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teffyx · 16 days ago

Note

I kindly ask that you write about Abby raw dogging us to hell and back with his inhumane strength please 🙏

Well you guys asked and I delivered 🤭 omg this came to me SO fast after seeing the whole “seven minutes in heaven” trend all over TikTok lol. Huge thanks to anon for the request 💋 And the requests are open if you have any petition 🫰🏻

Warnings: Explicit smut , p in v, rough sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise/degradation, semi-public setting, creampie (wrap it up guys), size kink, strong language. Minors DNI.

SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN

Abby Saja x Fem! Reader

The lights of the award stage were still dazzling in your eyes when you caught sight of him. Abby, freshly descended from the stage with the other Saja Boys, his chest still rising fast, the damp sheen of sweat glinting under the spotlights. He looked like he’d just stepped straight out of a fever dream made flesh—broad shoulders under a shirt that clung indecently tight to the sculpt of his torso, abs flexing every time he breathed in, veins still standing at his forearms from the adrenaline of performing.

You’d known him since his debut, since the day pink-haired Abby had locked eyes with you across a crowded room and smirked like he already knew what you tasted like. Since then, it had been endless games of flirtation—snide comments, too-long glances, little provocations passed back and forth until the other boys were rolling their eyes, muttering for Abby to do more than just talk.

Tonight, you could feel every ounce of that tension return tenfold. Because when he came down those stairs, catching your gaze, he didn’t look like an idol anymore. He looked like sin in motion.

Your thighs pressed together before you could stop them. Heat coiled low in your belly, your corset squeezing tighter with every shallow breath. The skirt you wore felt too short, indecent even, your breasts pushed dangerously high against the boning. And the more you let your eyes linger on him—the way his shirt stuck to his skin, the way his mouth parted slightly as he caught his breath—the more vivid the images in your head became.

You pictured his hands on you, palms spreading your thighs, mouth at your chest, tongue working until you came undone on nothing but his lips. You imagined his abs slick with sweat under your hands while his cock split you wide open, imagined his voice wrecked and low in your ear, whispering filth until you couldn’t take anymore.

Your cheeks burned. Your thighs clenched harder. The wetness gathering between them was impossible to ignore.

And Abby—of course he noticed. His kind of supernatural senses made sure of it. The moment his boots hit the floor, his nose flared just slightly, pupils darkening as the scent of your arousal reached him. He dragged his gaze down the length of you, stopping unapologetically at the swell of your tits straining against the corset. His jaw flexed.

He looked like a man starved.

By the time he was in front of you, you barely had the strength to keep your composure.

“Fuck,” he muttered low, voice so deep it curled in your stomach. “Look at you. Dressed like that—just for me?”

You swallowed, trying for playful, but your voice betrayed you with its tremor. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Abby smirked, leaning down just enough for only you to hear. “Sweetheart, I don’t need to. I can smell how much you want me.” His eyes flicked deliberately between your legs. “Almost dripping through your pretty little panties already, huh?”

Your face went hot. You reached blindly for the glass of water on the table beside you, desperate for a distraction. Anything to cool the fire crawling up your skin. You lifted it, tipped it back—but as you lowered it, a droplet escaped, sliding down your jaw, across your throat, and slipping between the curve of your breasts.

Abby’s restraint snapped.

In one swift movement, his hand was at your wrist, firm and unyielding, dragging you before you could protest. He maneuvered you with ease, slipping past busy crew members without a second glance, shoving open the door of your assigned dressing room. The lock clicked into place behind you, and suddenly, your back hit the wall.

“Abby—” You barely got his name out before his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t a kiss—it was a claim. His lips devoured yours, tongue pushing past your parted mouth like he owned it. The taste of him flooded you—heat, hunger, need. His body pressed tight to yours, his chest like steel as he caged you against the wall. His hands gripped your thighs, hauling you up with effortless strength until your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist.

That’s when you felt it—thick, hard, the bulge of his cock grinding against your soaked panties. You gasped into the kiss, and Abby growled, deep and primal, pressing harder so you felt every inch of him through the thin barrier.

The kiss turned messy fast—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, saliva slicking your lips. You moaned, a sound swallowed by his mouth, and his grip on your thighs tightened.

Then—knock knock.

The two of you froze, still panting into each other’s mouths.

“Y/N, you’re on in ten minutes!” a voice called from the other side of the door.

Your lungs seized. Somehow, you forced out, “Of course! I’ll be there!” The words wavered, shaky with the arousal still coursing through you.

The staffer’s footsteps faded. Abby chuckled against your throat.

“Ten minutes?” His teeth grazed your ear. “Good. I only need seven.”

Before you could respond, he claimed your mouth again, hungrier than before. One of your hands scrambled to unbutton his shirt, tugging desperately at the fabric. The moment your fingers brushed over his chest, hard muscle beneath, he groaned deep.

“Goddamn,” he rasped, breaking the kiss just enough to smirk down at you. “So desperate you can’t wait, huh?”

Your hips shifted against his, seeking friction, and a strangled moan slipped out. “Please…”

That was all he needed.

Abby carried you to the sofa, dropping down with you astride his lap. The new angle had you gasping, your clothed cunt pressed directly against the thick length straining his pants. You rocked instinctively, grinding down, every drag sending sparks up your spine.

He kissed you again—sloppy, consuming—before his hand slid between you. Fingers traced up your thigh, under your dress, finding the drenched fabric of your panties. He groaned the second he touched them.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” His fingers pushed past the barrier, finally meeting your heat. The thick pad of one slid through your folds, gathering your wetness, and you choked on a moan.

Your body arched, back curving, nails digging into his shoulders. His fingers circled your clit once, slow and deliberate, before pressing two inside you. The stretch stole your breath—thick and filling, even just his fingers.

“Abby—”

He leaned in, lips at your throat. “Tight little hole,” he muttered against your skin, pumping slow at first. “Gripping me like you don’t want me to leave.”

You whimpered, head falling back. The pace quickened, his fingers curling just right, brushing your walls until your hips bucked uncontrollably.

“That’s it, baby. Ride my hand like the needy slut you are.”

Tears pricked your eyes from the overwhelming sensation, every thrust dragging you closer. His free hand squeezed your ass, guiding your movements as you ground down harder.

“Gonna cum, huh? Gonna cream all over my fingers before I even get this cock inside you?” His tongue traced hot along your collarbone. “Do it. Show me how good you can be.”

The knot in your stomach coiled tight, seconds from snapping—

And then his fingers slipped free.

You cried out, clenching around nothing, tears of frustration spilling.

Abby only smirked, licking your arousal from his fingers slowly, theatrically. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” He caught your chin, kissed you hard, making you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your hands scrambled for his chest again, but he caught them easily, pinning them behind your back with one big hand.

“No time for that.” His eyes burned into yours. “I’m gonna fuck you with my cock, and you’re gonna take it like a good girl. You’ll cum when I say you can cum. Understand?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes—yes, Abby.”

“Good.” He freed his belt, pants sliding low enough to free his cock. Your breath hitched.

It was monstrous—thick, veiny, flushed an angry red at the tip, already dripping with pre-cum.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, lining himself up. “We’ll make it fit.”

His hands gripped your waist, lowering you slowly. The blunt head pressed to your entrance, stretching you inch by inch. You gasped, covering your mouth, body trembling at the burn and the unbearable fullness.

“That’s it,” Abby grunted, voice wrecked. “Take it all. Take every inch.”

By the time you were seated fully, cock buried to the base inside you, you were clinging to him like you might fall apart. The stretch was dizzying, the weight of him filling you completely.

Abby’s forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. “Fuck, baby. This pussy—so tight around me. You’re perfect.”

The slow grind turned brutal fast. His grip on your waist tightened, lifting you, slamming you back down, fucking you onto him with ruthless strength. The room filled with the sounds of your choked moans, the wet slap of skin, his guttural groans in your ear.

You tried to muffle your cries against his shoulder, but Abby caught your jaw, forcing your eyes on him. “No hiding. I want to hear you scream for me.”

You shattered under him. Every thrust hit deeper, harder, angled to drag against the spot inside that made your vision blur. Tears spilled freely as you babbled incoherently—“so big, so good, don’t stop—”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Abby growled, sweat dripping from his temple. “My perfect little slut. Milking my cock like you were made for it.”

The pressure built, unbearable, your body tensing as you fell apart around him.

“Abby, I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Cum.” His teeth sank into your shoulder, muffling his own groan. “Cum on my cock, baby. Make a mess all over me.”

The orgasm tore through you, violent and blinding, your cunt clamping down on him with spasms so tight it dragged a broken shout from his chest.

“Fuck—” His hips stuttered, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you, hot and heavy, filling you to the brim.

For a moment, silence. Just harsh breaths, your trembling body pressed against his.

You lifted your head, eyes glassy, lips parted. Abby smirked, pressing a messy kiss to your swollen mouth. “You’re incredible.”

Knock knock.

“Y/N, two minutes!” someone shouted before walking away.

Abby chuckled darkly. “See? Only took seven.”

You smacked his shoulder weakly, laughing breathlessly. He helped you off his lap, fixed your dress with skilled fingers, wiped the mess from your thighs with a tissue. Within seconds, you looked flawless again—like nothing had happened.

Except for the way your legs trembled when you stood.

Abby tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, kissed you one more time, slow and heated. “I expect that performance to be for me.”

You grinned, voice still husky. “Maybe. But if you want something special…” You leaned in, whispering, “…come to my place tonight. I’ve got a few moves of my own.”

With a wink, you swept out of the room, leaving Abby sitting there—already hardening again.

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fastasyoucant · 4 months ago

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𐙚⋆.˚ tailor-made lovin’ | annie moore oneshot.

cw | suggestive. black fem!reader. wlw. MEN DNI. she’s not with smoke. tiny mention of homophobia. allusions to cunnilingus. lowk reader act like preacher boy @ the end oops :3 word count: 1.4K

The Mississippi sun had been tucked away in the thick clouds, and a hush rolled over the shop, creating a soft, illuminated look to the room. The familiar scent of sandalwood incense clung to the fabrics surrounding you. Business has been slow this week, ain’t no orders. Ain't a wandering eye in the windows. The scuff marks on the floor reminded you that it would get busy again; time just needed to stretch its legs.

And maybe it heard you.

