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kittomykat · 3 months ago

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Laios is enthralled with the newest member of the party, a beastman with cat ears and a tail. Wholly different from Izutsumi and more closely in age to Laios. Naturally his curiosity is piqued by you and it doesn't help you seem to gravitate to him to sap the warmth from his body any chance you get. Tread lightly because once a hound bites he never lets go.

“M done. Are you goin to soak longer?” Your voice carries along the steam of the bath as you look at a fellow party member. Her long golden hair is braided up atop her head as she sinks lower into the hot water of the bath that practically appeared before them.

“Yes, just a bit more.” She hums, sinking impossibly lower as you haphazardly wrap yourself in a towel. Heading back to the half circular room at the end of the corridor that, for tonight, the party you joined calls home.

The fire is warm and welcoming in the small room as the tall man tends to it. His thick palms long since smoothed over everyone's bed rolls, placing their pillows towards the fire but not close enough to catch.

His wheat colored eyes focus on his well worn book not noticing you thanks to your naturally light foot falls caused by the beast you're fused with. Your tail twitches with curiosity, ears flicking as you listen to the half foot and the dwarf argue over something several corridors over.

“Laios.” Comes your purr, his eyes look up to trace your form, he doesn't expect to see you in only a towel and he doesn't give much of a reaction.

None still as you worm yourself between him and the fire, dropping your towel into his hands and flicking your damp tail in his face.

“Dry me.” A command that Laios would never think to disobey, not that he knew it was an order. He happily takes the towel, elated that he can inspect your beastman body without the shame or demand of decorum from the rest of his party.

His hands gripping softly at the base of your tail, calloused fingertips gently rubbing along the bare skin of your back before following up the fur of your tail.

“Just under L5, I wonder what that means for your sacrum and coccyx. Did it alter or fuse?” He's mostly asking himself as he runs along the extra vertebrae in your tail, gently squeezing them as he counts. Each time he pulls the water from the fur he counts, once, twice as you relax into his touch. Lids turning to lead in his presence, only his, as he eases you into an unexpected cat nap.

Before he abruptly moves you as he sees fit, turning you around and pulling you into his lap so that he can make sure your cat ears on top of your head are properly dried.

The sudden movement has your claws digging into his shoulders through one of his linen shirts. He doesn't flinch or hiss, so used to your displeasure in the form of your biting claws.

You watch as he takes a shameless glance towards your bare chest, unlike Izutsumi, you only have fur on your ears and tail.

“Only two nipples….” He says it out loud although under his breath, you can tell he truly was just muttering to himself nothing more, “I thought you'd be more monster like…”

Truly a shameless man with a clinical interest in your body, a view you are unused to. Most men would salivate over the idea of you sitting in their lap and allowing them to touch your tail they fantasize about pulling.

Laios hasn't once given your tail a tug, hadn't even touched it until you asked him to, or if you curl it around his hand in order to make him idly pet you.

Still it stings, to hear his almost dejected tone, his brows furrowed in anything but concentration.

“Try not to sound so disappointed, Laios.” Although you wanted it to come out a hiss his name is always honey on your tongue.

“I like the way you say my name. You purr it.” He comments, “The vibrations hit your hyoid bone and it makes my name sound like a purr. Humanoids have a hyoid bone too but don't produce the same sound. They say purring is involuntary, a lot like snoring. The sound is stimulated by air passing in the larynx because of its flexibility. Unlike in big cats, like tigers or lions, your hyoid bone doesn't have the tough cartilage that runs up towards the skull. That structure prevents purring but allows for roars to be produced. Because you don't have the cartilage you can't really roar.”

You're used to his little tangents by now, tip of your tail flicking in curiosity as you listen, smile creeping on your lips showing off the sharp tips of your canines.

“Are you calling me domesticated? Think I'm like a house cat, Laios?” For once he reads your face carefully before he answers honestly. He was never once one to mince or sweeten words.

“Well house cats can be just as dangerous as their larger family and should not be underestimated. I've seen ‘domesticated’ cats fight things three times their size in my home land. Taking anything on, from a bear to a mimic, they truly have no fear.”

“I've seen you do the same. I mean look at these claws.” He grabs a hold of your hand, pressing his thumb over your palm and pads of your fingers to make your sharp claws retract and appear, “Razor sharp and retractable claws that have scratched dragon scales. Oh and your teeth.”

His thumb gently pushes your upper lip out of the way, showcasing the sharp incisor and canine to himself. Pressing his rough pad to the point drawing a drop of blood, “I wonder what it's like to have these sink into your skin. Ah and your tongue.”

He's lost in the moment now, like a hound that's found a faint scent of the targeted prey. Caught up in exploring the monster qualities of you and it wouldn't be the first time you've allowed him to revel over you. But it was the first time he was this caught up with no one around. His soft voice with a tone akin to praise and it is a sound you are unused to. Heart starts to pound a little faster in your chest.

His thumb and forefinger grab at the tip of your wet muscle, golden eyes looking over the organ with intense scrutiny.

“Ah so you do have backward papillae making your tongue rough, this allows for flesh to be stripped from bones with ease.” He's close now, much closer than you remember as his face hovers near yours, “I wonder…”

He cannot help himself, truly a man who was a slave to curiosity as his thumb and forefinger move from your tongue to cup your jaw, squeezing at the hinges to keep your mouth open. Now his nose is brushing yours as he tilts his face, letting the dark wet muscle dart out to taste yours. A broad lick at first, the action surprising you as you startled but he pulls you closer to him by the small of your back. Free hand coming to gently squeeze the base of your tail because he knows it makes you lean into his body.

The one holding open your jaw gently moves to the nape of your neck where he applies pressure, the action makes you limp in his hold allowing him to take another broad stripe.

And another and another. Until his tongue is exploring your mouth as if he'd never be given the chance again.

The cold dungeon air is lost to the heat of Laios’ body and the fire licking at your back aiding in the bout of dizziness brought on by his ministrations

Lustful in a way you aren't used to, overwhelming in the way he persists. The way his strong muscle glides over yours as he tastes the small whines and wanton moans you give him from his actions. How spit begins to drip from your chin and his, silvery strings connecting the two of you that begin to turn pink and then red from how he purposely scrapes his tongue along the razor points of your teeth as if he likes the feel.

Letting the metallic tang settle in the back of your throat activating your prey drive and had Laios not had his firm grip at your tail and nape you'd have pinned him to the bed roll to bite at his jugular by now.

Instead he pulls back just a bit to be met with the slits of your eyes and the sight makes his lashes flutter.

“Iris that can be round or slit, like they are now. Better for tracking prey. Truly you are a predator above all else. All cats are far from domesticated, especially you.” He pants, going in for one final swipe of his tongue against yours to feel the rough barbs scrape against his now sensitive tongue. A groan echoes in his chest when you wrap your wet muscle around his.

He breaks the exploration slowly, taking the time to graze his teeth along the length before sucking the spit and blood mixture from the tip of your tongue before he swallowed thickly.

His broad calloused hand moves from your nape slowly coming around to cup your throat before his fingers dip greedily into the skin.

“Say my name.”

“Laios.” Comes your rumbling purr and that is when you feel his cock twitch against the laces of his now damp pants. The tip of his nose brushes yours again, tilting his head as if to lean in for a kiss before bickering echoes down the corridor.

“Senshi, I told you, harpy eggs are off limits!”

The tall man quickly sheds his shirt, shoving your frame into the large linen knowing it will be well past your ass. Expertly shimmying you into clean undergarments before he turns you in his lap to face the fire once more.

You know the man to be brazen in his love for monster knowledge and to be caught exploring a beastman should be no different. Even if he knew his party members would scold him over his insatiable curiosity you still thought it odd that he chose now to dress you.

To fix your tail from under his shirt so that it could freely flicker as he goes back to the original task at hand, making sure your tail was dry.

Immediately the elf, half foot, and dwarf narrow their eyes in suspicion at the tallman who pays them no mind at first.

“There, all done.” He says softly, taking the damp towel from his hands before he makes eye contact with the dwarf, “Need any help with dinner Senshi?”

“No.” You answer for the dwarf, moving back to sit fully in his lap and sap his warmth, something everyone was used to by now. As much as the party tried to keep you away from him, you seemed to gravitate to his warmth even more.

The night goes on as usual, dinner is shared, dishes are cleaned and watches are rotated but after yours you do not crawl into your now cold bed roll.

Instead you slink into the arms of the strong tall man with his golden eyes and locks. Hair you like to run your fingers through and watch his eyes roll when you scrape your claws against his scalp in the dark when he thinks no one is looking.

Senshi’s soft snoring fills the small chamber paired with the crackle of the wood in the fire.

You turn to face him, his pupils wide from the low light as he looks you over, briefly you wonder how much he can see. You'll never know how beautifully the flames lick at your features, casting you in an ambient glow that makes Laios both at ease and as if he is holding fast to a live wire.

Your nails follow up his spine before easing into his hairline. Slowly his eyes close, when you're sure his even breathing indicates sleep you turn back over. Nestling into him and still you ask the question that's been clawing up your throat.

“Did you like it? My tongue?” Barely a whisper, closing your own eyes thinking he wouldn't hear you even on the small chance he was awake.

“It doesn't feel like a human’s. I enjoyed the experience a lot.” His low timber at your ear, breath fanning the sensitive appendage and it flickers each time he exhales before he moves his mouth slightly away.

“You've been kissing someone else, Laios?” There's a threat to it, one you know he won't pick up on. Chilchuk swears up and down Laios wouldn’t even know if a succubus was making a move on him.

“I haven't for a long while. Not much interest.” Factual, excitement only expressed in his interests and in kissing it seems he found none.

Maybe Chil was right? Maybe the tallman wasn't much of a romantic kind of guy. Maybe everything was just curious, platonic behavior.

In the small moment you take to reflect, strong hands press you flush against Laios’ thick torso, his hand cupping over your throat once more.

