#MAN & MONSTER「deck」 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peachsayshi · 2 months ago

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mermaid!reader trapped in a net, the material is so rough and harsh against your skin, catching onto your hair and the scales of your tail. there's a small shard on your side, pierced right into your skin.

pirate!sukuna finds you while searching for material to fix his ship, one that's been docked on this mysterious island.

his smile is big and wolfish, and your heart hammers so hard from terror.

you've never heard anything kind about humans. not once.

and there aren't much of your people left.

you know that whoever has been caught never gets returned to sea.

sukuna draws out a small blade, and cuts through the rope. your body wiggles and writhes, but you wince in pain. you attempt to get away but there's not much for you to do. you were dragged onto shore. in the middle of this bed of sand. when he releases you, he instantly grabs onto your wrist to pull you into him. you feel the stretch around your wound and whimper, and your body falters. your free hand reaches for it, and you're so scared being close to these monsters. so unaware of what's to come next.

sukuna huffs, then eases his hold. he glances to your side and sees the wound then finds your eyes once more.

something in him softens then, though he isn't sure what.

he's heard of your kind only through stories, but finding mermaids nowadays is so rare. they used to be a great commodity but most have been overfished. what shocks him is just how stunning you are, your eyes far more human than not. the way the shape of your mouth glistens underneath the glow of the sun is a temptation. and your heaving naked chest is covered by the locks of your long hair.

sukuna eases his grip, his brows furrowing slightly. the man didn't even know he had much of a conscious left. but something about this isn't sitting right with him.

he scoops you up, one arm underneath your tail and the other behind your waist. you attempt to push off him, but he's far bigger, far stronger. your nails scratch against his neck, making him grunt as he cocks his head back.

"relax," he groans, as he motions closer towards the shore. he steps into the water, and your eyes glance from side to side in panic.

once he's thigh deep into the ocean, he dips you into the water. the ocean balms over your wound and you hiss out in pain.

"shit," he grumbles, streaks of crimson bleeding into the water.

his hand finds yours, and he can feel the shard.

your cheeks are wet, tears falling from the stress of the situation. sukuna is still bent on both knees, the hand behind your waist moves up to hold your neck. the other is ghosting over the glass piece. he strokes your neck soothingly, then speaks: "don't move," he instructs, and when you freeze it confirms to him that you can understand what he's saying.

"listen," he speaks, "I'm going to take this out for you. let the water clean it out the wound, and then I'll take you back to shore and bandage you up..."

you shake your head, "I don't...need your help..." you whimper, your hands quivering as you motion to remove the piece of glass.

"wait, don't!" sukuna barks, but you've removed it already, and the blood pools out quick.

before he can say anything else, he watches your other hand clasp over the deep cut, and a low glow emanates from your palm as you press it into the cut. the water glitters, making the ocean and blood sparkle. you take five deep breaths, your exhales releasing in stammers as you close your eyes until you fully relax.

as the water clears, he looks at your side, the flesh of your skin smooth like nothing even happened.

his eyes widen.

so, mermaids are magical.

if he brings you back, he would be richer than most kings.

you sigh, your head falling back slightly but he's still holding your neck so he cradles you as he sees you raise your hand holding the glass shard.

sukuna stares at the material, his heart tightening because he recognizes it as a liquor bottle. the same ones that line the walls of his storage deck.

he watches you roll the same sharp glass between your palm, notices that same glow of light form as it smooths out and turns into sea glass. all the sharp edges are now soft, and the color is no longer a deep brown but a beautiful amber.

you drop it back into the water.

sukuna just stares at you in awe. takes all the parts of you in. notices that your ears are shaped quite differently, and that the color of your eyes are a little iridescent. you turn to face him, the heat in your gaze one of both fury and fear.

He parts his lips because you've left him speechless.

"Let me go,"

"I just saved your life," he argues through gritted but then it sinks in that it wasn't a demand you were asking but a request. only then does he move to grab your neck from the front, clasping it over the the choker of pearls you were already wearing. "I'm not letting you go without getting something in return..."

Your brows upturn in misery. "your kind only know how to take..." you murmur somberly.

Sukuna loosens his hold. his index finger hooking underneath the string of pearls. he runs his thumb along each imperfect sphere. but something in your tone digs into him differently.

He lets go of you and stands up.

"This is a waste of my time," he grumbles, and your lips part in shock as he turns on his heel.

You face his broad back as this man just walks away.

You're in complete disbelief; there has never been a single encounter between a mermaid and a human where the mermaid was left untouched. Your people never swim close to the shore for this reason. You've been finding your homes deeper and deeper into the ocean. And farther away from those mortals who threaten you.

Your own kind were killed by humans in brutal ways. Some disappeared and were never to be heard from again.

