the bed, he had resisted the urge to let his mouth wander down the side of her neck. clive had smiled— he so rarely smiled if it were not for her. under the sun they had fought to keep, friends come in throes to visit. this was the hard work of their alliances intermingling beyond the function of cid. otto is enthused, understandably so; this is the first they have been able to negotiate resources in plentiful droves.

clive stands with his arms crossed & his expression stern, with jill an armoured sentinel beside him— content to let them all talk in his place. when isabella strides over to say her hello’s [clive had only noticed the women among the throes of others by the way she said his name cheerfully], he realises only belatedly that the air has shifted. without looking, he knows jill is immediately displeased. rather awkwardly, he made his way through the norm of small talk, but when jill made to move away entirely, the unhappy cat, his hand clasped around her wrist. it was a silent directive, as if to say, she would not go because he would not let her. she appeared to oblige, perhaps half-listening to clive speak to the dame, but the matter of it all was cut short when jill’s voice pierced the discussion in half.

the dame had been about to request another chore, before she was silenced. startled at first, but as unruffled as ever, the dame had smiled & excused herself politely. clive, flabbergasted, had stared at jill in an expression of mild surprise.

her hand pressed to his collar, soft mouth frowning. he looked down at her with his arm about the back of her waist, baffled at first & unsure what to say. then he seemed to scoff and smile a little, shaking his head. ❛  you surprise me.  ❜ she seemed so private a person, that her moments of taciturn reproach startled even him. yet, shy where she was bold, he found he enjoyed it greatly. there was nothing about jill he did not positively admire. ❛  there is nothing to forgive. and you were not loud.  ❜ his hand slides to her cheek, head brushing head. clive was not particularly good at comfort, neither with giving it or receiving it, yet he knew things were a little less terrible when he pulled her into an embrace. ❛  if it is what you believe, then it is the right call for me as well. we are equals, aren’t we? what you think matters to me too.  ❜

[hollowprompts]

🤐 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 : 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴. 𝘯𝘰 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩. 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 (+ 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦) 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘦.

🕊️ 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞

01. gently brushing the other's hair out of their face to tuck behind their ear. 02. wrapping a blanket around their shoulders from behind. 03. brushing tears off of their cheeks. 04. reaching out hesitantly before resting a hand on their back. 05. placing a cup of tea or coffee in front of them. 06. sitting beside them while they are asleep to watch over them. 07. sharing silence with them. 08. pulling them into a tight hug. 09. writing something quietly and passing them the note. 10. fixing a piece of their clothing carefully.

🔥 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫

01. staring at them in silence for a long moment before walking away. 02. slamming a door shut without explanation. 03. packing their things up, slowly and deliberately. 04. breathing sharply through their nose and refusing to meet their eyes. 05. cleaning something obsessively in silence.

🥀 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

01. running their thumb over the others bottom lip slowly. 02. standing just a little too close, enough to feel each others breath. 03. grazing their knuckles along the other's hip or thigh in passing. 04. undoing the top button of their shirt while holding eye contact. 05. leaning in like they're going to kiss and then pausing shyly. 06. sliding a hand under their chin to tilt their head up.

[c4tr0nac7]

[yharnum-a]

why did they make it look like zoro’s entire night got pissed off because sanji was busy flirting with hot girls

[yharnum-a]

i can’t adequately put into words how significant sanji’s adoration for nami is. like his goofy ass aside he moons over her for all the right reasons she should be praised for (beautiful intelligent loyal clever smart kind and the list goes on), but also holds her friendship in the highest regard. would wax and kiss the floor she walks on.

[exitvelo-a]

by rules of his own making, zoro doesn't feel vulnerable in situations like this. even when he slept with men and left them in the middle of the night, neither the undressing nor the moment where they pressed into him ever felt vulnerable or even shameful to him, and only because of the morose state his conscience grew into through his teen years to now did he never feel any shame for leaving them behind without a word either. compare that to the cook and zoro is sure he would think of zoro as even more romantically deprived to the molecular making of him than he already did, not only not one to be wooed and serenaded but not even someone who feels great pains about the transactional nature of letting someone take care of his here-and-there desires. zoro can admit to himself that it is different with sanji, absolutely not solely transactional and already nullifying the chance of zoro dropping sanji for another island by the simple fact they share living quarters and friends and a journey. once they leave this bed, this town, they'd return to the merry and would be back to dealing with the usual nonsense drummed up by the rest of the crew. zoro, for a fact, knows he is going to feel more mortified by whatever bonding experience usopp will come up with next than by being fucked by sanji within an inch of his life.

zoro wants this, plain as day, and the only line he draws is that he'd refuse if sanji were to put him on his front. this is not something he will permit, as he has yet to ever give anyone the satisfaction of catching him off his guard, but with the way he feels heat pouring through him wherever sanji touches him with his hands, those unbelievably nimble and dextrous fingers, or kisses him with a mouth made much more for this than any of the asinine shit he spouts all day, he knows sanji might be a candidate for this down the line. if they ever repeat this, if this ever becomes more than the chance occurrence of adrenaline and zoro facing head on that the cook makes him feel unhinged from himself and so acutely aware of his own wants, as well as the cook's wants in return, then zoro might allow it. probably will put his swords in his line of sight only for good measure and not let sanji do anything he hasn't agreed to, hasn't asked of him - it would take time, and trust ( more trust than he's already given with all the quiet hours he's handed sanji ) but maybe then, down the line, once the cook's learned the avenues of zoro's body, zoro would let him get away with that. not with the kind of saccharine notions he gets into, but a testament to what he makes zoro feel, if he keeps it up. and zoro fears he will keep it up.