“Again. Please.” He whispers softly into your ear, you furrow your brows in confusion for a moment. Wondering exactly what he meant before it dawned on you.

Cat smile on your features he'd never see in the dim light as you trap a hound between four retractable claws and two syllables.

“Laios.”

#dunmeshi #oh cool #laios

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kittomykat · 4 months ago

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a lil request, for freaktor friday or not

soo

what if vik found out the reader comes easily and is a visual learner so he would make them come just by making them watch him suck strap buckled to their hips and giving them a lil show

I feel like this should have a new day of the week invented, but I say it's Freakday since I lack better options :v

Oral Fixation

viktorxfem!reader explicit! blow jobs (?) + fingering (fem receiving since it just came out this way), established relationship, disgusting love, Reader is a complete simp, but Viktor likes it.

word count: 3,3K

author’s note: I feel like this belongs in the pegging universe, so I just kinda nodded to myself in this one, you can treat it as a part two -> here's the pegging fic. @rennethen beta read! RIP all of us cockless. Also, i hope you didn't mind the ask spam people and happy Freakday :v

—

It’s impolite to stare—you were always told. But whether out of sheer defiance or overwhelming curiosity, you’ve never paid much attention to what’s polite and what isn’t. You were right, of course, and the world was wrong. Your long ogling sessions have earned you a partner with equal levels of fixation and a mind as brilliant as it is open—keeping up has only ever been a thrill.

What started as one tiny indulgence on your part—a glance toward his hands—soon bloomed into full-blown obsession. The fruits of which would betray you to anyone who opened your notebook, now full of sketches. Every knuckle, every wrinkle rendered with the kind of care that screams affection.

And it betrays you, as you feared, when those same hands—immortalised in ink—leaf through the pages. Heart plummeting, you watch him carefully. See if he’s noticed. But the moment Viktor holds the book at arm’s length and compares one of your sketches to his open palm—you know it’s over.

He teases you for weeks after. “Is it just my hands that interest you?” he asks, all innocent and smug. “Or are you curious about other people’s hands too?” You swat him for it, ignoring the ‘cripple’ card he pretends to pull, but you’re still smiling as you walk away. You can’t help it.

And what turns out to be true—despite everything—is that it was never just his hands. Nor anyone else’s. It’s the whole of him. The strange, perfect sum of all his parts.

The next fixation is his eyes, though you don’t linger long. He’s too quick, too perceptive, and your stares never go unnoticed. So you move on. His nose comes next. Here you stay for a while, long enough for him to finally clock your silent advances. And Viktor—mercifully—makes the first move.

This, of course, opens up a whole new range of possibilities. All those parts hidden under layers of clothing that you’d only been able to imagine are now granted to you—completely denuded. Pure skin, and sinew, and bone, laid bare only for you to worship. Falling asleep with your ear to his stomach is bliss. Kissing over the bruises left by the brace—a privilege. Pressing your mouth to where his underbelly hollows, trying not to let your breath tickle him—pure joy.

There is one part, however, that managed to escape your attention—until recently. Viktor’s lips.

They are not the kind of mouth you’d notice at first glance. Not full, not plump. But you’ve watched them closely now, and they are a wonder in their own right. The way they purse when he chews absently on a pencil, softening when the pressure eases. How his fingertip comes to rest at the corner of his mouth whenever he’s deep in thought, tapping once, twice, then stilling. You’ve seen him lick his lips after a sip of too-hot coffee, tongue darting out to chase the steam before it vanishes. Watched how they part around a spoon or the edge of a fork, cheeks rounding slightly as he eats, the motion making his whole face look softer—almost unfamiliar.

And when he smiles—genuinely, openly, without irony—his whole face pulls taut with it. The corners of his lips lift first, then the skin around his eyes creases in that way that makes your heart ache. His mouth was never just a mouth. It was a thousand quiet gestures stitched together into a portrait you hadn’t even realised you were memorising.

Viktor, the ever present hawk eye, notices. Mid-sentence, no less, pencil resting slack against the paper while you fixate on the way he mouths the words, vowels rounding tenderly, adding new meaning to the phrase soft-spoken. He doesn’t call you out this time—not exactly. Just tilts his head and smiles in that way that means he’s caught you again. You fail miserably in looking away.

Later, when the work is packed and the clock tells you it's much too late to be lingering, Viktor rises and holds out a hand with purpose.

"Come," he says, voice low with something just shy of caballing. "I’ve thought of something that might make you happy."

You quirk a brow. "You're awfully confident for someone who still insists on instant coffee."

He hums, not rising to the bait, just draws your hand into his and begins walking. The halls are quiet. His cane clicks softly against the stone. "You’ve been looking at my mouth like it holds all the secrets of the universe," he says. "I figured… maybe it should offer a few answers."

You stumble a little, less from the pace and more from the way heat curls in your stomach at the implication. “And you’re not going to tell me what you mean by that?” you ask.

“I think you’ll understand soon enough,” he says, glancing at you sidelong. “If I’m right—and I usually am.”

Viktor doesn’t lead, not in the traditional sense. He doesn’t drag you behind him or push you to move faster. Instead, he floats ideas, opens doors—metaphorical and literal—and lets you choose whether to walk through. He is an eager and generous lover, yes, but also a careful one. He has never once assumed. He doesn’t chase power, he invites trust.

Even when he first offered you his most tender parts, baring himself not to surrender but to be seen. That night had been many things—electric, cathartic, almost embarrassingly emotional—but what lingered most was the way Viktor had looked up at you afterward. Like you’d cracked open something in him he hadn’t known was closed. Like he wanted more.

And now, this. Another door. Another idea. Wild, hushed for now, but clearly mapped out in that labyrinthine mind of his.

The lock clicks behind you as he shuts the dorm door. Viktor turns to face you properly, smile curved like he’s hiding something behind his back. "Will you let me show you?" he asks. His voice is quiet, but sure.

You nod, cheeks blooming into that lovely vermillion he likes so much. He watches the colour spread like paint in water—utterly taken. “Good,” he says simply, and nods toward the chair near his desk. “Get undressed. Sit there.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, already pulling at your shirt hem. “Are you getting undressed too, or am I the only one baring all tonight?”

Viktor’s smile curves sharp, wicked. “There will be no need. Not yet.”

The way he says it—not yet—twists in your belly like silk pulled tight. You settle into the chair, shifting as your skin meets the cool seat, but Viktor is already moving, reaching to the drawer by his bed. He returns not with flourish, but with quiet certainty, cradling the harness like it’s something precious.

“Is your attitude in need of… maintenance again?” you tease, though your voice comes a little thinner than intended.

Viktor glances up, bemused. “Not particularly,” he says. Then sits—gingerly, carefully—onto the pillow he’s placed at your feet. One leg at a time, he slides the straps up your calves, his hands as gentle as they are precise.

“Not tonight,” he repeats, fastening the harness into place on your hips after you lift for him obediently. His thumbs skim the edges where leather meets skin, slow and certain. “But I do have another gift for you.”

You glance down, and your chest flutters with a shaky laugh that barely makes it out.

He’s loosening his cravat now, slow enough to watch your eyes track every movement. The silk slips through his fingers, down his chest and off to the side. The top buttons of his shirt follow, granting you a view of the elegant dip of his collarbones, the pale skin of his throat. He’s flushed—not just the dusting across his cheeks, but his ears, the tips of them going pink like they always do when he’s on the verge of something exciting. His pupils are near-black, and his lips curl into a smile that might’ve passed for shy, had you not known him as intimately as you do. He’s so distractingly pretty you almost overlook the cock hanging between your legs.

“I’ve noticed,” he begins, voice low, “that the full-body scan you’ve been giving me lately seems to halt on my mouth for quite some time.”

You start to object, or maybe laugh, or deny it outright—but Viktor continues, silencing you with little more than a look. “I don’t think anyone’s ever taken me apart so lovingly before,” he murmurs, and you feel the weight of that confession settle in your chest, curling into a warm ball like a cat that has finally found its place. “So allow me to indulge you.”

He shifts between your legs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. Then another, higher. His breath is warm, his lips scalding. But he doesn’t rush. Instead, he reaches up for your hand and brings it to his mouth.

The first kiss lands at your wrist, soft and gentle. Then he begins to drag his mouth over each finger, tongue flicking along the pads like he’s trying to ruin you right there. His lips close over your index, drawing it in with slow suction, warm and slick, and your breath grows heavy and burdened with need.

But Viktor takes his time. Tongue curling underneath, tracing the crease where knuckle meets palm. Then he shifts to your middle finger, sucking deeper, until the wet sound of it becomes a pulse between your legs. His eyes remain fixed on you, half-lidded, patient and unhurried. You can feel the way his tongue presses up against your skin—how he lets the pad of it slide along your body with intention, tasting you.

He nips, briefly, at the base of your thumb, then soothes the mark with a kiss so gentle it barely registers. There is no part of this that is idle. He worships, he savours. He learns.

Your eyes have not closed for a while. Even when you blink you make sure you can still see him, utterly beguiled by the trace of shiny spit his mouth produces around your fingers. The slide of it, the pout he makes to suck around you until your own hand burns with all the hot blood circulating through it. You are certain Viktor can feel your pulse on his tongue.

He releases your hand with a quiet pop, a fine thread of slick still connecting the two of you. For a moment, he simply looks at you—then his gaze drops.

One hand steadies your thigh, fingers splayed and gentle. The other slips between your legs. First, to check something very important. Whether he was right.

He teases your entrance, clever hand searching, and when he finds the answer, he gasps softly. The quiet sound that follows is unmistakable—confirmation, and proof, and reward. Your eyes flutter closed, unthinking.

“Eyes on me at all times, love,” he says. A small, firm correction. Not harsh, never. But enough. You open them again, immediately.

He’s already looking up at you, chin tilted, lips parted like he might lean in and take a bite. The light catches in his eyes—hungry, but so focused, so careful. His fingers stroke through you again, slower now, like he’s waiting to see every reaction he can draw from your face with just the tiniest movement.