Because just as you turned your back toward the counter, the bell chimed. “Welcome in.” You nodded, the once furrowed brow lifting with curiosity.

"You the seamstress that I'm always hearing good things about?" Her eyes stayed on yours, letting the calm energy speak words she didn't need to.

“I’m hopin’ I can be that seamstress fo' you! What you need?” A tingle ran through you, realizing your service was essential. You needed the money for sewing materials, food, and a roof over your own head.

“The chest area on this dress here, s’a little tight. I just need it to be expanded or somethin'. You think that could be done?”

“I don't see why not! That’ll be ten.”

“Ten?” The woman laughed, not cruel but knowing. “Naw baby, I ain’t rich.”

Usually, you don’t make deals with clients, but you understood the struggle. She looked like someone who worked hard for every dollar in her pocket— She knew labor.

“Alright, seven fifty?” You tried a lower number, but tried not to play yourself.

“I can make that work.”

A smile had been crafted on her face when you took the deal. The lady unfolded the item that needed altering, a well-sewn, orange, cotton-rayon dress.

"If you don't mind, I need to take a few measurements." You grabbed the measuring tape from the small coffee table that rested behind the register, placing it around your neck.

"I don't mind at all. You gon need me to put it on right? There's a zipper on here that I always tussle wit'. I'm gon' need a bit of help."

You took in a sharp breath, your body beginning to buzz, thinking about helping her slide on that beautiful dress. You remembered the old ladies in the church, whispering about women like you-- folk they said were sinful, unnatural. Folk they pretended didn't belong.

“That’s fine by me.” You nodded your head. “I just need you to sign your name here!” Your hands snatched the loose paper and pen, placing the notepaper facing her, handing the pen to her faithfully.

She leaned onto the counter to write her name. You hoped the gulp wasn't audible. Your eyes gazed down at her chest; you were no better than a man. "Thank you, ma'am." The once blank paper had a soft signature that read 'Annie'. That name sounded familiar, and now that you thought about it, so was her face. You had seen her before. When the mundane smell of incense had been introduced to your senses once again, that's when it clicked.

"You the one wit’ that Hoodoo shop? Down on Terrance Road?" When she heard you realized who she was, those big brown eyes found a sparkle in them.

"Mhm," Her head nodded with the syllables.

"I was waitin’ on you to notice, I ‘member you coming in and buyin’ that sandalwood not too long ago." That nostalgic feel to the way she spoke only made the memory clearer.

"That's right! Usually I’m good wit' rememberin' faces. Everythin’ going well down there?" You started up conversation.

“As well as it could.”

Her shoulders fell after shrugging, she most likely didn’t want to speak about work when she was off. So you didn’t impede. “I ain’t tryna rush you, Miss Annie, but whenever you’re ready, the dressing room is that white door.” You tilted your head in the direction of it.

When Annie turned to see where she needed to go, you stole sinful glances at her. Her frame was perfect, the plaid sundress complimented her complexion. “Alright then.” She nodded and made her way to the dressing room. She didn’t spare any time trying to get the dress on. You didn’t want to ask because quite frankly, you weren’t sure if you could hide the desire to see her undraped. Then you began to hear her grunt, shuffling herself around into the dress.

“Miss Annie, you need help now?”

“Yes please.”

Slowly dragging in air, you headed towards to room. You carefully opened the door. “Zipper always givin’ me sum trouble.”

“S’alright,” Your jaw clenched, that orange against her brown skin could make flowers bloom in the winter. You began to tug at the dress’s zipper. it was almost as if it was glued in place.

“Damn, this zipper ‘bout stubborn as hell.”

“Ain’t it.” Annie huffed as you yanked continuously until it zipped up.

“Okay, let’s hurry up and get your measurements so you won’t be uncomfortable for long.” You held the door open for her. “You can gon ‘head ‘n step on that platform fo' me.”

She got on the podium, standing in front of the mirror. You were too busy staring at her to notice her looking at you through the reflection. Her lips curled as she noticed that lingering look.

“Do you mind liftin’ your arms?”

Without a word she raised her arms, keeping her sight set on you to hold eye contact. You told her what to do but she was in control. The flimsy measuring tape had made a quiet flick as you quickly took it off your neck.

You wrapped it around her bust, and the tape gently stretched around her body. You met the ends of the tape and pulled it snug.

“Thirty-eight and a half.” You muttered under your breath as you went to write her bust measurement right next to her name. “You can go back and change! I got a hanger waitin’”

You tidied up the register, throwing away wrappers and old receipts. You hadn’t heard that much movement from Annie. “Ma’am, you can—”

She was turned to you, one hand perched on her hip.

“Don’t you think I’m gon need some help gettin’ it off?” With one raise of her brow, you were quick to your feet. You followed behind her, acting like the sinful shadow. No mojo bag could keep you from her.

She walked into the dressing room, waiting for you to get yourself situated. Another breath was taken from the atmosphere when your hands found the zipper again. “Lemme know if this hurt, Miss Annie.”

You made sure to not yank the zipper, keeping every moment more gentle than the last. You got it down to where she could pull it on her own, but she wanted you to do it. She led you to the water; she just needed you to drink.

And you did.

You swiftly unzipped the rest for her. “Um— Anythin’ else I can do for ya’?”

“Mm’, I don’t think so.” She shook her head, the sundress slung around her shoulders. Annie kept her modesty in check, holding it by a thread. “You always this sweet?” A chuckle left her lips, and she toyed with the beads on her necklace.

“Um… I dunno ma’am.”

She turned to face you, her stare seductive and dominant. “You’ve been staring at me like that the entire time I done been in here.”

Your throat went dry.

“Annie— I ain’t mean nothin’ by it.” Your eyes widened as she stated the obvious fact: you were staring. More than you should’ve. And if she slapped you across the face right now, you wouldn’t even be surprised.

“Ain’t nobody say I had a problem wit’ it.”

Annie’s hand moved to your chin, tilting your head so your eyes had nothing else to do but meet hers. "You gon' keep starin'," she hummed, her thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, "or you gon' do somethin' 'bout it?"

Your breath hitched. You leaned into her warmth. The kiss was careful, you were getting a feel of the shape of her lips, something that you would never forget. But when she kissed you back, she gave you all the permission you needed.

Soon enough, your hands were resting on her waist. Her mouth opened just slightly and you sighed into it, near dizzy from how sweet she tasted. "Don't start somethin' you can't finish now." Annie rushed her words in between the sentences, hungry to get her lips back onto yours.

"I know the way of a woman." You became bold in a blink, her presence was intoxicating. Then you lowered down onto your knees, you looked up at her through your eyelashes.

"Can I show you?"

#bea written ᝰ #annie moore #Sinners (2025)#annie moore x reader #sinners x reader #sinners fanfiction #annie moore imagine #sinners imagine #wlw #lesbian #black sapphic #sinners smut #annie moore smut

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walkingnearfoxes · 2 months ago

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Never Gone (Homelander x Reader)

Homelander doesn’t like you, the new telepath on the Seven. You don’t make him feel better.

Warnings for mentions of prior assault, prior torture, smut, and a lot of telepathic fuckery. Darker than my usual stuff, so be forewarned. This is me taking out some frustration on Homelander.

Homelander does nothing to disguise the loathsome stare he’s shooting your way. Your seat at the other end of the Seven’s signature table puts you at the perfect angle to receive his silent wrath. No one present in the room can miss it, and everyone works hard to avoid his glare - except you. You seem blissfully unaware of his seething gaze, instead listening very intently to Ashley. You nod along with her nonsense. That just makes his anger worse. Up until now, Homelander has successfully avoided your introductory period to the Seven. He hasn’t so much as given you a hello; his first week meeting Starlight looks downright friendly in comparison to his treatment of you. There was a damn good reason for it. The only reason you’re here and on his team is because of fucking Stan Edgar. The CEO was silently furious with him for his public digs at Vought’s policies concerning foreign terrorists. The words “cowards” and “corrupt” may have slipped out during a conversation with Cameron Coleman. Edgar’s solution was to bring on a new “hero” to keep Homelander in his lane.

A telepath. Homelander avoided anyone with even the slightest inclination towards telepathy. Who could blame him? They were freaks. Mindstorm was a bunker nut, Mesmer was a washed-up child actor, and the kid at Godolkin is a mess of teenage hormones. It was a clear insult to Homelander that mere hours after his interview, you joined the Seven.

To make matters worse, you were doing well. The public loved your commitment to social justice and mental health reform. You had made quick friends with Starlight, and even Maeve seemed to tolerate you. Homelander was the only one who recognized what you were. You were a snake in the garden, slithering your powers into their minds before anyone realized the sin you brought.

Ashley’s voice vaguely entered his line of thought as she called out to him. “What do you think, sir?”

Homelander didn’t bother looking away from you. “Hm?”

Ashley stutters and looks to Queen Maeve for assistance. All the hero can do is shrug. Homelander’s hatred towards you is strange, but far from the most bizarre thing he’s ever done. Ashley swallows heavily and makes another attempt. “I-I…I was wondering if the premiere lineup for the summer made sense, sir.”

He’s still staring at you. You finally turn and make direct eye contact with him. You blink in surprise, as if you are only just now discovering his glare. Then, in a move that nearly springs him across the table to break your neck, you lift a hand and wave. You wave.

“Looks great, Ashley,” Homelander finally speaks without looking at Ashley, and stands so suddenly that half the room flinches. “I think we’re done here.”

Ashley holds her presentation clicker lamely in her hand. “U-Uh…sir, we still have to discuss-”

“We’re done,” He repeats. Normally, the jolt the woman gives would amuse him - but he’s in too foul a mood. He waves at the door. “All of you, out.”

Homelander does not need to repeat himself. Everyone is jumping out of their chairs, either out of fear or relief to be free from another meeting. You are the last to stand, and he catches you with a finger pointed at you. “Not you. Stay.”

You pause halfway to standing. Several members of the team shoot you glances, but you do not return them. They seem worried about what state your body will be in in the next hour, but you don’t seem to care. Homelander barely bites back a growl and turns to face the city skyline. It’s a calm spring day. The sun reflects off the skyscrapers, turning New York into a masquerade of mirrors. Distorted, but beautiful. It’s a day when he particularly enjoys flight. Maybe he’ll go for a fly after reminding you of your place.

