#afab plus size reader

[hyacinthandmoss]

What the Dead Don‘t Take (18+)

Summary: You are Eclipsera. They call you a ghost. A myth. Some say you’re lady death. But you know better; you’re what comes when death hesitates. You move through shadow with a body built for ruin and reverence — soft, full, impossible to ignore. You are older than grief. More tender than mercy. So when you found Frank Castle dying, you didn’t take him. You let him stay. Because something in him flickered like a flame refusing to die. And you, well, you’ve always been drawn to fire.

Pairing: Frank Castle x AFAB!Reader (PLUS SIZE/FAT READER). Reader is described with fat body imagery.

Warnings: Minors DNI! SOFT SMUT (18+), canon-typical violence, injury, grief/loss, trauma responses, gentle angst with eventual tenderness, haunted softness, emotionally bruised Frank being tender.

A/N: hi, my dearest petals! thank you for wandering into this little story. i hope something soft in it finds you. Eclipsera is an OC i’ve been developing for some time, but for this story, i decided to share her through a reader-insert so you could feel what it’s like to bloom in her skin. if you’d like to see more of her, perhaps in a longer fic or as her full self in the punisher universe, let me know! your thoughts are like little wildflowers: small, beautiful, & always welcome.

🪻🍃🌾💫📖

New York pulsed with life, but you walked in the spaces between. The spectral realm hummed quietly beneath the city’s surface, a thin, silver thread woven through the neon chaos and cigarette smoke, through the clamor of horns and human grief. Few could see it. Fewer still could walk it. But you, you had always belonged to the quiet places where grief lingered, and breath faded.

They called you a myth. A ghost. A curse. Eclipsera. Lady Death herself.

You drifted down cracked sidewalks with no destination. Your steps made no sound on the pavement. Your soft, thick thighs brushed with every silent stride beneath a dress that clung to your body like it knew exactly what it protected. Your full hips swayed with purpose, your heavy form moving with grace that defied expectation. You could feel every soul humming beneath their skin. The living, wrapped tight in their breath and fear. The dying, fraying at the edges. The dead, watching with hollowed eyes, waiting to be remembered or forgotten. As you passed, your fingers brushed against a brick wall, and it told you a story. A fight. A bloodstain. A promise never kept. But you kept walking. Tonight felt heavier than usual. Like the city itself was holding its breath.

You paused beneath a flickering streetlamp in Alphabet City, head tilted slightly, lips parted like you were listening to something no one else could hear. And then you felt it. A tremor. Not in the ground, but in the thread,  the weave between life and death. Someone was slipping, and it wasn’t peaceful or quiet. It felt… stubborn. Violent. Refusing.

Your eyes narrowed, irises dark as soil, glowing faintly at the edges. Whoever it was… they didn’t want to die. Or maybe they shouldn’t. You turned toward the pull. The spectral plane rippled around you, doors opening where none existed, and then you stepped into the alley where fate had come to collect Frank Castle. Or so you thought. 

The alley stank of blood and ozone and something sharp beneath it… gunpowder, maybe. 

He was lying at the end of the alley. Half-slumped against the wall. One leg twisted unnaturally. Blood slicked across his chest like ink. It was the kind of wound you knew that mortals didn’t come back from. Yet he wasn’t dead. And more than that, he was fighting it.

The thread of his life was unraveling fast, frayed and stubborn, and snapping back every time death tried to reel him in. It was wild and violent. And so very loud in your mind. You moved toward him slowly, your long dress whispering beneath you like smoke.

He noticed you. His hand twitched toward the weapon at his side, but it slipped, useless in his grasp.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you said softly, voice curling into the air like incense. You knelt beside him, close enough for the tips of your fingers to catch the heat of his skin, close enough to feel him tethered, like he refused to let go, not out of fear, but purpose. Your gaze traveled across the ruin of his body, then up to meet his eyes.

“You’re dying,” you said simply.

He coughed, low and wet, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he rasped. “No shit.”

Your lips curled, faint and amused. “But it’s not taking,” you murmured. You tilted your head, studying him like a riddle you couldn’t quite solve. “You’ve eluded death’s embrace before.”

Frank Castle squinted up at you, breathing ragged. “What the hell… are you?”

You leaned in slowly, your hand lifting to brush a knuckle along the line of his jaw. The touch was light and careful. Far too intimate for a battlefield. Your fingers trailed down his neck, tracing the line of a scar that wasn’t from tonight.

“The infamous Punisher,” you murmured, your voice low and rich, like smoke curling in velvet. A faint smile tugged at your lips. It wasn’t mockery but recognition. “You’re quite the legend in the spectral realm.” You reached out, and the tips of your fingers ghosted along his cheek light as breath, but he felt it in his spine. “Always dancing on the blade,” you whispered. “Always flirting with death, and yet, somehow, you never let it take you.” Your eyes searched his,  not just looking but reading.

All Frank could see were your eyes that were ancient, knowing, and endless. His eyes narrowed, blood drying on his cheek. He gave a breathless, humorless laugh. Well, more of a grunt, really.

“Yeah?” he rasped. “You here to hand out metaphors or finish the job?” His tone was sharp and raw, the kind of edge you get when you’ve seen too much, bled too long, and don’t trust a damn thing that whispers in the dark.

You blinked slowly like his sarcasm was a language you spoke fluently. “Still fighting,” you murmured. “Even now.”

“Not fightin’,” he muttered, jaw tight. “Just don’t take kindly to cryptic shit when I’m leaking out on concrete.”

That earned him the ghost of a smile.

He hated that it made you look beautiful.

You moved closer, your knees brushing against his thigh, and leaned in close enough for your breath to graze his ear. “Then let me be clear, Frank Castle,” you whispered, and he felt his name curl down his spine like a brand. “You shouldn’t be dying. Not tonight. Not like this.”

He exhaled a shaky breath. “Yeah?” he rasped. “And what the hell makes you the expert?”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. Your eyes shimmered in the dark like wet obsidian catching moonlight. There was no threat in them. Just knowledge. Weight.

“I’ve walked beside Death since the first star fell,” you said quietly. “I’ve stood where time ends, and silence begins.”

“And when Death falters—when Death doubts—I’m the one who decides who stays.” Your words hung in the space between you, ancient, undeniable, echoing somewhere deeper than just his ears.

Frank didn’t see you move.

In a sudden, fleeting moment, you were inches away from him, your warm breath teasing his ear while your fingers danced like whispers along the sharp line of his jaw. The next instant, the gritty alleyway vanished completely. The cold, unforgiving concrete beneath your feet, the vivid splashes of blood staining the pavement, and the distant wail of sirens—everything was erased. An eerie stillness enveloped you both in their place as if time had paused. 

Frank found himself in a shadowy realm, cloaked in tranquility and dimly lit by the flickering glow of candles casting soft, wavering shadows. It felt like an enchanted rooftop lounge, a hidden oasis suspended between memory and myth, as though this sanctuary had been plucked from his subconscious, a quiet refuge from the chaos that once surrounded him. Here, the world’s weight seemed to lift, offering a moment of respite. 

Frank slumped against a stone pillar, sucking in a shocked breath. “What the f—” He tried to move, but his body protested with sharp, searing pain.

“Easy,” you murmured, already kneeling before him again. “You’re safe here. No one can reach you.”

His hand twitched toward where his weapon should’ve been, but you were already reaching for him, not to disarm, but to touch. Your fingers hovered just over the gash in his abdomen, glowing faintly with that same silvery light he’d seen in your eyes.

“You’ve carried pain for so long, Frank Castle,” you whispered. “Some of it isn’t yours anymore. Let me take it.”

He should’ve pushed you away. Should’ve told you to go to hell. But all he said was, “You better know what the hell you’re doin’.”

A quiet smile curved your lips. “I do.” You placed your palm against his wound, and the moment your skin touched his, the pain evaporated like smoke. Not numbed but gone.

His head dropped back with a groan, breath catching in his throat. Frank’s eyes flicked open, wild and wide. “You’re not human.”

“No.” Your hand slid up, palm pressed against his chest, right over his heart.

He caught your wrist, grip weak but wanting. His breathing was shallow and uneven. “I don’t know what this is,” he growled, “but if you’re gonna kill me, stop playin’ with your food.”

“I told you,” you whispered, your mouth almost brushing his, “You don’t die tonight.”

His chest rose and fell under your hand, slower now but tight, like he was holding something back.

“You’re not real,” he said, voice gravel-thick, sharp around the edges. “You’re somethin’ else. Somethin’ fucked.”

You tilted your head, unbothered, your eyes glowing faint and eerie in the low light.

“I’m exactly what you needed,” you said softly.

His laugh was short and bitter, and he breathed more than sound. “Yeah? You think I need someone floatin’ outta nowhere, messin’ with my head?”

“I didn’t touch your head,” you murmured, inching closer. Your palm pressed over his heart, now deliberate, heavy.

His jaw tensed. That stare didn’t budge.

“And what is it you want, huh?” he snapped. “You already patched me up. You ain’t robbin’ me. You ain’t killin’ me. So what the hell is this?”

You leaned in, slow and smooth, just close enough that he could feel the warmth of your lips, which were just out of reach.

“Maybe I’m curious,” you whispered. “About the man Death hesitated to take.”

Frank’s breath hitched. Just slightly. But you caught it. He grabbed your wrist again.  Fast, firm, but not cruel. “You don’t get to play games,” he growled. “Not with me.”

“I’m not playing.”

“You’re somethin’, all right,” he muttered, his eyes locked to you by mouth now like he was daring himself not to move.

Your smile was curved and quiet and dangerous.

Frank still hadn’t released your wrist. His grip was firm but hesitant, a mix of control and uncertainty.

You could feel it. The way his pulse jumped under your touch. The way he was watching your mouth instead of your eyes now. “You keep staring like that,” you murmured, “and I’m going to start thinking you want something.”

He let out a sharp, low breath, part laugh, part don’t push me. “You talk like you know me,” he muttered, voice rough like sandpaper, “but you don’t.”

You didn’t pull back. Just let the silence stretch between you two like tension on a wire. “I know how your heartbeat changes when I touch you,” you said, your hand pressing a little harder to his chest. “I know you’ve been bleeding for years… and not all of it on the outside.” 

Frank’s jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. “I don’t need you figuring me out,” he snapped. “I sure as hell don’t need you crawling inside my head.”

“I’m not in your head,” you whispered, dragging your lips just barely across the shell of his ear. “I’m under your skin.”

And there it was… the moment of inhale. A quiet pause where he froze as if you’d struck something raw. “Careful,” he growled. “You don’t know what you’re pokin’ at.”

You smiled. “Oh, Frank. I do.”

Frank hadn’t blinked in what felt like years. His hand was still on your wrist, knuckles white from restraint. “You think you got me figured out?” he rasped.

Your eyes flicked to his. Not mocking. Not soft. Just… knowing. “I don’t need to figure you out,” you said. “I feel you.”

You shifted just enough that your thick thighs brushed against his. Enough to make him flinch like he’d been burned. “You ache,” you whispered, your lips ghosting the line of his jaw. “You carry your guilt like armor, and you wear your grief like a weapon.”

His eyes fluttered closed for a second, jaw flexing tight.

You let your nose trail down the side of his throat, never kissing, just hovering. Your voice dropped even lower, barely a breath, “But you want,” you said, “so much.”

Frank’s grip on your wrist tightened not to stop you, but like it was the only thing tethering him to control. His breath was ragged now, chest rising beneath your touch like it took effort just to breathe.

And still, you didn’t touch him any more than that. “You wanna keep pretendin’ you’re not feeling this?” You murmured, your lips now just above his.

His eyes opened, dark and furious, but not because he hated it. But because you were right. He held your stare like he was hanging by a thread.

“…You don’t shut up,” he growled. “You’re gonna find out what happens when I do stop pretending.”

And still, you didn’t pull back.

“Then stop,” you whispered. “I dare you.”

Frank didn’t move.

“I wonder,” you whispered, “if you’d even know how to touch someone without it feeling like violence.”

That made his breath catch a sharp inhalation that came unexpectedly, like a jagged shard of ice piercing through him. 

“I wonder,” you continued, your voice a purr against his ear, “if you even remember what softness feels like.”

His fingers coiled around your wrist with a pressure that suggested he was holding himself back, not out of rage, but sheer restraint. “You don’t know me,” he hissed, each word dripping with intensity.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again.“I know enough,” you said. “I know you crave closeness, but punish yourself every time it gets near. I know your body doesn’t understand tenderness anymore. Only tension. Only grit. Only the moments before something breaks.”You let your lips brush the scar above his collarbone, the lightest, cruelest whisper of touch.“I could break you,” you whispered. “Gently.”

He flinched but barely. But you felt it.

“I should push you off me,” he bit out. His voice shook with everything he wasn’t doing.

“You should,” you said, resting your forehead against his. “So why haven’t you?”

The silence that followed was thick and electric. He was breathing harder now. Chest rising fast under your palm. His jaw clenched so tight it trembled. Every part of him screamed with want and refusal, but he didn’t move. You did. Your lips brushed his once, soft as breath, just enough to touch without giving him anything more. And when you pulled away again, that damn smile was still there.

“You gonna make me stop?” you whispered, voice low, challenging.

His jaw flexed. That vein in his neck ticked. His breath was ragged now, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to hold himself back from devouring you. And then he moved. Frank’s hand came up fast, curling around the back of your neck, pulling you down hard and sure, like he’d finally decided he wasn’t letting you tease him into madness anymore. His lips met yours with a kind of heat that wasn’t gentle. It was raw like he’d been waiting all night for permission, and you’d just handed it to him on a silver blade.

You barely had time to gasp before his other hand slid down to your waist, gripping tight, anchoring you to him like he needed to feel your full weight on his body. You felt the low groan rumbling in his chest. He exhaled into your mouth like he hadn’t breathed until now. The kiss had cracked something open. Now, it was burning, and there was no pulling back. Frank’s hands stayed on you, one still cradling the back of your neck, the other sliding lower, fingers digging into the generous curve of your hip like he needed your solidness to keep from slipping away. Like the fullness beneath his palm was the only thing anchoring him to this moment.

Your breath hitched as he pulled you entirely into his lap, your thighs parting to straddle him, plush and warm as they bracketed his hips. Your softness spilled against him, belly pressing into his abdomen, breasts brushing his chest, and his breath caught like the sight of you had knocked the air out of him. The contact lit a fire between you two, sharp and immediate. There was no hesitation, no question. He needed you like this. All of you. Not something delicate to be handled but something whole to be held.

His eyes scanned your face as if he couldn’t believe what he saw. You were so close but still otherworldly. That faint glow beneath your skin. That calm in your eyes. “You good?” he rasped, his voice low, rough, frayed at the edges.

You nodded, your hand slipping into his hair, your body moving against his with a slow, deliberate grind that made him grunt, his hands clutching harder at your sides.

“Better than good,” you whispered, lips grazing his ear. “I want you.”

His mouth found yours again, rougher now. Not cruel, just hungry.

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, dragging it up over healing muscle and scar. You moved with a kind of sacred slowness. It wasn’t hesitant but reverent. Like you understood what it meant for him to let someone this close.

He hissed when your hands ghosted over his stomach, but not from pain.

“I should be the one asking if you’re okay.” You said against his mouth, your voice low and velvet.

Frank’s hand slid under your dress, calloused fingers dragging slowly up the curve of your back to touch and feel. The softness there was warm, genuine, solid beneath his palm. His fingertips brushed over the dip of your waist, then higher, following the gentle slope of your plush back until he cradled you fully, pulling you into him.

“I’m alive,” he muttered. “Pretty sure that’s your fault.”

You smiled against his lips.

“Then let me show you what it means to live.”

Frank pulled you even closer, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, fingers sinking into the soft flesh like he couldn’t believe you were real. “Shit,” he muttered, pressing his face into your neck. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”

You rolled your hips again, slower this time, and he shuddered. The friction, the heat, the way your full thighs tightened around him, grounding him, was too much. And still not enough.

“Say it again,” he breathed, “Say you want me.”

“I want you,” you gritted out. “I want all of you.”

You reached between your bodies, tugging his pants open, your fingers brushing the thick length of him through his briefs. His hips bucked instinctively, and you smiled.

“You’re hard for someone who was bleeding out a few minutes ago,” you teased.

His eyes locked on yours, dark and hungry. “I survived for this.”

And when you pulled him free and guided him into you, slow, aching, deliberate,  Frank groaned, his hands flying to your hips, head falling back, eyes squeezed shut.

“Fuck,” he panted. “You feel so good.”

You took him slowly, deliberately, your body stretching around him, taking every inch until your thighs were tight against his and your belly pressed to his chest. And he loved it. The way your softness wrapped around him. The way your curves moved with every grind of your hips. The way you held him deep and tight and didn’t let go.

You gasped into his mouth as he hauled you closer, the strength in his arms coiling around your soft, generous frame like a storm about to break. You could feel it: the barely leashed restraint, the way his fingers dug into the plush at your waist,  not harsh, but like he was trying to memorize you with his hands. Like if he didn’t hold you, he’d fall apart completely. He moved slowly at first, afraid he’d miss something if he rushed.

“Fuck,” he breathed like it hurt to say. “You’re… fucking unreal.”

Your back arched into him, full breasts pressing to his chest, your body moving with practiced confidence and heat. “You’re the one surviving gunshots in alleys,” you whispered, breathless. “Who’s the unreal one now?”

He huffed a laugh low against your collarbone, his stubble grazing your skin. “Don’t flatter me,” he muttered. “I’ll start thinkin’ I deserve this.”

Your fingers slid into his hair, curling just enough to pull him back to your mouth. “You do,” you said into his lips, hot and certain. “You do.”

His hands roamed everywhere like he couldn’t decide what part of you he loved most; the soft curve of your belly that met his with every roll of your hips, the weight of your breasts in his palms, the way your thighs wrapped around him like they’d never let go. His mouth was greedy, his touch bordering on desperation, like if he didn’t touch all of you right now, he’d lose the chance.