When he speaks next, his voice is lower. Intimate. Pleased. “Good. That’s very good.”

And then, oh—a kiss. Nowhere near your skin. On the tip, sweet and teasing, it pries at the hinges of your jaw, makes your eyes go wide. It is as if you can feel whatever Viktor presents. Your mind, drunk already, soaks in the sight of him at your feet—but mostly, his mouth. Wrapping solemnly around the length nestled between your thighs. With the slide of his lips, two fingers ease inside you.

They curl, slow and steady, knuckles grazing soft where you’re most sensitive. But even that stretch is a distant hum compared to the way your brain short-circuits watching him.

What Viktor is doing is maddening enough with the phantom feeling between your legs, and you cannot stand the idea of what it would actually feel like. He’s not rushing. No frantic bobbing, no mess—yet. Just the steady, measured pressure of his lips gliding down, then pulling back.

And though you don’t feel the warmth of his mouth there, the sight of it—him—at your feet, eyes half-lidded, cheeks hollowing—is enough to have your body tensing up and toes curling.

Whenever your eyes fall closed, he stops. “Watch me,” he says firmly, pulling back just enough to speak, lips brushing the tip in a mockery of a kiss.

The pace he sets when you obey is punishing in reverse—the slowness of it, tormenting. His fingers inside you only add to this feast of teasing, but it strikes you that you can endure it, so long as Viktor never rises from his spot.

Innocence is not your virtue—you’ve thought about it. But now you're convinced that vivid imagination isn’t your virtue either, since the fantasy has absolutely nothing on the reality of Viktor’s mouth caressing the underside, lips shining. Gorgeous, you think.

He moans, pleased, as if to perplex you, a glint of joy dances in his eye when his tongue flattens out and the inanimate head slaps against it. Drool wells around your cock, and you imagine how warm it is, how smooth the slide must feel in Viktor’s mouth—how it would feel to you if it were actually attached to your body.

And as if all of that is not maddening enough, Viktor pushes back down. Lower, further, past the barrier of throat, where his vein is faintly risen, where you can see his quickened pulse painted in pale blue. He doesn’t stop when he gags—just squeezes his eyes shut for a beat, breathes through his nose, and steadies himself. The sound it makes is so vulgar, and it only seems to spur him on. He pulls back, lips stretched glossy around you, then lets it rest heavy on his tongue. Holds it there, looks up, eyes dazed but daring.

You gulp, and he doesn’t. Not until he needs to, and even then, he does it dramatically—lets it fall from his mouth with a slick gasp and a trail of spit, only to drag his tongue along the underside as he catches his breath.

All the while, his fingers are moving with studied intent inside you, curled perfectly, just shy of unbearable. And then—

He takes it again. This time deeper. Swallows it down. At the same moment, he thrusts his fingers to the hilt and presses his thumb firm against your clit. You cry out, reflexive and raw, will your eyes to stay open through the blur of tears, desperate to not miss anything.

It’s not enough to come, but nearly. Nearly is worse. So you move, slow at first, unsure, rocking your hips in shallow thrusts—meeting the wet heat of his mouth, and pressing his fingers deeper in return.

He hums around it, and the phantom vibration flutters straight through you, your brain somehow wills it into existence. You watch the lines of strain on his face, the determination behind his eyes.

It’s odd, in a way. Viktor is always speaking—explaining, coaxing, teasing. But now, his mouth is busy, and the absence of his voice only makes you crave it more.

You hear it anyway, conjured from memory. How he sounds when he praises you. How he groans when you ride him. How he whispers your name like a confession. But the sounds he’s making now—wet, guttural, wanting—are nearly enough.

Before you know it, your ass slides to the edge of the chair, wood creasing the skin of your cheeks, hips spilling over. Your hands come up to cup his face, and it’s the first time Viktor closes his eyes—calm smoothing over his features, as if your fingers have ironed out the tension.

And then—oh God—you’re certain Viktor plots to ruin you eternally, when his jaw slackens, and he offers you a gift. Control. Messy, and glistening with his spit.

He brings your hands to his throat, one at a time, guiding them. Your thumbs prop his chin, and he waits—mouth provocatively open, trusting—waiting for you to move your hips into his palm, between his lips.

It’s surreal, the way he opens for you—so patient, so steady. The way he makes himself available without ever surrendering power. You can see it in the set of his brows, in the calculated push of his fingers inside you, the press of his thumb against your clit timed with every breath he takes around the length in his mouth.

You move, slowly at first. Testing the tension in your thighs, the wet glide of his lips. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t falter. His hand stays on your hip, just placed there, letting you do the rest. And whatever you do is yours to decide.

So you fuck his mouth tenderly, a rhythm born of instinct and awe. Not for the cock, not for the illusion—but for him. For Viktor, who has always known how to give. For Viktor, who never rushes but always sees you.

He moans again—low, almost a hum, the vibration somehow finding a way of seeping straight into your gut. You want to tell him he’s beautiful. That he’s undoing you. That no one’s ever looked so good sat on their ass with a cock between their lips. But your mouth won’t cooperate—your mind, already fraying, can't hold language when he curls his fingers just right and presses the flat of his tongue along the length.

The chair creaks beneath you when your hips stutter. His lips are wet, stretched, cheeks hollowing with every pass.

It comes faster than you expect. Your hand finds his hair and you pull— just enough. His eyes flick up to yours, dark and unblinking. Your mouth falls open, your thighs tremble. He groans around the base, and it tips you over—hot and high and breaking against the inside of your chest.

Your body curls forward. His hand, warm on your belly, holds you through it. Hazy, you gasp and breathe heavily, the rise and fall of your stomach made real by Viktor’s touch. When you step beyond the other side of climax, the side of warmth and pliancy, you slip down from the chair, knees finding the floor, and Viktor’s arms open instantly. The harness shifts between you—warm and slick with his spit, now nudging his stomach awkwardly. It makes you both laugh, breathless and low. Still, you clamber into his lap, careless of grace, needing only to be close.

Your arms go around his neck. His hands bracket your hips. You wrap yourself around him like you might fall through the floor otherwise, pressing your face into the crook of his neck and breathing deep. The scent of him, the sweat on his collar, the faint ghost of whatever soap he used this morning—all of it hits like safety. Like home.

“God,” you sigh, voice threadbare. “How do you know me so well?”

He hums. You feel it in his throat before you hear the answer. “I am very observant,” he murmurs. A kiss to your temple. “And curious.” His hands shift at your back, stroking slow. Then, softer still: “And I love you an insane amount as well.”

The words crack something open inside you. You hold him tighter, and mumble quietly into his shoulder. “There is no other way to love you than an insane amount, Viktor. You are my biggest fixation.”

“My fixation,” he repeats, tasting the word like it belongs to him now. “Come to bed.”

#arcane #viktor #NICE

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kittomykat · 4 months ago

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None of my thoughts are in the bible btw

#arcane #jayce

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kittomykat · 4 months ago

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#op #law #a lil too horny for main but hey

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kittomykat · 5 months ago

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oughh

#oh my fukcing god #dunmeshi

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kittomykat · 6 months ago

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imagine your romantic f/o having wet dreams about you before you're officially together

are they embarrassed and get flustered when they see you next? do they try to avoid you? or do they teasingly mention it to you just to test the waters?

#heehee #love this

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kittomykat · 6 months ago

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and if i said he totally and desperately ruts into you like a dog and cums quick while whimpering sweet nothings….?

#arcane #viktor

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kittomykat · 6 months ago

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Using latex gloves to make you feel less than human, to deprive you of touch, it's not supposed to be fun for you and yet you're still so leaky

It's just an inspection, don't be a whore. You're making a mess and it's getting in the way of my experiments. Bad dog.

#vikcore

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kittomykat · 6 months ago

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Crawling back to you// Jayce Talis

S2!Jayce Talis x AFAB!reader.

Summary: He's been away from you far too long.

Do I wanna know?- Hozier cover.

Smut/Angst/Fluff.

Everything is loud. Chaos surrounded him as he found his way away from the commune, images still flashing through his mind like a painful, torturous reminder of what he saw, of the hell he lived in for gods-knows how long.

His hammer suddenly felt heavy, he made a promise but now it weighted on his shoulders. He whimpers under his breath as his feet dragged him out of the war zone that suddenly arrived at the commune.

Jayce didn't have a destination in mind, well, maybe deep in his subconscious he did, but it was so hard to think, he can barely find his way out of the undercity. He stumbles and has to stop every couple of minutes to catch his breath, the Man of Progress reduced to a panting and stumbling mess, a man beat out of every last drop of sanity, a shell of himself.

He walks and walks, every step more erratic and desperate than the other, he wants to go home, to sleep, to wake up tomorrow and make sure all of this was a nightmare, Jayce comes to a stop, he's arrived wherever his body has taken him, leaning against a wall with shaky pants for breath and a small electric bolt of pain coming from his leg. His tired eyes look up, his mind and body in it's haze has found its way to your cottage.

He freezes, taking deep shaky breaths like he's about to have a panic attack but then he sees your shadow on the second floor, your back as you dusted off something near your window, unaware of the poor inventor that can barely stand on his feet.

But he stares, dazed hazel eyes drowning in the domestic scene, like he hasn't come from an alternate reality where you, everyone, everything was gone. Like he didn't just come from blowing a hole in the chest of his best friend. He feels like he's coming home, like those days he'll check out earlier from the workshop and come visit you and have a nice home made dinner and a well earned cuddly nap.

Jayce stumbles forward, his calloused hand pushes the little door of your fence, his hammer dragging next to the flowers of your garden. The sound of your gate opening made you jump, you turned around and gasped loudly at the sight of your missing lover. You ran, flew, probably, down the stairs frantically searching for your keys as you unlocked the door, you swan it opened and there he was.

"My love..." You whispered, your throat feeling tight. He drops his hammer and stares at you for a couple of seconds, his eyes wide and pupils blowing, you're the first one to move, bare feet stepping out of the door frame and cup his face. He froze, he hasn't been touched for so long.