The door shuts, and the two of you are alone. Homelander hears your footsteps as you slowly approach to stand beside him. Your heart is steady, slightly elevated. You don’t fear him. He hates you for it.

“Is everything okay?” You ask him, your voice so reeking of innocence he almost believes in its sincerity. Almost. His hands, folded underneath his cape, clench around one another. He turns to look at you out of the corner of his eye, scanning you up and down. Your blood pressure is slightly higher than it should be, but there is no other sign of stress in your body.

His gaze narrows. “We haven’t spoken much since you joined the team…how’re you enjoying New York?”

You tilt your head, pausing before you reply. “It’s…fine.”

He scoffs a laugh. “Fine?” He reveals a hand from under his cape to gesture to the expansive windows. “The biggest city in the world in the greatest country on Earth, and it’s fine?”

You smile politely. “It’s…more than fine? It isn’t home yet. But it is beautiful. I’m excited to learn all of its secrets.”

Homelander growls under his breath. “Oh, I’m sure you are.”

Your head cocks again, and he’s reminded bitterly of a puzzled puppy. “What do you mean?” You ask.

“Answer me this,” Homelander turns to face you fully. He takes a step closer in the action so you must tilt your chin up to maintain eye contact. “How many dicks did you have to suck to get here, huh?”

Your brow furrows. “I-”

“You do not belong here,” He hisses the words as he takes another step closer. “I don’t need a telepath on the Seven. You are weak, and the second you fuck up, you’re gone. This is my team, not Edgar’s. You understand?”

You’re silent for so long that he nearly decides on more insults to fill the silence. Your expression is unreadable, even to him. You’re calm. You’re so damn calm. Finally, you nod. “Understood.”

He nods with a grunt. “Good. Now get the fuck out.”

You hum and fold your hands behind your back. “No, thank you.”

Homelander’s eyes widen, and he arches his neck back in shock. Perhaps he hadn’t been forward enough in his threats; maybe a physical demonstration was in order. “Excuse me?”

“I think there’s still a lot we need to talk about.” You turn to look out the window, and your brow furrows. Your hands fold behind your back, and he just knows you’re mocking his pose. “But maybe this isn’t a comfortable enough spot for that kind of talk…maybe we should move to the bad room?”

Homelander is above human feelings. He doesn’t allow fear to curdle his veins - not anymore. Then, you say “the bad room,” and something in him twitches. He refracts to a smaller version of himself and desperately looks for a reason. To find it, his entire body stills. “What did you say?”

You meet his gaze and then nod to the window. He follows your gaze and chokes. The city skies have turned into the bad room. He would recognize those walls anywhere. The white tiles were as neutral as ever, the number of nameless blocks amounting to the same torturous number. The floor was the same mind-numbing gray. The space is empty - but then, it’s not. You are suddenly standing in the middle, your hands still folded behind your back. “Is this better, John?” You ask, and when you say that name, the room echoes in Barbara’s voice.

Homelander is frozen. The room around him that was once in Vought Tower has faded into the bad room, leaving him trapped with you. He very nearly crumbles. Then, he recognizes the silence. He can’t hear the buzzing of the lights, those damned bulbs like mosquitoes. He isn’t there. He isn’t back. He’s with you. Rage overtakes him. He flies at you at his fastest speed, intent on ripping you in half. He reaches a hand for your neck, but it goes right through you. He has to stop short of slamming into the wall behind where you stand - or stood. He lands on his feet, lets out a strangled gasp, and whips back around. You’re facing him already, somehow.

“Nice try, buddy.” You’re mimicking his voice now, and it makes him gag. “But you can’t kill me in your own mind.”

So these are your tricks. Homelander storms forward, his shadow encompassing you where you stand. You don’t flinch. “Get out of my head,” He demands in a heated whisper. “Now.”

“Or what?”

The chuckle he makes is near insane. He hears it in his voice. “Oh, when I get out of here…I am going to rip you limb from limb. Slowly.”

“Hot,” You wink and turn your back on him. “Is that what all the staring is about, John? Do telepaths really do it for you?”

“Fuck you.”

“Wouldn’t be your weirdest fetish, now would it?” You reach your arm forward, palm up. Suddenly, other bodies flash into the room. It takes Homelander a moment to realize they’re all him. It’s him leaning against the wall in Vought, watching Madelyn breastfeeding through the walls. It’s him with a hired prostitute, sucking at her tits so every last drop of milk can fall into his mouth. It’s him at home, fisting his cock while he jugs down a pint of whole milk.

“This is weird, my dude,” You say, weaving your way through the Homelander illusions like a demented corn maze. “I’m not one to kink shame, but…yikes.”

It’s not often Homelander is brought to silence. This, being forced to watch these moments of his own weakness, does the trick. His mouth is agape as you finally stop in your sauntering and land a hand on Madelyn’s shoulder. You drum your fingers along her white blouse and look back at Homelander. “Let’s talk about her, huh?”

He blinks, and the bad room is gone. Instead, he’s backstage at one of his first press conferences with Vought. He’s eighteen, maybe nineteen, and Madelyn is giving him his notes. She is also stroking his cock over his pants. She’s murmuring praise in between each bullet point. He’s a good boy. He’s being such a good boy.

“You loved her, didn’t you?” Your voice is coming from behind him, but when he spins around to find you, you aren’t there. It’s just another wall backstage lined with props. Still, he hears you. “In your own twisted way, I mean. Trying to find a mother’s love and you land on a woman grooming her way to the top.”

“Shut the fuck up…” He barely recognizes his voice. Why is it so squeaky? Is this what he sounded like as a teenager? It doesn’t matter because in the next moment, he’s somewhere else. He’s in his penthouse. He’s with Maeve. She’s on top of him, riding his face like she intends to break it. His hands are holding tightly onto her ass as he moans against her cunt. Homelander remembers this night. It was about a year into their relationship when her smiles were more forced and her hand started slipping out of his. He ate her out for hours, and for a brief window, the smiles were genuine again.

“You loved her, too.” You’re in the room again. You stand beside Maeve and him like you’re admiring a statue at the museum. Maeve is climaxing, her hands tight in his hair and her head thrown back in ecstasy. He hasn’t stopped licking her hole. You hum in acknowledgement before looking back at Homelander. “She might not have loved you, but she did love your tongue.”

Before he can reply, the scene has shifted once more. It’s still his penthouse, but there are more works of art and less auburn hair gathering on the floor. Stormfront is here. Homelander is over her, pounding her cunt so hard the couch beneath them bends. She’s screaming for him, tugging at his hair and biting his lips hard enough to draw blood in someone more human. You stand beside the couch, frowning at the sight and shaking your head. “And then we have the Nazi. How do we still have Nazis?”

Homelander snaps his eyes to you. He doesn’t notice the way his arms tremble. “You’re getting off on this, huh?” He asks with another hysterical laugh. “Is this what you do? Get inside people’s minds and watch them fuck?”

“It makes for good entertainment, but no, that’s not my point here,” You snap your fingers. Stormfront and the past version of Homelander are gone, leaving you two alone in his fake home. The walls, Homelander vaguely realizes, are not correct. The color is too dark, a near mimic of black. He can see himself on the surface. You take a step in front of him and recapture his attention. “You have bounced from person to person - well, women mostly - in a desperate search for love. But it’s never been enough, has it? It’s always wrapped in fear, or ambition, or… fascism.”

“I’m not a child,” Homelander snaps back, though the way his voice quivers and weakens says otherwise. “You know nothing about me.”

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. He recognizes the look. It’s one he’s had and received countless times. That is a smile of hatred. “You shouldn’t have spent so long staring at me.” You murmur. “I know everything.”

The penthouse is gone. He’s in the middle of a Christmas gala. No, it’s not a Christmas gala. It’s the one where the mistake started. He spots himself descending a staircase, and he’s speaking with Rebecca Butcher. She’s laughing, absolutely dazzled by him. William Butcher, Homelander realizes now, is already suspicious of his motives. Homelander’s mind suddenly spins in flashes and pictures. Rebecca Butcher, doe-eyed and gentle, agreeing to walk with him and discuss her career. Rebecca Butcher, shakily putting back on a shoe as he strokes her hair. Rebecca Butcher, wide-eyed and standing in front of Ryan.

Ryan.

Rebecca is gone, but Ryan remains. He stands as a statue beside you, an emotionless husk of the boy Homelander yearns to know. You are all back in the bad room. Your piercing gaze has hardened.

“What will you tell your son one day about Rebecca Butcher? The mother who raised him?” Your voice echoes off the walls in a cold symphony. There’s a new note to your voice that has Homelander’s spine stiffening. “Was she just another woman who didn’t meet your expectations? How weak are you to have to destroy an innocent person’s life to soothe your ego?”

Homelander’s gaze has not left Ryan’s dead stare. “Get…get my son out of here. Get him out of here now.”

“You keep forgetting that you’re in control here,” You reply. The bad room shimmers in heat. “I can make Ryan do the Macarena in a Ronald McDonald outfit if I wanted to.”

“He didn’t do anything,” Homelander’s voice breaks. “He’s innocent.”

Your frown deepens, but the anger eases. Ryan’s image fades, but doesn’t disappear. He lingers like a ghost as you walk forward. “That’s the most tragic thing about all of this, isn’t it?” You raise a hand and rest it over his chest. He does not intervene. You tap your hand to the rhythm of his heartbeat. “Underneath that cape, under all of the horrific things that you have done…you’re only human.”

You’re gone. Instead of facing you, Homelander is facing the oven in the lab. The lights go on, and he feels the heat rise from the window. Ryan is inside. He looks around, confusion and panic dawning on his face. He turns and locks eyes with Homelander. “Dad? What’s going on?!”

Homelander screams. He slams his fist against the door, he rips at the handle. Nothing. Ryan screams, banging his hands against the window as the heat rises. Nothing.

“Stop this!” Homelander screams at you, at Ryan, at anyone. “Stop!”

The room glows too brightly for him to see. Then, Ryan is gone. Instead, he is staring at himself when he was Ryan’s age. As Homelander’s screams stop, his younger self raises them in pitch. His skin doesn’t char, but Homelander can feel the heat prickling at every nerve in his very human body. He falls to his knees. The space around him goes pure white. There is nothing. There is only you, standing in front of the fallen hero. You say nothing as his chest heaves. The heat is gone. He isn’t sure if it was ever really there.