You moved against him in slow, deliberate rolls, letting your softness press into all the places he was hard and trembling. It made him hiss through clenched teeth, his hips jerking up to meet yours. His grip bruised in the best way, big hands sinking into your ass, dragging you tighter. Your nails raked down his back, your teeth sinking into his neck just to hear that growl he gave only to you. You moved like you were made for this. For him.

Frank’s back hit the cold stone floor, breath still ragged, muscles twitching from restraint and adrenaline. He looked up at you wild-eyed, sweat-drenched, like he wasn’t sure if this was real or some fever dream born out of blood loss and craving.

And then you straddled him, slow, fluid, deliberate. Your full, plush thighs settled across his hips, weight grounding him in the here and now. Your curves spilled over him, heat radiating off your body like a furnace, and he felt all of it. 

“I want to see you,” you whispered, voice warm against his lips. “Really, see you.”

His hands came up, palms wide and rough, ghosting over the thick swell of your thighs, up to your hips, where he squeezed slowly. 

“Yeah?” he rasped.

You nodded, breath shallow, heart open. “Let me lie back,” you said, the words trembling with something more profound. “Let me pull you in.”

You weren’t just asking to change positions. You wanted to look at him. all of him. To see the pain he’d carried for years, carved into every line of his body, and to try,  in the only way you knew how to take it from him.

You laid back slowly, your thick thighs parting for him, plush and warm as they cradled his hips. Your soft belly rose and fell beneath your breath, your chest flushed, your arms already reaching for him.

Let me do this, you thought. Let me hold him. Heal him. Let him know what it feels like to be touched without pain.

Frank followed by bracing himself over you, his body already shuddering from how much he felt. But when he sank back inside you, slow and deep, your body stretching to retake him, something shifted. You felt it. Not just the heat of him but the ache beginning to unwind inside his body. The pain was lifting like fog from muscle and bone. Your hands came to his face, cupping it as his eyes met yours.

See me, you thought. You arched up to meet him, the fullness of your body moving with his hips rising, softness pressing against scar and sinew, and through it all, your gaze never left his. You watched him fall apart and come back together. And Frank was breathless, gasping, forehead pressed to yours,  didn’t speak. 

At first, Frank didn’t notice. He was too caught up in the heat of you. But then… Something shifted.

Initially, it was subtle. He noticed the familiar throb in his ribs was absent. The burn from the old bullet wound in his shoulder was also gone. The chronic tightness in his hip, which flared every time it rained, had disappeared. He felt no pulling in the scar beneath his side where the stitches had never quite healed properly. His brow furrowed as his breath caught, not from pain but from the surprising absence of it.

“Wait,” he breathed, voice gravel-rough as his hands came up to cradle your waist, steadying you. “What—what is this?”

You looked up at him. “What do you feel?”

His chest rose and fell, sweat still clinging to him, but he blinked, confused. Almost disoriented. “It’s gone,” he rasped. “The ache in my leg, my side—fuck, even the shoulder—how the hell…”

“I’m just giving back what the world took,” your lips ghosting the corner of his mouth. Your voice was quiet, but it echoed in him louder than gunfire, sharper than grief. And it hit him somewhere he didn’t have armor for.

Frank stared down at you, breath caught in his chest, his body still deep inside yours, warm and held and seen. His jaw clenched like he was trying to swallow something he couldn’t name. For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. He just looked at you like he didn’t know what to do with the kind of softness you were giving him. Then, slowly, his head dipped. His forehead touched yours first, skin to skin like he was grounding himself there. His eyes shut. His breath shuddered out against your lips. Then he kissed you. His hand slid up to cradle your cheek, calloused thumb brushing the edge of your jaw. “You didn’t have to do this,” he murmured against your mouth, voice raw and quiet. “You didn’t owe me shit.”

You looked up at him, your hand slipping to the back of his neck, fingertips curling in his short hair.

“I know,” you whispered. “But I wanted to.”

Frank’s eyes opened, dark, stormy, wrecked. And then he kissed you again, Harder this time Like he couldn’t take it. Something broke loose inside him, and the only way he knew how to thank you was to fall apart in your mouth.  He pressed into you again, slow and deep, and he gasped, not just from pleasure but from the feeling of something old releasing. And damn, it did feel like that. Like his body had been clenched for years, bracing against agony, and you were finally teaching it how to let go. Every thrust felt like light cracking through scar tissue. Every moan from your lips burned something clean inside his bones. His fingers curled into the fat of your hips, holding you tight, grounding himself in the weight of you. The kind of rhythm that didn’t just fuck — it felt.

“Don’t hold back,” you whispered. “I want to feel everything.”

And that broke something loose in him.

Frank began to move — slow at first, grinding into you with those deep, intentional thrusts that made your body sing.

You gasped, back arching, your soft stomach pressing into his as your fingers clawed down his back.

And his face was right there the whole time. Mouth parted. Brows drawn in concentration. Eyes locked on yours like he didn’t dare blink.

Your legs locked around his waist, pulling him in deeper, your body moving with his, all softness and heat and control. Every part of you welcomed him. Every inch made him fall. The slap of skin, the stuttered breath, the slick sound of him driving into you again and again was everything.

Frank’s hands slid under the curve of your back, dragging you up against him like he couldn’t get close enough. His hips snapped forward again and again, deeper, harder. “You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he groaned against your jaw. “You feel like—fuck—like you were made for me.”

“Then take me,” you cried, voice ragged. “I’m yours.  Just don’t stop.”

And he didn’t. He drove into you with everything he had left, mouth trailing down your throat, across your shoulder, anywhere his lips could reach. The tension was unbearable, the way your bodies fit, your weight beneath him, the softness cradling every thrust. He was so close. His rhythm faltered. He stuttered in your arms.

You cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over the stubble at the corner of his mouth. “Let go, Frank,” you whispered. “I want to watch you.”

And that was it. He snapped. His hips jerked, a low, broken groan tearing from his throat as he came hard, face buried in your neck, body shaking above you.

You followed right after,  tightening around him, dragging your nails down his back as your cry filled the space between you, raw and wrecked and so fucking real. When the tremors faded,  when all that was left was your breath and the thud of his heart against yours, Frank didn’t move. He stayed inside you, chest pressed to your full breasts, body still tangled with yours like he couldn’t bear to let go. One hand slipped into your hair. The other rested over your heart like he couldn’t believe it was still beating.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me.” he rasped, utterly spent.

You smiled against his cheek, soft and proud, brushing your lips over the sweat-damp skin there.

“Good,” you whispered. “Maybe now I can put you back together.”

His body was still shaking. Not from exertion and not from pain, but from the kind of release that stripped him bare and left no armor, no weapons, just Frank. Just a man coming undone in the arms of someone who held him like he was more than the violence behind his name.

You were still beneath him, legs loose around his waist, your complete, soft body molding to his like you were made to hold him this way. One of your hands rested at the nape of his neck, fingers slipping through sweat-damp hair. The other traced slow, lazy circles into his broad back, grounding him.

Neither of you spoke.

Frank’s face stayed tucked against your shoulder, the bridge of his nose brushing your throat, his lips ghosting your collarbone every time he exhaled.

You didn’t rush him. You just let him exist, let him feel.

And when he finally shifted, just enough to roll onto his side and bring you with him, he moved slowly, carefully, like he didn’t want to let go of a single inch of you.

Your soft curves pressed into his chest, your thighs resting across his own, belly warm against him. He wrapped a thick arm around your middle and settled one wide, calloused hand along the curve of your spine,  his fingers spreading across your back like he needed the contact to breathe.

He held you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world. His voice came quiet, rough, uncertain.

“…Don’t usually do this.”

You smiled into his chest, your cheek pillowing against his shoulder’s slope.

“You don’t say.”

He let out a breath, dry and rasping, half-laugh, half-weariness.

“I mean the… stayin’. The—after.”

You tilted your face up, brushing your fingers gently along the stubble on his jaw, your soft body still folded perfectly against his. “I know.”

He was quiet for a long time. “You ain’t like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“I should hope not,” you murmured, voice a gentle tease. “I’ve been walking this world for a very long time.”

Frank’s eyes opened, and he looked at you like you weren’t just someone in his arms but someone who had found something in him that even he had forgotten was still there.

“…Why me?”

You let your hand slide up, resting over the steady thrum of his heart. “Because when death reached for you,” you whispered, “you told it to fuck off.”

That pulled a laugh from him; it was hoarse and real, the kind that hit deep and warm. He dipped his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead without thinking. “And here I thought I was subtle.”

You leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth, soft and sure, then rested your forehead on his. “You burn so bright, Frank Castle. Even when you’re ready to fall apart.”

He didn’t answer. He pulled you tighter, one arm looping around your soft body, the other curling into your hair like he couldn’t let go.

And slowly, Frank Castle slept for the first time in longer than he could remember.

No tremors. No gasps in the dark. No blood-soaked dreams clawing their way up his throat. Just real, deep, unbroken sleep.

You let your palm hover over his side where the old wound used to throb in his sleep and felt only warmth. Only peace.

He’d never know what you’d taken from him. But you knew. And you’d do it again.

As quietly as you came, you stepped through the veil, the spectral realm folding open like silk. When the world reformed around you, you stood in the shadows of his hideout, a dark, cold, hidden room.

You laid him down gently, careful not to stir him, his body still heavy with sleep. A comforter pulled up to his waist. The scar on his shoulder is now smooth. The tension in his brow was gone.

You stood there for a long moment. Watching, Listening.

You didn’t want to leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But you knew what this was, What you were. He was meant to live. And you… You weren’t meant to stay.

You leaned down, your hair spilling forward, brushing his cheek as you pressed a soft, slow kiss to his lips. His breath caught just slightly, but he didn’t wake.

“Try not to get yourself killed. Not so soon, anyway.” You touched his face once more, just a brush of fingers down his jaw. 

You were gone before the sun rose.

Frank didn’t know your name. But he’d spend the rest of his life trying to find it, to find you.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

So hybrid bulls and cows are actually separate species in MY fantasy world, not male and female.

So you work on a farm specializing in male cows and bulls, the only woman that’s allowed there due to… how the hybrids behave around any females.

You milk them… but not in the normal way. As the only woman on the farm, you’re the only one they’ll allow to milk their cocks. They produce a special semen that’s a milk alternative, and very yummy!

The cow’s are fine enough, following you around and nuzzling into you, wanting cuddles and extra attention when you’re milking them… they behave so well, blushing and mooing softly, gently moving their hips against your hand as you milk their cocks dry.

The bulls however… are a different story. They’re very territorial and protective over the cow hybrids, who they’ve formed a friendship with. They don’t like most people, and tend to be loners that only come around when it’s milking time.

But your pay is upgraded when the farm owners notice that the bulls have started warming up to you, even starting to treat you like a heifer, keeping you safe and guarding you from the other employees.

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone but you when the bulls started being a bit… too handsy with you. They viewed you as a heifer now… but you were so small compared to any female cow they’d ever seen. A runt, stunted, maybe…

But you had that chubby tummy and plush hips, those plump breasts that would look so pretty full of milk…

Within a month of starting work, you find yourself being bent over by one of the bulls, the cows mooing in distress and trying to comfort you as a fat cock enters your cunt.

“D-don’t be rough with her! She’s little!” one of the cows protests, stroking your hair and cooing softly to you. The bull huffs, hot air hitting the back of your neck as he fucks into you.

“Being as gentle as possible… little thing, couldn’t take me being rough even if I wanted to be…”

Your cunt was stuffed full with cum, several bulls mounting you until you were a blubbering mess. Once the bulls were done, you were surrounded by cows, getting kisses and snuggles… but they wanted to mate as well…

They pressed down on your belly, cum pooling between your legs as they cooed and gently fucked their own seed into you. By the end of the work day, you were spent, curled up in the hay with several cow hybrids as the bulls guarded the door.

You were payed handsomely for your efforts, and offered an even bigger paycheck to let them mount you at least once a week to let out their sexual frustrations.

They became more territorial around you, but when you weren’t in the picture, the bulls were much calmer and didn’t attack anyone that brought out food or came to give them check ups.

And when you became pregnant… well… let’s just say you were tucked away in the barn, living there with the cows and bulls as your belly grew heavy and swollen.

The cows tended to you, making sure you received all the human comforts you wanted along with their endless affections, and the bulls kept you safe.

———————

A/N: omg… ask me more about this concept because… I’m in love

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @chubbumblebee @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden

[corpsypher]

Bff!Kyle who takes full advantage of your love of cuddles, wrapping his arms around you, large hands splayed over your plush belly as you rest your back against his chest.

You cuddle all of your friends, but he likes to think you save the most intimate positions for him. Sitting on his lap, laying on top of him, you always end up rubbing against him in a way that has him having to discreetly readjust his cock.

Little do you know…

With his palm pressed to your underbelly, dangerously low on your pelvis without you noticing, his thumb and pinky extended at an angle directly over your pussy. He’s measuring you. Assessing how much of his cock you could take before you felt him in your guts.

[bwabys-scenarios]

You joke to Yandere!Kurapika that it seems like he just wants to keep you barefoot and pregnant so you can’t run away.

He rolls his eyes, holding you close and kissing the top of your head. “I would never let you roam around with bare feet. There could be broken glass, rusty nails, or germs on the ground. It doesn’t seem responsible.”

Kurapika placed a protective hand over your pregnant belly, sighing softly.

“Besides, if I wanted to keep you from leaving…”

One of his nen chains wrapped around your wrists, quickly pulling them together.

“I could just chain you up.”

[loganhowlettshousewife]

logan howlett x curvy!reader

series masterlist - my masterlist

warnings: smut, oral (fem!receiving), thigh fucking, mentions of unprotected piv, very soft and loving, anyone can technically read it but it was written with a curvy reader in mind

logan’s hands always somehow find their way to your thighs. he likes to squeeze the flesh, feeling the dips in the fat when his fingers dig into your skin, making temporary divots there that burn with his touch long after he’s let go.

you wish, sometimes, that his fingers would leave marks, a tattoo of his hand on the inside of your thigh, a reminder that the phantom touch you constantly feel was real, and it will be again the moment he finds you after classes are finished, guiding you to your shared room in the mansion and ignoring the calls of both your names as you pass by other mutants vying for your attention.

when he’s angry, when he’s frustrated, when he’s annoyed, his hands end up on your thighs, sneaking under the skirts that you began to wear more often once your relationship with him went from friends to more. he knows you wear them for him, so he can have easy access - you see it in the slant of his mouth, the knowing glint in his eyes, the smirk he flashes in your direction as he traces your thighs under the table.

but it’s not just a balm he uses to soothe the pains of a hard day - even when he’s in a pleasant mood he’ll find some excuse. he’ll claim to deserve a reward for getting through a long day without stabbing anybody with his claws, and when you relent as you always do, he’ll smile as he watches the flesh move, staring like they’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

his absolute favourite thing is to bury himself between your thighs, eating you out until you’re overstimulated, squirming both away from him and pushing closer, your body unable to decide which it wants. he begs you to crush him, says he’d be grateful to die between your thighs, despite the fact that with his enhanced strength it’s pretty much an impossibility.

it’s what brought you to the here and now, both you and logan completely undressed, your pussy so wet it’s dripping a puddle onto the sheets, logan’s cock achingly hard. but he refuses to fuck you, not yet, not until he gets to spend quality time with his favourite part of you.

he presses kisses to every inch of skin on your thighs, slapping them gently just to watch the fat jiggle, groaning before mouthing another wet kiss onto said patch of skin, making sure to leave you with marks to remind you of him.

“fucking gorgeous, darlin’,” he mumbles against your thigh, nipping and sucking until yet another bruise starts to form. no one ever gets to see these hickeys but you and him - it’s not a way to tell everyone else you’re taken and to back off, not another jealous stunt to keep away potential suitors, instead it’s just for the two of you.

you can’t tell if minutes or hours pass by. your inner thighs burn from the scratch of his beard as he eats you out, tongue and fingers expertly working together to bring you to your peak. he knows your body as well as you do by now, potentially even better since his longer fingers are always able to reach where you never can, and he knows to keep going even when you’re crying and begging that it’s too much. 

the pain of overstimulation fades into a dull pleasure, your mind feeling fuzzy with it. he waits for you to return to yourself before flipping you around, expertly manoeuvring you into whatever position he wants for tonight. it’s easy to give up control to him, easy to let him do whatever he wants to your body, chase his own pleasure after he so generously brought you your own.

you jolt slightly when his hands spread your thighs apart, your eyes fluttering open to observe the sight of him spreading lube on the skin there. he smiles apologetically when you wince at the cold feeling, and rubs it in until it warms up between your bodies.

“this okay?” he asks, and you hum your agreement.

you’ve done this before, him fucking in between your thighs. it makes him cum faster than any other position, makes him go feral in a way you can’t even get by offering to let him cum inside of you. like a touch-starved virgin he never lasts very long, so he always makes sure to get you off before he does anything for himself, arguing that your pleasure is more important than his, that he’d do anything if he knew it’d make you feel good.

it’s horrible and gross and romantic and makes your heart flutter like a butterfly in your chest, your ribs acting as a cage, the only thing stopping it from fluttering so hard it exits your body. sometimes, you feel you might truly die from logan’s words, the softness he never shares with anyone else, the vulnerability he affords you.

he lines himself up to fuck into the tight space between your thighs, moaning at the warm tightness of you around him. he’s gripping at your arms like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, doesn’t know where to place them, scared to touch you in case he presses too hard, loses himself in the moment and forgets that his strength much surpasses your own. he holds onto you like an anchor before letting go just as quickly, his breathing ragged as his harsh pants and groans sound in your ears.

it’s the most beautiful melody, one you wish you could play on repeat forever, a song for only you.

every thrust has his cock sliding against your wet cunt, the head brushing against your clit in a way that has you arching your back against him, meeting his every thrust, changing the angle so it suits you better and hits that spot every time, sending sparks of white-hot pleasure up your spine.

every moan and cry that passes your lips only works to spur logan on. he’s animalistic as he fucks your thighs, one arm snaking around your chest to pinch and roll your nipple until it hardens into a peak under his ministrations. it’s rapid and sweaty and loud, your pleasure rising so quickly it catches you off guard. one second you’re not and the next you’re on the precipice, shouting out logan’s name in surprise.

it washes over you, like a wave taking you under, and for a few minutes or days or years you’re in total darkness. when you come back to yourself it’s to the feel of sticky cum on your thighs and logan curled around you. he’s patient while your breathing calms, heart rate lowering back down to a normal level before he moves away from you.