Jayce broke down in an instant, his broad frame trembled as tears quickly pooled and fell from his eyes, leaving a clear trail in his dirty and scarred face. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face on your neck, a loud ugly sob breaks from his throat.

Your own tears threaten to fall down, one of your hands runs down his back, trying to comfort him. His legs finally give out, making you and him fall to the wooden floor of your porch. Jayce keeps sobbing, repeating your name over and over like a prayer.

"I'm right here, puppy." You whispered softly, your fingers running down his hair, his face was deep in your neck, your skin muffling the cries and whines that come out of him.

You just whisper that same phrase every time he calls your name, you answer that you're right here with him, reassuring him that he hasn't gone mad, he's not a hallucination and you're real. It helps both ways, he feels real, he's here too, back in your arms after so long. His sobs die down after a couple of minutes, small hiccups left as a reminder of how hard he cried. Jayce slowly lifted his head from your neck.

"Hm..ngh-.."He tries to talk, to say something more than your name, but he can't not yet at least, his eyes are hazy and dull, he's back home physically but not mentally.

"Shhh, it's alright, my darling. Let's get inside." You whispered softly, he nodded slowly, you helped him stand up, letting him let some of his weight on you instead of his injured leg.

You don't want to hear about what happened, not yet at least, not after he just cried unconsolably for almost ten minutes. Jayce made it to the couch, you laid down with him, he returned to his previous position, curled against you with his face on your neck.

Jayce could feel your pulse, it was a little faster, he could feel your skin, your soft skin he loved to touch, how his fingers used to brush mindless patterns against it while you slept. Your hair, your beautiful hair he loved to bury his nose in. He takes a deep breath, the familiar smell of your perfume and shampoo hitting him, the inventor whimpers and holds you tighter, almost like a child clinging to a toy.

"ngh- mised ya- so much." The inventor whispered against your skin, his chapped lips trembling slightly, your fingers brushed the back of his neck, he shivered and buried his face further, the feeling of your skin against his feels so grounding.

"I missed you too, I thought I wouldn't see you again." You whisper back into his hair, feeling a small knot forming on your throat from all the bottled emotions, you gasped softly as he placed a soft kiss on your neck. Your lover sighed, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, you were clean and soft a sharp contrast with his muddy and scarred skin.

His shaky hands have a death grip on your waist, but they relax after a couple of minutes, his breathing slows down and his fingers start roaming around the sides of your waist, feeling you. His lips continue the small and featherlight kisses on your neck, you tilted your head out of instinct.

"...miss...so much..." Jayce whispered against you again, for him it feels like he can't get enough of these words, he needs to tell you how much he missed you and he needs for you to reassuring him over and over again. Your fingers run down the back of his neck making him gasp and shudder against you.

"Shhhh, you're back home, beloved." You whisper back, his body curls closer, a soft moan leaves his lips and a small gasp leaves yours when you feel something bumping your thigh.

"m'sorry, doll...m'so sorry..." He whined against you, you can feel how he's stopping himself from grinding against you, that second, that small movement sends an electric shot right through his spine and into his brain.

"That's quite alright, handsome." You spoke softly, he nodded but a small needy whine left his trembling lips.

"ngh- m'sorry...been so long, sweetheart, your fingers, you feel- ngh-" He couldn't finish his sentence because his hips betrayed him and moved on their own, a small roll against your thigh, he shivered and moaned, for such a small action, the sound that escaped him was uncharacteristically lewd.

Your hand cups his face, he leans in like a stray cat getting a pet for the first time ever. It makes your heart ache, how broken he returned, but it's also quite pleasant to hear his little breaths and whine.

"Want a hand, puppy?" You ask softly, he closes his eyes taking deep breaths as your words sink, he nods frantically.

"...please..." Jayce whines again, he tries to nuzzle closer but a shot of pain curses through his leg, making him teary eyed and bury his face back on your neck with a pathetic whimper.

"Oh, my beautiful love....shhh..." You whispered, stroking his hair to try and calm him down again, still, his need is growing impatient, he rolls his hips again, slower this time.

"I think our attention should be focused on something else, stud." You whispered pressing a soft kiss on his hair, he whined and shook his head, his big hands gripping against your sides.

"pl- nghh- please, dot, don't leave me like this..." Jayce whines against your skin, there's a sense of guilt behind the shiver that ran through your body, but it's starting to be watered down by his hands starting to wander around your waist.

"Only because you're begging so nicely." You whispered against his ear, the tall man moaned deliciously against you and nodded, he likes to beg, to cry until you give in and reward him.

Your hands went to his shoulders, pulling him away, he gasped and latched onto your waist.

"Shhh, don't worry, my love...let's just get you more comfortable." You said gently, trying to hold a chuckle as the sight of such a tall man holding onto you like a cat would be its favorite toy was quite funny. He nodded slowly, you lay him down on the couch, prepping a cushion on his head and making sure his injured leg was spread and comfortable. He didn't resist, didn't even whine in discomfort.

"Good boy, off to a great start." You whispered with a soft smirk, Jayce felt his member throbbing just from your words, he swallowed and looked up at you with glassy eyes. You leaned down, your lips meeting his forehead, then his brow.

"How I missed you- missed kissing your pretty face." You spoke against his skin, he gasped softly with each kiss, like he forgot how your lips felt and was experiencing them for the first time.

"...missed kisses too..." He whispered softly, you smiled softly, cupping his jaw, your fingers running through his beard, he sighs softly, tiling his head to give you more access to his neck.

"I like this." You whisper with a smirk, Jayce, like a puppy, tilt his head and stare at you.

"you d-do, doll?" He whispered, a little wide eyed, you nodded.

"I like it a lot." You whispered biting your lip as your smirk transformed into a mischievous grin. Jayce felt his cheeks heating up, he nodded at your words.

"I'll ke-keep it then, ngh-." Your lover mumbled, you chuckled softly, the sound of your laughter was so foreign to him but so familiar, he's been hearing it in his dreams for so long, in his delusions and hallucinations it lingered along with blurry memories of your face. His scarred lips turned into the smallest of smiles. With a slow and gentle movement, you got on his lap, your knee just below his aching member, you didn't dare to sit completely, not wanting to lean your weight on his bad leg by accident. Your face leaned closer and locked your lips with his.

It was like being lost in the sea and finally being found. Like the first rain after a hot summer.

Jayce moans against your lips, his hands holding onto you like a life line. He's hungry, starved for so long and finally is allowed to have you. His lips are rough, chapped and his beard makes the intense kiss a brand new experience. You've kissed him with some stubble before but this is a whole different level. And you're loving it.

His cock is hurting, pulsing with need, his hand wanders down to your free hand, he can't talk, his brain is going mushy with all this affection and need, you let him guide your hand, your fingers teasingly brush against the small patch of wetness on his pants.

Jayce lets out a wet and completely lewd sound, his whole body shudders and throws his head back into the cushion. You shudder with excitement, biting your cheek as your fingers undo his pants and finally release his throbbing and leaking cock from his boxers. He moans softly as your fingers brush against his bare skin.

"Nghh- d-doll, please, please, hurts-" He manages to whimper out, his eyes flutter as your hand wraps around his cock, the slow movement makes him whine.

"Good boy, I'll go slow." You whispered softly, leaning back down to meet his lips again, this time the kiss is slower, more soft, he pants and moans against your mouth as your hand moves up and down, stroking his sensitive length.

"s-sweetheart..." He called between gasps and pants, you pulled away slightly, your hand still stroking now a tad faster.

"Yes, baby?" You whisper, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead, making his eyes flutter a little bit. Some small shots of cum start leaking already, but you keep stroking, he opened his mouth to talk but only moans came out as you speedy your rhythm, his eyes roll back, his leg started shaking.

His eyes widen, his fingers burying on your skins as he throws his head back, a long shot of cum spitting out of his throbbing cock painting part of your arm white.

"ngh-! Hmmm! D-doll oh!" Tears form on his hazel eyes as another load of his cum shot, he moans against the cushion.

"Good boy, there you go, my lovely." You whispered, peppering kisses on the side of his face. He pants desperately, almost gasping for air, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead. The praise goes straight to his brain, his cock still hard and throbbing against your hand.

"Inside you, please, beautiful." He muttered, his hands clinging to your sides like a life line. You stare at him, as you ponder his request, your thumb wiping the tears off his face. You would be lying if all this moaning and crying didn't leave you needy for more.

"Want to be inside me, baby?" You asked softly with a smirk, he nods frantically with a whimper, he mumbles 'please' over and over rapidly, like a prayer. You shushed him by pressing soft kisses on his lips, with a couple of smooth movements your pants and underwear were off. He stares up at you, scanning your features, every little thing that was slowly becoming foggy on his memory when he was in that cave.

Jayce's eyes roam down at your fingers rubbing onto your sensitivity, your soft moans filling your ears as you make yourself wetter, he leans in and steals a couple of kisses, making you gasp softly and smile softly.

"Mhm...pretty..." He whimpered out between pants, your hand returned to his cock, stroking again as you positioned yourself better.

"Wanna taste you..." He adds with a whine. You shushed him gently, cupping his face.

"Another time, my love." You whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, his fingers buried deep on your skin, the neediness and strong cling onto you was making you feel so good already. With a soft gasp you went down, his aching member sliding into your wet folds pretty easily. Jayce moaned softly, his healthy leg moved slightly to find a better position, the small movement was enough to bury himself deeper and make you whimper in pleasure.

It's been so long since he filled you so nicely, but you two were like puzzle pieces, perfectly fitting.

"Oh- mhm- I missed you so much, puppy." You gasped softly before starting rocking your hips, his eyes roll in the most delicious way, his mouth slightly open as he pants and moans softly with the slow rhythmic movement.

Your whole body tingles with pleasure, this is slower and far gentler than you've ever been with each other, but after such a long time it felt so good. Almost as good as the first kiss, the first time his hands wandered around your body.