“Please,” He finally speaks with his head lowered. He isn’t sure when he began to cry, but he feels the tears staining his cheeks. “Please. Stop it.”

You lean forward. Your lips brush Homelander’s ear as you whisper to him. “If you try to kill me when you come back, you better not hesitate. If you do, I will keep you locked in that oven forever. Never threaten me again.”

He looks up at you, blinking away the fuzziness in his eyes. His voice is a weak mockery of the hero he knows - he thinks - he is. “Why did you do this?”

Your silence is so long that it frightens him. He freezes, anticipating another change to his frayed mind. Instead, your hand comes forward. It gently brushes through his hair. His breath hitches, and his eyes fall shut again. Your voice is gentle. “John didn’t deserve any of this. Homelander does.”

“What do you think, sir?”

Homelander is in the conference room. Ashley is presenting her slides on the movie premieres. His team is watching him, their gazes lost between confusion and weariness. You are the only expressionless face. His hands are shaking. He clenches one down on the armchair, and it creaks. He slowly looks at Ashley and blinks several times. She is still there. He swallows heavily. “What?”

Instead of her usual fear, she looks confused - maybe even worried. Perhaps she’s wondering why the leader of the Seven looks at her as if he were in a room of ghosts. She slowly lowers her clicker. “I-I…I was wondering if the premiere lineup for the summer made sense, sir.”

He pretends to look at the screens behind her. He bites his inner cheek to feel pain. “Could you run through it one more time?”

Ashley blinks, but the muscle in her back relaxes. “Y-yes, of course,” She turns and clicks back to the first slide of the presentation. “As you can see, we think premiering with the Deep’s sequel would help introduce the cycle best…”

As she rambles off her demographic research, he turns to look at you. You’re watching him. You give him a curt nod and look away.

#the boys #homelander #my writing #homelander x reader #homelander x you #...i'm going through some things #also this gif makes it look like homelander is looking down at my story and frowning in disapproval #honestly same my dude

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inknopewetrust · 8 days ago

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𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐬

A collection of stories I’ve read over the month that I think deserve a little extra shoutout for their magic. Thank you to each of the authors for sharing your work with all of us!

Fandoms featured: marvel | criminal minds | the pitt | countdown

Marvel

Almost; too Close to Actually by @bigsoggyboots

I love, LOVE secret romance tropes and this one was just chef’s kiss. Everyone knows I’m also a sucker for HERBIE being in kahoots with Johnny and well, you aced it there too. Soft!Johnny, Romantic!Johnny is perfect and you captured a lovestruck version of a guy we are all fangirling over right now so SO well!

melting point by @sins-write-tragedies

This is the marvel pinnacle of sex pollen-esq fics. It’s so unbelievably good and man, have all of these Johnny writers captured something good and pure within JQ’s version of the character. It makes even unhinged plots (respectfully because I have also written this trope before) feel natural and dare I say cute? Friends to lovers… more like I want to be friends forever with a writer as good as you.

that you are by @legacygirlingreen

There’s a reason this has so many notes on this story. Not only is it long, which I love because it keeps me hooked but craving more and more every scroll, it’s well-written and a great capture of Johnny with an intriguing reader. Mae, this is wonderful. It’s fun and loving and soft and heartfelt and beautiful all wrapped up into one. It’s spicy and makes your heart flutter for far longer than it takes to read it. This was a joyous read and a BIG BIG recommend on here.

Criminal Minds

lovestruck by @ssahotchnerr

This story is so cute and sweet. It gives a great depiction of those early relationship jitters and how wonderful it feels to be with someone who dotes on their partner. The inclusion of the other BAU team members is also a plus—for me, it always makes the story feel more realistic.

almost lover by @dudeitiskarev

I was ill-prepared with how sad this was going to make me… and I mean that in the best, most heart wrenching way possible. Stories that explore grief, even in short ways, tend to stick with me most. They’re wonderful snapshots of the essence of human emotions—and opportunity for healing. I think this fic is a great representation of grief staying with us when time has moved forward.

Unexpectedly by @thedivinereverie

Stories with pregnancy are always hot and go with me. I’ve had conversations with friends who read a lot who hate it when the trope is… well troping… but I loved this one. It’s such a cute story between all of the characters and JJ catching on is so… truthful? Like I could imagine it being the case in all variations of the story. This fic is just so heartwarming and adorable, bravo!

The Pitt

older, better, stronger by @pittsick

I am giggling, manically, at the way this story makes me feel. Holy MOLY you are an amazing writer. “Maybe I don’t want it to be easy” is the exact opposite of what Jack needs but exactly what we all want and my GOD you delivered it with a cherry on top. Not only is this written with wonderful intention, the spice is measured with care and infused with great character beats between both Jack and the AFAB!Reader. Praise. Flowers thrown onto the stage. Take a bow—you deserve it!

just in case by @kilojulietsierra

Two words: Jack. Abbot. It’s been like seven, eight months since he was introduced to us and still, even in August, I am finding fics I love written about him. This one also follows a trope I’ve seen before—especially within the Pitt fandom but it’s so well done it’s as if it is the only one to exist. I love the slyness of the writing, the intentionality of the relationship structures within the dialogue and visual cues. It’s super well done and I just love it to pieces.

champagne problems by @oldermenfucker

The heavens have opened and given me wonderful angst with Jack and a rich girl reader. W.O.W. I have never wanted to strangle a set of parents so much since those measles parents appeared on the show. This was such a great dynamic to read and explore through your writing. You’ve got a magic touch here. Jack is wonderfully written and let’s be honest, needs a gun. Reader is stuck in the middle of two worlds and wonderfully balances that territory no one really knows how to cross. A great work, truly.

black coffee, zero sugar by @neverinadream

I’ve read this one before, so it’s technically cheating to put it on this list but I’ve read it multiple times over the past few months and it deserves a spot. Domestic Jack seems to have completely obliterated all of us. The relationship he has with reader and their son in this story is sweet and laced with a comedy I didn’t initially expect. Exes to… hopefully lovers if I’m being honest but the push and pull that the air around them has is beautiful. I know you said it was your first attempt at writing this for Jack and now that was a couple of months ago, but never stop writing for him—please and thank you! It was seriously great!

Countdown

abandon the ship by @waynes-multiverse

Listen… I am a firm believer that Wayne is one of the most talented writers on this app, if not just in existence. Everything I have ever read from Wayne has been nothing short of a masterpiece and literally each fic just keeps getting better and better. A MASTER of dialogue and building relationships in already established worlds. BRILLIANT at making you feel impending doom which I dread but also can’t wait to read. I haven’t even watched this show yet and I know it will be missing something because this storyline isn’t canon and I’ll always be thinking about it. Do yourself a favor and read all of this, what’s coming, and what Wayne’s created before.

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shiny-jr · 3 months ago

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map of heartslabyul

Congratulations! You have just acquired a map of Heartslabyul. Heartslabyul is one of the seven nations, and the first in which you will venture into for your search for a way home. It is the nation that worships King Rosehearts, the Pyro Archon and God of Law.

Choose your path carefully.

Ashen Fells is an area located in Heartslabyul.

This region includes Brunweld Lake, Cradle of Fables, Chesswick, Hobbletide Shore, Mabloch Isle, Pat Port, Tanglewood Shrine, Tatterfell Cliffs. The area consists of shores and cliffs along with rivers and lakes.

♥ Brunweld Lake is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

It's said that this lake was formed by a crater left by an ancient god of chaos. A god that had the ability to forge legendary weapons, and in testing one of particularly astounding strength, they created a depression within the earth’s surface that would become Brunweld Lake.

♥ Cradle of Fables is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

It is just across the waters from Mabloch Isle and the nearest Heartslabyul settlement is Pat Port.

A dense forest where no mortals venture and come back from. The shadows and shade cast by the dense foliage create an intense darkness, making it easy for even the most skilled navigators to get lost.

It is said to be a safe haven for immortal beings, and the birthplace for many entities and deities including the current Archon of Pyro.

♥ Chesswick is the capital and a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

Located in the central part of Ashen Fells, Chesswick boasts the largest city in the world both by size and population. It’s only five hundred years old, but it showcases castle walls and flowing rivers.

❧ Castle of the Court of Hearth is located in Chesswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

It is the headquarters of the Court of Hearth and the Knights of the Gavel. Inside are many offices of court members, such as the Head of Investigation and Regent among others. On the same grounds, the castle also houses those loyal to the crown in the Knights of the Gavel.

It is one of the oldest buildings still standing in Heartslabyul, built even before the Fyrosian Palace. When executions occur, they most always take place here or in the palace.

❧ Chesswick’s Market District is located in Chesswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

Located at the gates of the city, it’s a convenient location for merchants and other travelers. The several two story buildings house multiple shops, restaurants, and other establishments but are all strictly kept up to code to avoid punishment by patrolling knights.

❧ Furnace is located in Chesswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

It is an underground fighting rink run by a figure nicknamed the Blue Brawler. The location is a closely guarded secret and only heard in rumors thought to be outlandish. Gambling and brawling are high crimes, so this type of establishment is highly illegal. Despite that, it is a very popular place, as many find thrill and entertainment in these activities that are outlawed.

❧ Fyrosian Palace is located in Chesswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

It is the home of the Archon of Pyro, god of law, King Rosehearts. Located in the heart of Chesswick, it is a common stop for travelers to marvel at the sight but never step past the towering gates. Knights of the Gavel patrol the grounds at all hours, and they only allow a select few pass. These select few include council members, knights, emissaries, the occasional guest, or a rule-breaker escorted in cuffs.

❧ Monastery of the Divine Flame is located in Chesswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

The monastery is run by the Church of Heart and is used in worshipping the Pyro Archon Rosehearts. It is a holy place managed by the devoted adherents of King Rosehearts who treat his laws as commandments. It is thought by the most zealous believers that sins will be punished by strings of eternal flames which he wields.

❧ Pyro Archon Statue is located in Chesswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

It can be found at the plaza in front of the Monastery of the Divine Flame. The statue is in the image of the Pyro Archon, Rosehearts, with a crown and a scepter.

❧ The Teapot is located in Cheswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

It is the oldest pub in the nation, even predating Roseheart’s reign, or so they claim. It is one of the best managed establishments, as the distribution of alcohol is carefully regulated by law to prevent misuse. The Teapot has not a single mark tarnishing their perfect record.