“i’m just leaving to run a bath,” he says, waits for your agreement to make sure you’re in the right headspace to be left alone, shuffles into the ensuite bathroom to prepare the ridiculously bubbly baths that you adore and he always complains are excessive.

you hear the sound of the water running, can imagine him kneeling beside the tub with the fancy bubble bath soap that you used to only buy for yourself as a treat but now seems to never run empty. 

he comes back minutes later, though you can’t be certain as your sense of time is a blurred mess, carries you into the bathroom despite your protests that you could probably, most likely, maybe walk on your own the few feet of distance required, helping you into the bath. you sigh as the warm water washes over your muscles, an instant relaxation seeping into your bones, a private smile curling on your lips.

you’re lucky the tub in his bathroom is big enough to accommodate two, allowing him to settle behind you, pulling you into his chest.

“thank you,” you say, twining one of your hands in his, staring at the contrast, his rough calloused hands in yours.

“i know a way you can thank me,” he says, only half serious, his unused hand spreading possessively on your thigh. he knows it won’t happen, not tonight, not right now, but he likes the way it makes you squeal out his name in a reproachful tone. he just laughs, happy, a sound that makes you smile in turn.

diversity december taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes

curvy reader: @spencerswh0r3 @seasonofthenerd @thegothempress @yourlocalmerchgirl

[vivwritescrappythings]

sworn sword

knight!könig x plus-size!fem!reader

part 1 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6

there has been civil unrest in the kingdom, prompting the king and your father to hire a knight to protect you. thankfully it is a knight you already know.

tw: fem reader, plus size reader, mentions of body image, not proofread

wc: 1.8k

masterlist

—

“The king insisted upon having a knight guard you,” your father said, hands clasped behind his back as he faced you.

He stood in front of the large windows overlooking the courtyard and the rose gardens. Your father had been appointed to the King’s Counsel, moving himself and you to the royal palace while your mother stayed behind to handle the estate and your sister’s wedding to Ser Garrick.

You were brought along to the palace with the hope that it would make finding a husband easier. Of course it was quite the same as at home, just the competition broadened from just your sister to the entirety of the other women at court. You were still too soft around the edges while the other women were willowy and slight in their gowns.

It was hard to hold a candle to them.

“A knight?” You were hardly important enough to warrant a knight being hired to keep track of you. Perhaps a City Guard member would make more sense, but a knight was far too grand.

The king was being cautious. There had been a few attacks on members of the castle as of late—a lord on the counsel was roughed up outside of a pleasure house, and a few servants had been robbed of their coin for their daily shopping. There had been plenty of unrest in the kingdom after the death of the queen, the poor becoming poorer as the king scrambled for some semblance of control.

Your father gave you a look, silencing your next protest as you closed your mouth. Living in the palace already made you feel like a bug caught in a jar, eyes constantly scrutinizing your every move… every word. A personal knight would only make that worse, a shadow to follow you for every moment of every day.

“He has already been selected, so save your arguments.” Your eyebrows lifted, hands folded primly in your lap as you waited for your father to continue. The high-backed seat you were in was uncomfortable, arm rests digging into the plush of your things as you crossed your legs at the ankle.

He stopped at his desk and leaned forward to rest his palms on it. There was a moment of contemplation, his lips pursing like he was going to speak. You watched him look up at the large double doors across the room.

“You may enter,” your father called.

The heavy door creaked as it opened, your whole body twisted so you could get a proper view of who entered. The height of his shoulder against the door told you the knight was massive before he even stepped inside fully. The armor looked new, shiny and polished and dent-free—likely freshly gifted from the king himself.

Then rather than a face, a mask with two crude holes cut for eyes in the black fabric came into view above his bulk. Your heart started to race, your gaze meeting Ser Kilgore’s for a brief moment as he clasped his hands behind him and looked down at the stone floor.

“Ser Kilgore has already taken the oath to be your sworn protector,” your father said as you stood. The top of your head hardly reached Ser Kilgore’s shoulder, your eyes widening as you turned to face him.

He had not seemed so massive from the stands at the tourney.

“He will be with you from sun up to sun down until the king deems it safe enough for him to be dismissed.” You still balked at the knight, wondering if he had volunteered or been chosen. Of all the men in the kingdom, your father and the king had selected him. You brought the stuffed bear with you from home, it sat on the window sill in your chambers.

You remembered yourself after a beat of silence. “Thank you, Ser,” you breathed, curtsying even though he was not looking at you.

He let out a grunt of acknowledgement, still as silent as he was at the tourney. You wondered what his voice sounded like as he picked his head up. His blue eyes were piercing, crisp like a stream in winter. You felt pinned in place by his stare, swallowing thickly before averting your own eyes.

Your father shifting some papers on his desk reminded you of his presence.

“Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?” you asked your father, looking at him over your shoulder. He dismissed you with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand, turning his attention to the thick ledgers on his writing desk.

Ser Kilgore opened the door for you, following you into the hall at a few paces behind.

You had no idea what to do with the shadow that loomed over you all day. Ser Kilgore lingered at the edges of rooms and just outside doorways, silent and stoic. He never removed the covering over his face, never spoke. He only observed.

It made you realize just how boring your days were. You spent time with the other noble ladies at court—mostly the daughters of lords and the younger princesses—embroidering and having tea in the garden and gossiping with thinly veiled turns of speech.

Nothing you did warranted his constant protection, that was certain.

Part of you wanted to force him to speak to you–wanted to demand that he answer your questions. He conversed with no one, only nodding or shaking his head with other knights when they stood shoulder to shoulder.

Perhaps he lost his voice in an accident, you imagined gruesome images of Ser Kilgore surviving getting his throat slashed and vocal cords cut. You heard a story of a knight who had his throat crushed by a horse and still lived—could that be your knight?

Your knight. What an odd phrase.

His head was always covered, you had no clue what lingered beneath. But you were certainly curious.

Evening soon fell, your knight dutifully escorting you to your chambers. You walked next to him, his long stride shortened to match yours. It had taken you most of the afternoon to convince him to stop walking a few paces behind like a shadow. At least at your side you could pretend he was a companion rather than a sworn sword.

“Does this assignment bore you?” you finally asked, glancing up at him. It would bore you–watching a noble woman do nothing aside from chatter amongst other women and embroider handkerchiefs and walk the gardens all day seemed miserable.

Ser Kilgore shook his head, his light eyes cutting down to meet your questioning gaze. His eyes were the only part of him not covered: his blonde eyelashes were long and curly, his irises shining like aquamarines, the slivers of pale skin visible against the frayed fabric seemed delicate–there were a few thin edges of scars peeking around the fabric.

How desperately you wanted to pull the hood from his face and see the man underneath. You had been thinking about him ever since the tourney, fantasizing about what he sounded like, what he looked like beneath all of his armor.

You narrowed your eyes at his silent response, head cocking to one side as you inspected him. “Can you speak?” It might have been a rude thing to ask–your mother always informed you that you were far too brash for a respectable noble lady.

It never stopped you before.

He huffed softly–a laugh, you guessed. His eyes creased at the outer corners like he was smiling.

Another nod. You only ever earned yourself nods and head shakes.

“I have not seen you speak to another person all day.” It sounded accusatory rather than a simple observation. Well, you were accusing him. If he could speak, why would he choose silence? You resisted the urge to cross your arms over your chest like a petulant child.

Ser Kilgore shrugged his broad shoulders, still smiling beneath the mask.

You could scream with your frustration.

“Considering that we will be spending the majority of our time together from now on, I would appreciate it if you at least tried to speak with me,” you said, sounding more entitled than you intended to. “Existing in this castle is lonely—I never know who is truly my friend or friend or is simply trying to spy on my family—I would like to have someone to trust.”

Ser Kilgore looked at you for longer this time, head tilted down to take you in properly. You still followed the maze of hallways to your chambers, each one the same: braziers lining the walls and illuminating the tapestries and paintings hung up, sometimes there was the odd statue. The polished stone floor echoed your footsteps, the hallway otherwise quiet.

He did not shake his head in either direction: no affirmation or denial of your statement. Just a curious gaze taking in your expressions.

He stopped outside the polished wooden doors leading to your chambers, settling with his arms behind his back as he nodded for you to enter. His armor rattled a bit as he moved, the chainmail on his arms catching the light of the braziers lining the walls and throwing shadows across the stone.

“Goodnight, Ser Kilgore,” you finally huffed, slipping between him and the door. You knew you were being petulant like a child that did not get her way. You pouted anyways, lips pulling into a sort of frown.

The door was heavy to pull open, forcing you to put your whole weight into it. Ser Kilgore reached over you, a hand curling around the side of the door and opening it for you.

“Goodnight, my lady,” he responded, surprising you with his deep, accented tone. He sounded like he was from one of the eastern territories. Each vowel was clipped, consonants harsh. “If we are to be friends, call me König.”

You gaped at the sudden sound of his voice, stuck halfway inside the doorway. It was simple enough to tell that he was smiling that time, mirth shining in his eyes as he looked down at you.

A million questions to ask him flooded your mind. It felt like you had to keep him talking now that he spoke, part of you worrying that this opportunity would not occur again. You wanted to ask him why he picked you at the tourney—it had bothered you for months.

“My lady, we have already started heating water for your bath,” your maid Agatha said, drawing your attention. You glanced away from him for a moment, seeing her filling a wooden tub near the hearth with pails of water.

König nodded for you to go in, surveying the slice of the room he could see from the partially open door. The stuffed bear he gave you was visible, set atop a book on the window sill. He stared at it for a moment before redirecting his gaze back to you. You hesitated another moment before taking a step from where you had been rooted moments before.

“Goodnight, König,” you amended, earning a huff of laughter and a nod of acknowledgment as he allowed the door to swing closed behind you.

[calcifermovesthecastle]

Fictional Men that LOVE a chubby reader

Somewhat afab, but I tried to be gender neutral. Slightly suggestive.

Ace: let me tell you. Reader. Let me tell you. Ace is Here For It. Your love handles? He's squeezing them every chance he gets. Standing behind you, he'll sneak in a few generous handfuls before resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around you. Your double chin? Oh, he goes weak at the knees he thinks it's so cute. Any excuse he can get to kiss your neck, he's all for it. Your Tummy? Don't get him started. Laying next to each other cuddling, catch him rubbing on it with his hands and kissing it. Ace is down bad for a plus size partner.

Guido Mista: Mista can not stop loving how soft your arms are. He thinks you look like a god or a goddess, he'll wrap his arm around you and run his hand up and down your arm, a dreamy look in his eye. Your Thighs? You'll catch him swallowing and staring at them, pulling on his collar, whether they're pushed together while you're sitting or rubbing against each other. Mista is an ass man, and oh boy, does he think you have an absolute DUMP TRUCK, even if you don't. And if you have boobs, secretly Mista adores a big person with little boobs. He thinks it's the sexiest thing on the planet.

Nobunaga Oda: don't even get me started on this man. If you are plus sized, Nobunaga looks at you like he's going to devour you (and he will 😏.) he bites at your soft flesh, sometimes lightly, sometimes leaving marks, sometimes leaving deep bruises in very hard to hide places. If you have chubby cheeks, he absolutely pinches them, but not in a mean way. He just loves the way they look on you. You often catch this man's eyes boring into you, and you just know he's undressing you out of your kimono with his eyes. If Nobunaga can grab fistfuls of your body, he is a happy, happy, happy man.

Beelzebub: self explanatory. I shouldn't even have to describe it to you. The heavier you are, the more in love Beel is. And no matter how heavy you are, he will still pick you up and carry you around no problem. He thinks your double chin is adorable. He's a fiend for your Thighs and ass and especially, especially your tummy. Beel also has a thing for back rolls, he loves grabbing them in his hands and telling you how absolutely gorgeous you are. Beel chubby chaser confirmed.

Sukuna: Sukuna is a man of many pleasures, and one of them is a fat lover. Sukuna ravishes your body daily, waving away any doubts you may have and any of your insecurities. "You're good enough for the king of curses, right?" Now, obviously with Sukuna, you are not an equal partner, but the heavier you are? The softer, more pleasurable your body is, the fonder his eyes are when he looks at you.

Aki Hayakawa: if you got a fupa, rolls, love handles, and a phat ass, Aki is down bad. Aki isn't the most verbal about how absolutely stunning he finds you, but it's written aaaaallll over his face. Aki loves giving you massages, and he looooooovvveeess when he lays on his stomach, and you sit straddling his back to give him a massage. He loves how soft you are, and finds your weight comforting.

I saved the best for last:

Roronoa Zoro: This man is filthy. Zoro is not ashamed to loudly proclaim just how attractive you are, palming at your body. (He's even filthier in the bedroom, squeezing and grabbing and pulling and ugh 😩.) Zoro will never stop grabbing at your rolls, smacking your ass, squeezing your thighs, and he does this in front of everyone and anyone. Man has no shame. He doesn't call you things like beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, but he does tell you how fucking hot you are, how desirable you are, all the things you do to him. Zoro is a firm believer in "more to love." Hell squeeze you in public and groan, almost growl, because he finds fat so fucking hot. He also finds it easier to be a little tougher with a chubby reader, but he has his tender soft moments too.

I have been feeling really bad about my weight but this helped a lil. Much love!!

[nanamis-bigtie]

loving your chubby body

↬ feat. higuruma hiromi, ino takuma, gojo satoru, geto suguru, kusakabe atsuya x gn afab!reader ↬ masterlist // ao3 version

cw: smut, pwp, reader has a vagina, piv sex for most of them, warnings wary per character (read them especially at geto's part), MINORS DNI a/n: repost from an old account. inspired by this art. divider by saradika

higuruma hiromi

cw: intercrural sex, clit stimulation

"Just a little more—" Hiromi's voice shatters with each breath. He's fighting brave but his own excitement is his greatest opponent, and each drag of his hips brings him closer to the delicious defeat.

With your thighs pressed tight together and bent over the kitchen counter, you're at mercy of his thrusts. This position is a little uncomfortable, your elbows will hate you for that later, but little do you care about it in the heat of the moment. It's happened too fast, too; one moment you're melting into your partner's embrace as he gently scoops you from behind and prompts his chin on your shoulder to see the work of your hands better—the other he's pounding into you like an animal in heat.

"Just—" He pants into your ear, chest flush to your back, both of his hands groping at your rolls and softness. Half-unbuckled belt digs into your exposed ass; he hasn't undone his pants properly, just moved clothes enough to slam himself against your slick.

He hasn't sunk himself inside though. The roll on top of your thick thighs, his beloved part of your body, bewitched him and swallowed the first, desperate thrust. He hasn't abandoned it since, forcing your legs to close and squeeze his cock in between. You feel it throbbing against your slit; he's hard, hot and gushing, right on the verge of finishing but somehow savoring the moment, only thanks to his stubborn temperance.

You would love to watch his fat tip poking through your clenched legs whenever he bottoms out. No chance for it in the current position, but from the sensation alone you can picture it—your own imagination has you drooling and needy.

"They're so soft..." Hiromi's voice is on the verge of crying. He nuzzles face into the back of your neck, teeth grazing your skin but not daring to take a bite. He's too busy fighting for air and chasing his pleasure.

He rocks himself whole against you, the sheer force of his moves forcing you into the counter and bruising your torso where it meets the edge. His arms around you tighten, his hands full of your chest and stomach, and his hips relentlessly meet your ass. He likes to take you from behind to watch it ripple but even this view can't rival the intoxicating warmth of your thick thighs. He won't pull away even for a second, not before he's covered them with his cum, milked of everything he has for you tonight.

The way he whines your name, broken 'I love you's and praises spells the finish—but Hiromi is stronger than that. He powers through it, almost crushing you in his arms all the way he can wrap them around you, and finds a new reserve of energy to rut into you with fresh pacing and angle. He's pressed closer to your cunt now, so close he's almost slipping in, but he's too lost in it to focus and buckle down to it a little more.

He can bump your clit right now, though, unintentionally edging you both together and eventually breaking you into moans and spasms, your legs too weak to withstand your weight and his enthusiasm.

"Keep it for me—" He growls when you start to falter, yanking you into the right position with impatience you would never suspect him of. "Please."

ino takuma

cw: weight-related insecurity, face-sitting talk, against the wall

"Why not?"

You wonder if Takuma is aware how soppy he looks now, cheek nuzzled into your thigh and looking up at you with a mix of shock and pleading in his eye. Just a moment earlier he's been relentlessly building up the churning in your abdomen with hasty kisses and greedy work of his tongue; his breath is still short after endless adoration of your rolls and curves. It's soothing the fresh hickey right under the edge of your groin, place that's stopped him in his tracks once he took a whiff of you, daring him to jump on you with an unexpected and selfish request.

"I don't want to— You know." You flounder between still heavy breathing and explanations. The answer is obvious with how there's nothing hidden between you two, all insecurities stripped naked for him, but it still doesn't want to pass your lips. As if you would crumble all of the courage and confidence you've built to be here with him if you admitted to the problem outright.

Takuma gets it and is having none of that at the same time.

"You think you could hurt me?" There's a shade of hurt ego behind his laughter. "Babe, please. You've seen the things I carried."