"s-nhg- so good." He mumbled almost mindlessly between moans, his hips moving alongside yours for a couple of seconds. Jayce was exhausted, incredibly so but he needed this so badly. The way you felt around him, your soft sounds and movements made the tiredness dissipate for a moment. He can pretend he's just with you, there's nothing wrong, not when you're with him, your lips touching every inch of his face and your hands caressing him.

Unsurprisingly, the pleasure became too much, his hands gripped around your hips harder and pushed you down, making you moan and tug on his hair involuntarily. With a couple of pushes from his, his leg started to shake, tears built again around his eyes.

"Doll-"

"I know, puppy, you can come." You panted softly, biting your lip as his hips become a little faster and aggressive. A small sob breaks through him before morphing in with a moan, he gasps and leans his head back on the cushion, his seed shooting inside you, the grip on your hips weakness. It felt so heavenly, the gentle throbbing along his sweet sounds were enough to leave you satisfied, Jayce was whispering curses to himself as he finally found relief.

"G-good boy- so good, my love." You whispered shakily, leaning down to rest your forehead against his, some droplets of sweat trailing down his face. His thumbs ran gentle circles against your skin, just feeling you and grounding himself back to reality.

"Love y'so much." Jayce murmurs softly, the pooled tears falling down silently along his cheeks.

"I love you too, puppy." You whispered back, you pulled away from his forehead and tried to untangle your from his body.

"No, pl-please, sweetheart." Jayce murmurs, his voice thick and a little sleepy, he tugs you back in, making you chuckle and nuzzle your face on his chest.

"Just a minute more." He says, keeping himself inside you, one of his hands traveling up to your hair, his chapped lips resting on top of your hair.

"Just let me feel you."

Taglist: @pickuptruck01 @sseleniaa

A/N: IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG, I hope y'all like it, I went in deep with the feelings instead of the smut I'm so so sorry.

#arcane #jayce #fics

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kittomykat · 6 months ago

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body-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody Ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody-ody (mwah 💋)

(Now featuring a correctly rotated hand, because apparently I don’t know how bodies work. If you saw the previous post, no you didn’t.)

#arcane #waow #viktor #cutie wit da booty

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kittomykat · 6 months ago

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I've dreamt about you (nearly every night)

Pairing: Sanji x Reader Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 7.900+ words Themes: PWP; huddling for warmth; getting together; mutual pining; fingering; intercrural sex; dirty talking; sub!Sanji, cis female reader Notes: This is my first reader insert fic in this fandom and my first one in general for a long while. I don't use Y/N in here, nor did I add physical descriptions for the reader of any kind (I tried my damn hardest) but she is explicitly a cis woman! Summary: The crew is caught in a storm awfully unprepared for such bad weather. Sanji offers you to take his sleeping bag, but when he's the one left out in the cold, you decide you can't let that happen. Can't you just share, and stay warm together?

Written for @infixop. This is my gift to @jsitmfgoesnsfw. I hope you enjoy it! I tried to put as much things you like in it as possible xoxo

Find me on Ao3

The cold bites like a starved dog.

You’ve got nothing more than a few inches of your face exposed to the mean night air, and that’s all it takes to freeze you down to your bone marrow despite the tent you’re in. For no longer than thirty seconds, you manage to shuffle lower into your sleeping bag, bathing in your own body warmth, but then the need to look at the silhouette impressed on your tent’s thin sides overpowers you once again.

The two lanterns still lit outside paint Sanji’s figure in a stark shadow. He’s sitting out there, in the freezing cold, keeping an eye out on the Sunny—at least, that’s the excuse he came up with when he gave up his own spot for your comfort. Even with how fuzzy his outline is, you can see him tremble, one foot tapping anxiously on the ground with no respite. He was chain-smoking earlier, but he must have run out of cigarettes at some point.

“Fuck, Sanji,” you utter under your breath. You’re in your little tent, almost cozy in Sanji’s sleeping bag, and he’s fucking dying out there. He’s more sensitive to low temperatures than other members of the crew, and well aware of it. In the morning, before they started exploring this atoll, he’s one of the few that insisted on bringing all the camping equipment the crew is now using.

They had thrown anchor when the sun was still high in the sky, bathing the little alcove and the surrounding forest in the warmth of a spring day, but it took Nami only a moment to study the winds and the cloud patterns above them and declare, with whatever sixth sense she’s been gifted with, that by night they’d be surrounded by winter weather. She was right—but she undersold it. By a lot.

Zoro—who says any opportunity to survive challenging environments is an opportunity he’ll take—and Luffy—who just couldn’t be bothered to pack properly—barely changed their outfits before leaving the Sunny. You had least layered a bit and brought scarves and gloves with you, but that’s about it.

Meanwhile, Sanji rounded up all the sleeping bags and tents they had, saddling Usopp and Franky with sharing the burden with him. It had seemed unnecessary to bring so much extra weight for what was supposed to be a casual stroll on this little speck of an island, only big enough to keep Luffy’s attention for a day maximum, but thank God he decided to play it safe.

It was like the Sun decided to set early today, aided by a sudden deluge of dark clouds. A blizzard started raging in the distance, right above the poor Sunny, impeding the crew’s safe return to their warm beds and an even warmer meal, so you had to camp out in the open for the night. Neither the snow nor the rain reached the tundra-like stretch of open land you found yourselves in, but the cold was—and is, even worse now—brutal. Chopper was deeply apologetic to be the only one enjoying the situation.

The tents were set up quickly, and they offered a little comfort, but the ground you are all trying to sleep on remains frigid at best. Nami, who borught her own sleeping bag, managed to squeeze Robin right next to her for the night, but there was no hope of letting a third person in.

“Let’s switch. I’ll be okay with sitting nearby and keeping watch, at least for a while,” Robin tried to propose, and from the gasp Sanji let out upon hearing that, one might have thought she just shot him in the chest.

“Nonsense!” he exclaimed, blonde fringe flying left and right as he emphatically shook his head no. “Mon ange, you take mine. I insist.”

Your mouth snapped closed at his preemptive rebuttal. In hindsight, you could have tried to manipulate his chivalry and convinced him that sharing was the perfect solution, but in the moment you lacked the courage. Strange how his eagerness to put the women around him on a pedestal has somehow looped around to make him intimidating—for you, at least; Nami and Robin certainly have no such issues. He thinks of you so highly, and the idea of shattering that perception by saying or doing the wrong thing often paralyzes you.

Now, that proposal that died in your mouth is all you can think about. We could sleep together, would you mind? He would have blushed at the double entendre and caved in quickly if you had made your tone sweet enough.

Another minute of your thoughts spinning around the same centre, another minute of running a nail over the edge of your teeth to dispel nervous energy, and you decide that neither you in here, nor Sanji out there, can take any more of this.

You extend an arm outside of the warm cocoon of the bag, and stretch it as far as you can to open the tent a bit. The sound of the zip raising up a few inches makes Sanji’s silhouette shift as he looks in your direction, and before you can actually call out for him he’s moving closer on his own.

One gloved hand goes to close the zip again. “Wait, Sanji,” you whisper to stop him.

He stops trying to pull. “Oh, darling, y-you’re awake?” You can feel your face fall into a grimace at how shaky his voice is. “I thought the wind was making your t-tent open or something.”

“No, no, it was me.” Without having to slip out of the sleeping bag all the way, you try to tap the zip further up and open. A frigid tendril of wind snakes in and makes you wince. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Me? ‘M doing just fine,” Sanji says. Just because he’s lying with ease, it doesn’t mean it sounds convincing. “Was I, uh, keeping you awake…?”

Your heart squeezes in your chest when Sanji lowers his head to peer at you through the opening. He’s trying to bury his whole face in the puffy neck of his coat, but there’s a constant tremor in his jaw like he’s attempting to keep his teeth from chattering. Eyes large and round, darker spots on his cheeks and nose that would be a bright red if colours weren’t so muted by the moonlight—he’s probably the cutest he’s ever been. And so visibly uncomfortable.

“Come in here for a while.” You meant to first reassure him that he hadn’t woken you, but the invitation tumbles out of you before you can manage. “You must be freezing. Come on, just a few minutes.”

“I don’t want to let the cold in here…” he protests weakly, but you can see that he wants to say yes. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth as you repeat your plea to stay with you and warm up. “I guess—if you really don’t mind—”

You limit yourself to a wide smile when he finally acquiesces, and that’s all you can do to avoid tugging him down to lay on top of you before he’s even managed to fully crawl inside. You watch him as he squats in a spot as far away from you as he can. He takes off his gloves, sighing in relief when they’re not wrapped around his hands any longer.

“We should have all listened to you, we were not prepared well for this weather,” you say softly. You frown when he starts trying to blow warm air on his fingers. “Did your gloves not help you at all?”

“They may have gotten a little wet, it’s really humid outside,” he admits, sending a small but sincere smile your way.

“Sanji…” you sigh. You hope you don’t sound exasperated, since all you are is pained that a boy you hold so dear was literally left out in the cold like an abandoned puppy, but Sanji still looks a little downtrodden at your tone. “Can you come here, please? Why are you so far away?”

“I don’t want you to get cold!” he reiterates, but still shuffles near you at your request. The groundsheet crinkles under his knees. “Darling, I promise you I’m fine—”

He’s finally close enough that you can grasp one of his hands. You gasp at the complete lack of human warmth in his fingers. Sanji’s hands, so precious to him, almost blue from the cold? And he thinks you’ll just curl up in his sleeping bag and doze off while he suffers?

“Holy shit, that must feel awful.” You free your other hand and bring it out of the bag enough to gesture that he should let you hold both of his, and he complies easily. The image of him kneeling next to you, hunched over so you can rub some life back into his fingers, while still mostly buried in a plush lime-green sleeping bag must look funny to an external viewer. All you can think about is how to convince him to strip down a little and get in there with you.

