I Feel Like Zoro Needs To Be Spoiled After Training.. Poor Man All Sweaty And Tired And The Only Thing

Tired doctor 69

My top three feminist exploitations of male-default language. (Insp)

"I promise to keep it on if I can kiss you,"

Summary: Din really wants to kiss you, but that means taking off his helmet…

Pairing: Din Djarin (Mando) x Reader 

Word Count: 972

Rating: SFW Tags: First kiss, Kissing, Blindfolds, Friends to lovers, Gentle kissing, Flirting, Cockblocking

Notes: Yah!!! I always thought Din was cool but when he took off his mask I was like *o* So yeah we gotta do some fics about him. Heres my first!

“Do you trust me?” you ask him. Din doesn’t pause his answer. “Yes,” he says quickly. “Do you trust me enough not to peek?” “I do.” This time he does pause. “But I don’t want to take any chances. I can’t let any living thing see me without my helmet, you understand this.” And that was true, you did understand. You knew how much being a Mandalorian meant to him, and how he’d honor the code until he died. It was a shame, you badly wanted to know who lay under the mask, who had won your heart over, who you were thinking of day and night.   Din clearly felt the same. At first, he was blunt and quiet around you, just like everyone else, but it didn’t take long until you heard him laughing and smiling from under his helmet on the regular. You had won him over and he damn well knew it.

“What if I blindfold you? Would you be alright with that?” Din asks you, clearly eager. “You can, but don’t blame me if it slips off and I take a peak,” you flirt. “Very funny,” Din says. “But I promise to keep it on if I can kiss you,” you flirt. Din smirks from under his mask as he wanders off down the corridor of his ship.

You sat there in silence for a moment, overhearing Din rummage with something down below. Your cross your legs on the passenger seat, looking over at the Childs closed cot, resting. Din re-appears with a black cloth in both hands. He kneels down in front of you so he’s level with your face, and ties the blindfold behind your head. You adjust it slightly, making it more comfortable over your nose. “Can you see?” he asks. “Of course not!” Your sight was black. Din waves his hand in front of your face, seeing if you’d flinch. You didn’t as you obviously couldn’t see him. “Happy?” You ask him. “Mhmm,” Din replies. You hear a shuffle, the sound of metal clanking, and a light thud next to you. Din had removed his helmet and placed it on the dashboard.

Still kneeling in front of you, he takes your hand and places it softly on his cheek. Skin contact. You rub your thumb lightly over his cheek, the strands of his stubble prickling your fingertip. “I guess there’s no need to shave if no one ever see’s you,” you joke. Din laughs. “I like it,” he shrugs as your other hand comes up to cup his other cheek. You spend some time brushing your hands over his skin; feeling the curve of his chin, the softness of his cheekbones, the thickness of his brows. “Well, you’re human,” you state. “Mhmm,” he replies, closing his eyes, warming up to your touch. You run your hands up through his mop of hair, medium length and thick. “I’ve always liked long hair,” you joke. He grins again and shuffles closer to you, pulling off his gloves and placing his hands on your lap.

You can feel his face close to yours, his warm breath against your flustered cheeks. Din reaches one of his hands up to hold the crook of your neck, his fingertips brushing into your hair. You can feel his nerves radiating off him, his hand ever so slightly shaking. “For a bounty hunter, you’re pretty nervous,” you joke, trying to calm him. “Never kissed someone so breathtaking before,” Din softly replies. “You haven’t even kissed me yet!” You laugh. “Oh yeah..” And with that, Din pulls you forwards slightly and finally bridges the gap. The first thing you feel is his mustache ticking against your upper lip, making you smile against him. His nose bumps lightly against yours as you kiss; you found this cute, but Din seemed tense. You loosen him up by cupping your hands on his jawline, rubbing your thumb over his cheeks. Din tightens his grip of your hair to pull you against him even more, not knowing you could get closer to this man. His other hand snakes its way off your knee to around your waist, pulling you forward. You uncross your legs, letting his body slide in between them. You felt Din let out a soft sigh against your lips; you knew this man was weak for you. “You mesmerize me,” he says softly. You smile as you continue to kiss him. “The feelings mutual,” you purr.

Din’s knees are hurting, but he doesn’t want to move. He’s far too occupied in the hands of a pretty woman who has him wrapped around her pinky. The two of you spend what felt like hours exploring each other; a mixture of soft and hard kisses, open mouth, closed mouth, a bit of tongue. Din lets out the softest signs and moans every now and again, making your heart flutter. The two of you abruptly stop as you hear a small squeak. Din doesn’t hesitate in standing up, keeping his head down, and putting his helmet back on. “He’s awake,” Din says through the slight drone of his helmet. You reach behind your head to un-blindfold yourself, opening your eyes to see the Child looking at the two of you, his mouth happily open. Din pats his head before sitting down in the pilot seat, swiveling it around to focus on driving. You stand up and pick the Child up, nestling back down in your seat with it bundled in your arms. “Little cock-block, aren’t you?” you ask it. You head Din laugh upfront. The Child looks at you with confused eyes but smiles anyway. “At least we know the blindfold works,” you say to Din, watching him drive. “I’ll keep it handy for next time then,” Din says looking of his shoulder. You smirk.