"Well... You've never carried me."

As if you ever let him, time after time escaping grabby and eager hands. Not in front of the others, not when you're wearing that, not when it's so hot, another day, another day, finally never. And you see it in the fire pushing the teary and pleading look in his eye away. His ego is one thing but being played like this right after being denied a delicious treat could not escape unpunished.

Still on his knees, Takuma hooks arms under your knees, still spread wide to fit his enthusiasm and adoration, and yanks you up. For a moment you're in the air with no support but your hands in panic grabbing any part of his body they could reach—but soon you find balance, supported by his strong grab on your ass. He holds you as if you were nothing, cheeky grin pushed right into your face as he's advancing on the nearest wall, soon having your back pushed against it, so tight and close you can't take a full breath anymore.

"If you don't want my face—" He adjusts the grip, having you with one arm while reaching down to align his cock with you— "we're gonna play this way."

You're dropped down just a little, enough to have him sinking inside with the help of gravity alone. Both of you groan in pleasure, your lips an inch away and soon meeting in a chaotic, wet kiss. He doesn't keep it for long, focused on raw and ruthless pacing, the deeper and faster the more you helplessly claw into his shoulders and back, your legs just useless and dangling by his sides.

"How are you feeling?" Takuma rasps into your neck, by no means tired, just barely restraining himself from destroying you right here, against the wall in the living room. "Still worried you're too heavy for my face?"

As if you could answer him, choking on moans, your eyes rolling back in your head on the deep and rough highway to your orgasm, the first of a few waiting for you tonight.

gojo satoru

cw: cowgirl, overstimulation, implied creampie

Your knees are slowly meeting their limit.

Luckily, this orgasm is not as strong, gently washing over you and having you shudder and sigh deep. Satoru holds you through it with patience, unheard of except intimate moments like these, but under the comforting pressure of his big hands creeps the insatiable need for more. You've been chasing him as best as you could, for the years you've been sleeping together already used to his habits and much better at this race than you were at the beginning—but in the end you're a human only.

No amount of stamina could ever satisfy the strongest.

He leans backwards but doesn't pull you with him, letting your bodies cool down each on their own. He's lying beneath you now, a delicious treat for your gaze. Disheveled, pink taint brushing his pale skin, sweat pearling all over his toned chest and abs, white happy trail wet with your juices, blindfold crooked and revealing one of his deep-blue eyes, following each move of yours with attention... You could never have enough of how pretty he is, of how lucky you are to have him like this for yourself only.

The swaying of your hips ceases, heaving of your chest the only move you have left for now. You feel discomfort in your knees, thighs and groin, not too much yet, but really close. If not for his girth still pulsing like mad deep in you, you would gladly help yourself and roll off him for a much-deserved rest. But after all those orgasms he's given you—well, mostly with the work of your body in his lap—it's just unfair to leave him unsatisfied. It's nothing you wouldn't solve with your hand or mouth, but you would not hear the end of it if your once-in-a-week treat for a whole night hadn't finished with him cum inside of you.

"C'mon, move a little." Satoru pokes your stomach, not so gently this time and smirking at your whine and a little wiggle of hips. He knows you adore when he's touching you there and he's gotten way too good at using it in his favor.

"Let me—" You haven't even collected your breathing and thoughts yet. "Just a moment, okay? Give me—"

With a bratty smirk, he plants heels into the bed and bumps you up, his huge cock finding a new angle to slide even deeper into you. Sudden spark of pleasure shakes your body whole, from eyes rolling in the back of your head to toes curling by his sides. When teetering on the edge of overstimulation, it's so easy to fall into another orgasm.

But you've withstood this one, hands clenched on his wrists so hard you mark his skin with your nails.

"Move," he orders half-heartedly, threatening with another thrust building in his hips—so you move, as much as your exhausted and strained legs let you.

It's enough for the insatiable beast for now. Pleased, Satoru pushes both hands against your stomach and kneads your rolls. At first, it's just a motivation for you to ride him faster. But something clicks and he's not teasing you anymore, blind and indifferent to everything but the feeling of your softness and the sight of your skin pouring around his fingers.

You test your luck, cease your moves again—just for the hold to squeeze you tighter and force you to pick the rhythm up. Hypnotized, Satoru is even more selfish and merciless.

geto suguru

cw: canon compliant geto, exhibitionism, cockwarming, dom/sub undertones, dumbification vibe, public sex, geto kills someone

The man kneeling in front of you two might have an idea what's going on, but he would never dare to let you know he's aware—yet to vocalize his confusion or indignation. He's sweating profoundly under the weight of Suguru's stare, mumbling chaotic explanations and excuses, his eyes transfixed on Suguru's feet.

You don't even know who that is and why has he's been dragged to writhe and babble. Before a different matter has occupied the top spot of your attention share, you've understood enough to recognize him as one of the windows sympathizing with the cause. But why did he fall from favor? Maybe it has been addressed already, maybe Suguru himself is not clued in enough, just treating the man as an excellent opportunity to play with you instead.

It doesn't matter. You're perched in his lap; you're engulfed by his greedy touch and perverse ideas. You're pressing against him with your whole weight, exactly as he likes, and squeezing his cock in your hot and tight hole.

Countless, wide layers of Suguru's clothes can cover your union with ease. Having one of his arms loosely wrapped around you, he hides the most of your body behind the sleeve. The other, resting on top of your lap, secures the rest. For a casual, lost eye, he's only holding you close, his favorite, his beloved toy, his doe-eyed innocent thing he treats like a comfort object. In reality, he's keeping you to cockwarm him in front of everyone who'll pass through this room until he'll be bored with torturing you and will take you on the same chair or on the floor next to it.

With no one around, if you're lucky.

As the man squirms on the floor, almost kissing it with the way he bows lower and lower, Suguru mindlessly traces your love handles. You twitch when he brushes a particularly ticklish spot and squeeze him even tighter. But you don't move, your face slotted in the crook of his neck, eyes focused on his handsome face and full of adoration. Part of you is terrified of delicious consequences, part wants to spare yourself overstimulation. With your nerves tense and teased relentlessly for what feels like hours, you're constantly on the edge of snapping. Even Suguru's breathing is like a torture; oh, what you would gladly give away to have him finally move and sate the fire between your legs.

"Did you hear him?" Suguru takes your chin into hand and brushes thumb against your slightly parted lips. When you can't stop the tiniest of mewls, he squeezes your cheeks, maybe with an encouragement, maybe with a warning. "What do you think, my sweetest, should we kill him?"

You roll your head further into him, feinting a whispered advice but in fact—wordlessly begging for this farce to end. You're meeting your limit, a minute more and you'll lose the last strand of dignity left in you and beg instead to be fucked right here and now, accidental voyeurs be damned.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood today." Suguru's eyes rest on the man, now crying in relief and thanking him in the sweetest words, but the sentence is for your ears only.

Suguru turns the unwelcomed witness away with an impatient flick of a wrist, closes both arms around you tight even before he leaves the room. You hear a loud thud by the door when a curse pierces through the man's back, killing him instantly, but the aftertaste of reaction is faint and soon disappears midst Suguru's deep kisses.

kusakabe atsuya

cw: big breasts fetish, handjob, reader in lingerie

When you unclasp your bra and let your breast pour out of its confines, Atsuya throws everything he's been holding and pounces on you right away.

You haven't seen each other for a whole weekend—weekends should be crossed out of his agenda, but luck wasn't on your side this time—and you know it was rough to him. He put on a brave mask and casually brushed off all your proposals, from the facetime to exchanging nudes, but his curt messages and taut voice through the speaker just reeked of desperation. He's been pent up for a while now, crumbs of intimacy he stole from you along the week not enough to sate his libido. 

Just to think he warned you beforehand that he might be too tired for you; since the day he's taken you for the first time you're the one who has to beg for mercy from his relentless desire.

You set a little trap. Lingerie Atsuya bought you for your anniversary hasn't been tested yet in action, its tight fit and very feminine appearance needing a particular opportunity and mood. Opportunity couldn't be better, the mood set itself as soon as his face went red and mouth agape at the sight. Work and travel exhaustion is gone in second—and the only thing you have to worry is whether the delicate lace will withstand how strong he grabs and pulls.

Atsuya buries his face into your bust straight away, no word said, no touch stolen from the other parts of your body—just a lewd moan muffled by your mounds and hands scooping them from sides to cushion himself better. He rubs himself into your warmth and scent, growls, pleased, when he catches your natural tinge not yet washed away after the day. The tent in his pants grows crazy fast; you don't lose a moment and free him as soon as he leaves you an opening for it.

He throbs against your palm so hard that you worry your surprise might be finished way too early. Atsuya withstands the temptation, somehow, but does nothing to control himself in any other way. He's more fucking your fist than letting you stroke him, his precum dripping down your fingers and turning your grip slick, almost too much.

Holding himself between your tits until he's out of breath, Atsuya finally peels away enough to look at you, "I missed you. I missed them."

He licks and sucks, peppers your breasts with kisses and hickeys until he settles on one of your nipples. He's rougher than usual, brushing at the line of discomfort and letting you feel his teeth; you will be too sensitive for a bra for a day or two to come, but you still pull on his hair and prompt him closer. You missed him. You missed that.

With the first hunger satisfied, you finally find the right, united rhythm. His hips slow down enough to let you work for him, your hold on him is gentler and leaving him more space and freedom. Atsuya is not going anywhere though, only once taking a sudden turn to kiss your neck, but the delicious valley between your breasts bewitches him again.

Both arms wrapped around you, hands adoring your love handles, he pulls you whole into him, having you perched in his lap, and groaning when you find a new angle to jerk him off. "I missed every piece of you."

[eddiesxangel]

Just A Pinch |Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: you get your nipples pierced and surprise Eddie. Requested by @jordynyingling0219 🤗.

Cw: smut 18+ minors go away. Nipple play (obviously), eddie worships your tits, Boob job, dirty talk, pet names, fingering.

Not having Eddie touching yours boobs for about a month was one of the hardest things you had to avoid when you came up with your little plan to surprise him with new nipple piercings. He was always at you, holding your boobs even if it wasn’t for anything sexual. He just found them conforming.

So when you jerked your body away the first time he reached for you he thought you were mad at him. He wracked his brain for anything that he could have done to piss you off, however he came up empty… He bought you apology flowers just to be safe. Your heart yearned for him, you hated that he thought he had done something wrong. You promised you weren’t mad of him but you still didn’t let him touch your soar sensitive nipples regardless. You were sticking with the plan because you knew the reaction would be so worth it.

The second week you had sex but refused to let him see or touch them again. You blamed PMS and said they were too sensitive to be played with this week. Eddie let it go in the moment because he was so deep in your pussy to care. In the back of his mind he was still unsure what your deal was.

The third week you had actually gotten your period so he knew to back off. He knew your breast were so sensitive this time of month so he didn’t even think about it.

The fourth week you were gnawing at the bit to show him. You were so close to the finish line. You had been so regimented with your daily cleaning, and the swelling and soreness had finally subsided, that on the Friday you decided it had been enough time to let Eddie have his way with your tits.

“Baby! I need your help!” You fake cried as you lay completely naked on the bed.

You hear the frantic footsteps of your boyfriend come down the hall to your shared bedroom and you can’t help but giggle quietly with excitement.

“What-woah” Eddie froze in his tracks briefly before he took action. There you were laid out for him on a silver platter for the taking. “What’s gotten into you little minx?” He smirked before crawling his way up the bed to you with a look in his eye that you knew you were in for it tonight.

You hadn’t been fully naked in front of Eddie for a month. And god he missed being with you, especially your boobs. He needed that skin to skin connection and he missed using them as a pillow and and something to put in his mouth.

He was half way up your body when he stopped in his tracks. The low mood lighting you had set caught something shiny and reflective on your chest. As Eddie’s eyes fully scanned you you couldn’t help but bite your lip. You needed to just observe his reaction, you waiting long enough.

“What the fuck? Did you-!?-How did-?! When?!” Eddie was shocked to see your nipples adorned with two ruby red jewels on each side of your hard nipples.

“Do you like it?” You couldn’t tell if he did or not.

“Is this why you’ve been hiding from me?” He avoided the question.

You slowly nodded your head yes and Eddie’s eyes finally snapped away from your boobs to your face.

“God you’re perfect, what did I do to deserve you?” He leaned in to kiss you, hard and you let out a moan of pleasure.

“So you like it?” You asked one more time.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuu-uuu-uuu-uck” he drew out “I love them, I didn’t think they could get any prettier.” He leaned down to examine more. He took each breast in his hands to get a closer look.

“Do they hurt?” He asked as he gently lifted them.

“Not anymore” you sighed. They are more sensitive if anything.

“Oh baby we are about to have so much fun” Eddie was mischievous.

Eddies tongue tentatively flicked your already hard nipple and a soft moan slipped from your lips. That only encouraged Eddie. As he suckled your nipple he could taste the cool metal bar.

The way Eddie was worshiping your body only shot a a wave of pleasure through to your core. He was making you feel so good you wanted to return the favour.

“Babyyyyy” you moaned.

“What! Oh my god! Did I hurt you sweetheart?” He jerked back up.

“No” you cooed “I wanna do something for you” You smirked.

“Baby I think you’ve given me enough.” He cupped your breast again, rubbing each nipple with his thumbs, playing.

“Please” you pout “you’ll really like it.” You sat up and crawled closer to him.

You slipped your hand up Eddie’s shirt and pulled it up over his head. You then stripped him of his pants and boxers letting his throbbing cock pop out.

“What did you have in mind honey?” Eddie asked.

“Sit on the edge of the bed for me.” You instructed as you got off the bed and knelt down infront of him. You then reached into the night stand drawer and got out you lube. Eddie gave you a confused look but you told him to trust you so he did.

You squeezed the slippery liquid into your hand to warm it up before sliding it up and down the soft velvety skin of his long thick cock.

Eddie let out a grunt when your hands made contact with his shaft. He observed you, still confused, as you sat up and adjusted to sit directly between his legs. You took his cock and placed it between your breasts. Eddie’s brain just about short circuited as he watched you envelop his cock between your two breasts.

“Fuck you’re perfect.” He sat back and watched you as you worked your boobs up and down his cock. The soft warm delicate skin of your boobs, mixed with the sight of your decorated nipples was making him wanna bust right then and there, but then you dipped your head down to take the tip in your mouth and he embarrassingly came right then and there.

“Mmmmm” you hummed with a smile as you swallowed him down.

“Fuck baby you’re killing me” he huffed as he caught his breath.

“I’m glad you like them” you giggle.

“Like them?! Fuck baby I love them” Eddie growled as he helped you stand up and took your nipple back in his mouth.

You threw your head back with pleasure as Eddie massaged each breast with his hands and mouth.

“Eddie” you moan

“What is it you want baby?”

“You” you gasp as his fingers found your clit.

You cupped his head trapping his mouth on your nipples. His fingers worked your swollen clit before slipping in a finger. Your knees buckled and Eddie chuckled darkly at the effect he had on you.

“You like that? My dirty girl.” He looked up at you with his big puppy dog eyes.

“You know I do! Dont stop!” You cried as the feeling of pleasure built up up up, his fingers hitting each and every right spot until you broke.

You crumbled as you came on Eddie’s fingers.

“That’s my goodgirl” he continued to work your pussy as you rode out your high.

“I didn’t think sex could get any better you laughed.

“Oh we are just getting started darling”

[ilovecowboysyouknowthat]

I feel like there a such a lack of James cook fanfics like why is nobody talking about this, after watching sinners suddenly I’m 13 watching skins and THIRSTY over jack o’Connell 😩😩

Like if y’all have any requests for cook I’m happy to answer because I’m feining for him hahah

[bunnis-monsters]

Trans puppy girl whose boobs start to grow after she goes through her first rut after getting on estrogen. Over the next few years she goes from having a rut to going into heat instead.

They’re so plump and fun to squish and squeeze, you love holding onto them while you’re fucking into her!

Though she still yearns to get you pregnant, she’s also desperate to feel your strap inside of her, and wants you to get her pregnant too! She just wants to feel safe and protected with your claim on her!

You better buy an ejaculating strap to satisfy your poor pup, or she’ll be all cranky and breed you until you’re stuffed full of her cum!

And have you thought of how your pretty girl deserves to be pampered? How she needs all of the new pink collars and fluffy petticoats for her dresses? She just adores when you stroke her cock while she’s all dressed up in her favorite new coord… be careful though, she may pounce and fuck you silly!

Her favorite treat after being a good girl is your pussy btw…

[corpsypher]

Pierced through the heart, but never killed || Ghost x Fat!Reader ||

One shot (9.8k) MoodboardAo3 link. Simon pays the price of his recklessness in the field, but his reward may be worth the pain. CW: reader described as fat/plus-sized/curvier/chubby, Patient/PT dynamics, Perv!Simon, reader is a nervous talker, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of wounds + violence, rehab shit, military shit, protective!Simon, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, hand kink, praise kink, slight knife play (blink and you’ll miss it), unprotected piv, degradation, lots of cum, oral (fem!receiving), breeding kink, scar worship(?), body worship, clearly 18+ MDNI.

He really fucking didn’t want to be there.

There was no one else to blame for his current situation other than himself. Seating in the sterile waiting room of the health services unit of undisclosed location military base, with his fucked up hand wrapped and immobilized in a splint. Simon was bored out of his mind. 

He was waiting for the medical staff to finish their briefing, they were starting him on physical therapy for the foreseeable future. It turns out that all the ligaments and tissue surrounding the carpometacarpal and metacarpophalangeal joints were more complex to heal than one might think. If only he'd known that before using his hand as a shield against a machete.

At least he could take comfort in remembering said weapon buried in the skull of the big Austrian fucker that thought it was a good idea to wear a dirty rag for a mask and come at him with a blade in close quarters, the imbecile.