He gently interlocks his fingers with yours when your movements slow down. “That’s so much better, angel, thank you. I’ll change my gloves and be more careful not to get them wet—”

Holding him like this, no matter the context, goes to your head. “No way I’m leaving you to freeze.” Before you can consider if the move is too revealing, you swipe your thumbs down the line of his index fingers, trying both to soothe him and draw him closer by the sheer strength of your longing alone. “You don’t have to keep guard or anything, you can just use your Observation Haki—”

“I promised Nami-san…” he protests, eyes downcast to stare at where you’re touching. You can’t tear your gaze away from his face—from the redness, first induced by the cold, now spreading all over from being alone with you.

“Not true, you told Nami you’d stay awake and keep an eye out. You think she wants you to die of hypothermia or something?”

Sanji sighs. “No, of course not. And I guess if I catch a cold I won’t be able to properly take care of my favourite ladies.”

That drags a smile out of you. Sanji never misses an opportunity to act too cute for his own good. “Think of it however you need, as long as you get in here quickly.”

“In where?” he asks, one curled eyebrow raising tall on his forehead. “In there?”

“It’s your sleeping bag, and there’s some more space in here,” you try to explain. A good dose of mortification falls like lead into your stomach. Was that too forward? Have you been pressing too hard on the topic this entire time?

Sanji’s mouth hangs open for a moment, and his hands go slack in your hold. You take it as a sign to release him, some more of your courage waning. “More space—to fit both of us? In there? Together?”

“Sanji,” you groan, shuffling deeper down into your cocoon, hoping at this point that a portal will open at the bottom of it and swallow you whole.

You can’t get over the embarrassment now that Sanji is acting so bewildered by the notion. Part of you, no matter how much insecurity you harbor about Sanji desiring you as much as you desire him—at times the thought feels absurd— believed he’d jump at the chance to get in bed with a girl, even just to sleep.

“No, hey, don’t hide! Come back up, darling,” Sanji coos. “I don’t want to say no, obviously.” Maybe he read your mind. “Why would I want to say no to such a wonderful offer?” Or maybe that strangely confident part of you was right.

“Come in here, then,” you say without reemerging from the depths of the plush fabric. You realise anew how warm it is under there, and your blood starts pumping faster at the thought of Sanji squeezing in next to you and cuddling close to share that warmth. “So we can both sleep.”

“I—okay. I need to take off some of my clothes, is that okay? Or you’ll be the one freezing.”

You nod before you remember that he can’t see you. “Y-yeah, no problem.” He could strip naked and let you kiss every inch you can reach in such proximity—that would be ideal—but you’ll take a Sanji with three layers on over no Sanji any day of the week.

You listen to the sounds of shuffling, metal buttons popping open, and quiet curses when his coat drops to the floor and Sanji can feel the cold tenfold. You pretend you’re being very patient, but the way you’re tapping the toes of one foot against the others tells another story.

“Darling?” he calls, hesitating after he’s taken his shoes off. “My trousers are kind of damp, I can’t—”

“Take those off, too, then,” you interrupt him with the most indifferent, placid tone you can fake. Sanji wears shorts sometimes, when they’re in a stretch of hot weather on the Grand Line, but even his swimwear is usually on the longer side and quite baggy. You’ve only ever seen a few inches above his knees, so your excitement at the prospect of seeing his bare legs borders on comical.

Not that you see much of anything now, either. Sanji manages to take off his pants while hiding most of his body from view, as if he needs to be ashamed of anything, with a physique like his, and the dim light blurs the details of what you can observe. You think his boxers have a heart print on it, but it’s not a safe bet.

Sanji crawls closer to the edge of the sleeping bag, and you signal once again that he should get in by unzipping the side. “Thanks,” he says, voice huskier than his usual.

Your breath stays suspended in your lungs as he slips inside next to you. Despite his efforts to not touch you, the space he’s trying to squeeze himself into is smaller than a single bed, and your sides slide together as he lays down. He murmurs a few sorry’s as it happens, but his earlier protests seem to have died down completely.

When the warmth has had a moment to sink into him, he lets out a tremulous sigh of relief—it’s obvious that he needed a break from the harsh weather, and still he never would have asked for it. Your heart constricts painfully at the tremors that shake Sanji's body. He's still trying so hard to keep his teeth from chattering, but there's little he can do for everything else.

“You've got to stop,” you beg. There's enough anger over Sanji's self-sacrificing tendencies to turn it into a command.

Sanji tries and fails to shuffle back within the confines of the sleeping bag. “Sorry,” he whispers shakily, “it should get better soon.”

Frustration and fondness form an unlikely mix that grips tight around your throat. “No, no, Sanji, come on.” You move a foot blindly, hooking it around Sanji's calf to still his retreat. “I didn't mean stop shaking or moving. Stop doing stuff like this to yourself.”

“Ah, Mellorine—” Sanji mumbles, and you know, you feel it in your bones, he's going to try and downplay his near-hypothermia and shower you with compliments to deflect your worry. Be it the late hour, the pressure behind your eyes that demands you close them and sleep; be it how cold Sanji still feels or the sweet ache in your bones at being so close to him—whatever it is that imbues you with courage, you decide you won't let him get away with that this time.

“I don't wanna hear it.” You were hoping to get it out with a firmer tone, but you sound on the verge of tears instead. “Shut up and let me help.”

You reach out, fingers bumping into his shoulder, the soft material that surrounds you pushing and pulling. It seems more than happy to get you closer, folding over your bodies as you shift enough to feel Sanji's chest on yours.

Shielded by the shadows that cover your face, your lids flutter at the novel sensation. You'd feel ashamed of the tendrils of pleasure slowly pulsing in time with your heartbeat, since, after all, you got this man in your sort-of bed for medical-adjacent reasons, but…it's Sanji. He's never shown anything but breathless gratefulness at being touched by a woman.

Just in time to squash any lingering doubt, you hear his breath hitch at the contact. He dissolves into a long shiver that breaks his resolve, and suddenly you're gripping him tighter, nose in his fine hair, knees knocking together before you raise one thigh over his.

Sanji moans softly, in obvious and innocent pleasure now that your body heat is enveloping him properly. “Oh, ‘t feels so nice,” he stutters over your neck, “you really are an angel. Thank you, darling.”

You almost thank him back on instinct. You might feel nice to him, but he's perfect in your arms, cuddled up as best as he can against you like he wants to sink into you. Gladly, you hold him tighter, burning up now that you have him in such close proximity—your face might as well be on fire, heart pumping hot blood like an overworked engine. He must be able to hear it. Surely all the layers of clothing between you are not enough to muffle the sound of it exploding out of your ribs.

“You're so silly,” you mumble instead. His hair smells superficially like faint smoke, and like artificial mint from his shampoo when you brush your nose between the soft locks. “Your hands okay?”

You barely bite back a pet name at the end of the sentence. Sanji shuffles to get his arms folded between the two of you, and his closed fists are frigid when they bump into your stomach. “Mh, they've felt better, but it's okay. I’m also pretty sure my toes are all attached, but who knows—’t’s not like I can feel them.”

You huff a laugh, and his face opens into a boyish smile. You can't see it, only sense his cheeks where his face is touching the naked skin of your neck. ”You joke, but we better check.” At the bottom of the sleeping bag, where there’s more room for movement, you have to swipe your own feet forward before you manage to meet his. Sanji, for all his insistence on being ready for bad weather, hadn’t bothered with proper boots or heavy socks. You hiss in sympathy at how cold his naked ankles really are when you touch them.

“Sanji, your leg can catch on fire, how did it get this bad?” you mumble into his hair.

Sanji’s little content sigh that he lets out when your warmer skin stays in contact with his just about breaks you. “I gotta be at least a little mad for the fire thing, Mellorine,” he explains, dismissing the topic with a gentle shake of his head. “You shouldn’t worry so much about me, I’ll be just fine. Don’t let me keep you awake any longer, please.”

You bite your bottom lip to hold back your own plea, wishing you could infuse the very air around the two of you with all that joyful, desperate fondness Sanji evokes in you. He could soak it all up, too tangible to doubt, and he’d feel soothed and weightless as if he’d just lowered his tired body into a hot bath. Frightened as you are to speak your feelings for him out loud, the best you can do is fumble to hold his hands. “We’ll both rest when you’re all better.” Before you can second-guess your intentions, you bring Sanji’s hands under the hems of the shirt and tank top you’re wearing. The first overwhelming impression is that you just shoved ten icicles up against your flank, but the knowledge that a part of Sanji’s body you’ve fantasised about one too many times is now under your clothes is enough to make you melt.

“Keep ‘em there, it’s warmer,” you choke out quickly, not trusting what your voice will reveal if you let your desire to fully set in.

“Miss, I—that’s—” Sanji stutters. His palms press more firmly into the dip of your waist, only for a moment. “You’re too good to me,” he settles on eventually.

Your vision is tinted blue from the moonlight filtering through the tent’s walls, and Sanji’s humid breath trickling down the collar of your shirt is making a haze settle over all your thoughts; all in all, this is starting to feel more like a dream you’ve had a thousand times. The oneiric atmosphere is not conductive to make well-thought out choices—but maybe that’s what you’ve needed this whole time. You could have had Sanji like this months ago if you’d found the courage to make the first move.

While he’s mumbling more of his thanks, throwing a couple more Miss in there like the title is not making your cunt throb, you grab both his wrists and slide his hands up towards your solar plexus. You’re not wearing a bra, which Sanji notices with an accidental brush of his fingertips and remarks on with a gasp that silences his words. He lets you properly slide an arm under his neck, and soon enough you have him moulded comfortably to your frame—entwined legs included.

“Try to rest, ‘kay?” you tell him. Your thumb swiping back and forth on his nape seems to do the trick; Sanji’s one visible eye slips shit after a couple of slow blinks.

“You, too. Goodnight, angel.”

He goes out like a light. You try to fall asleep, you really do—perhaps it’s physically not possible to do so when your body is firing on all cylinders, begging you to get some sort of sexual relief. Just knowing that Sanji’s legs are naked, meanwhile you are wearing stupid fucking clothes that keep you from feeling his skin on yours, is driving you insane. A couple of minutes of staring off into nothingness while listening to Sanji’s steady breathing calms you down just a notch, so at least now your heartbeat isn’t an active bomb threat anymore, but you’re a far cry from relaxed.