Next time.

roronoa zoro; 21,051 words (not including epilogue), fluff and angst, ENEMIES!!! to lovers, the slowest of slow burns, canon-normal violence, on-page description of injury, excessive use of flashbacks, some banter, healing from trauma, baroque works!reader to strawhat!reader, no "y/n", emotionally constipated!zoro, hurt and comfort, angst with a happy ending; (epilogue tags will be posted separately)

summary: in which neither you nor zoro are the children you remember each other to be.

update: new chapters will be posted on @shouyuus!!!

a/n: IT'S FINALLY HERE!!! i honestly cannot believe i actually finished writing this lmfao. but anyway, this post will act as a table of contents/masterlist of sorts, and i will update links to the separate chapters as they go up. chapters will be posted every few days (but they are all done! except for the epilogue LOL). i've tagged everyone who has req-ed to be tagged in this series so far on this prologue post, but if you wish to be tagged for the upcoming chapters and you're not already on this fics specific taglist, please comment below to be added! and without further ado -- here we go!

TABLE OF CONTENTS ━

prologue: someone, somewhere

chapter one: a shadow of the past

chapter two: tell no tales

chapter three: sleep of the living, dreams of the dead

chapter four: another life

chapter five: true love's kiss

epilogue: la petite mort (nsfw)

prologue: someone, somewhere

He remembers you most as a child, in halcyon images and gold-limned flashes of his own childhood memories, the edges blurring watercolor soft, but the center (always you) carved in knife-sharp relief.

You were one of the few children that lived in Shimotsuki Village who hadn’t come from the doujou — one of the few children he knew that (at least to the best of his knowledge) had a thing called family. A mother to braid your hair, a father to chase the darkness away, a warm bed and a kitchen that always smelled of freshly made rice. And perhaps it was jealousy, or some other more complicated emotion that had been then too big to name with one single word, but he’d never gone out of his way to befriend you like the other kids from the doujou did — fascinated as they were by your soft hands and round cheeks and the bright, glittering array of homemade sweets you’d bring with you once every couple of weeks.

He’d learn later on that it was because Shimotsuki-sensei had saved your father’s life at some point in time; the story now lost to the annals of legend and withering memory, but back then, he’d only assumed it was the natural way of things. Of waking up for kata practice and then settling in for lunch, and then maybe, if it was to be a good day, you, with your basket of sweets and your blue-bell laughter.

And perhaps this is why, years later, when he meets you again in a dark, nameless village tavern, he doesn’t recognize you — not at first. Because you’d looked so different. Gone was the roundness in your cheeks, or the natural star-bright light in your eyes. Gone, too, were the bright braids that your hair had always been set in — he remembers so clearly, watching the other boys from the doujou jab their fingers into the rings of your pinned up braids, pulling down just to hear you squeak. He hadn’t said anything then, stupidly thinking him above it all, watching as you tried to jerk away, but laughing when the boys finally relented with half-hearted apologies.

You always threatened to take their sweets away; you never did, in the end.

But there, then, in that tiny tavern, you’d been thin, your hair dark as an oil spill, loose and inky as it cascades over your shoulders, your eyes lightless as the windows to an abandoned house — the hollowness made all the more visceral by the light he knew once inhabited them. The way loneliness is always more potent when coming back to it, the second time around.

He wanders up to the bar, slates you a glance before rapping his knuckles on the worn wood to catch the bartender’s attention.

“I’ll have beer and a refill of whatever the lady’s having.”

You shift slightly, shoulders hunching towards your ears.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you say, shifting to shield your face from his gaze.

Zoro cocks his head, tossing a few Berry towards the bartender as they set down a stein of beer and a champagne flute to replace the one in front of you.

“Can’t a guy buy a girl a drink?” Zoro asks, rolling his shoulders as he reaches out for his beer. You eye him warily.

“Not for a guy that’s been tracking me for three weeks straight.”

Zoro hums, thumb poised on the hilt of his swords.

“We just happened to be going in the same direction.”

You reach out to run a forefinger along the rim of the thin champagne flute before swirling it once by the base. You watch the bubbles fizzle before leaning in to take a dainty sip.

“And they say chivalry is dead…” you murmur, almost too softly for him to hear. Zoro scoffs, allowing himself a twinge of a smirk before his mouth falls flat.

“You let me track you for three whole weeks.”