gritting through his teeth, a moan bitten raw when he can feel sanji against him, evidently as into this as zoro is, zoro doesn't even know how he's going to leave this bed in the next few hours, before the day is through. he feels outside of himself, existing only at the points where sanji's touching him, one hand on his knee and then his waist, the other still on his face in a touch far too devoted to be only devious, and his length pressed against zoro nearly exactly where it should be. zoro curses under his breath, annoyed by how easy it feels to let the cook handle this, handle him, them, and all that it encompasses. maybe sanji didn't just idle his life away in that fucking kitchen because he must have some experience doing this, or maybe he's just a goddamn mind-reader when it comes to zoro's body, but it is entirely unbelievable how good he is at that, how he adapts, kisses against zoro's throat that make him capitulate where he lies beneath him, lift his head to the side so the cook can leave traces if he wants to, can do whatever, because all of it makes lightning zap down zoro's spine and settle low in his gut, something that becomes harder and harder to ignore the longer they continue.

" you're unbelievable, " zoro mumbles, a facsimile of his usual snark, something between annoyance and awe he can't hide away, can't push away like he usually does when sanji has him secure in his hands so goddamn easily. it is embarrassing, and this is what mortifies zoro more than the fact that they are doing this, how sanji has finally shut up but he hasn't stopped piercing through zoro's resolve, all his walls, the outer lines of his body to make a home in him. god awful actually, but zoro only finds it in himself to curse more before he pulls his knees up and his legs around sanji's waist, asking him with no words to get on with it again, to give him what he wants - they could talk about what it means after or, better yet, never talk it through at all. zoro's content with this, he meant it, and it doesn't even matter right now how out of his head he is, the equivalent of a wolf with its maw open and teeth clamped around a taming hand, though he doesn't think he's being tamed. studied maybe, paid attention to for sure, and in the cook's way this possibly would count as worship or devotion or something as equally dramatic, but whatever it is, it just makes zoro wan him more.

[yharnum-a]

like a carefully coveted secret, each tangible exchange of intimacy was the result of every insult flown across the starboard. this long and familiar habit or ribbing into eachother wouldn’t budge even after the fact of their lines crossing and entangling together. he almost doesn’t want to think that it would go back to the ordinary, as if nothing had changed & nothing would change— an unbearable thought in the heat of the moment. the more cold and distant part of himself wonders if that was perhaps the only way they could survive around eachother. better to listen to the reflex that held zoro at arm’s length, nevermind the fact that there was currently hardly any distance between them left. limbs carelessly falling together when they were suppose to be reasonable and responsible, out on a scout, not getting distracted be base desires and as usual, eachother. their mouths knocked together impatiently. every corner-stone and crook memorised and pried open. he was real and warm to the touch and alive every where zoro needed him, but if that need was to end?

awful thought. “ tolerable company, reluctantly friends, just zoro and sanji ” once again. you’re unbelievable, zoro manages to say, and sanji scoffs— doesn’t think he knows half of what that word really means.

biting with a grin, it’s not experience he credits for the obvious result of the other man’s pleasure, but the sheer bandwidth and benefit of romance and devotion that zoro can’t seem to grasp. not that sanji dares voice it, having half the mind to know such a proclamation would kill the mood faster than zoro could learn to tolerate him. surprisingly then, he still keeps quiet, refuses to give him a word of himself. it’s easy to do only because his own mind sluggishly fights against the daze and often fails to come up with logical thought. between one sharp inhale and the next sigh and the agonising moan muffled against skin, he tunes out his doubts for good and lets his fingers catch zoro’s. pinned to the whining bed, he makes every kiss feel like he’s half-intent on ripping zoro’s mouth off.

seconds spin into the length of his stride, each pull & push into the bed. his eyes change in colour, dark as blue could get when the ocean was upset with restlessness, hungry want written over his face. this bit of recall was too important to close his stare to, so he watches; zoro’s seemingly compliant wishes being met without needing to be spoken or, the easy answer to his desire being listened to. each rock of hip there, each snag of kisses and teeth there, or every press of sound at his ear and neck. studied thoroughly and undressed all over again down to his bones. legs held and tugged close and pushed up against the solidness of his torso. the heavy thrum of obvious pleasure in his throat is interrupted only by the sudden, startled inhale of a gasp when the hind legs of the wretched bed creaks and splinters.

❛  holy shit— [!]  ❜ his head knocks against zoro’s and without pausing to think, he laughs in manic delight. briefly, it leaves his weight gently over zoro’s chest, cheeks brushing and hazy delight tricking him into his starved instinct for adoration. his face is red from exertion & bliss, feelings on his face bright as the sun, but his eyes retain their mischief. darkly pleased with himself. twice more pleased with the a third appreciation of the warm skin of a stern looking lover, who had a look on his face he’d dream about later. ❛  here— stop. let me.  ❜  still grinning, the shock wears off and he’s pressing into zoro again. gasps lightly, then resumes because he knows what the tautness of zoro’s limbs mean, and when his mouth parts to pant, sanji steals the moment to kiss him through it. ❛  you’re just having too much fun with me, @exitvelo.  ❜

[suuho]

I could've made sushi with that. One Piece, 2.05 Wax On Wax Off