Your former lover was strung onto a boat and killed by a group of sailors a long time ago.

Ever since then you've avoided humans at all costs.

But this brute did nothing. Just looked at you with curiosity and is now leaving you behind.

You flip onto your stomach and swim up to him, your hand clutching onto his pant.

"Wait..."

Sukuna turns to look down at you, his daunting height covering the sun above.

"This island is abandoned. You...must have come by boat, right?" you ask.

He looks at you suspiciously. "I'd assume so," he responds sarcastically. "Unless there are horses that know how to swim..."

You tilt your head in confusion, "sea horses can swim..."

Sukuna just face palms. He is ready to walk away again but you tug at the fabric of his pant once more.

"Wait, please. Give me your compass," you request.

He scoffs, "do you think I'm stupid enough to listen to you?"

You shake your head, your body sinking a little into the water. "You did help me..." you confess, "my people believe that an act of kindness must be returned with kindness. Our powers sour if we turn greedy or cruel..."

Sukuna raises a brow.

You let go of his pants, your body lifting upright from the water. You raise your hand up to him. "Your compass."

Sukuna lingers for a moment, and then proceeds to hand it to you. You take it and clasp it between both hands. You close your eyes, your body glowing a little brighter as the water grows incredibly still around you. You place a gentle kiss on the compass, your lips leaving an imprint against the gold. When you open your eyes, you gaze up at him from underneath your lashes.

"Here," you offer it back.

"The hell did you do to it?"

You smile sweetly, hoping to ease the sour look on his face.

And it does, because he melts at the expression.

"You'll never be lost again," you explain, "it'll guide you through the safest passages to wherever you need to be..."

Sukuna doesn't know what to say. His thumb lightly tracks over the mark of your lips on his compass. His shoulders relax, which then makes you giggle, and his cheeks burn at the interaction.

"Thank you," you say with a nod, before swimming back out into the ocean.

Suddenly all the gold in the world dissipates into the treasure of that smile he just witnessed.

Sukuna realizes then, that you quite literally took his breath away.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #sukuna au

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sleep-0-deprived · 5 months ago

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Sirens touch~! (Kyle Garrick x male siren reader) 𓊝

WC:.2.1K

Tags: pwlp, anal sex, sex on a boat, monster x human, pheromones used as drugs, fish anatomy mentioned, bottom male reader, seduction themes, siren songs, handjobs, neck biting, blood mentioned 𓇼

A/N: this one is for @creepy141dollie hope Y’ like it, forgive if M’ descriptions of sirens are inaccurate, this was jus my thought process <33

Taglist: @kimisbunny @asher-is-hotxp @silvern1006 @unstab1eperson2 @yyuinaa @dewday1 @blond3ang3l @creepy141dollie @m4r13ll @ihavezeropancreas @sooobiinn @just-ignore-them @fuckingmxonlight @nightwinglover101 @chasingknives @littlelilithsposts

𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆟𓆝𓆟𓆝

The air was fogged over and cold- rigidly so, you could almost taste the salt in the air when you breathed in the mist. Kyle wasn’t happy about this in the slightest, the moment price caught wind of makarov supposedly hiding somewhere across the sea, he had the whole task force on a ship on the ocean waters, that included Gaz too. Gaz walked around on the deck, he’d peek his head over the rails and stare into the nearly black abyss of water— god he could only imagine how cold that water must’ve been.

His eyes slowly widen when he sees something beneath the sheets of liquid, it was probably just a dumb fish swimming around. Garrick wasn’t made for the waters nor did he like them, sea sick was the only thing he ever got from it— and was that a person laying on that rock?…oh god the sea must be getting to him.

“I don’t see how sailors manage”

Gaz diverts his gaze to the passing soap, walking by and across the ship watching the other end- like what he was supposed to be doing but something felt off he couldn’t explain it, it all felt weird like bugs churning around in his stomach. He’d just cut it down to the waves giving him motion sickness.

“Are you gonna make it there gaz?”

He nearly jumps when ghost sneaks up on him standing behind him with his mask on letting his gaze pierce through the other male.

“You shouldn’t be so damn quiet- you’re gonna give someone a heart attack these days”

“Relax, I was just gonna ask if ye wanted to swap tasks- ye go to the lower deck N’ keep an eye out”

The man’s British accent creeping through his words only making Gaz sigh and nod, making his way down to the empty deck, his body felt a reaction the closer he got to the waters almost like something compelling him forwards. When the rock he had seen earlier came into view he could’ve sworn he saw a man with H/C hair laying there with a deep blue webbed ear. Before he knew it he felt his chest ache at that sight- why did he feel so much need over a man that probably was a figment of his lonesome imagination.