However, recently, it seems as if there are shady dealings and whispers of unrest floating throughout the historic pub. Ask around enough without gaining suspicion, and some tipsy folks may let it slip that the Red Thief apparently frequents the establishment.

♥ Hobbletide Shore is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

A stretch of shorelines along the coast facing east and north toward the unknown. Along these shores there’s some woods, but not much else.

♥ Mabloch Isle is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

An island technically part of Heartslabyul, but it is inhabited mainly by Havfolk and Hydrians, the people of Octavinelle. While they themselves are not an issue, the Pyro Archon is keenly aware of the shady businesses practically encouraged by the Hydro Archon. That is unacceptable. If there are shady dealings taking place, it is only happening because the island is distant. However, every few years, Rosehearts takes it upon himself to travel there and make doubly sure everything is in order while also punishing those that do break the law.

♥ Pat Port is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

A port city where most incoming travelers and goods coming from off the continent arrive. It is said that a feathered minor deity now long passed was once friends with the Pyro Archon. This feathered deity was an expert in ocean voyages while the archon detested the waters due to his element. So, Rosehearts entrusted him with the responsibility to handle ocean-related issues and incoming merchants by boat. When the deity passed, the Archon renamed the location after his companion.

♥ Tanglewood Shrine is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

It is an ancient amphitheater that predates the Roseheart reign, all the way back to the time when the god of chaos ruled. Here is where all sorts of activities took place, such as gambling, drinking, fighting, and even illegal exchanges. It is a dark reminder of the past when the god of chaos allowed forced fights, indentured servitude, and all sorts of other activities.

♥ Tatterfell Cliffs is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

There are a few scattered villages and towns here that specialize in livestock farming.

Brackenreach Highlands is an area located in Heartslabyul.

This region includes Broken Bridges, Feygrass Springs, Foxglove Glen. The area consists of meadows and ruins, and is a region where many beastfolk outside of Savanaclaw dwell.

♥ Broken Bridges is a subarea located in Brackenreach Highlands, Heartslabyul.

Ruins of an empire lay here. There is hardly anything left, it’s so ancient that it predates not only the Rosehearts reign but also the Age of Chaos. One of the only remaining pieces of the empire whose name is lost to time, is a marble inscription within the floor of an abandoned temple just barely standing. The inscription is oval shaped, and appears to be the side profile of a mysterious entity. The only thing known is that they were a god of black and white.

♥ Feygrass Springs is a subarea located in Brackenreach Highlands, Heartslabyul.

A land of flowers, one of the smaller scenic flora areas. There are many fields here that supply the world with bouquets, honey, and other goods.

♥ Foxglove Glen is a subarea located in Brackenreach Highlands, Heartslabyul.

A city populated heavily by beastfolk of all manner, from both continents and all seven nations.

Butterfly Vale is an area located in Heartslabyul.

This region includes Crookedspire, Jaws of the Wildwood, Maze of Madness, Tulgey Thicket. The area consists of meadows and dense woods, and is a region where threats and beasts may still lurk, hidden in the wilderness to avoid divine wrath.

♥ Crookedspire is a subarea located in Butterfly Vale, Heartslabyul.

A city established by the Pyro Archon himself. In the early days of the Rosehearts reign, he faced a fresh rebellion that accused him of cruelty and tyranny. These rebels even utilized an uncontrollable beast in an attempt to defeat him. In response, Rosehearts quashed the rebellion and slayed the beast, building a settlement upon the ashes that remained of his enemies.

♥ Jaws of the Wildwood is a subarea located in Butterfly Vale, Heartslabyul.

Here is where many beasts dwell, hidden by the mountains and forests, as they wish to remain hidden to avoid the searing divine flame of the Pyro Archon that would quickly execute them without trial.

♥ Maze of Madness is a subarea located in Butterfly Vale, Heartslabyul.

It is a natural maze of forests, almost meticulously arranged into a confusing and seemingly endless labyrinth. It was thought that one of the God of Chaos’ subordinates was an entity of dendro that made the maze.

♥ Tulgey Thicket is a subarea located in Butterfly Vale, Heartslabyul.

A strange and odd forest home to arcane individual beasts and people. It is a place said to be rich in treasures, but full of dangers. Many mythical entities and monsters dwell in the dark here.

Crown Ridge is an area located in Heartslabyul.

This region includes Gryphon Spires, Mad Ring of Fire. The area consists of mountain ranges and volcanoes, along with cliffs and ruins. This is the border between Heartslabyul and Savanaclaw.

♥ Gryphon Spires is a subarea located in Crown Ridge, Heartslabyul.

The southern part of the peaks contains the remaining ruins of the city where the God of Chaos dwelled, which was formerly the capital of the nation.

❧ Wonderfall Ruins is located in Gryphon Spires, Crown Ridge, Heartslabyul.

It was once the capital of Old Heartslabyul, ruled by the God of Chaos. After he was executed in an uprising, the rebel who slayed him, Rosehearts, took his place and reshaped the land. It’s been said that Rosehearts gathered all his supporters in Wonderfall during the fall of the Chaos God’s empire, and upon his enemy’s death, Rosehearts rained hellfire upon every settlement that never swore allegiance to him. Only once he burned the enemies to ash, did he lead the people north where they settled to build a new capital called Chesswick.

It is said that Riddle never burnt Wonderfall to the ground, because he wished for all to see the ruins of the empire he tore down. To see evidence of his past, and never turn traitor unless they wished to meet the same fate the Chaos God and all his followers did.

♥ The Mad Ring of Fire is a subarea located in Crown Ridge, Heartslabyul.

The range of mountains extends from the western most point of the ridge spanning across the entire space and ending only just before the Gryphon Spires. It is speckled with volcanoes that were supposedly formed when there was conflict between the God of Chaos against the God of Strength and God of Intellect.

Fiddlewood Hills is an area located in Heartslabyul.

This region includes Liddleshire Village, Mimsyford, Puddlebrook Town. The area consists of rolling hills and pastures along scattered towns and villages.

♥ Liddleshire Village is a subarea located in Fiddlewood Hills, Heartslabyul.

Liddleshire Village is a small community where there are more animals than people. It’s a quaint and quiet little village at the high end of the hills bordering the woods.

♥ Mimsyford is a subarea located in Fiddlewood Hills, Heartslabyul.

Mimsyford is a city where many new travelers arrive, as it’s the closest to the other nations. It is the city with the most diverse magic users, here there is a wielder of every element and all sorts of styles. From here, most make their way to Chesswick.

♥ Puddlebrook Town is a subarea located in Fiddlewood Hills, Heartslabyul.

Puddlebrook Town is a fishing community settled along the shores. When merchants do not arrive at Pat Port, they arrive here.

#navigation #masterlist #empyrean twst au #heartslabyul

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just-some-random-blogger · 9 months ago

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Tormented Spirit | 8

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 3k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, smut (piv, morning sex, come marking?, cock warming) DOWN BAD!DAEMON, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: this chapter became 6k+ words so i had to split it T_T. at least that means i'll be updating relatively faster lol. i hope you enjoy since all the fluff is here HAHAHAH and if you do, please leave a comment/reblog to let me know <3 <3 <3. once again, the high valyrian is internet translated, so it might be wrong. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching

Otto nods as he passes a group of clergy members. He makes his way down the otherwise empty temple, eyes forward as he clutches a firm figurine in his hand. He grunts as he gets down on his knees in front of a fresco of the seven pointed star.

He lights three candles in front of him, saying three different names each time. He places the figurine he brought with him beside them. Of course, it wasn't a figurine but a woolen doll. He says another name, your name, then starts this prayers.

"Father, guard my family through this trying time, my son, my daughters... my daughter," he brushes the face of the doll then closes his eyes. "Stranger, put the souls of the departed Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon to rest.

"Warrior, strengthen my daughter and spare her and her unborn child from succumbing the same fate. Mother, grant her comfort and good health through her journey to motherhood. Crone, guide her and grant her good discernment, so that she may not fear the unknown. Maiden, preserve her beauty, her light."

He opens his eyes and stares at the point that represented the Smith. He grits his teeth before sighing in defeat, "Smith, fortifier... mender... I beg," he sighs, "mend her heart. Mend her body. I beseech you. Let not my prayer fall deaf on your ears any longer."

The candlelight before him glows as he waits another day for the answer to his decade old prayer.

Meanwhile, the candles in your room have long been put out, including the one you normally keep lit by your bed. You are first to rouse today, and yet you could not rise from bed, as you were pressed beneath the body of your husband. Daemon sighed contentedly on your chest, one arm and leg draped over you. You have never slept together (or so you think) so you figured that Daemon probably moved a lot in his sleep, which is how you both ended up in this position.

You stare at the top of his head, continuing to brush through his silver hair. In truth, you did not want to rise. You wanted to stay in this peace, in this stillness. It would not last long, you knew it— you dreaded it.

Goosebumps form on your skin when you feel your husband's hand brush over your belly before hooking on to your hip. You begin to feel your heart race as you remember what your father told you the night before.

How could you tell him? How could you possibly tell Daemon that you were with child, when you knew he was so diligent in assuring you would not be? Was it even possible to carry his seed when he never finished inside you?

Against yourself, you remember the day you caught Gwayne kissing a lady behind a curtain, and how you attacked him because you thought he had gotten her pregnant. The poor girl ran away as you beat your twin, and Gwyane defended himself, saying that's not how you do it. You did not know any better, so you told him you did not believe him and nearly forced him to go to your father to announce you would be marrying the lady. He, in turn had to explain what he knew, to both your horror.

You were no fool to simply believe the words of your stupid twin, so you made it your mission to find out the truth. After sneaking books from the Citadel itself, you read many a book only to find out your twin was telling you the truth.

That was why dread rippled across your skin, for could there ever be a world where Daemon purposefully pulled out and is not angered by this news, where he does not accuse you of infidelity?

You go between worry and peace as you brush your fingers across the prince's skin. You try to convince yourself that all will be well, but each time you do, another part of your mind raises that nothing's ever been well with you. You decide then, even if just for this moment, you will pretend the calmness of your husband will remain.

But the world is cruel, for at this same moment, Daemon awakens.

He stirs with a groan, face rubbing against your sternum. The robe you had on was no longer covering your chest. Your heart races as he looks up at you, his violet eyes still sleepy, "sȳz ñāqes."