After a while, Sanji starts grumbling and moving in his sleep. You attempt to soothe him by petting his hair, whispering sweet nothings that he won’t remember, but it only gets worse until he wakes up with a confused call of your name.

He stiffens for a second upon opening his eyes, and you let him move back a little from your embrace. Is he still in pain from the hours spent outside? Were you touching him too much while he slept?

“You okay?” you ask tentatively.

“Mh? Yeah, sorry! I woke you up again?” Sanji refuses to meet your eye. His fingers twitch over your stomach, and he seems shocked to find them still there under your shirts, right before sliding them out.

The loss of contact saddens you more than you thought possible. “Kind of, I had just dozed off,” you lie. “It looked like you were having a nightmare, though, I was worried.”

“It did? I don’t remember what I was dreaming.” You swear a blush spreads on his face, but the faint moonlight doesn’t help you decipher his expression that well. “I’m good now, darling. Let’s go back to sleep, I promise I won’t wake you up again—I wouldn’t want my princess to be tired tomorrow.”

His princess. That’s a low blow—you can’t argue with him after that. You only nod, bidding him goodnight again, and you’re gifted one of those beautiful smiles of his.

Determined to not act like a freak this time, and just relax and doze off for real instead of sniffing his hair or whatever the hell you were about to do earlier, you try to settle in a more comfortable position. The goal is not achieved, since you accidentally press one thigh over Sanji’s front, and feel—

“Ah, fuck,” Sanji says under his breath when you gasp. He’s very clearly hard, enough that you can half guess the length of his cock, that’s how obvious it is.

So he was blushing, and he was not having a nightmare. How did you miss this when you were half on top of him?

If you were aroused before, it pales in comparison to the sudden, violent heat that starts in your stomach and quickly pools low between your legs. It’s like you got sucker-punched by desire, so much so that you lose your breath with that gasp, and can’t find words to defuse the situation.

Sanji tries to shuffle away from you, instinctively raising on one elbow like he wants to jump out of the bag. The way he’s pulling on the fabric makes you roll closer to him, and it’s all you can do not to moan when suddenly not only you can feel his erection, but your cunt is pressed so, so nicely over his own thigh. The unfairness of the situation hits you: Sanji can’t hide his physical reaction, meanwhile you’ve been getting wetter and wetter since he got in there with you, and he’ll remain none-the-wiser unless you shove his hand down your underwear.

The thought of those long, lithe fingers playing with your clit almost makes you black out. You’re trying to stay lucid, but you’d like to see someone else coping with a wet dream come to life.

“Damn it, I—I’m sorry, I can’t control it. I mean, I can control myself! Just, not it,” Sanji babbles, clearly building up to something close to panic. “It’ll go away, I promise, sorry. I mean…okay, it’ll go away if I stop touching you, that’s what I was trying to do. You’re just…so soft and warm. And pretty, duh! Oh God, why am I still talking. Make it stop, please.”

You snake a hand up his chest until you can press your palm over Sanji’s mouth. You catch him mid-word, but the sentence dies down quickly with a tortured bitten-back lament.

“Calm down,” you say softly. If you sound breathier than intended, it's because you can't hope to hide all signs of your demanding arousal. “It's okay, Sanji. You didn't do anything bad, did you?”

Sanji stares at you for a moment with huge watery eyes, the usually hidden one left more visible by his fringe all knocked askew.

“Did you?” you prompt him.

His lids drop lower, as he exhales a warm breath over your hand as he relaxes his body at your request. He shakes his head without removing your palm from over his mouth.

You do it for him. “Everything’s fine.” Sanji should never look this unsure and embarrassed, especially around you. You adore him, he’s your favourite everything. Isn’t it obvious? “Sweetheart, lay back down. You’re letting the cold in.”

Sanji’s eyes go wide again, be it because of the first pet name you’ve dared use for him, or the reminder that his seated position is keeping the sleeping bag half open. With one smooth move, he’s laying on his side once again, one hand clutched on the open hem to squish it closer to your bodies.

“Why aren’t you kicking me out?” he whispers after he’s settled. He bites back a sound when you shift your hips just enough to satiate your curiosity—yes, he’s still hard, and yes, touching his cock even through all the layers of clothes has the same electrifying effect on you the second time as it did the first. “It’s going to be like this all night, Miss,” he commiserates, a little whine behind his tone that snaps whatever composure you had left.

“Sanji, are you really that blind?” you ask in the near darkness. You cup his cheek in one hand, tucking whatever you can of his fringe behind his ear. “You haven’t figured it out?”

He frowns like he’s either worried or confused, and part of you can’t blame him—you’ve never spoken to him this way, voice trembling with excitement. You enjoy what you can see of Sanji’s flushed face framed by your fingers, then you close the distance to kiss him.

With great effort, you keep that first touch brief and chaste. The tip of his nose is cold where it presses gently on your cheek, his lips a little dry, but you enjoy immensely both that perfect cupid bow of his and the tickling sensation of his moustache. When you pull back a millimetre, which is all the distance you can bear to put between you, you’re awash in goosebumps and hot shivers. “I want you, too,” is all you can manage to say to fill the silence.

“Oh,” Sanji replies, “oh, I must still be dreaming.” He nuzzles into your hand, his own freeing the sleeping back to clutch your wrist instead. “I hope I don’t wake up too soon.”

A dopey smile opens on your face—you’re sure you look stupid with love and desire—and you want to put two coherent words together and tell this beautiful smooth-talker that he’s very much awake, or stuck in your dream if anything, but Sanji kisses you again.

This one doesn’t end quickly; if you have it your way, this one won’t end at all. Sanji tilts his head and slots your lips together with a wanton moan muffled by the contact. Your finger sinks in the soft locks of his hair, slipping like fresh water between your digits as you caress him. There’s not enough space to move freely, to roll on top of him or pull him until he can lay all his weight on you—phantom feelings you’ve chased through your daydreams hundreds of times, and are now just out of reach, but what you get is enough. It’s everything. Sanji moving his arm out of the way so he can wrap you in a half-hug and squish your chests together; your leg pushed between his so you can properly get his flat abdomen and hard cock right up against you.

His breath hitches as his hips roll forward. With the grip you have on his hair, you instinctively tug his head back, breaking the wet kiss just in time to hear his breathy moan. “No, please, more. Wanna kiss you more,” he begs—and really, who would say no to such a request?

You lick his bottom lip just to put to rest the demon that once made you stare at Sanji’s side profile while he cooked for way too long, whispering in your ear his lips are so plump, wouldn’t they look good on a girl? You don’t know about that, but they are extremely kissable.

At the time you thought that Sanji, who strives to be a real gentleman—emphasis on the man—would be freaked out by those thoughts…seeing how he’s behaving now, maybe that’s not the case. Maybe he’d enjoy being talked to and handled like a precious little thing. Still, you abstain for now, horrified by the idea that you could ruin this long-awaited moment, and content yourself with kissing him silly.

Well. Calling what you're doing to him kissing is an euphemism; you're licking into his mouth as if with enough effort you could taste his soul, and when the push and pull of your bodies separates your lips, he lets you curl your tongue around his in the open air before you pull back properly.

“‘M so hard, I could come just from this,” Sanji mumbles while you move down to suck over the pulse point on his neck. Your eyes are closed, but they still roll back into your skull when the fading scent of his aftershave fills your senses.

“You won't have to,” you promise. You grasp at him blindly through the tangle of your limbs and the obstructive plush fabric all around. Sanji, sweet angel, perfect boy, arches to push his hips right into your palm.

You let out a giggle and a dreamy sigh on the tail end of it when you manage to properly palm his hard cock, even if just above his boxers. You’d be embarrassed by the sound if you were lucid. There are many times when your affection for Sanji simmers gently and far away from lust, but this isn't one of those times.

Sanji stiffens at the first stroke you clumsily give his cock, just to quickly melt again in your arms. “Please, let me touch you, too.” His hands run down your form until he can hook his fingers into the waistline of your pants. “I want you to feel good with me.”

You nod with an enthusiastic hum of assent against the skin of his neck. The first touch of Sanji's fingertips on the naked skin usually covered by the hem of your underwear almost makes you jolt. You follow suit, shoving your hand inside his boxers. “Oh, fuck, yesyesyes,” Sanji mumbles before you’ve even done anything, just closed your fist around the tip of his cock. He’s leaking just enough to smooth the way as you play with him, teasing strokes and swipes of your thumb on the slit.

It’s not that you’re being mean on purpose, eking out his pleasure like he might just run out if you get too greedy—you’re just so distracted by what he’s doing to you. Already, he had the unfair advantage of your near-obsession with his hands, born mostly from his insistence that they must be reserved for loving acts. He usually means cooking, of course, but Sanji has never hesitated to hold, carry, protect and serve the women in his life with his hands…so can you be blamed for getting ideas? You feel vindicated for each dirty thought you’ve ever had about them in the here and now. As soon as you raise your thigh high on his hip to leave him some space, Sanji slides his hand fully into your panties and cups your pussy like he’s cherishing being allowed to touch you so intimately. He doesn’t leave you waiting for something more substantial, quickly moving to sink his middle finger between your labia, gathering the copious amount of slick wetness. You have one moment to wish he had just pushed inside you before he starts drawing circles over your clit instead, and then the choice to just let him do whatever he wants is easily made.

“How are you so wet for me? I barely touched you,” he asks with a tone that should be reserved for his first glimpse of the All Blue.

You almost laugh at that. “I’ve been wet since you took off your pants,” you admit, “and then you kept calling me Miss—”

Sanji tilts his head to make eye contact with you, forcing your mouth away from the delectable line of his neck. “Wait, you like being called Miss? Really?” He has no business sounding shyly pleased; you suspect he uses the title specifically to elicit this sort of reaction—or is it that you have a heightened appreciation for it? You’ve never thought to ask the other girls what they think about it…Nami’s teasing over it would be brutal.