There’s no question in his words, only a harsh, accusatory certainty.

You lick your lips, leaning back in your stool, tugging your glass of champagne with you.

“Maybe I wanted the company.”

“Or maybe… you wanted me to follow you here.”

Every muscle in his body is tense, drawn taut as a tightrope, coiled tight as a spring.

You sigh, twisting a single lock of your hair around a finger, examining the ends as if looking for split hairs.

Then, quick as a flash, you’re at each other’s throats — him with a sword poised at your jugular, you with a knife pressed against his stomach.

“One move —” you warn, digging the knife slightly further into his skin. Distinctly, Zoro feels the pressure slice through his thick linen shirt, the cool kiss of the blade against his abdomen. And he’s killed enough by now to know that you’ve picked a major artery — one that would hurt, and take minutes for him bleed out. Just long enough for him to suffer, but not enough to get help.

The edge of his mouth ticks upward — not bad.

It’s then, in the infinitesimal flicker of your eyes meeting his, that he realizes who you are.

He nearly topples back, jerking away slightly with the revelation. Your eyes go wide, jolted by his sudden movement. But he’s quick enough to evade the sharp jab of your knife and a second later, you’re on either ends of the tavern, drawn blades and bared teeth.

“Y-you!” the word rips from Zoro like an unripe scab, thick and hard and still bloody underneath.

You lick your lips, eyes narrowing to slits beneath your long, lanky hair.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The hell you don’t.”

“Oi! No fighting in the bar!” the barkeep’s voice is gruff and loud, and for a second, Zoro wonders if you’ll listen. The next, the sharp clang of metal on metal stuns him backwards a few steps as you wrest your knives from between two of his katanas, snarling.

“If you’re so much of a gentleman — let’s take this outside.”

“Ladies first,” Zoro spits out as he whips both swords through the air before sheathing them. He makes a show of holding the tavern door for you as you stalk out in front of him, your hackles raised, your knives jutting out from your belt like so many pairs of sharpened claws.

“What do you want?” you ask, as soon as you’re both out of the bar and standing in the moonlit street outside, the wharf to your left, the strip of small, rundown taverns to your right.

The air twangs with the metallic smell of fish and the thick, oppressive sweetness of rotting wood.

“An explanation,” Zoro says, crossing his arms and planting his feet.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Zoro nods, “Sure. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know.”

You lick your lips, glaring at him for a second longer before turning and marching down the rickety boardwalk. A moment later, Zoro levels himself with you as you round a corner onto a small stretch of beach, pillowed against a backdrop of sharp, unrelenting rocks, the tips bleached white by the round, silver moon.

“There was a beach just like this,” you say, stepping onto the tide-soaked sand, leaning down to pick up a fragment of a broken seashell, washed ashore by an errant wave.

It takes Zoro a second to realize you’re talking about Shimotsuki village, and the tiny little beach on the other side of the dense, cedar wood.

“Yeah. A bunch of us used to play there — see who can throw rocks out the furthest.”

“You were always the best at that,” you say, your voice softer than he’d heard all night.

“Yeah, well…” Zoro shrugs, leaning down to pick up a piece of rock, weighing it in his palm a few times before whipping his arm back to snap it into the gentle, shushing waves. You both watch as the rock skids out over the water before plunking into the sea, “Guess I’ve always been kind of a show-off.”

The sound of your laughter sends summertime sparklers racing up his spine.

The quiet pools between you like spilt blood, rank and dripping.

“So. You go by Ms. Double Nines now, I heard,” Zoro says, in a flagging attempt to be casual as he turns to glance at you, both his hands resting on the hilt of his swords.

You stand next to him, your eyes focused on a point far out on the horizon, still as statue.

“What’s it to you?”

Zoro sighs, looking down. In the pale, cool moonlight, his earrings glint like baring teeth.

“What happened?”

You suck in a breath.

"Life happened,” you say, turning back towards him with a steely glint in your eyes. Zoro stiffens, his grip tightening on his swords as he sizes you up. He does the mental calculations — you’re just far enough for him to defend against an attack, but close enough where if things were to go south entirely, he’d have a hard time getting back to safety.

You grin, seemingly noticing his rough internal calculations.

“Do yourself a favor, Roronoa — and don’t ask questions you don’t wanna know the answers to,” you say, flicking out one of your blades and tossing it up into the air, only to catch it around your finger, swinging it round and round, the sharp edge of the blade nicking the air just shy of your cheekbone.

“Who said I didn’t want to know?” Zoro presses, bracing himself for a fight.

You chuckle, the sound harsh and mirthless.

“If you’d wanted to fight me properly, you wouldn’t have waited till I got you onto this stretch of deserted beach.”

“Maybe I just wanted a quiet place to kill you.”