You do not understand, but you assume it means good morning, and so you say, "good morning."

Daemon sighs as he pushes himself up, removing his pants. You tense as he comes atop you and kisses your neck. He nudges your head to the side with his own and soon, he pushes your legs apart with his knees.

Your hands come to his hip bones, where you then dig your nails in, making him groan. You whimper when you feel him grind his groin into yours. He is half-hard.

"Sesīr isse ñuha ēdrugon, jaelan ao." Even in my sleep, I want you.

You whimper yet again when he begins to rock against you, digging your nails deeper into him.

"Gīda ilagon," he mutters as he fully parts your robe, repeating in common tongue, "calm down."

You are taken aback by how he pecks your lips once before kissing your neck again.

"Dreamt about fucking your pretty cunny," he mutters lowly between kisses, "wanna make it real."

His words make you ache and throb. In a way, you were comforted by the thought Daemon wanted you, even if it was just your body. You close your eyes and let yourself relax. You sigh against his ear, nuzzling into his shoulder, and brush your hand up his back. As your hands trail to his biceps, his skin breaks out with gooseflesh and a high pitched whimper leaves his lips.

"Fuuuuuuck," he whines out rather pathetically.

There is a languidness to his movements unlike you've ever experienced. His normally brash and pointed demeanor is soft and gentle, his kisses even more so. There is no sense of urgency whatsoever as he rolls his hips against you. If you didn't know any better, you would have believed that he wanted to savor the moment.

He did. He wanted to savor your body, as dreaming of it had him feeling some indistinguishable way. You would never know this though, for he would never tell you.

By the time you've become shaky and your cunt was absolutely sopping wet because of Daemon's now fully hard cock rubbing up against it, he finally pushes into you, drawing out a deep groan from your throat. You tighten your legs and arms around him and your teeth sink into his shoulder.

Daemon grips your thighs as he thrusts into you. He barely pulls out, seemingly determined to go deeper and deeper each time, wanting— needing to be pressed flush into you. His hands sneak beneath you, fingers raking up your shoulder blades to your nape before tangling into your brown hair. He breathes heavily against your ear as your bodies grow hotter and hotter.

You both remain in this snug position, doing this constricted dance until your bellies begin to burn. He doesn't speed up at all or pull out any more than he already has. You feel your body begin to tense and your climax begin to build, and then, just then, a spirit overcomes Daemon.

The next moment, he has his hand on your jaw, forcing your head back. Just as you reach your peak, he pulls out and thrusts his wet cock on your slick folds, once, twice, until his hard member is soft and twitching. His load shoots out up to your chest and sputters down on your belly, garnering a surprised gasp from you. It's hot and viscous against your skin and you wonder what it would have felt like had he released in you. There's so much of it too.

"Fuck, fuck, fu-" Daemon repeats, thinking the exact same thing you were.

You expect him to roll over, because there is no way he wouldn't after soiling you, but you gasp yet again as he comes crashing down on you, skin sticking with a squelch.

He is arrested by your warmth and wants nothing but to plunge into you again. So, in his greed, he grabs his still twitching cock and pushes it into you, releasing a long and throaty groan as he does so. It makes you tremble and whimper his name. You were not expecting the intrusion, so you brush your cheek against his, hoping he understands to give you a moment of repose before going again.

After a while, though you still felt tender from your orgasm, you brush your cheek against him once more, signaling you were ready for him again.

He does the strangest thing however, and simply brushes his cheek back. He pulls his head back, looking down at you, "litse riña." Pretty girl.

You notice the softness of his violet eyes and knit your brows at it. He is so overwhelming you cannot help but kiss him. There was still remnants of morning breath in your mouths, but neither of you cared.

Daemon is loathe to have you pull away. He leans into your touch as you brush his unruly hair back. You slowly shake your head, "I do not understand, my prince."

"iksā sīr rāpa se bāne," you are so soft and warm. He brushes your noses together, "ñuha ābrazȳrys," my wife.

A line forms between your brows at the foreign tongue. You wait for him to translate as he brings his hand to your cheek. He stares at you for a long moment, thumb brushing your skin.

He makes no attempt to decode the High Valyrian for you, and soon, a knock comes upon your door.

Daemon is instantly irritated as he glares over his shoulder, muttering, "who the fuck is that?"

"My servants. I-"

Before you could even finish, your two servant girls are waking in, and Daemon watches them as they head for your bathroom, horribly and painfully unaware of him. He waits for them to reemerge, and the moment they do, he is instantly screaming, "FUCK OFF, CUNTS! THE DOOR'S CLOSED FOR A REASON."

You hear their gasps, squeals, and apologies before scurrying off, slamming the door behind them as they did.

Instantly, yet again, Daemon relaxes and nuzzles against your neck.

"D-Daemon," you whisper, sinking your fingers into his long hair, "they normally wake me up at-"

"I don't give a fuck," he quips, tightening his hold on you, "they'll know better now."

You clench your jaw and sigh, making mental note to apologize to your girls for the prince's actions.

You begin to doze off, as does Daemon in all his gluttonous glory. The two of you stay in bed until lunch time, which is far longer than you've ever personally stayed.

Arryk, who had been stationed outside your door for a while now, is concerned by this. He raps at the entrance to your room and calls your name. When he receives no response, he peaks inside and inspects the stillness of it all. Unnerved by the idea you were sleeping in, he thinks the worse and walks in, calling your name again. His breath is forced down his throat when he sees the flash of white hair on the bed. He sees a hand rub down a toned back and he immediately reels back, quiet and as quick as he possibly can.

You wake the second time because of the growling of your stomach. It is loud and painful, so much so, it wakes your husband.

He groans, brushing his nose against you, "hungry?"

You huff, craning your neck to look at him, finding his closed eyes, "clearly, I'm starving."

A rich chuckle rumbles from his chest. He opens his eyes and they twinkle with mischief, "I could feed you something meaty."

Your face contorts, "I do not think you'd want me to bite your cock, my prince."

Daemon laughs, hard enough to fully awaken him. He wheezes, and rolls of your chest, "I did-" sigh, "not say it was-" wheeze, "my cock."

You hum, "oh, of course not. Apologies."

Your sarcasm only maddens him further into amusement.

You take this as a chance to wriggle away from him, and so you do. The semen still on your skin is tepid and pasty as it smears against your chests. Your robe is completely lose as you come to a stand. You decide not to dirty your garment with Daemon's seed by covering yourself, so you head for the bathroom with your robe open.

You gasp at the swiftness of how your are grabbed and pulled back. Your body collides into Daemon's chest. Your care for your satin robe if for naught, because it sticks on his come anyway. Daemon's is hypnotized by your scent. He is quick to brush your hair over shoulder and mumble against your nape, "you wound me with your eagerness to flee me, wife."

His hands come to squeeze your breasts and you whimper as you turn to him. You knit your brows and pout, "that is not true."

"No?" he says a little louder than he ought as his emotions slightly get ahead of him, "are you not running from me this moment?"

You frown and fully face him, having to peel your robe off his chest as you do, "I'm simply going to bathe." You stare at his chest, "you've made a mess of me."

Daemon tilts his head, "not nearly enough, in my opinion."

You find the self-satisfied grin on his face, "you should too bathe with me."

"Mmm, well then," he takes your hand, "bathe we shall."

The water that your servants had brought was now cold, but you both made do with what you had. Daemon is simultaneously unsurprised and taken aback by how you tend to him first, he does not know why. You've bathed him once before, and yet it somehow feels different. You scrub his chest with cloth and inspire him to do the same for you. You lean into his touch as he washes you off, and it makes his stomach roll.

He takes a good look at you, your skin, the marks he left on it, your nose, your knees, your hair, everything, and he cannot believe something so... so immaculate, so resplendent could be borne from a man so detestable.

"You are not your father's daughter," he says so casually.

You look up at him, freezing because of his random sentiment.

"You are the gods promise to me. A woman made to sate my fire."

Your brows knit at his words. You tilt your head and it makes him nearly goes mad. How darling you ask, "I sate your fire?"

He hums and pulls you into him, kissing your arm as he did, "stoke, perhaps, is truer."

Your breath hitches when he brings you to his lap. He sighs as he feels your flesh against his, it wont be long until he's hard all over again. He licks a stripe up your left breast, "I am, in fact, insatiable."

Your heart races and he peppers kisses up your neck. You lean your forehead against his after kissing your lips. You whisper in earnest, "I will try."

Daemon pulls back, hands coming to your neck as he looks at you.

"I will try to sate you."

Fuck. The thought should have made him laugh, but it doesn't. It makes him burn. He cannot say anything, for his mouth seeks yours. He kisses your lips and you two sequentially spend another hour or so turning the water warm as it splashes all over the floor.

You're antsy and eager to feast by the end of it all.

You help each other get dressed, and Daemon finds the way you hastily button his doublet ever-so-endearing. When it's his turn to help, he shushes you and rubs your shoulders before securing your corset from behind, "your food will not fly off the window."

You rub your aching stomach, "I pray it flies into my mouth soon."

He snickers as he finishes tying your laces.

You quickly run towards the vanity and hastily begin to brush your still damp hair.

He watches you bounce your leg and the faintest of smiles graces his lips. He watches your chest begin to rise and fall rather quickly, and soon his brows furrow. He walks up behind you, "aeritta run." Restless thing.

He takes your hand and your jaw, but it is unlike most times he does so. His touch is gentle. He does not force you to hand your brush or look forward, but you do. You look at each other from the mirror; your chest continues to heave.

"Paez ilagon," Daemon enunciates, "say it for me, won't you?"

Your brows furrow in slight confusion. You release a breath, "pez ilegon."

"Paez," he corrects.

"Paez."

"Good," he nods, "ilagon."

"Il... Ilagon."

"Rōvēgrior," Daemon leans in and mumbles against your temple, "excellent. Now..." he kisses your temple, "once more: paez ilagon."

You take a breath, doing your best to mimic his accent, "pa...ez i- ... lagon."

"Arlī," again, he motions with his pointer, "speak confidently."

"Daemon."

"You can do it," he tilts his head at your reflection, "paez ilagon."

You sigh and nod your head, "paez ilagon."

His violet eyes twinkle, "rōvēgrior," excellent, he claps his hands, "spoken like a true Valyrian."