“Don’t take too much advantage of it!” Your pout robs the intimation of its strength, but Sanji’s eyes drop to stare at your lips like he’s hungry to get another taste, and you finish off the attempt at distracting him with a good series of strokes up and down his cock that he seems to really appreciate. He lets out a guttural moan that you’re sure whoever is sleeping in the tent next to you must have heard even above the wind now raging outside.

Sanji must take your renewed efforts as a sign to up the ante himself, and finally he slips a finger inside you. He figures out roughly two seconds in that quick and shallow thrusts make you writhe in pleasure, knowledge he has no qualms abusing until you’re shaking, lingering on the precipice of an orgasm.

You’re still trying to give him the attention he deserves, but you know your movements over his cock have gone artless and a bit sloppy. “Mmghfuck, Sanji—” you moan through your teeth, biting the neckline of his shirt. You want to kiss him and lick wherever you can but your body is acting on its own. You think you add something along the lines of gonna come, just for you, baby, you want that? but you can’t be sure; maybe you’re just mewling nonsense with your face hidden in his neck.

Whatever he hears, it’s enough to get Sanji very excited. “Yes, holy fuck, you’re perfect. So good for me.” You don’t know how he does it, but in a quick move he lifts you to lay more heavily on top of him with his free arm, locking it around your waist to keep you still. He’s got two fingers pumping in and out of you with no reprieve, but he hazards a guess and slides them out to focus on your clit again. In an ideal situation you’d like both things at the same time—hell, in an ideal situation you’d be bouncing on his cock already—but at this point you want to come, and being played with like this will get you there. You're clutching both hands around his sides now, palming at his abs, and Sanji’s erection is pressed tight over your hip. He doesn’t complain, taking advantage of how his underwear is riding too low on his hips to grind against you and seek out some friction.

“Like this okay, darling?” he asks with a murmur in your ear. You nod fervently. “Fuck, I really can’t believe this. My whole hand is wet, you’re dripping. Next time—can I—I want to lick until you’re coming on my tongue, I need to know what you taste like.”

Your eyes fly open, all the muscles in your legs and abdomen tensing with pleasure at Sanji’s words, the rumble of his voice thick with desire, the mental image of his blond head buried between your legs. That almost does you in, but the promise of a next time brings a realization—now I can have him like this again and again and again—that makes you fall over the edge. You come with your cheek pressed on his solid chest, one of Sanji’s hands now closed around the back of your neck, your voice stuck in your throat. Wave after wave of shivers run down your spine, wracking your body even as you’re coming down from the high, because Sanji won’t stop rubbing wet circles over your clit.

“Stop, stop, I need a breather,” you complain, trying to escape his touch—but not really. Even as you’re supposedly squirming away from him, between the stifling top of the sleeping bag, and your leg locked around his hips, it’s clear that you’re right where you want to be.

Sanji relents, sliding his fingers out of your now-ruined underwear. “Sorry, my love, you just sound so good while lost in pleasure.” He squeezes you in a full hug, pressing a few kisses over the crown of your head. “I can’t believe you let me do that…”

“I didn’t let you do anything. And there’s nothing strange about a woman wanting you like this, Sanji.” You tilt your head up, trying to meet his eye. “You know that, right?”

Shily, he allows the eye contact. You wish it wasn’t so dark in here, but the stronger winds must have brought clouds to cover the moon, and the lanterns Sanji had lit outside had long since died. You can’t see the stunning blue of his irises.

“If you say so, darling,” he says, much to your chagrin. You hate how often you have witnessed Sanji being rejected, and in hindsight, by virtue of dismissing his advances as unserious, you have contributed to it. But he must have had his fair share of sexual experiences if he can bring a woman to orgasm as easily as he just did with you.

You hope to have the opportunity to ask him about it. The urge to get to know him better, to be closer in all meanings of the terms, is stronger than ever—but now is not the time. You’ve got something else to focus on.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to believe me. I can just show it to you.” You manage with some more wiggling to get your pants and underwear at least halfway down your thighs. “You thought I was going to leave you hanging, baby? We can’t, uh, go all the way…not right now, I don’t have protection—” you start to explain while trying to slide a bit further up his body.

Sanji starts shaking his head, eyes as wide as saucers. “Oh, no, you don’t have to do anything for me! I can’t possibly ask for more!”

You kiss his lips to silence him. Sanji whines like a wounded animal when you raise yourself just enough to hold his cock again—he has not gone soft despite the lack of stimulation, which doesn’t shock you. This is Sanji, after all.

“I’ll come and stain your clothes and make a mess,” he says all in a rush, his fingers spasming around your hips.

“Ssh, it’s okay. Don’t worry about anything, just let me take care of you.” You bring his cock between your legs, forcing them open despite the pant’s waistline pressing into your skin; when you’ve got the hard length pressed over your bare cunt you get your hand back on Sanji’s chest and squeeze your thighs.

You don’t know what feels best for him—clenching your legs as tight as you can, or to leave more space to swing your hips up and down—but whatever you try, Sanji vocally loves it. Despite how cold he had felt when he first got in the sleeping bag with you, he’s now burning up just like you, and you’re both starting to sweat under your clothes. You can feel him leak more precum when you raise up as far as you can and squeeze just the head of his cock between your thighs.

“Oh God, Miss,” he breathes out at that move. His hands slide down to grope your ass, and the feeling of him kneading the muscle there to his heart’s content makes your eyelids flutter.

“Feels good, baby?” you ask. The question is redundant, but dammit, you want to hear him say it.

Sanji nods with a hum, lips parted and his cute little curled brow frowning in pleasure. “Yes! Yes, you feel perfect, you’re so soft. I would stay between your legs forever if you let me.”

Oh, this man. He doesn’t know how badly he drives you crazy, even when he’s just babbling the first thought he had. You lean down to dip your tongue in his mouth, your hands firmly planted over his pecs. He accepts the kiss easily, moaning each time you nibble his bottom lip or snap your hips down with more vigor. You pull back with a string of saliva still pulling between your mouths. “Next time you can fuck me like this,” you promise. Your mind is clouded with lust again, and you have half a mind to reach down and angle his cock so you can sink down on him for real, but you hold onto sanity enough to avoid that. “As soon as we’re back on the Sunny. You want that?”

“I’ve wanted that since the first time I saw you,” Sanji replies. He grips your ass more firmly, guiding you into moving faster. “I’m so close, please, just keep going.”

You don’t know if you can believe something like that said in the heat of the moment, but either way, he’s just so cute. In your imagination Sanji has been everything from the experienced lover that blows your mind to a playful partner that laughs with you in the middle of sex, and you’ve loved all those versions that existed in your head—but if the real one is this submissive and needy, you have no complaint. Reducing such a powerful and competent man to a moaning mess is nothing short of intoxicating.

Gladly, you keep doing what you’ve been doing. Sanji begs for another kiss, and keeps you so busy with it that you realise he’s coming only when he gasps open-mouthed over your lips. Hot liquid drips over the back of your thighs—you spare him the overstimulation he inflicted on you earlier, out of the goodness of your bleeding heart, but it’ll be a while before you even consider unclenching your legs from around his cock.

Sanji takes in one last shuddering inhale, and all but melts into the thin mattress underneath him. One wet kiss pressed to his cheek, and you feel him smile as wide as when he serves you, Nami, and Robin some snacks and he gets to listen to all three of you compliment his cooking at the same time.

“Mh, it’s too hot in here now,” you note with humour, “don’t you think?”

“It’s ‘cause I’m burning up for you, Mellorine,” Sanji replies. You huff a laugh when he attempts an exaggerated wink, which doesn’t work when one of his eyes is completely covered by ruffled hair.

You slide a little to the side, keeping in mind the streaks of come splashed on your skin as you do so. Sanji lets out a saddened sigh when you’re not pressed skin-to-skin with him anymore, but you’re still so close, your heads only barely peeking out of the sleeping bag.

“You were right, you did make a mess.” You’ll have to take off your pants off and use them to clean yourself and Sanji somehow—or maybe he’ll volunteer his boxers for the job, still pushed barely down his legs—as soon as you have the energy.

“Ah, sorry…I usually have very good manners, I swear.” The apology seems genuine, but Sanji is just too giddy to sound contrite. “Hey, can I ask you something? But I don’t want to ruin the moment.”

You smile at him. Now that the adrenaline peak is fading away, your eyelids are once again heavy and ready to stay closed for a good six hours at least. “You can’t ruin it, Sanji.”

“You have a lot of faith in me, darling.”

“Just ask, dummy.”

He clears his throat, embarrassed by his own stalling. “I know that I-I said something about doing this again first, but then you said it, too, and I just—I don’t know if you meant it. Because I did. So, would you like to…?”

“Would I like to? Baby, I’m gonna wear you out.” You would sound much more convincing if you weren’t actively falling asleep. “I’ll ask Franky to build a secret bedroom, and no one will ever see us again,” you mumble before being interrupted by a yawn.

You feel the warmth of Sanji’s fingers caressing your cheekbone, the line of your jaw. You smile thinking of how this started, with Sanji’s poor hands cold as ice shoved under your shirts.

“I’ll ask you a few hundred times more in the morning, sweetheart. You’re about to pass out, I’ll clean you up myself, okay?”

You think you nod, or maybe you just hum a vague affirmative sound. The last thing you remember, with the rumbling of the wind and the distant raging of the ocean lulling deeper into sleep, is Sanji pressing a kiss on your neck, warm and heavy with affection.

Omfg. I've had this idea for a while and jumped at the chance to write it when I saw that it could work for my assignment in this exchange. Huge shoutout to @twoflowers for passing onto me the "Sanji calls women 'miss' intstead of using honourifics" demon, as you can all see I've used and abused that idea.

#GOD FUCK YEEAAAAHHHH #op #sanji #fics #fave

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