“Lieutenant. They’re ready for you.” Finally, He stands up and silently follows the nurse who’d accompanied him since they removed the stitches a couple of hours before. She was an older woman, with a stern face and of few words, who hadn’t tried to chat him up while you worked on him, and at first, he thought it was because of his mask, but after a while he noticed she was short with everyone else.

The facility itself had no natural light, only a bright fluorescent-lighted ceiling with sad white and beige painted walls, it was dull and depressing. As they approached the rehab unit, he noticed you, all warm and soft in contrast with the environment. 

A fat birdie in baby blue scrubs that accentuate all your attractive curves, with a beautiful welcoming smile adorning your round, pretty face. Like a sucker punch, It made his stomach clench, and other parts of him stir in interest. 

Like the nurse, you didn't seem to be phased by his typically intimidating looks; it wasn't that he was actively trying to scare you either, it was just how he came across, plus the black balaclava made him look like a double-edged sword, he was aware of it.

“This is your assigned Physio for the time being, she’ll be in charge of your care from now on… I'll leave you to it.” And with that, the nurse was gone.

You seemed too fucking sweet to be in this place (he’d been in military hospitals that were as hospitable as a Man U pub in East London), and that thought is confirmed the second you open your mouth. 

You welcome him like he’d just landed in a beachside resort, he'd never been to one, nor was he opposed to visiting. But now that he thought about it, he could perfectly picture you in a skimpy bikini, lying under the sun, with those tempting lips sipping on a straw from a coconut, that's suddenly turning into a phallic shape-

“Lieutenant, could you please follow me this way?” Your voice -strangely familiar- cuts off his naughty thoughts. Something itches in the back of his mind, like he knows you, maybe from another base, but surely he would remember. He could never forget a face like yours.

“Just Ghost.” He remarks and follows you. Oh boy, does he follow you, like a Malinois taking orders. The moment he gets a good look at your behind, he's sold; that ass and those thighs moving in front of him are his personal version of being hypnotized. Luring him, drawing him in. 

Perhaps being here won’t be so bad after all.

He’d done PT before, for his leg and lower back. Yet he’d grown accustomed to the constant ache. The shot of electricity that sometimes ran down his legs, the fatigue that bullied his lumbar spine after an adventurous mission with the 141. He certainly didn’t expect that a few sessions hooked to the TENS machine would magically heal all the shit he’d put his body through during his years in active duty. 

Yeah, he’d done PT before…

But it was nothing compared to this, never like this. 

Starting with the pretty thing massaging, rubbing, and pampering him. Talking his ears off about everything that had to do with his injury, what the treatment would consist of, what the next couple of weeks were going to be like, what stage of cicatrization he was on, etc. 

It felt like heaven, having a pretty lass all over him. Until you flexed his wrist and sharp pain shot like fire from his fingers to his elbow. 

You apologize, even though it's not your fault, and try to make light conversation in an attempt to distract him. His answers are short and not as friendly as yours, not because he doesn’t want to be, but because he’s concentrating on blocking out the pain, like he’d been trained to do, like he was used to.

Your breast constantly squeezing against the table the two of you were seating on certainly helped. 

The softness of your hands on his scarred one was fuel for his filthy imagination. Your sweet words of encouragement soothed him every time he grew frustrated, and the delicious scent of your perfume made his mouth water, tickling something nostalgic in his subconscious.

And then he started to forget about the pain.

Two weeks go by faster than Simon expected. He was getting better, it was less painful to close his fist, but his strength and fine motor skills were still fucked. He was no longer bored, though, he was using his free time as an excuse to become ambidextrous. 

The image of your soft, delicate hands holding him. The contrast of his scarred, calloused skin against yours, how you studied every uncovered inch with such attentiveness, it fed the thing inside him that wanted to sink its teeth on your neck and lock the fuck in.

Wanking off twice a day to thoughts of his PT was turning out to be quite the exercise. His brain had also decided it was a good time to let his breeding kink resurface -It hadn’t gone anywhere to begin with- because his muse had the perfect body for it. When he allowed his thoughts to wander down that path, he would come so fast it left him dizzy.

And you were so witty, and smart, and so goddamn sweet it satiated his sweet tooth, so attentive it filled his chest with a feeling he couldn’t name. Yet, you were a feisty little thing, a kitty with its claws sheathed. You would banter with him about football, throw bad jokes in reply to his, and scowl at him when he tried to cheat during his exercises. 

Yeah, he was feeling better than ever.

But then came Soap, giving him shit left and right about wanting to visit Simon at one of his sessions. 

Johnny had shown up -uninvited and unauthorized- just in time to see the plump birdie remove the hardened layers of paraffin wax from his hand and start stretching his strained tendons. The tender touch of your cool hands on his hot one and the sudden presence of the Sergeant in his peripheral view made him flinch slightly. It was a small movement, but enough for Johnny to take notice, the bastard smirked, amused, before locking eyes on you, then he lit up like a dog with a bone. 

The thing was, Johnny was also into bigger women. Johnny was into anything with a hole. They’d shared porn links of BBW getting pounded once or twice before (BBW getting pounded and bred to be more specific), so Simon knew exactly the kind of nasty shit lurking on the Scots mind. Chances were Simon had already thought of it.

The second Soap arrived, Simon knew he had to lay down limits. No looking, no touching. Easily communicated with a grunt and a subtle shake of his head. Turns out Johnny boy read that as an invitation, and not as the warning that it was.

Soap had then proceeded to grab a chair, and sat backward on it while facing them in the small table that had become yours since day one. And then the mutt-with-a-death-wish introduced himself and started to flirt with you. Right in front of Simon.

You were oblivious, laughed at Soap's usual shenanigans and threw cheeky comebacks here and there, keeping the conversation light and as professional as you possibly could while dealing with Johnny. 

“Poor Bonnie, ye probably exhausted after dealing with mean ol’ Lieutenant.”

“You’re wrong there, Sergeant. Ghost is one of the best patients I’ve ever had… You’d be surprised at how rude patients can be sometimes.” That last part was said quietly, and by the expression on your face, you immediately regretted saying it. Simon wanted to delve more into that, but Soap kept talking and changed the subject.

“Bet ya wish it was me in yer care, we’d have a fun time every time…”

When it was over, after the nurse kicked Soap out of the rehab unit for his boisterous behavior, Simon grabbed him by the scruff (with his good hand, he wasn’t going to fuck up your progress) and shoved him into a wall, he made it clear to Soap that he was not to do that again. “A’ight, no messin’ with yer doc, got it, now let off Lt.” He giggled in between forced breaths. Only then did Simon lift his forearm from his throat.

The next day, he decided to go in earlier to apologize for his squad mate's behavior. What he stumbled upon, was an example of your accidental confession. 

“I’ve said it a hundred times already, I can’t fucking do it! What’s the fucking point? I’m just wasting my time.” He heard the pitchy shouts before he saw them. A rookie soldier in crutches, towering over you, face red and nostrils flaring. While you were holding onto the handrail of the parallel bars like a lifeline. 

“Let's just give it a try, this is the last exercise for the day, alright?” Even dealing with the man's tantrum, you kept your polite demeanor. 

“I don’t fucking want to, I’m done.” The soldier started to maneuver his way around the bars, and you followed him, still unaware of Simon's presence. The nurse was arranging some papers on the other side of the room, watching everything unfold silently.

“Sir, we’re not done. I’m here to help you recover, there’s no need to be uncivil.” This time your words were stern, your face frowning in determination. Simon thought it was cute.

“There is no need to be a pain in the ass either, fat bitch!”

And that was enough of that, with a few long steps Simon was in the young man's space, looking down at him and sizing him up, ”Quiet.” One word was enough, the thin veil of anger that disguised the soldiers' fears vanished from his face. “Stop your whingin’. Apologise and sod off.”

“Apologies, ma’am.” the soldier said over his shoulder grudgingly. You acknowledged it with a single nod. 

“Not good enough, look at her and say it like you mean it, boy.” Simon ground his molars and clenched his fist to stop himself from doing the violent things he wanted to.

The soldier turned clumsily on his crutches and muttered another apology, slightly more sincere than the first. Simon took a step aside to let him go, he didn’t give a fuck about pulling rank over the lad, he just wanted him gone and away from you. He would deal with it more thoroughly later. He was sure Johnny would enjoy giving him a hand.

Once the shell shock case walked out, Simon approached you. Even though you didn't seem upset from the confrontation, he noticed that your chest was heaving as you took deep breaths to calm down. You were staring at the floor, eyes a little hazy, with a hand resting on your soft belly, working on controlling your breathing. 

“Y’alright?”  

“No, yeah-” You paused and tilted your head up at him. “Yes, yes. I’m fine.” Your cheeks seemed flushed. Simon assumed it was anger, yet he found you deliriously hot. 

Raising the hand he was jealous of from your navel, you comically looked at your naked wrist, “Well, look at the time, right on the dot,” He was not, it was still early. “I’ll just… grab a cup of tea, and then we’ll begin our session. I’ll be back in a moment.” You dashed away, leaving him with the nurse, who now looked at him with her arms folded, one brown raised and lips pursed, clearly not amused by the situation.

After that day, things were… different. Since you were usually the one to start most of the conversations, your frequent chats became strained. In fact, you hardly spoke to him anymore (well, not really, he just got used to your constant yapping), only to give him instructions. 

He found that he missed it, your sweet attention talks, what he normally detested in others, he found charming in you. Not having that made him feel uneasy. Not only that, but he desperately wanted to return the gesture. He knew that his usual nonchalant and sarcastic tone wasn’t gonna cut it this time.

You made every effort to avoid meeting his gaze, as it would only become more intense as it sought to meet yours constantly. Because if he couldn’t have your voice, he’d settle for your pretty eyes. He was aware that he was behaving a little insane -like a hunter stalking its prey- but he was unable and unwilling to control himself.

One day, you caught him by surprise and set a gun on the table. A Clock 17, unloaded and  with an empty mag, a cleaning kit laying beside it. You told him to get into it and put those fingers to work, then you pulled a .19 from the pocket of your thigh, sat beside him instead of your usual spot on the other side of the table, and started to disassemble it with an efficiency that rivaled Kyle’s. He wanted to fuck you right then and there.

He grunted while appreciating you with a warm smile hidden by his mask, but still evident in his eyes. You turned at the sound, finally meeting his gaze, you gifted him a bright smile that blinded him and made him feel a little hazy.

He blinked slowly, pulled himself together and started to go through the motions of a deep cleaning for a Clock. He could do it in his sleep, blindfolded, and hog tied. Only to find he was a sloppy mess that somehow could not even pull the slide from the frame without struggling with the catch levers.

“You got it, Lt. Slowly but surely.” You encourage him. He carried on, watching your soft hands handle the weapon felt like you somehow were touching an extension of him. Another thought to not share with his therapist.

As he got lost in his thoughts, Simon still had that nagging feeling in the back of his mind. You felt so familiar, there was just something nostalgic about the way he felt about you. Like he was longing for something he couldn’t quite remember, a word on the tip of his tongue. Or maybe he was getting too attached, too fast.

A few weeks after the incident with the rookie, he graduated from the rehab unit and was back at the gym (still with some limitations) and other duties, but still you insisted on going down to the shooting range with him. You wanted to monitor his improvement during work activities, which in his case meant shooting big guns, reloading them, and throwing sharp knives. He’d not been given the all-clear on hand-to-hand combat yet.

It was a mistake. Simon knew it the second you left the comfort of the indoors behind. You were out of your usual scrubs and instead were dressed up in a pair of cargo pants, tan army boots and a black compression shirt that stretched to sinful limits around your shape. It was torture. All the men watching you parade through the base made his hands itch to pull eyes out of sockets.

And then you were pampering him again, carefully massaging and moving his hand before he started shooting at a target. Standing close to him to better assess his hold on the guns, you called him out when he misplaced a shaky finger to avoid discomfort, reminding him that it was important to practice without any compensatory movements, so he didn’t develop bad habits.

You were all over him again, all your attention was on him, on the way he stood, on how he unloaded and reloaded, on how he shot round after round. Not even Price and Gaz introducing themselves diverted your focus. It was elating, he felt intoxicated.

By the time you were done for the day, Simon escorted you back to the barracks sporting a semi. Then he practically jogged to his room and proceeded to jerk off like a madman with the smell of gunpowder and your scent still on his nose. Fantasizing about coming inside you, filling you so full of him, claiming your little holes and-

He was hanging on to his self-control by the skin of his teeth, one little nudge away from losing it.

It should've been no surprise to him that in the end, it was knives that did it.

Oh, the irony.

You were alone, standing in the small warehouse next to the shooting range. It was poorly lit, equipped with big wooden circles with targets painted on them, a marksman table bolted to the floor and a utility wall full of all sorts of sharp paraphernalia. 

You were closer than the day before, again in your new uniform, looking hot and smelling as tempting as ever. Meanwhile, he was fucking up all his throws. 

You’d been at it for half an hour now, and he was getting more frustrated by the second.

“You are holding them too tightly, you have your full strength back now. The goal is to practice micro-dosing it when it requires gentle movements. Let me show you.” You said while studying his form.

You stand on your tiptoes to reach his injured hand that's been holding the KaBar knife over his shoulder in a throwing stance. Your soft front brushes against his side. Your fingertips lightly touch his tense fingers gripping the handle, and then your voice is right by his shoulder, whispering dirty-sounding words of encouragement.

“Relax a little bit, yes. Just like that.” Your breath caresses his skin, and he suppresses a shudder, “Yes, yes, perfect! Now, do it!” He throws the knife. 

Neither one of you sees it land with a thud in the center of the target. 

He’s on you before he can stop himself. 

With his hands wrapped around your throat, he pulls you impossibly closer to him, you gasp and instinctively grabs his wrists. His thumbs on your soft jaw tilt your head to make you look into his eyes. You moan, an involuntary noise that escapes your throat. The sound travels like high voltage through his blood to his groin. 

“Lieutenant…” you whisper, voice cracking with fear and a hesitated question.

Simon growls, slightly tilting his hips against your belly, wanting you to feel his hard cock, his need.

"Always on top of me, touching me, tempting me."  He turns slowly, keeping you in his grasp, and you move with him. "You have no idea how long I’ve been stopping myself from putting my hands on you," two steps forward, and he traps you against the old marksman table. Left speechless, your hands fall to his hard chest. Not punching him away, he notes.

His hands travel from your throat down to your hip, gentle but heavy petting your curves, He leans close and nudges your cheek with his clothed one. Your breathing becomes more labored by the second. "So sweet, yet so oblivious to the effect you have on me." He whispers next to your ear as he tightens his grip on you, his fingers digging on your softness, "But I can show you."

Simon picks you up, you shriek and throw your arms around his neck as he sits you on the table. He swipes one hand behind you, clearing the table of the clutter that falls loudly to the floor, purposely missing a small knife, he grabs it and brings it up to point at you with the sharp tip, “You’re gonna owe me a mask after this.” 

He lifts the bottom of his balaclava and cuts a piece off to reveal his mouth. Pink and plump lips split by a long scar all the way from his nose, down his cupid's bow, to just above his dimpled chin. 

He doesn’t give you time to appreciate the new exposed piece of him, because Simon leans down to claim your mouth in a passionate, claiming kiss. His eyes flutter close as you share the warmth of his body, and the truth of his confession. Your hands slid to his arms, gripping his biceps as you pulled him closer, your tongue tentatively meeting his in an unspoken invitation for more.

The kiss grows more urgent, his tongue diving into your mouth as he tasted the sweetness of your submission. His hands roaming your body, familiarizing themselves with every curve, fingers tracing circles underneath your breast and on the softness of your waist. Your own hands started to explore him, your nails digging into the skin of his exposed arms as you traced his muscles like you’re memorizing him.

Pulling away from your mouth, he nuzzled his masked nose against the apple of your chubby cheek, "If you don’t want this, now is the time to say so, before I lose myself." He was giving you a way out of his possessive grasp before it was too late, before he sunk his sharp teeth into your juicy peach and decided he was not going to let go.

“I want you!” Your voice was a desperate whimper at the mere notion of stopping. You want it, all he would give you, you’ll take it. Your hands grabbed his shirt and tugged, trying to take it off, you managed to untuck it from his pants before he grunted and grabbed both your wrists in each of his hands to stop you.

He kissed you once more and bit your lower lip, making you gasp, He took the opportunity and licked inside your mouth. “Tongue.” he barked, you obeyed and shyly stuck your tongue out. Simon licked, sucked, and bit again. It was utterly erotic. 

He pulled away from you and made quick work of undressing, took off his shirt, and then undid the button and zipper of his cargo pants. He was so big, all over. Packed with muscles and a layer of fat that made it seem like he was naturally bulletproof, even when you knew that wasn’t the case. The scars he wore were a crude and raw testament of the truth.

He moved close again, reached for your knees, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive flesh behind them, causing your legs to fall apart slightly. You watched, transfixed, as his hands moved closer and closer to the apex of your thighs. The teasing was agonizing, but you didn't want it any other way. Instead, you took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling with each stroke of his hand.

With a predatory grace, Simon leaned over you, his eyes never leaving yours as his hand traveled up your leg over the thick fabric that separated you from his touch. You felt the anticipation coil tighter in your stomach, a knot of excitement and fear that made your breath hitch. He paused just before he reached your center, his fingers tracing your sensitive inner thigh. You could feel the heat of his body, his scent mingling with sweat and arousal.

"You know," he said, his voice a low growl, "I’ve been dying to know what you taste like." His thumb hovered just above the fabric over your pussy, the pressure of it making you tremble. "Do you want to help me with that, baby?"

Your eyes widened, and you felt a rush of warmth spread through your body. You had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable while still being clothed. But there was something about the way he talked to you, the way he looked at you, that made it feel so sexy. "Yes, Ghost," you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I want that."

The Lieutenant's smile grew, his teeth a dangerous sight in contrast with the dark fabric of his mask. "Good," he said, his thumb finally sliding over the seam at your center.