You turn to him, breath hitching at the sight of his smile, "wha-"

Daemon takes your face and makes you turn forward.

You look at his reflection and grip your skirt, fearing you'd upset him. But then he begins to style your hair and butterflies overcome your belly. You try to ignore the thump of your heart by clearing your throat, "what d-does it mean?"

"Paez ilagon is slow down."

"Ahhh," your jaw drops in slight embarrassment, "I see."

Daemon points, "hand me your pin."

You get the hair pin on the vanity and hand it over, "and the other one?"

"Hmm?"

"Ro... roz- rovevegregor."

Daemon tilts his head as he chuckles through his nostrils, a soft smile remaining on his face as he finishes securing your hair in a similar manner he does himself.

You witness all of this and your heart skips a beat.

"Rōvēgrior," he repeats, "try to roll your tongue."

"..."

"Go on."

"RRRRozeofoieve-"

He laughs and takes a hair tie from the table. He quickly does his own hair then takes you by the hand. He ushers you to the door as he continues to chuckle, "we should get you something to eat. You sound ill."

You are hypnotized by his melodic laugh. You don't dare interrupt it, so you whisper under your breath, mostly to yourself, "but what does it mean?"

"Excellent," he says, hearing your whisper. He opens the door for you, "it means excellent, gevie."

You do not notice Arryk as you exit your chambers, "but what about that?"

Daemon does not notice him either, "what?"

"Ge- gevie?"

"Gevie?" he repeats.

You nod.

Arryk bows and greets you, "princess."

You turn to him as he bows again, "my prince."

Daemon does not spare him a glance. Beautiful, it meant, but he instead tells you, "it is a secret."

You do not respond to Daemon, but he does not mind. He is fully content to stare at you. You smile at your ward, taking a second to guess who it is, "good morn, ser. Are you... Erryk?"

Arryk examines you, finally breathing a sigh of relief to know you are unharmed. He is also glad to see you are not dressed in attire that... exposes the good works of your husband. In the same second, he notices your said husband, and how keenly is gaze is set upon your beaming form. He clenches his jaw, "nay, your grace. Neither am I my brother, nor is it morning."

"Oh," you purse your lips, "my apologies, dear Arryk."

Daemon quickly pulled out of his haze, raising a brow at dear Arryk, "you may go."

Arryk turns to him.

"I will keep my wife company today," he says, wasting no more time in idle chatter, taking you by the hand.

You both walk off and you offer Arryk a smile and nod in regard.

Arryk clenches his jaw but forces himself to smile back at you. He is uneasy by the prospect, knowing how fickle and volatile Daemon can become regarding you. He stares at your joined hands as you walk away, deciding to trust the prince for your sake.

#daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen fluff #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #daemon angst #daemon targaryen angst #daemon #daemon targeryan #house of the dragon

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obscure-imagines · 2 years ago

Text

what you really want - Mihawk

👹 staring. Dracule Mihawk x afab!Reader

⚔️ preview. Some days you wish he’d settle down, wish he’d just choose an island and stay with you forever, but you know his first love will always be the sea. He’s a pirate, through and through, and you suppose you can’t blame him for that.

tw/cw. unprotected sex, quickie, multiple reader orgasms, big dick Mihawk, begging, dirty talk, breeding kink, fullness kink, slight cum kink, choking, manhandling, roughhousing, using a table hanging from the ceiling as a sex swing, instructed masturbation?, deep penetration, overstimulation crying, hair pulling, etc… I pet names: (hers) darling, good girl. (his) Captain.

🔞 rating. 18+ explicit I SMUT I wc. 3.2k

⚔️ aus. One Piece Live Action, established relationship, pwp, etc…

🎈 mlist + an. It's the way I haven't been active on this blog in 3 years and then this stupid pirate show comes out and now I'm sinning again- I honestly couldn't help myself with this one

You’re in the kitchen rolling out dough when you feel a body press against your back. There’s only one person with the balls to touch you like this. As a girlfriend to one of the seven warlords of the sea, and the greatest swordsman in the entire world, everyone knows your body is off-limits to anyone but Mihawk.

“When did you get in?” you ask, pressing your ass back against him, enjoying the feeling of his breath on your throat.

“Just now.” His hands trace the curves of your hips, and you have to fight the groan that threatens to slip out of your mouth at his touch.

“Did anyone see you?” It’s definitely interesting being a member of the Strawhats while being involved with Mihawk. He’ll show up out of the blue, completely unannounced, and it’s clear to everyone what he’s here for.

You often feel very sinful any time he leaves, when you exit your cabin or the bathroom or wherever he just fucked your brains out, only to find the crew watching you with unreadable expressions.

“Your cook-”

“Sanji,” you interject, doing your best to teach Mihawk the names of your friends in the hopes that he’ll be more sociable with them.

“Sanji,” your boyfriend repeats with a sigh. “I bumped into him on the deck, he said the kitchen is all ours.”

“This should be fun.” You grin, releasing the dough and wiping your flour covered hands on your apron. “I’m guessing you didn’t show up to talk.”

“Definitely not.”

“So the question is…” you grind your ass back against him, “is that a sword in your pants, or are you just happy to see me, Captain?”

He lets out a small laugh, digging his fingers into your hips to pull you flush to his chest. Mihawk is always amused when you refer to him as Captain. It’s always in a sexual capacity, and even though he’s a crewless pirate, the title feels fitting. On top of everything else, the ‘sword in your pants line’ is somewhat comical, as his sword, Yoru, is absolutely unmistakable when pressed against your body.

“I guess I’m just happy to see you,” Mihawk sighs. He’s not the best with praise or dirty talk, preferring a more silent approach, but it’s always rewarding to work admissions of interest out of him.

“So why are we still talking?” you ask.

It’s as easy as anything for him to turn you in his embrace, one hand reaching up to pinch your chin as he presses his lips to yours. Your arms wrap around the back of his neck, and you press your chests together, enjoying the feeling of your breasts against his muscles.

The kiss is almost gentle at first, but it quickly becomes heated, with his tongue dipping into your mouth. You sigh at the feeling. You’ve missed Mihawk. Some days you wish he’d settle down, wish he’d just choose an island and stay with you forever, but you know his first love will always be the sea. He’s a pirate, through and through, and you suppose you can’t blame him for that.

His hands slip down your body, squeezing your breasts, toying with your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt. He pulls away from your mouth, staring down at you with Hawk eyes full of lust. “Turn around, and bend over the table, darling.”

You swallow thickly at the command, grabbing his jaw and pressing one final kiss to his lips before following through. The solid cooking table has more than enough space for you to flatten your chest against it without having to worry about messing up the dough or getting flour on your shirt. In fact, it’s probably one of the sturdiest locations for Mihawk to fuck you from behind.

A soft sigh escapes you as his hand trails down your body, then he’s roughly gripping your trousers, tearing them down until they pool at your feet. He’s discarded your panties as well, and your skin tingles at the cool air that brushes over your hot, exposed core.

You hear Mihawk dealing with his own pants, and you wiggle your ass as an invitation, impatience getting the best of you. It’s been over a week since you’ve seen your boyfriend, over a week since anyone has touched you, or kissed you, or filled you up to the brim until you were crying-

“I missed you,” you tell him, relaxing your cheek against the wood of the table as he rubs his cock through your pussy lips, coating himself in the wetness already beginning to drip out of you.

Mihawk doesn’t return your sentiment, he only lets out a small grunt, grabbing your hip roughly as he begins to push into your core.

There’d been hardly any foreplay, so the stretch of his thick cock against your inner walls has you crying out and grabbing the edge of the table. You kind of like the pain though- being with a warlord of the sea is just like that sometimes. It’s quickies, and roughhousing, gasping into each others mouths and stripping naked the moment you get each other alone.

Your boyfriend can be kind though. He doesn’t push all the way into you, doesnt sink balls deep- he thrusts shallowly, and you can feel his gaze fixed on your tight pussy as you swallow more of him up, inch by inch-

“Fuck,” you groan, clawing at the wood.

“Good, darling?”

“So good,” you whimper, feeling your toes curl when he’s finally pushed all the way inside of you, the tip of his cock just kissing your cervix. “Oh my god, you better fuck me stupid-”

“I intend to,” he promises, grabbing your waist with both hands to keep you presses to the table. His first thrust is rough, making you cry out and wiggle in his grasp. Your hips are pushed uncomfortably against the edge of the table, and as Mihawk finds a fast pace, each rut of his hips sends you forward.

It’s not very painful, although, you might bruise tomorrow. Part of you almost wishes you do. You love reminders of him, marks that make you think of him balls deep in your aching core-

“Captain-” you whimper, panting against the wooden surface of the table as he fucks you harder and harder, making you almost dizzy.

“Let me hear you,” he instructs.

His hand finds the back of your neck only for his fingers to slip around the front of your throat and pull- he makes you arch your back, body contorted for him. The sensation makes you gasp, deep groans escaping you. Each smack of his hips against your ass has whimpers leaving your lips. Your eyes are closed, mind entirely focused on the feeling of his perfect cock filling you up and destroying you for any other man.

“Mi-Mihawk,” you stutter, lower lip warbling with effort, your body nearly overwhelmed already.

“Touch yourself. I want you to cum.”

You swallow thickly while he pulls you up from the table, tightening his grip on your throat and giving you the space to slip your hand down to your pussy while he fucks you in a half standing position. You can feel his breath against the nape of your neck, can hear him panting-

Even small sounds are such a turn on for you. You can’t see his face right now, but it’s sexy to know that he might be as effected as you are by all of this.

Your fingers brush by your clit and you cry out at the sensation, clenching your eyes shut while your pussy throbs around his cock. “Oh my god-”

“That’s it, darling. You’re close.”

You can only nod, applying more pressure to the sensitive bud while he continues fucking you stupid. His grip on your throat doesn’t help the situation- it makes you lightheaded in the best possible way, your stomach muscles tensing as your orgasm builds in the pit of your stomach.

“I’d like to hear you beg for this first one.”

You moan loudly, the throbbing intensifying between your legs. “Please, Captain, please-”

“You can do better than that,” he scoffs, lips finding the side of your throat before his teeth bite at your shoulder.

“I’m so close, please make me cum- only you can make me cum this way, oh my god, your cock- it’s so deep- it’s so good-”

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, and your core clenches unbelievably tight around him- you’re on the edge, but you can’t cum without permission. Mihawk has trained you well, and by the satisfied sound he lets out, you think he knows it.

