Out Of Context Tom Pt.4 

Imagine leaving shanks sexually frustrated

Part 1 Part 2 (here)

Four hours later

Benn: I'm impressed (y/n), he has finished four of the books. But he seems to be loosing steam. So what ever you did to motivate him, do it again.

You: on it *gets up and heads to the office where you find shanks leaning back in the desk chair, tiredly staring at the books and an abacus*

Shanks: *looks up at you and is clearly wondering if your reward is enough compensation for the tedium that is record keeping*

You: why don't you take a break darling, you look stressed.

Shanks: I am, which is one of the reasons I hate it. *Let's his head droop and he closes his eyes to ease the strain they felt*

You: let me help you relax *spins his chair to face you*

Shanks: *let's out a breathy whine*

You: *threads your fingers through his hair as you straddle his lap*

Shanks: *snaps his eyes open wide in surprise and excitement* ?

You: *chuckles and presses your lips to his*

Shanks: *wraps his arm around your waist and squishes you against his chest as he eagerly returns your kiss*

You: *parts your lips in invitation to him, and gently rolls your hips against his*

Shanks: *moans and deepens the kiss*

You: you feeling relaxed yet?

Shanks: *starts impatiently rolling his hips in tandem with yours* uh huh *pulls you back into a kiss and lifts you so you're now seated on the desk*

You: *puts your foot on his shoulder and pushes him back on his chair when he tries to stand up* ah ah ah

Shanks: *panting and irritated because you knocked the air out of him* but you said you'd help me relax

You: true, and I also said you could fool around with me after you finished archiving the these *holds up one of the books*

Shanks: *scowls at you* oh you'll pay for this

You: *sarcastic as fuck* sure you will, but only after these are done *hops off the desk and leaves*

Shanks: *watches you go as spite fills his belly and he returns to work with renewed vigor*

The only types of baths he gets fr

Black Clover - wallpapers

❌ Don't repost!

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

Imagine earning your keep on the Red Force

You: *through the strangeness of the grand line you were teleported to the Red Force*

The crew: *points their weapons at you*

Shanks: *watched you fall from the sky* put them away boys, the little bird isn't going to hurt us.

You: I didn't mean to come here, please don't throw me overboard.

Shanks: I'm not gonna throw you overboard, we'll drop you off at the next island. But, in the meantime, you'll need to pull your weight around here.

You: I don't know much about sailing, but I can clean and cook.

Shanks: thats perfect, we'll get you set up with a hammock in one of the store rooms so you can have some privacy.

A week later

Yassop: LAND HO! *Rings a bell*

The crew: *spills out of the depths of the ship to get a glance at the island*

Benn: oh I remember this place, it's the island with that beautiful waterfall Lime juice almost busted his head open on, when he jumped off the top of it.

Lime: ugh don't remind me.

You: does it have a village? *Nervous about being dropped off*

Benn: a long time ago, but it's be deserted for the last sixty-ish years.

Shanks: *gives you a reassuring pat on the back and mumbles* don't worry, I'm not gonna leave you here. If I leave you on an island, it'll be somewhere with a large port where you can disappear without being noticed or tied to us. We'll be staying on this island for a while, we need to replenish our food supplies.

You: thank you.

On the island

Shanks: *finishing up doling out tasks* Yassop and Benn, you're on hunting duty. Bonk Punch, Monster, and (y/n) you're on foraging duty.

You: um...

Shanks: yes?

You: well um, what are the odds the foraging team will interact or encounter wildlife?

Shanks: it's almost guaranteed

You: then shouldn't the hunting team and foraging team work together? With the foraging team flushing prey out of food rich areas towards where the hunting team is laying in wait to ambush them?

Benn: that might just work

At sun down

You, Monster, and Bonk Punch: *returns to the crew's encampment with a baskets full of fruit and wild vegetables*

Benn and Yassop: *have brought in dozens of rabbits, five deer and three full grown boars*

Shanks: we have so much meat and produce, we won't be able to eat all of it before it goes bad. The ship's freezer is almost empty, but we still won't be able to eat it all before it goes bad

You: if you salt cure and smoke it, we should be able to keep it for a year and a half before it goes bad.

Shanks: we're running low on salt too.

You: that's fine, I found a salt water spring while we were out, if you delegate three or four people to round the clock boiling, we'll have a salt brick left over. And while we wait for the salt, we can butcher and freeze the meat.

Shanks: and what about the produce, smarty pants?

You: I'll go look in the village for containers, if we find any we can pickle and seal up what we're not going to eat fresh.

Benn and Shanks: *make eye contact*

Shanks: alright, I'll go to the village with you.

Two weeks later

Red Force: *it's kitchen and storeroom full of food*

Benn: *puts hand on your head and ruffles your hair* good job kid, we should be good on food for the next six months.

You: I'm glad

Shanks: how would you like to stay with us?

You: you mean join your crew?

Shanks: yeah, you're super useful to have around. I didn't really have to lift a finger back there, you pretty much had everything under control and we had fun doing it.

You: I don't know about that, but sure I'll join your crew.

Shanks: *picks you up and spins you around* fantastic, the next island that has people on it we'll get you a cot and a good sword or whatever weapon of your choosing.

You: ahh! Put me down!

Shanks: *trips and falls overboard*

You: *coughing up water when you surface* captain!

Shanks: haha sorry

You: *splashes him* you and your shenanigans

Benn: yeah, you'll need to get used to that, this level of malarkey is fairly normal.

You: oh goody

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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computer crashed so have this platter of old toshinori cringe

Character development.  

*Dyn near death covered in blood and sweat*

ok but that’s hot tho