With swift motions, he kneeled down to unbutton and yank your camo pants and panties off, making your hips rise and fall involuntarily, revealing your fuzzy, glistening wet pussy. The coolness of the air made you gasp, and you felt a thrill as his gaze locked on your most sensitive parts. Simon leaned in closer, his nose just inches from your sex. He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled your scent, his eyes closing in pleasure.

The sound of his deep inhale made your stomach flip. You felt a strange sense of power, knowing you could elicit such a reaction from him. His eyes snapped open, and you saw the hunger in them, the raw need that was no longer hidden behind the veil of indifference he usually donned. "Mm," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "You smell so good, baby."

Without another word, Simon leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on your fat mons, his stubbled cheek brushing against the naked skin of your inner thigh. Your hips jerked upward at the contact, a gasp escaping your lips, the intimacy of the moment almost too much to handle. He kissed you again, this time a bit closer to your clit, the stubble grazing your skin again, sending sparks of pleasure through your core.

"Your pussy is so perfect," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "So soft and plump. Just like a ripe little peach." He placed a hand on your hip, holding you in place as he continued to shower you with wet kisses, each one closer to the center of your desire. It was so bewildering, the way he was rough and gentle with you at the same time.

Your breathing grew ragged, your body trembling with each tender touch. Then, without warning, you felt wetness on your clit as Simon leaned in and let a bead of saliva fall from his mouth onto your sensitive flesh. You gasped at the sensation, the coolness of his spit mixing with the warmth of your slick. His tongue followed the droplet, tracing a wet line up the center of your pussy, and you felt a bolt of electricity shoot through your core.

"Ghost," you whimpered, your hands clutching the edges of the table.

"Shh," Simon soothed, his eyes never leaving yours. "Just relax, sweetheart. I got you." He slid his middle finger along your slit, the tip of it teasing your swollen clit before delving into your wetness. Your back arched as he pushed the digit into you, his knuckles grazing your sensitive skin. "So tight," he murmured, his voice filled with fascination. "So perfect."

He began to pump his finger in and out, the motion sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. You felt so full, so overwhelmed, still you craved more. You could feel your body responding in ways you didn't know were possible, so out of control, it was like an outer body experience. He had barely touched you.

“This was all I could think about every time you were holding my hand,” Simon said as he watched, transfixed, at the way his finger moved. “Making me all better just so I could repay you like this.” Your pussy clenched around his finger, begging for more, and you couldn't help but rock your hips in time with his movements.

"Tell me how it feels," he murmured, his voice a firm command that made your body quiver. "Does this pussy like when I play with her?"

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn't lie. "It feels… amazing," you admitted, your voice shaking. "I've never felt like this before." You leaned back on your elbows and let your head drop back.

Simon's eyes lit up with excitement. "Good," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I want you to feel good, baby. I want you to know just how much I appreciate you." His thumb began to circle your clit as he continued to fuck you with his finger, the dual sensation making you moan even louder. "But we're just getting started. There's so much I want to do to you, so much more I want to do with you."

He stood up and with his free hand grabbed you by the nape of your neck to pull you upright, “Show me your tits sweetheart, take that fucking shirt off.” You hesitated for two heart beats and he amped the pace of his thrusts, “Take. It. All. Off.” 

You swallowed the nervous knot that formed in your throat and started to strip off your shirt. Once you were covered in only your sports bra, you took a deep inhale and straightened your back, reassuring yourself that there was nothing to be self-conscious about.

“You gonna make me repeat myself?” His tone dropped lower, his words a playful threat. You shook your head and off went your bra. As soon as you were bare before him, Simon ceased to move, his fingers still inside you, you even thought he stopped breathing for a moment. A nasty, insecure thought scurried across your mind, but it got squashed by the way Simon was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

Then he snapped.

He leaned closer to you, his breath hot against your neck. You felt his hand move from your neck down to your chest, his calloused thumb grazing your nipple before he took it into his mouth. It was overwhelming, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he began to suckle. The sensation of his mouth on you, combined with the new relentless rhythm of his finger inside your pussy, left you on the brink of a form of pleasure you had never experienced before.

With each second that passed, your breathing grew more erratic, your body moving in time with his. The sound of his mouth on your skin blended with your moans and the distant sound of the shooting range. The warm flush on your face was a stark contrast to the coolness of his saliva as it dripped down your chest. His free hand moved to your other breast, kneading and rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. It was a symphony of sensations, each one building upon the last until you felt like a supernova.

"Do you like that, baby?" he murmured against your skin, his teeth scraping your nipple before capturing it between his teeth. "Do you like how I make you feel?"

Your breath hitched, and you nodded frantically. "Y-yes, Simon." you managed to gasp out, your voice tight with need.

Simon's smile grew wider when he finally heard you say his name, and he leaned closer, his face inches from your chest. He took your other nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the tight peak as he began to thrust his finger faster, your pussy clenching around his digits with each vicious stroke. He swapped back and forth, his mouth moving from one breast to the other, never letting the sensation ease.

As he sucked, he let out a low groan, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through your body. His hand moved to your other breast, giving it a playful slap that made you jump. You felt so aroused, so desired, the thought of someone walking in any moment made you forget about any insecurity, and you couldn't deny the thrill of it. It felt like he owned you, and you were his to do with as he pleased.

With a sudden, almost feral growl, Simon pulled away from your breasts, his eyes locking onto yours. He leaned back slightly, taking in the sight of your finger fucked pussy, his hand still working your clit. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned between your legs, his cheek brushing the tender skin of your inner thighs. You felt a strange mix of fear and excitement as you watched him, his massive frame casting a shadow over your most intimate parts.

"Fuck." he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. And then he lowered his mouth to your pussy again, his tongue sliding through your folds with the ease of a hot knife through butter. The sensation was overwhelming, the combined feeling of his rough stubble and the warmth of his mouth sending you spiraling into a whirlwind of pleasure. You felt the muscles in your stomach tighten, your legs trembling as you tried to hold herself still, and your throat tightened, trying to not let out a sound.

Surprising you with his strength, He lifted one of your legs and placed it over his broad shoulder, his hand wrapping around your thigh to keep you in place. The new angle made you feel even more exposed, your pussy open and vulnerable to his every whim. He took full advantage of the position, his tongue delving deeper, reaching places you didn't even know existed.

Your moans escaped you and grew louder, filling the closed space of the warehouse as the cool air caressed your heated skin. The fabric of his mask kissed your bare thighs as he moved between your legs, it tickled your sensitive flesh as he licked and sucked. You could feel his hot breath against your clit, the sensation making your hips buck involuntarily, nobody had eaten you out like this before, with such desperation.

The Lieutenant's tongue was playing your body like a fine instrument, he knew just how to touch you, just how to make you whimper and beg for more. Each flick of his tongue was a sweet torture, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, without pushing you over just yet. 

Your eyes squeezed shut, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you tried to hold back the scream building in your chest. You could feel the tension coil tighter and tighter, your body hanging on the precipice of something you had only ever read about in your stash of romance novels.

"Simon," you gasped, voice a needy whisper. "I'm… I'm going to… "

Your words dissolved into a whimper as you felt the heat inside you build. Simon's tongue had become relentless, swirling and flicking against your clit with a skill that seemed to defy his brusque exterior. 

His teeth grazed your sensitive flesh, the slight edge of pain mixed with pleasure, sent you spiraling higher and higher. You could feel your pussy tightening around his finger, the muscles in your soft stomach seizing up, your body shaking with the strain.

Your obscene sounds grew louder, filling the air with the sweet symphony of your impending orgasm. Simon's eyes remained locked on you, the intensity in them unwavering as he felt your body tense beneath his touch. He knew you were close, and the thought of making you come sent a jolt of excitement through his own body. 

"That's it," he murmured in between licks, his voice thick with lust. "Let go for me."

He moved one of his hands to spread your pussy lips apart even farther, using his thumb and forefinger, he kept the speed of his tongue while doing it. You could feel the orgasm growing, a rush of bliss that stole the breath from your lungs. His mouth was a brand of fire on your sensitive flesh, and you couldn't hold back any longer. You let out a keening cry, your body arching off the table as you came, your pussy convulsing around his fingers. The waves of ecstasy crashed over you, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath.

Simon didn't stop. He continued to lick and suck, your juices coating his lips and chin as he drank in your sweetness, dampening the fabric of his balaclava. The feeling of his tongue on your clit was exquisite torture, each stroke sending another wave of pleasure through you. You could feel the muscles in your pelvis spasm, your legs quivering as you rode out your climax.

When the last tremor of your release faded, Simon pulled back, a smug smile on his face. His cheeks and lips were wet with your cum, a glistening trail of saliva connecting his mouth to your pussy. He licked his lips, savoring the taste. "Mmm," he murmured, his dark eyes never leaving yours. "You taste so delicious, baby."|

You felt a flush of embarrassment as you looked away, your pussy still spasming slightly with aftershocks of pleasure. Reality started to creep in on your lust-addled mind. But the way he talked to you, the way he looked at you, it distracted, you felt beautiful, desirable. He was overwhelming. "Si…" you whispered, unsure of what to say.

Simon chuckled, a satisfied sound that resonated in your very bones. "Look at me, baby," he said, his voice a gentle command that you couldn't ignore. You lowered your eyes, meeting his gaze. "You're so beautiful when you cum," he murmured, his thumb still rubbing lazy circles around your clit. "Your whole body just lights up."

He bent over you, the weight of his massive frame pressing you into the table. You could feel the heat of his chest, the dampness of his skin against your own. His breath tingled your skin as he leaned in, his breath hot on your face. "You liked that, didn't you?" he whispered, his eyes searching for approval in yours, his hand still playing with your pussy.

You nodded, unable to find the words to describe the wave of emotions that surged through you. You could feel your heart racing, your chest heaving with each ragged breath you took. He pinched your clit, the sensation sending aftershocks of pleasure through your body, overstimulating you.

"Good," Simon murmured, his eyes darkening with satisfaction. "Now, give me that sweet mouth."

He shifted his weight, his powerful muscles flexing as he moved to lie on top of you. His body was like a blanket of warmth and security, his weight pressing you into the table. You felt your heart race even faster, your eyes never leaving his as he lowered his face to yours. The edges of his mask and his scruff brushed against your cheek, the scent of him -musky and manly- surrounding you.

His lips found yours in a kiss that was consuming and possessive. You felt his tongue slip into your mouth, tasting, exploring, as if he couldn't get enough of you. Your body responded instinctively, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer, your legs spreading to accommodate his thick thigh between them. The strokes of his tongue slowly became more forceful, and you could feel his hard cock pressing against your soft stomach.

The kiss grew sloppier, wetter, as you both succumbed to the overwhelming passion that had been building for a long time. His spit mingled with yours, the salty taste of flesh mixed with faint remnants of nicotine and the lingering sweetness of your juices. It was messy, raw, and utterly consuming. The stubble on his chin scraped against your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

With one hand on your jaw and the other still buried between your legs, a sudden primal need took over Simon, he pulled back and spit into your mouth without warning. It was an act of dominance, a claim that left no doubt of his intentions. The saliva slipped over your tongue, warm and slightly bitter. Your eyes went wide with shock, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you swallowed, the gesture feeling almost like a declaration of acceptance.

"Mm, such a good girl," he murmured, his hand sliding up your body, over your curves, to rest on your hip. His thumb stroked your skin, his eyes never leaving yours, feeding all the eye contact you had starved him off. "You're so soft, so precious. Yet I could crush you with my bare hands if I wanted to."

You felt said massive hand grab your waist, his fingers spread wide and sinking into your love-handles as flesh spilled out from between them. He was so much larger than you, his body a testament of his strength and power. You felt like a mere slip of a thing in comparison, it sent a thrill of euphoria through you. 

"Nearly became a lefty, and not because of your little exercises, love. I had to jerk off every time I left you." Your eyes went wide, and you felt your cheeks flush. The feeling of being so fervently desired by him was electrifying.

"Do you want to see my cock?" he tilted his head slightly, it was almost comical, but his deep and gravelly voice rumbled over you.

You had seen a few before, nothing bad but nothing memorable either. The thought of seeing Simon Riley's cock was dizzying. "Y-yes," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a predatory grace that defied his size, Simon stood up, his towering form casting a shadow over you. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his cargos and boxers, and pulled them both down with a swift move, revealing his thick, muscular thighs and the massive cock that jutted out from between them. 

It was huge, the size of which you had only ever read about in books and seen in the most exaggerated of porn, but still so pretty. The sight of it made you gulp, your eyes widening with anticipation and excitement. You could study it and write prose about it if given the time.

"Look at it," he said, his voice filled with pride as he took his cock in his scarred hand and stroked it slowly. The skin was velvety and pink, the veins standing out in stark contrast against his pale flesh. "This is me, baby. This is your man."

You couldn't help but stare, your eyes drawn to the thick, pulsing length of him. His pubic hair was a wild blonde thicket, a stark contrast to the rest of his body, which was mostly hairless. His balls were massive, heavy, and full, hanging low with desire. He cupped them in his other hand, rolling them gently, the motion causing his cock to bob and sway. "See how big they are?" he asked, his voice a low purr. "These are just for you."

Your eyes flicked up to meet his for a second as you nodded, only to drop back down to his movement, feeling too overwhelmed to find words. He was so imposing, so commanding, and you were at his mercy. "They're huge," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper.

With a wicked smile, Simon leaned back over you, his cock still in hand. "You make me feel things I thought I never would," he said, his voice a low growl. "Can you believe that?" He began to stroke himself more vigorously, the sound of his hand moving up and down his shaft a wet, slick sound that echoed through the air. "Lust, for one. Possessive, for another. Just for you."

Your eyes remained glued to his cock as he spoke, the size of it making you feel intimidated and incredibly turned on. You had never seen anything so brutally masculine. You swallowed hard, your mouth feeling dry as you imagined what it would feel like inside it.

"Tell me, baby," Simon rumbled, his hand moving faster along his shaft. "Do you want to know how it feels to have me inside you?" he asked like he could read your thoughts.

You nodded frantically, the words trapped in your throat. Your pupils were blown wide with desire as you watched him stroke the pre-cum beading at the tip of his cock. You were craving the feeling of being filled by him.

"Good girl," Simon praised, one hand moving to squeeze the base of his shaft and the other grabbing your thigh once more, his cock hovering just above your pussy. "Now, let's put those pretty feet of yours over my shoulder," he said, his tone a gentle command.

You complied, your legs shaking with a mix of excitement and nerves as he lifted your hips off the table and moved you closer to the edge. He positioned you so that your ankles rested on his broad shoulders, your pussy at his mercy, your soft belly and breast offered like a banquet to indulge his appetite. The buzz of anticipation of what was to come making you squirm beneath him, it was almost unbearable.

With a wicked grin, Simon began to drag the tip of his massive cock over your slit, teasing your clit with every pass. It was exquisite, the slickness of his pre-cum combining with your own wetness created a deliciously slippery path. You watched as he worked himself over you, his muscles tensing and releasing with each stroke, his hand moving with the determination of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

Your breath caught in your throat as he guided the full length of his shaft over your core, the sheer size of him making you feel small and unbearably empty. It was so different from when he used his hands and mouth, so much more intimate, it had your entire body quivering. You could feel the head of his cock nudge against your opening, the bluntness of it hinting at the pleasure to come.

"Look at that," Simon murmured, his voice low and filled with fascination. "Look how eager you are for my cock." He leaned down, his mask brushing against your cheek as he whispered in your ear. "You're going to be so tight… So tight around me."

Your breath hitched, your eyes still glued to the sight before you. The tip of his cock was now perfectly aligned with your entrance, the head nudging gently against it. You could feel the warmth of him, the pulsing need that seemed to radiate from his very pores. "Simon," you breathed, your voice trembling.

He was going slow, almost agonizingly so. Simon watched the head of his cock finally breaching your slick folds, and he groaned. Your eyes went wide, your body stiffening as you felt the first inch enter you. It was glorious. He was so big, so thick, it felt as though you were being split in two, like there was a “you” before and after this.

"Look at that," he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction. "So tight, so wet for me." He began to move, inch by inch, filling you up with his massive girth. With every push, you felt yourself stretching, accommodating more of him, and you couldn't help the moans that slipped from your lips. "That's it," he encouraged, his eyes fixated on your pussy. "Take it all, baby. Take every last inch of your man's cock."

There was a faint pain despite being prepared to take him, it was laced with something pleasant. Each time he pushed forward, you felt yourself opening up to him, your body reshaping itself just for him, for his cock, every cell of your being responding to his steady thrusts. His breath tickled your neck, hot against your skin, as he whispered sweet taunts that sent shivers down your spine. "You're such a good little slut," he said, his voice a low growl. "Letting me fill you up like this."

Your cheeks flamed with both embarrassment and arousal. The words should have offended you, but instead, they made your pussy clench around his cock. You could feel yourself getting wetter, your arousal making it easier for him to slide deeper into you. His movements grew more deliberate, the slow, torturous pace driving you crazy with need.

"Look how much of me you can take," he said, his voice a sensual purr. "You're such a good little slut for me, aren't you?"

The words were like a brand, searing themselves into your soul and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You liked it, the way his words made you feel both dirty and desired. With a final, agonizingly slow push, he bottomed out, fully buried inside you, his balls resting against your ass. The sensation was indescribable, a mix of pain and pleasure that had you panting and writhing beneath him.

"Atta girl," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with hunger and lust. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips with the same demanding force as his cock had your pussy. The taste of him filled your mouth, mingling with your own sweetness.

As the kiss deepened, Simon began to move, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm that had your eyes rolling back in your head. He pushed in to the hilt, filling you completely, before pulling back almost all the way out. The sensation was maddening, the friction of his cock against your inner walls making your toes curl, and your nails dig into his skin.