“Good girl,” he praises, and it goes straight to your pussy, making your legs quake with effort- “Cum.”

It’s the one word you need to fall over the edge, and as your pussy practically explodes with pleasure, you find yourself being pushed down to the table again. Mihawk’s hand leaves your throat, fingers digging into your hips as he fucks you through your orgasm.

You can feel your juices dripping our around his cock, making a mess of your thighs- all you can do is claw at the wooden surface and take what he gives you, cries of ecstasy leaving you uncensored.

He fucks you until you’re shaking, fucks you until your core stops throbbing around his thick length, then he pushes into you completely, holding you flush to his front. “Take a breather, darling,” Mihawk tells you, “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be pleased if I leave you completely broken.”

You can’t believe he’s bringing up Luffy at a time like this- can’t believe he sounds so nonchalant, as if your pussy didn’t just try to milk him for everything he’s worth. Mihawk is just like this, you suppose. He’s always controlled, and it’s one of the sexiest things about him.

“You’re my Captain,” you whisper, heart still thundering in your rib cage. “You can leave me however you want.”

His hand caresses your ass, squeezing the flesh and making you twitch around him.

“Turn around, I want to see your face.” He pulls out of your pussy and you moan at the loss. Your legs are shaky, you can hardly stand as you move to face him, leaning back against the table.

Mihawk is too handsome for his own good. His facial hair is immaculate, and his eyes are bewitching.

He cups your cheek and you lean against his hand, enjoying the soft moment of reprieve before the next round that you know is coming.

“Beautiful,” he tells you, leaning in to kiss you gently.

You reach for his hat, taking it off his head to place on yours, and it makes his lips stop. He pulls away and looks down at you darkly. You can only grin up at him. “Am I still beautiful?” you prompt.

“Always,” Mihawk responds easily, reaching own to cup your ass and lift you off the ground, prompting you to wrap your legs around his strong hips, trousers now discarded on the ground.

Your lips find each other, and you kiss him deeply while he carries you through the kitchen. When you’re set down, you find yourself on top of a wooden table platform hanging from the ceiling on four chains- you’ve never realized before that this is practically a sex swing.

This wooden platform that Zoro laid on while recovering from wounds your boyfriend gave him, is now going to be the very tool used to fuck you absolutely stupid. You’ll never be able to look at it the same way again, and you don’t want to.

Mihawk pulls away from your lips, and you watch him take off his jacket. He places the duster and his beloved sword on the cooking table just behind you, taking the hat off your head to discard it with the rest of his clothes. You take the opportunity to remove your shirt, leaving you completely bare for your boyfriend, whose gaze takes in every inch of your body now that you’re exposed.

“I missed you too,” he says softly, reaching up a hand to grab at your breast, teasing your nipple between two fingers.

You arch your back, legs quivering around his hips from the stimulus as well as his words. “Then fuck me,” you tell him. “Fuck me full of your cum until I’m dripping. Fuck me so deep that I’ll have a part of you with me even after you leave- I want to feel you inside for a week.”

Mihawk gives you baby fever like no other man you’ve ever met, and staring at him now- knowing he’ll leave you soon after this, it makes you even more desparate. You love him more than you’ll ever be able to say- but maybe if you gave him a baby, you’d be able to show him that he’s the only man that will ever have your heart.

You watch his adam’s apple bob with effort, his hands slipping down to your thighs. He massages your skin, pulling you forward, his aching cock teasing between your pussy lips-

“You’ve always had such a dirty mouth, darling,” he tuts.

“You love it,” you insist, leaning back down against the wooden platform. “You love how dirty you make me. Love it when I’m begging for you.”

The tip of his cock pushes into your core and you both let out sounds of pleasure. You’re so wet, it’s the easiest thing for him to sink into you, and the swinging platform allows him to pull you close, only to push you away a little, using the hanging table to his advantage.

With one hand, he can control the table, and with the other, his thumb can find your clit.

Your legs shake around his hips, the sensitive bud is still trying to recover from your first orgasm, and the stimulation isn’t helping.

“Mihawk,” you moan, already feeling desperate again.

“You’re pretty like this, darling,” he tells you. “If you start to beg, I might just give you what you want.”

He’s not applying enough pressure to your clit to make you cum and you both know it. He’s just teasing you, gently rocking you onto his cock while your toes curl and your body nearly shakes. He’s such a fuck, but you love him so much.

“Please, you know what I want,” you whimper. “It’s the same thing I always want.”

“Go on.”

“I want you to fuck me rough. Want you to feel good. Want you to cum deep inside.”

“There’s more too it though. Don’t deny it, darling. I know what you want. What you really want.”

You blink at him in confusion, and he begins to rock into you harder, faster. His thumb applies more pressure to your clit, working it in tight circles that have your pussy clenching tightly around his cock.

“You want me to fuck a baby into you, don’t you?” he asks, although, the question definitely feels rhetorical. “You want me to give you the one thing I’ve never given anyone. You want me to make you mine, completely. To do the one thing that would show everyone who you really belong to.”

“Mihawk-” you whimper, body tingling with overwhelm from his words alone.

“This is why you’re always begging for my cum like a whore in heat, why you always want me to cum inside since the first time we fucked.” Mihawk lets out a small chuckle, grinning. “Bet you thought I had no idea, but trust me darling, I know your games.”

“They’re not games,” you try to insist, but your words are broken and whimpered as he fucks you more intensely, the wooden platform swinging almost aggressively now with each rough thrusts.

“Tell me what you really want.”

You gasp as he pinches your clit between two fingers, your body contorting against the tabletop. Your eyes clench shut and you feel your skin heating with your impending orgasms. “I want you to give me babies!” you admit, feeling a wave of relief to finally say what’s been on your mind for months. “I want to swell with your cum and have your children- I want to be with you forever-”

Mihawk lets out a sound that’s nearly animalistic, and then he’s hauling you off your back, leaning over your body and forcing his lips against yours while your hands grab at his shoulders.

It’s the most intense kiss you’ve ever shared with him, all tongues and growls-

Your pussy throbs around him, and you eat up his sounds, trailing your fingers through his beautiful dark hair and pulling gently-

Mihawk lets out another groan, fingers unrelenting on your clit.

“Please cum for me,” you mumble desperately, the cord in the pit of your stomach pulled achingly tight. “Please, Mihawk, I need it- I’m so close-”

He pulls his lips away from yours, your foreheads touching while he stares deep into your soul. You can feel tears of pleasure already building against your lashline, and the way he’s panting has your stomach twisting into even tighter knots-

Then he’s smashing his lips against yours again, fingers digging into your hip as he pulls you flush to his front, cock burried as deep as it can possibly go inside of you.

You can feel him cumming, and it triggers your own orgasm, which jitters through you like electric ecstasy, making your hair stand on end and your skin tingle. You’re gasping against his lips, enjoying his moans and returning them with sounds of your own.

Your arms are wrapped tightly around him while your pussy milks him for all he’s worth, your tits pressed against his strong chest. His hand moves from between your bodies to flatten against the small of your back, embracing you tightly.

You’ve never felt closer to him in your entire life.

There’s never been a moment like this one.

You can taste the love he has for you on his tongue as it invades your mouth, tracing your lips and teeth-

Even though he’s still inside of you, hips flush to your own, it’s one of the longest orgasms you’ve ever had. There’s nothing like this type of closeness, nothing like being stretched to nearly your breaking point while he fills you completely with his cum, cock so deep you can feel him painting your cervix.

It feels almost like a promise. As if he’s as dedicated to knocking you up as you are. He’s not said it explicitly, but you get the sense that he wouldn’t mind starting a family with you. In fact, he might even enjoy it.

You can imagine him teaching your child to use a sword, can imagine a three year old running around with the tiny little dagger Mihawk wears around his neck-

“I love you,” you whisper, tightening your grip on the warlord.

He lets out a groan. “I love you too.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I'm honestly considering doing more One Piece stuff on this blog, but I guess we'll see. My main account right now is kpop blog, which you can find here or @smileysuh

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#mihawk #mihawk smut #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk smut #one piece #one piece smut #opla #opla smut #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader smut #dracule mihawk x reader smut #one piece live action #one piece live action smut #opla mihawk #mihawk opla #opla mihawk smut #mihawk opla smut

3K notes · View notes

ask-the-seven-sins · 1 year ago

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𝙶𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚢'𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗~! 🍊🩷🪽

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Wanna learn a bit about her? Scroll down! ^^<3

𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬:

𝐆𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝟔'𝟖!!

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐝.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐭 (𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧) 𝐩𝐢𝐠 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐲!!

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐞/𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢��𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬!

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬!

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬':

𝐖𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡: She used not to like him, avoiding every situation that involved him due to his loud and angry appearance but after getting to know him later on she doesn't find him as repulsive as she once did.

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𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞: Although they aren't blood related, gluttony has seen pride as a close sister of hers since day one of them meeting. The two hit it off pretty well, sharing similarities and leading gluttony to have a lot of care for the sin of pride.

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𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝: Greed and gluttony were really close when they first started talking, greed was never out much so gluttony took the chances she had with greed to show her around hell. After a while gluttony felt herself getting pretty close to greed but after an incident she distanced herself from greed and they don't talk much anymore.

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𝐋𝐮𝐬𝐭: Gluttony idolizes lust. She finds lust's confidence inspiring and even though lust is FAR from the ideal influence, gluttony looks up to her a lot and thinks she's very pretty. She aspires to have the confidence and bravery that lust has.

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𝐄𝐧𝐯𝐲: Envy and gluttony first started out as enemies, envy hated gluttony's outgoing and energetic personality especially when she would mess around at envy's cave but they slowly became friends as envy grew used to gluttony, after an incident they found each other having slight similarities and even though they don't speak much gluttony still considers her a friend.

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𝐒𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡: Gluttony finds sloth's intelligent and sluggish personality sweet seeing how much sloth cares for the people around them. Gluttony only met sloth recently but values them a lot, she feels like they're one of the few sins who can understand her complicated personality. Helping sloth out in medbay, she values their time together and tries to help out as best she can.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*♛┈⛧┈┈•༶

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:

𝐆𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞-𝐮𝐩.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 /𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐢𝐦𝐩-𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐩.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬.

𝐀𝐫𝐭:

(All art shown is by me.)