“Or maybe…” your voice is so low Zoro almost doesn’t catch the stomach-wrenching longing in your words, “I just wanted a quiet place to die.”

The sharp shink of blades being drawn is heart-rendingly familiar, but the bone-rattling clash of metal on metal still shakes him to the roots of his teeth. Zoro grunts as he parries a blow from either side, before crossing his swords to catch your assault down the center.

You’re fast, he’ll give you that, your body smaller and quicker. You slip through the shadows with the comfort of a person who knows nothing but and he can’t help wondering at the life you’ve led that had pushed you to this point.

To having a mark on your back, a bounty on your head.

You’re a good fighter — this much, he acknowledges. But good isn’t usually good enough to best him. This much, he also knows. Yet somehow, you’re keeping up, somehow, you’re pushing him back, forcing him to retreat one step and then another. It’s not until you duck beneath one of his pin-wheeling blades and force yourself into a knife’s-breath of his space that he realizes — it isn’t that you’re good, it’s that you’re reckless.

Reckless with your own body in a way that makes him stumble back at the realization. Reckless, in the way you charge forward and thrust your body into spaces where he’d easily be able to slip a blade between your ribs — and later, when he’s wiping his swords clean of your oxidizing blood, he’d wonder why he didn’t.

Still, there’s something terrifying in the way you barely flinch when he knicks your arm, drawing a dark line of blood through your clothes, or how you jerk yourself forward when the tip of his sword catches your stomach, almost as if daring him to impale you in one fell swoop.

“You — you used to be… someone else,” he says, panting as he steadies himself against a sharp jut of moonlit rocks. Behind you, the ocean churns, dark and foaming as it throws itself onto the jagged reefs.

You lick your lips, wiping a smear of blood from your cheek. Your chest heaves with the exertion, but there’s a pale, flickering ache behind your eyes that sets Zoro’s whole body on edge.

He shivers as you grin, savage and unrecognizable as the tiny girl with mochi-round cheeks who had once upon a time offered him sweets in a hand-woven basket.

“Yeah? Well — so did you.”

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thought about zoro and his back for too long and started to spiral hnng

cause you know it’s so sensitive, it has to be. zoro is always hyper-aware when his back is facing someone, even among friends and crew mates. the hair on his neck stands on end when someone lingers behind him for a breath too long, shoulders always tensed, spine straight until the perceived threat is gone. it’s what’s kept him alive all those years on his own, interwoven with the pride that comes with being a swordsman with an unscarred back.

the only time those guarded walls come crashing down is here in this pocket of space and time when dusk has fallen and zoro has you all to himself, blessedly alone. you’re perched all pretty and naked in his lap, humming into a kiss that turns from sweet to bruising as your hands drift from where they cup his face and slide behind his head. 

zoro burns with your touch, bathed in flame and born again as you run your hands over the planes of his shoulders. the lazy rolls of your hips against his as you grind your clit up and down the length of his cock aren’t enough to distract him from how your fingers trace over his spine, far more gentle than a beast like him deserves.

“more,” he says, voice hoarse with a need that scorches his throat and leaves him parched for you, you, you. “you can give me more, right baby? fucking know you can, stop holding out on me.”

he hisses through gritted teeth as you drag the first stinging lines across his skin, nails carving in just enough to ache but not bleed. a thought, crazed and drunk on love, floats through his mind that he wouldn’t mind too much if you dug a little deeper. do the same thing to his flesh as you’ve done to his heart and leave your mark for all to see. he’s consumed by it, images flashing behind his eyelids as you whine in his ear of a scar on his back, left there because he chose to love not because he turned his back in cowardice.

zoro groans hot and heavy on your neck, edged over and over as you use him to chase your pleasure and find all the spots on his back that make him shudder against you, falling apart under the weight of the care he hasn’t earned and isn’t all too convinced that he deserves.

monster trio doobles

Waking up next to Julius is always unpredictable. Is it going to be at 2 AM when he comes back from his office whining about paperwork as he burrows in your arms, sighing contently as you whisper sleepy assurances into his hair? Or is at 10 AM, way past your alarm, with a foot on your cheek and your lover hugging your leg? You never know if you have to wake up a second earlier and grab him before he can leave you to look at magic, or with his face buried between your legs. Is it kisses you’re going to wake up to? Or is it tickles? But no matter how you wake up to him, you both never neglect to shower the love and attention you need from each other. You tell him to relax his shoulders as you massage the shampoo into his hair. “Sorry” leaves his lips as he works through the knots in your hair as you hiss and grumble about getting a bonnet. And no matter what time of day, Julius is very unpredictable. Because hours later, he holds up two satin bonnets, one for you and one for him. You laugh as you kiss his cheek, thanking him and telling him that he doesn’t need one for himself. He pouts as you laugh harder into his cheek.