With each thrust, he grew more aggressive, his grunts growing louder, filling the quiet warehouse with the sounds of your sexual consummation. Your moans grew in tandem, your breath hitching with every stroke. You felt like you were being claimed, owned, and the feeling was intoxicating. The pleasure built inside you, a heat that grew with each stroke of his cock.

Simon held your hip with a tight, possessive grip, his strong hands pinning you in place as he fucked you with a brutal efficiency that defied his gentle touch from before. The look in his eyes was like a storm, swirling with emotions that you couldn't quite decipher. Was it just desire? Lust? Or something else, something far more profound? You didn't know, and you didn't care. All you knew was that you needed more of him, you needed him deeper, harder.

Your eyes fluttered shut, unable to bare the weight of his stare, but he was relentless. Forcing you to meet his gaze, "Look at me," he growled, his voice thick with passion. "Look at me when I fuck you." your eyes snapped open, and you found yourself lost in his gaze once again, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he fucked you.

He went rougher, his balls slapping against your ass with every deep thrust, the sound echoing off the walls of the warehouse. It was a primal, carnally satisfying sound that seemed to resonate through your very core, driving you closer and closer to the edge. Each thrust sent a jolt of divine pleasure through you, mixing with the pain of his intrusion to create a cocktail of sensation that was more addictive than any drug.

He lowered his head to your neck and murmured, "I can feel your heartbeat around me. It's driving me fucking crazy, baby." His teeth nipping at your skin. "You make me feel strong when I'm inside you. Like I can conquer the word." More heat bloomed in your core, "You're going to swell up with my cum, love."

Your eyes widened, shock and arousal coursing through your veins, the thought sent a thrill through you. "You like that, don't you?" Simon asked, his voice a low rumble. "The thought of being filled with my cum, growing round and lush with my seed?" He leaned down to nip at your ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "You're going to be the best little breeding slut, aren't you?"

Your cheeks flushed at his words, but you couldn't deny the way your pussy clenched around him, the way your hips began to lift to meet his thrusts. He noticed the change in you immediately, the way you moaned louder, the way you arched your back and pushed your breasts up towards him, like a heavenly offer. "Oh, you do," he said with a smug smile, his strokes becoming more forceful. "You want my cum, don't you?"

"Yes," you whimpered, the word torn from you as he hit a spot deep inside you that sent waves of pleasure through your body. "I want it."

"That's what I thought," Simon said, his grin wicked as he leaned back and began to fuck you with a viciousness that left you gasping. Each thrust was a declaration, a claim, a promise of what was to come. "You're going to be so full of me, baby. So full of my cum." His words were sweet, almost tender, laced with a brutal certainty that had your pussy spasming around his cock.

He placed his scarred palm over your opened mouth like he was trying to suffocate you, his fingers were spread apart and roughly grabbed your face. ”Kiss it,” He demanded, “Lick it, baby.” He gripped you by the waist with the other hand, your soft flesh giving in to his ruthless hold. 

You did as he commanded, making out with the flesh you knew so well, licked and kissed the scar you healed. You got lost in the feeling of worshiping the creased skin of his hand. Worshiping him.

With a roar, Simon plunged two of his fingers into your mouth, thrusted in you one last time and you felt his entire body tensing as he reached his climax. You felt the hot, thick spurts of his cum fill you as you sucked on his fingers that still tasted like you. It was exhilarating. His hips jerked against you, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside you. 

The feeling of his seed spilling into you was unlike anything Simon had ever experienced before, a primal rush that resonated through his very soul.

Your own orgasm followed quickly, your body shaking with the force of it. Your scream muffled by his digits, your nails digging into the skin of his thighs, you held on as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Simon never took his eyes off of you, watching you fall apart beneath him with a ferocious and possessive stare. 

The sound of your combined release filled the air, a symphony of moans and grunts that echoed off the walls surrounding you. His cock swelled even larger, his spurts of cum painting your inner walls and claiming you as his, you could feel his cock jerk with each one, filling you to the brim, stretching you impossibly wider.

"Ten," he panted, his body finally stilling above you. "Ten spurts of my love, baby." He leaned down, kissing you softly, his tongue slipping into your mouth, sharing the taste of the moment with you.

You felt boneless, the scale of your climax leaving you trembling and overwhelmed. You could feel his cum inside you, a warm, thick presence that filled you completely. The reality of what they'd just done settled over you, a mix of shock and euphoria.

Simon's cock twitched one last time before sliding out of you with a wet pop, leaving your pussy gaping open and exposed. He watched you with smug satisfaction, his chest heaving with exertion. The head of his cock was still coated in your combined juices, a white foamy ring around the base showed how good the sex had been.

You lay there, your chest heaving, your legs trembling as you tried to come to terms with what had just happened. You felt… changed, somehow. Different. The intimate nature of the encounter only served to amplify your afterglow, leaving you feeling both sated and yet insatiably hungry for more.

Simon’s cum was slowly trickling out of you, the sticky warmth of it reminded you of the unhinged way you’d acted. You couldn't believe you had begged for it, begged to be filled with his seed. But you had, and now you felt both ashamed and strangely proud of yourself. It was as if a switch had been flipped inside you, awakening something you didn’t know was there.

Simon stood up, his massive cock still semi-hard and wet with your slick. He looked down at your pussy, a proud smile playing on his lips as he gently removed your legs from his shoulders. "You did so well, sweetheart," he said, his voice still gruff with desire. "Can’t wait to get you on my bed."

You felt a swell of hope at his words, he wanted more too. Despite the anxiety and confusion that fought within you, you had never felt so alive, so desired. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Still standing over you, he offered you a hand up. As you took it, you felt the tremble in his fingers, the residue of his own climax. He helped you to your feet, his gaze lingering on your naked form, committing every detail to memory.

"I could just bend you over right now and fuck that sweet, tempting ass," he said, his voice a gruff purr. "But I've got to get you cleaned up. Somebody is bound to show up, so we’ll leave that for later." He playfully slapped one ass cheek, making you jump and shriek. It stung, leaving a warm imprint off his palm, a clear gesture of ownership. "You stay here while I look for something to clean us up," he ordered, his tone gentle.

You watched as he strutted away, his muscular frame flexing with every step, the wetness on his cock glistening under the dim light. You couldn't help but admire him, the way his cock bobbed slightly with each movement. It was an erotic sight, one you could get used to.

As he looked around, and the afterglow cleared from your foggy brain, you pondered how to tell him the story; about a young soldier you met in the ICU years ago, when you were just an intern. A handsome young man who had a tube down his throat and a wound on his lower back from ricochet shrapnel. How you had been the one assigned to move all his joints and stretch all his muscles, two times a day, every day, while he was unconscious. How you would talk to him about anything and everything, even if he didn’t answer. How you were the one who took care of the man until your rotation ended, and you were sent elsewhere, never knowing what became of him. Never seeing the soldier again. 

Until Simon “Ghost” Riley decided to use his hand as a shield against a machete.

Taglist: @partygetsmewettexxx @staley83 @madokawrites, Happy Birthday! @blacksilks

[star-crossed-sluts]

Could you please write a loki x reader. Reader gains weight on accident at first but loki likes it so he gets reader to gain more. Fem reader.

If not it’s okay <3

I love writing about men discovering they like reader chubby <3 This is my first time writing third person limited focused on the male lead, so any feedback would be cherished

Contents: 1.1kwords, love mentions, weight gain and associated body changes/insecurities, giggly sex

Minors DNI

You are responsible for your own media consumption

Loki’s never been… particular, shall we say? 

Sex was nothing to him. A means to an end, no care for any specific physical form for his partner to have, let alone prefer it. Love on the other hand was something he’d never dreamed of having for himself - some abstract concept that didn’t exist, at least not for him. He never thought for a second that love was something he would hold in his arms every dawn and dusk, or that he could taste it in homemade cooking and smell it in the bathroom after you’d showered. 

In that aspect, you’d managed to exceed all the expectations he’d never had.

“Fuck!”

Loki never knew how terrible love could be. How his heart could drop out of his body just from a vulgar word in the other room, or how he could be so worried he could completely forget about using magic to get to you faster. Not until he was running through your apartment (which he was slowly and methodically laying his own claim to, until he was so ingrained in your life you couldn’t get rid of him. Naturally.) Why would anyone subject themselves to something that could hurt so much?

And then he laid eyes on your half-nude form and remembered.

Because you were standing in the middle of your bedroom in your undergarments (“please just call them panties,” you’d always beg) and he had the absolute privilege to stare at you as perversely as he desired. If another man thought of you the way he did, he’d have to reconsider world domination. Put the fear of the gods back into those mortals. 

But when you spun around to face him, you had a sour look puckering your lovely features. “You,” you accused, jabbing a finger at him, “are at fault here!”

“Probably,” he conceded instantly. “What have I done?”

You threw some of your clothes at him. He recognized them. You called them the good jeans. He called them infernal invention that keeps me from your sweet pussy. “They don’t fit anymore!”

He tried not to show his pleasure too much. “Oh?” He immediately knew he’d failed, your glare furthering. 

“Oh,” you mocked, a thick British accent on the word. “This is your fault, y’know? Before you, I ate pretty healthy. Now I’m going out every other night to restaurants that smother everything in butter and wine-”

“You’re upset about going out?”

Loki could practically watch memories of the delicious food you’ve been sharing dance through your vision, inducing a small dreamy sigh. “No,” you decided, “no, I’m not. No, I just-” You huffed, falling against his chest and trusting him to both hold you upright and comfort you - which he did happily. “I’m just frustrated because now I have to actually put effort into working out or find new jeans.”

And, well, Loki was adamantly against more jeans, so he may have gently swayed you to the other option. After all, he wanted you happy, and he didn’t care what your form looked like to make that happen.

Until he got you undressed in a different circumstance. 

Until he was bullying his way into your sweet cunt with your soft form pressed against him. Your breasts bouncing against the hard plane of his chest, thick thighs hooked over his slim hips, heels pressed into the small of his back. You felt like velvet all over - from the soft skin pulled taut over wide hips in his hands to the wet heat wrapped around his cock. He hasn’t been so close to blowing his load so soon since his first time between your thighs. 

“Look so beautiful, my love,” spilled from his lips like a waterfall. He simply couldn’t hold it back, and besides that, he wouldn’t want to. His Queen deserved to know just how stunning she was, every minute of the day. Especially when it made you moan into his ear, hand snapping over your mouth like you could take it back, turning away from him even as your hips met his with every thrust. 

His Queen was so shy. 

Loki took the soft tendon on your neck between his teeth, gently working a mark onto the skin, groaning against you as your walls fluttered around him at the sensation. “Don’t hide from me, love,” he coaxed. Long fingers wrapped around your neck from behind, rubbing gentle circles into your hairline, completely contrary and yet perfectly befitting the way he hammered into you. His other hand traveled your body like he was discovering you all over again, caressing every new dip and pudge of skin like you were the most amazing sculpture. People across the world would marvel at your beauty, whisper that man wasn’t capable of creating such magnificence - that you were instead made by a god. 

“Stop,” you slurred through the pleasure, his rolling hips working your sensitive clit against his dark hair. Your hand on his back clawed the pale skin, leaving your mark on him as it curled into a fist, beating the breadth of his shoulders with no force. You giggled through the moans as his fingers danced over your sides, hissing, “that tickles,” at him as if that would ever implore him to quit. “Stop fondling my rolls!”

“What a cruel world,” he lamented theatrically, the only way he knew how, “when a man can’t even fondle his dearest love!” 

“Be serious when you’re in my guts!”

“I am serious, darling!” A sharp tug pulled you higher up on his lap, cock spearing even deeper into you, pushing out a whine from deep in your chest. “Don’t you feel how well we fit? You’re perfect, my love, and your body’s no exception.”

He let you hide away in his neck, nipping your own small marks onto him as his thrusts turned slower, more sensual. “Even when I’ve gained-”

“Don’t you Midgardians have a saying about that? ‘In sickness and in health?’” 

Your lips stretched against him, betraying the way you tried to sound less eager as your hips rolled against his. “Those are wedding vows, Loki.”

He guided you to his lips, devouring you with a smile. “I’m practicing for the future, then.” 

He delighted in the way you giggled as you came on his cock, holding him close as he fucked you through it. He craved the way you no longer shied away when he groped your waist, pulling you harder against him as he used the way your cunt sucked him in to chase his own end.

He had a standing reservation made before your legs stopped shaking.

[pixielover1]

Wild Flowers.

Part one. Part two. Part three.

Monster!König x Reader.

The night fell and you were still too afriad to move. You feared the beast would come back to eat or kill you. The thought of him coming to finish the job rattled your bones, making it impossible to sleep. You were starving too. Chilly gusts of wind would leak through your now broken door, making the situation even harder to bear. After minutes of mustering up your courage, you stood to shaky feet and tried to silently creep through your own house. You searched for food, your stomach rumbling at the lack of sustenance. It then dawns on you that today was harvesting day and you had a heap of fresh food waiting for you. Outside. You shivered at the thought of even stepping foot on the grass surrounding your porch, but your famished body urged you to go. You inched out, weary of any watching presence you were confident stalked about. You reached your small garden after what seemed like years, bending down to grab the basket. Then you heard it. The rustling of the forest leaves. Your head jerks up at the sound and there you are, met with his gaze once more. You stop breathing all together, body tensing. He seems even bigger than before, even with the cloak of the dark woods. You start to take in his physical with the little light you had, noticing his bulging muscles and injuries littered around his skin. He wasn’t ugly like a beast, strange. What was he? The thoughts dissipate instantly as he takes a step towards you. You drop the basket and your feet track backwards, trying to keep your distance from.. it? He stalks closer and you’re almost positive he’ll lunge forward.

Königs claws slowly reach down, grabbing a tomato and plopping it back into your basket which rested on the ground. He continues his motions, gathering your fallen food and placing them back where they belong. His small rationale tells him he is doing the right thing, and that he was helping his angel. König does forget his appearance though, how he perfectly embodies the apex predator he was. He doesn’t know how his thick fangs flash every time he opens his mouth. He doesn’t know how powerful his gaze is. And he certainly doesn’t know how hot lethal his hands looked. All veiny and bruised, they looked like they could snap you in half instantly. All of this combined with his hairy wolfish body made him horrifying, but damn sexy.

He continues to gently pick up the basket and extends his arm, offering it to you. Your eyebrows furrow as you finally think about what he is doing. He is being nice. Your hands hesitantly take the basket from him, both of your eyes locked on one another's. He moves into you, making you flinch and close your eyes for a moment. They peek open when you hear a click in the distance. The beast was gone. You ran back around to your front door and couldn’t help but notice the hinge back in place. He fixed the door. A smile played at the corners of your mouth as you wrap your head around all his previous gestures. He had never once tried to hurt you, he only aided you. You sighed at the conclusion and trudged into your cabin, closing and locking the door behind you. You make a quick meal before finally retiring off to bed. Maybe, just maybe, you’d make him a thank you gift in the morning.

The sun rises and it is not nearly as sweet as the day before. The air was thicker knowing there was something watching you. You rolled out of bed, still exhausted from the day prior but determined to finish up your neglected chores. You take a glance at your basket of crops and memories flood back into you. Flashes of his rough and masculine body under the moonlight invade your mind, uninvited and perverted. You heartbeat fastens as his good-natured actions circle your psyche. You let out a frustrated groan, holding your head in your hands. Why didn’t you hate the thought of him? Irritated with yourself, you cave in and make the mutant a stew. Using your prime vegetables and bone broth you create a warm, homey soup. You walk outside into the familiar cold air, pot in hand. You peer into the eerie surroundings as you place the pot down at the edge of the tree line. “Hello?” You called out into the dawning, oddly silent woods. Your soft voice coaxed the hunter from his hiding spot. Promptly, König is emerging from the trees, in front of you in an instant. Dark eyes are trained on you. You take notice of his still tail and a part of you feels somber that he isn't showing as much excitement as before. You shake the silly idea out of your head and point at the pot. “Thank you. For taking care of the snake and um.. helping me with my vegetables.” You mumble, eyes looking everywhere but his. Unable to control himself any longer, König takes a sizable leg closer and wraps his arms around you. His grip was tight. Your eyes widen in shock at the reflex, your breath being whisked away from the firm hug. Fear arose inside you at the proximity, but a new emotion found its way into you as well. You remained stiff, naturally after becoming scared again. He reluctantly releases you after long seconds once he comes to realize you're uncomfortable. Your eyes meet his for the first time that morning and he speaks to you. “Alles für dich.” (Anything for you.) Something sparks inside of you when you hear his voice. It’s gruff and raspy, as if he hasn’t spoken in years. You don’t know that he hasn’t. You don’t understand the language he speaks, making you tilt your head in confusion. His nose begins to sniff out the food you prepared and his tail sways a bit when he notices the pot. You take this time to speak up, clearing your throat to ask, “Do you speak English? I’m sorry but I didn’t understand what you said.” Never did you think you’d be apologizing to a hybrid brute like him, but here you were. His sight is back on you and his lips twitch a bit. The pace of his wagging tail quickens as he huffs out a response, “Yes.” Königs heart is thumping out of his chest because he's actually talking to you, communicating with the one he's already dedicated his life to.

Königs deep voice continues to make you feel something new, something primal. You take a step back because suddenly the air is hot and stuffy. He motions at the pot, “For me?” He asks, accent thick. You nod simply, waving at the container as if to say ‘dig in’. You turn to leave, but you stop yourself. What the hell were you doing? Your brain sounds the alarm as your lips part and speak something insane. Something you shouldn’t have said. “Would you like to come home with me?”

[fxckedupdaydreams]

tw; afab reader, period mentions, this is self indulgent

“do you want a heating pad? or would you prefer a warm drink? i can make you hot cocoa if you’re craving chocolate and need something war—”

the doting was cute when it started, but it’s been an hour of diana asking you nonstop what you would like.

it began when you called out because of overwhelming cramps and that icky feeling being on your period brings.

the second she was in your apartment with a backpack full of random snacks, ingredients and pads, she was already making you get in bed while bombarding you with questions.

of course, you never told her your address so maybe she got it from your application file?

your solution? just shut her up.

wrapping an arm around her waist, you tug her down to lay beside you on the bed, the squeak that leaves her causing you to smile softly. you can’t see it but she’s clearly pouting as you roll yourself over to lay against her chest, warmth hitting you immediately as she wraps her arms around your back after a moment.

“just shut up and let me sleep on you for a few hours.” you murmur into her chest, “but i do want the hot cocoa later.”

she giggles, fingers beginning to play with your hair as she relaxes against you too.

“i’ll include your pastry of choice, then.” she whispers back, watching as you begin to doze off.

[erinfern0]

the prettiest thing.

simon "ghost" riley x plus size!afab!reader

— afab anatomy, gender-neutral nicknames, only pronouns used are you, etc.

summary: visiting simon after he's back from deployment was always nice, but you feel anxious about getting intimate with him. simon quickly shows you how irrational your worries are.

warnings: over 3k words, slightly self-indulgent, established relationship, performance anxiety, first time together (not virginity loss), stretch marks, praise and body worship, fingering, oral, protected sex, biting and marking, simon being slightly possesive.

Standing by the door to his flat, Simon already felt the calming scent of your perfume. When he opened it, the smell hit him before he could even spot your face on the other side. As soon as he did spot it, though, a smile fell on his lips.

His arms wrapped around your waist, enjoying the warmth of your body against his. You didn't need words to express how much you missed him, just throwing your arms over his shoulders to bring him closer to you. Simon's head quickly found the crook of your neck, humming against the soft skin.

You two stood there for a couple of seconds, embracing yourself in another's presence. His lips left a single kiss on top of your head before he pulled away to do the same to your mouth. "Hi there." Simon whispered, as his hands travelled down to your hips, holding them tightly.

"Happy to see you, Si." you replied, feeling the warmth of your own cheeks.

He closed the door with his foot and guided you deeper into his flat after you kicked your shoes off. Still placing one hand on your hip, he led you into his bedroom, pointing at the bed because it was the most comfortable place in his flat. "I'm goin' to grab some water, do you want anything?"

You shook your head. While waiting, you sat down with your legs stretched in front of you. Hearing him walk around in his kitchen brought a smile to your face. You missed him so much, that you felt as if your heart was about to explode the moment you see his face again.

And you were almost right. The moment he got back, you were smiling again, heart pounding, and feeling as if your fingertips needed to feel his skin again.

"You okay there, love?" he asked, looking down at you. You just nodded your head, breathing in the familiar scent of him, the scent that always warmed your heart. The natural smell of his skin, the slightest hint of his aftershave connected with his shampoo and cigarettes made your head feel at ease.

His arm slithered around your waist, keeping you close as his other hand rubbed your thigh. Soft, calming circles with his thumb as he kissed your forehead.

Simon loved the warmth of skin, hidden beneath the fabric of your pants. It was the greatest reward for surviving another day. For finding his way back to you. Especially when he could just trace the curves of your body and feel the softness of them. So different to everything he experienced during his deployment.

You felt a rush of goosebumps run up your spine as you felt the hand on your back slowly ease its way under your shirt, tracing the sensitive skin and marks on it. Looking up, trying to see if he truly meant to do it, you met his gaze. The light of the lamp beside you reflected in them, making them shine so prettily. You could feel yourself getting lost in them once more, after all this time away it felt the same. Almost overwhelming.

Pure love and trust emitting from them made your heart flutter. You couldn't stop admiring the warmth of them. A smile found its way to not only your lips but also your own eyes. Simon wasn't a man of many words, but you didn't need to hear them to know exactly how he felt.

You closed your eyes, trying to allow the warmth of his palm to take over your body, but you just couldn't help overthinking. Does he really mean it? Does he really want it? Does he want me? You bit your lower lip, looking up at him.

"What's wrong?" Simon asked, concern filling his voice. That made your chin twitch, it was so close to breaking down with tears. "Hey, hey, hey..." he whispered, cupping your cheeks.

You leaned against his touch, trying to calm down. It wasn't simple, but you finally did, looking back into his eyes. One of his hands found yours, interlocking your fingers. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." he starts, but you stop him by shaking your head.

As soon as he sat down and placed the mug on the bedside table, you wrapped your arms around his torso, fingers lingering over the material of his baggy shirt.

"It's not like that." you whispered and swallowed harshly. You smiled slightly and placed his hand on your thigh. "I trust you." you reminded him, tracing the scar around his wrist. "You just haven't seen me yet."

The confusion that sprung on his face made you laugh nervously. Simon fixed his posture to turn his body towards you. The light from the dimmed lamp behind you allowed you to see his face clearly. "If you don't want me to see, we can just turn the lights off..." You shook your head again and he furrowed his brows. "Then explain, because I'm kind of gettin' confused, love."

You sighed and moved on the bed, to sit cross-legged in front of him. You fixed the material of your sweater to cover your body a little more. "I don't want you to be disappointed."

Simon gasped, seemingly upset at your words. He couldn't have heard you correct. "Sweetheart." he called, sitting up. His hands found your shoulders, softly rubbing them with his thumbs. "Look at me."

"No, Si, it's just..." you sighed and crossed your arms over your chest, touching his hands. "My body probably doesn't look the way you imagined, there are all of those folds and those damn stretch marks, I just..."

"Sweetheart." he repeated, looking into your eyes and slightly shaking your arms to bring you back from those thoughts. Simon waited a couple of seconds before he let his hands slide down to your waist, gently caressing the plush of your sides. "Those are literally my favorites."

You blinked at his words a few times. "Favorites?" you asked, trying to hide the shock appearing on your face. Maybe also trying to hide how warm your cheeks had gotten.

"Trust me, I get a little crazy every time you show them off in those cute tops of yours or whenever you wear my shirts." he chuckled softly, his arms guiding your back to lie against the sheets. "Can't get enough of you."

Despite your worries, Simon made you feel loved in more ways than he believed he could. Especially when he looked at you so wholeheartedly, eyes moved down at your stomach that was showing after your sweater raised a little bit while lying down.

Before you managed to pull it down, Simon reached his hand down, looking at you for consent before he traced the lines spread over your skin. They were always sensitive, but this time the touch made you shiver slightly and look at his hand. He barely even touched them, and you began sucking in your stomach.

Simon chuckled at your actions, lowering his mouth to press a warm kiss to one of the lines, moving to the next one before you could think about it. His hands moved to cup your sides, holding you down, so you wouldn't squirm that much.

Your fingers intertwined with his hair, slowly playing with it and scratching at his scalp, showing him your approval. You liked it, a little too much, perhaps. Your breathing became shallow, watching the way he peppers your scarred skin with soft kisses, moving up your body until his lips met the material of your bra.

His eyes met yours, so close yet so far. You spread your thighs a little more, inviting him between them, so he could hook your legs over his. The movement made your body bounce off of his, your chest and stomach making a tiny shift, your cheeks getting warmer again. His hands rubbed the sides of your legs and moved up.

You couldn't help but look at him. His own eyes were focused on the way your chest moved. That shit-eating grin appeared on his lips as his fingers made their way up, making you subconsciously lift your back from the bed, helping him to unclasp the bra and take off your shirt.

Simon caught your lips to kiss them gently, still smiling as he moved his hands to your front, teasing the underline of your breasts. The pads of his thumbs felt so good on your skin, as if they belonged there from the start. His lips found the crook of your neck, first softly kissing, getting sloppier every time you tugged on the material of his hoodie.

The way your hips started to grind against his drove him insane, you could feel him get harder under the jeans he wore. You tilted your head a bit, giving him better access to the soft skin, allowing him to graze it with his teeth. Shyly, you moved your fingers under his hoodie, teasing his abs with your nails.

"No need to rush." he reminded you, gripping at your hip to ground you, his other hand reaching to graze your cheek. Simon looked up, catching you biting your lower lip to stop yourself from all those noises you were about to make, taking them as silly.

His thumb slowly slid between your lips, making your teeth free one of them. Placing another kiss on the corner of your mouth, he chuckled at the way you tried to chase after him. The pout on your face made his whole body warmer.

"I want it, Si." you started, looking into his eyes to see if he actually meant all of it, if he wasn't doing it out of pity or something worse. But you couldn't mistake the lust in them for anything else.

"Let me do all the work, yeah?" he cooed against your ear, nose teasing your cheek before he moved lower again, kissing his way down your body, stopping right between your breasts. He cupped them, watching the way your nipples hardened around his fingers.

You gasped, hips jolting against his looking or that friction you so desperately needed. "Sweet, sensitive thing, aren't you?" he whispered, moving his thumbs over the buds, teasing them. The feeling made you shiver again, legs wrapping a little tighter around him.

You looked away, trying not to think about the way you must have looked, but he quickly caught on to what you were trying to do. His fingers gently pulled on your nipples, rubbing them as he looked up at you. "Focus on me, beautiful."

Beautiful. The word rolled off his tongue so easily it made your heart flutter. Your hands gripped his sides under his hoodie, using your thumbs to trace some of the scars, smiling mindlessly as he praised you.

Soon enough, you forgot how to use your words properly. His lips wrapped around your nipple, while the other was covered by his palm, kneading your breast. He hummed happily, lapping at the sensitive bud as he closed his eyes. You could watch how passionate and excited he gets, more and more every time you allowed those soft moans to leave your mouth.

His hoodie was gone a long time ago, allowing your nails to dig into the skin on his back as he moved his way down, kissing the stretchmarks again. This time, though, his fingers hooked over the band of your sweatpants and underwear, looking up at you. "Think I can take them off, love?" he asked, his voice hoarse with arousal.

You nodded your head, shifting in your position to allow him to take them off. You gasped at the feeling of cold air hitting your core, already drenched. Simon's palms rested atop your knees, slowly spreading them as he lowered his body. You squirmed as his lips moved over your inner thigh, intensively staring into your eyes.

He couldn't stop his eyes from rolling when you tugged on his hair harder, arching your back when his thumbs spread your folds, tongue making a long lick from your tightening hole to your clit. "God." he groaned, immediately repeating his actions, already getting addicted to your taste.

His palm rested on your stomach, gently kneading it as he sucked on the sensitive bud, circling his tongue around it. You fought hard to keep your legs spread for him, soft gasps leaving your lips. You were slowly losing all sense of control, the more the pad of his thumb pressed at your clenching hole.

Soon, it slid inside, getting you used to the feeling of him inside of you. Simon's hips grinding rapidly against the bed, jeans already painfully tight over his bulge. Your hips matched the rhythm of his tongue on you, spreading your arousal over his face.

His index and middle fingers rubbed your entrance, making you hear the squelching sounds of your wet heat. Simon slowly pushed them inside, making your thighs tremble around his head, whimpering with pure need.

"Patience." he chuckled, sliding them in and out, soothing your walls and groaning at the warmth of you. Your name slipped from his lips when you pulled on his hair again, quietly begging him to continue lapping at your cunt.

Simon's lips curved in a smirk, leaving kisses all over your labia. His free hand unbuckled his belt, pushing his jeans down to his ankles. After he was done, he returned to licking various shapes over and between your folds before he sucked your clit.

The way you kept chanting his name, the soft whines of pleasure filling the room made his mind fogged up. His tip leaked over his boxers, but he didn't stop until your orgasm came crashing down your body. He made your back arch and legs shake against his ears, almost suffocating him. That was a sacrifice he was willing to make to hear you moan his name like this again.

Simon kept his face buried between your thighs until you came back from your high, looking down at him with those pleading eyes he couldn't say no to. His massive frame moved to the bedside table, leaning down to grab something from it.

You were panting as you watched his actions, the way he got back to you, guiding your legs to wrap around him. A satisfied grin appeared on his face as he got closer. Simon pressed a kiss to your temple, groaning as your fingers intertwined with his hair again.

His palm rested on top of your cunt, making you gasp. "Oh, you actually are a sensitive thing." he cooed, tapping your heat and enjoying the impact of your legs enclosing him. You squirmed and brought his head closer to yours, kissing him before your smaller hand reached down.

Simon locked his eyes on yours, humming with appreciation when your fingers traced the outline of his cock. Before he could remind you to be patient, you pulled his underwear down, earning a surprised hiss from him.

"Can you just wait a little more, love?" he whispered, beginning to mark your neck, while he pushed your hand away. Simon sat up, soothing your thigh with one hand while the other found the condom he got from his side table. He quickly opened the wrapper, throwing it somewhere next to you.

You felt more confident with your actions when you pulled on his tags as soon as he pushed the condom over his shaft. His lips met yours. Slowly, he teased your lower lip with his tongue, waiting for you to allow it inside.

You did, opening your mouth a little more, the same moment the tip of his cock rested over your clit. You whimpered, dragging your nails over his neck and back. Simon chuckled against you, pulling back just to look into your eyes again.

He craved to watch your reactions, every little movement of your lips, the flutter of your eyelashes. He especially loved the way you fought to not let your eyes roll back when he tapped his tip over your clit a few times.

One of your hands rested on his chest, the other playing with his hair as he coated his cock with your arousal. His face was mere centimeters away from yours when he supported his body on his forearm, you could feel his warm breath on your cheek.

You caught his eyes again, this time they expressed a silent question: "Are you sure?" Without waiting for him to say it out loud, you nodded your head. He smiled at your eagerness.

He didn't let you look away as he slowly pushed the tip in. The feeling of your walls clenching around him made him curse under his breath,. When you asked if he was okay, he furrowed his brows. "Okay? Fuck, love." he chuckled, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead atop yours. "You feel like actual Heaven."

At this point, you couldn't even express how happy you felt with him. Every word, every touch was soaked with his adoration towards you. Simon's breath started to get more shallow every second he thursted inside of you. He truly felt heavenly, mostly because of the way you clenched around him, but your sweet moans of his name drove him insane.

He felt like he was getting addicted to you, more and more every time you tried to grasp his arms or arch your back against him, making the soft skin of your stomach press against his abs.

His free hand reached down to where your bodies connected the most, thumb rubbing soft circles over your swollen clit. "Can you give me one more, baby?" he asked, smirking as your thighs started to close around him. Simon smiled teasingly as you nodded again. "Use your words for me, can you?"

"Mhm, yes, Simon." you whined as the tip of his shaft hit that spot inside of you.

He murmured something before he changed his position. He lifted his body so he could kneel between your legs, one hand holding your thigh, fingers digging into it while the other rested on your other thigh, sliding closer to your core just to continue rubbing your clit.

Simon's eyes met yours, that lustful expression never leaving them. You could see how lost he truly was, almost overwhelmed with how good he felt, trying to make you feel even better. His skin glistened in the dim light of his bedroom, covered in a couple droplets of sweat and accompanied by the many scars he gained over the years.

Your hand shyly reached down, tracing the tattoos on his forearm, trying to touch him however you could, you just needed to feel his skin under your fingertips. The hand that held your thigh moved to grab your hip, guiding your movements to meet his.

The sounds of skin slapping against each other made your face warmer with embarrassment, but you tried to focus on the tags on his neck, bouncing off his chest with every thrust of his hips.

You felt yourself getting closer, the coil in your stomach slowly getting tighter when he kept that steady pace, grunting your name while his head got thrown back. He tried his best to concentrate, but he was so touch-starved that it was difficult to wait that long.

"Need you closer, Si." you mewled, trying to pull him towards you and he nodded, leaning forward to rest his forearm next to your head again. Still holding your hip, he slowed his movements to allow you to accommodate.

"Close enough?" he asked, his teeth grazing over the skin of your collarbone. The moan escaping your lips was enough of an answer for him. Simon cherished the sounds you made, feeling something bigger than pride hearing them, combined with the sting of marks you left on his back.

And you were becoming louder by the second, your sounds made him feel dizzy and got him even closer to the edge. His thrusts turned erratic and sloppy, earning more clenches on your cunt around his cock.

Instead of circling your clit, he started giving it light slaps, repeatedly tapping the overly sensitive bud of nerves, before he got back to those soothing circles. Your mouth stayed open, brows furrowed from pleasure as you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer.

He bit into your shoulder, enough to let you feel just how feral you turned him. To mark you as his as much as he thought you deserved. The sharp sting of his teeth sinking into your skin made you cry out in both pain and pleasure, something so simple driving you insane.

You tried to tell him how close you were, but all you could manage to babble out was his name, over and over until the knot in your stomach uncoiled. Your moans, the shake of your legs, and that goddamned clenching made him cum deep inside of you with a sharp inhale, followed by a moan of your name.

You two stayed there, catching your breaths and looking into each other's eyes when wrapping your arms around each other. Simon buried his head in the crook of your neck, kissing the dark mark of his teeth in a soothing manner, his palm doing the same to the bruises on your hip.

He hummed against your skin, inhaling the calming scent of your skin before he moved his hips, just enough to slip out of you. Then, he lied next to you, one arm under your head while the other traveled over your body.

Starting with the valley of your breasts, moving down to rub your stomach and thighs, so tired from holding them spread all this time. You closed your eyes, loving the warmth of his body next to you, hand reaching to interlock your fingers. You kissed his shoulder and nuzzled your face in his chest.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable. And despite your worries, you didn't think about all those noises you made, he made sure to keep your mind occupied with his soft touches and sweet iloveyou's whispered against the crown of your head. You whispered them back, the vibration of your voice against his chest made him chuckle.

"My prettiest little thing, you did so well f'me." he cooed, playing with your hair. You nodded, accepting your new title without any doubts, slowly drifting off to sleep, leaving him to kiss your forehead for the last time before he got out of bed to clean you up

After taking care of himself too, he found you lying on your side, partially covered with his sheets, making him smile at the view. Simon rested behind you, wrapping his arm around your body to hold you close to him, joining you in the peaceful slumber.

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