He leans against the rails, blinking once and frowning when he sees nothing on the rock, he almost feels sadness as the disappearance but before he can mourns it a hand is placed up on the ship from the loading area a few feet from him.

“Who’s there?!”

His voice rings empty in the fog, you slip your way up onto the deck while laying sprawled with a little grin. Tilting your head over almost like a curious cat— you weren’t used to not having your tail but you’d make having legs work. Gaz was practically lovestruck standing in his military gear and yet he felt just as defenseless as a common man before a gun.

“Aren’t you just a mean one?”

Your voice was angelic and he knew that you knew that, the way you slithered up on the deck like some serpent ready for its mean had him in a state of pure lust looking at you— Gaz was a weak man and the years of solitude without touch only made him weaker. Your prime prey, you liked a sweet man who was good at heart but had desperation— you could feed off the lust in his eyes alone.

Gaz started approaching you almost in a trance but you haven’t even used your song on him yet, this was pure free will.

“What the hell are you— a damn talking fish?”

“I’m not a damn fish— I’ll have you know I’m a siren”

You hiss your words at him growing irritated with it all, reaching your hand out to grasp hold of the man and pull him down with you having him beneath you on the deck. your body nude and cold from the see, your cock pressed flat down on your thighs while you click your tongue slowly tracing your cold fingers over his skin, humming your own siren song.

“Fuck, what the hell are you doing”

“Don’t pretend you don’t want me, everyone wants me.”

Your hands grip his shoulders speaking statements not questions, your cock was stiffening up when his bulge pressed to your plush cheeks almost giving it a friendly greeting making you push back down against his clothed member, Gaz’s hands roam down grabbing your hips instinctively gripping at the flesh with vigor while he stares up at you in a glossy eyed trance watching how your hands slid off his shoulder down his vest and to his cargo pants, pulling them down with a thud when you undo his tack belt letting it fall on the deck.

Your nails were sharp and pointed leaving chills on his thighs when your nails graze over the tip of his cock having it all wet and coated in pre cum when you finally get it out of his boxers. Your eyes narrow slightly glowing under the dim fog of the late noon sky, the ship rocking back and forth against the waves having Gaz feeling completely under your spell when you hum against his ear and press your lips to the side of his neck.

“God you’re…”

He wanted to say so many things in that moment but his lips quivered and stopped, all men acted that way— you couldn’t count the number of sailors who uttered those exact words to you. Gaz felt different you didn’t want to lure him into a seductive demise, you actually wanted him all for yourself.

“I already knoww~”

you hush him silently with your lips pressed to his Adam’s apple rubbing your sharp teeth to the flesh feeling tempted to just take a bite out of him. Your hand plays with his cock stroking the base and rubbing your thumb flush against the under side of his tip, right where you knew it was most sensitive.

“O-h fuck you’re good at this”

Kyle’s moan comes out strangled like a half laugh when he takes a gulp for the first time in his military years feeling nervous by something that looks so frail, your skin practically glowed sticky from the salt in the sea having your damp body in his lap feeing your bare ass on his thighs making his half lidded eyes just stare at it, he only looks away when he feels the sharp pain in his neck— you just bit him?

“Mhm, you just taste good enough to eat”

“Oh fuuck”

His groan just make you smile having his blood over your teeth like a fresh candy coating making your slit pupils dilate, licking up the blood off his neck leaving him with the mark of a siren when you aim his cock between your wet cheeks, grinning at his expression when his eyes clamp shut from the cold feel of your skin pressing to his manhood. You rock your hips back and forth letting go of his cock and reaching up to his jaw and gripping it tight while you lay hunched over him pressing your bitter and blue lips to his mouth kissing him- making him taste his blood off your tongue while he lays on his back on the deck.

“You want this so bad don’t you?”

“…yes…”

He mumbles mindlessly under you just staring you blankly in the eyes, his lips sloppily responding to yours with your cock standing barely stiff leaning a small pearl of pre cum with your blue webbed ears looking almost like a fin when they flick back and forth in satisfaction. His cock head rubbing between your cheeks and all up and down your crack rubbing against your twitchy ring of muscles.

“Tell me you want inside me- tell me now”

“…I want you, I wanna be inside you so bad”

Your mouth nibbles at his neck some more littering it in red marks having blood smears on his skin while his hips buck up under you making you let go of his jaw when he hisses from how your nails dug into his skin. Gaz presses into you slowly pushing his way inside of your vice, being a siren producing pheromones and natural lubricant around your rim, your holes weee designed to take— you were a being of lust- a Adonis of sex in every way but the name.

“Fuckin, please-“

If it wasn’t for how desperate Gaz was in this moment he may have passed out of humiliation, he hated the way his voice cracked when he begged for you sitting desperate with his cock half inside you prodding its way into the bunny tavern trying to spread and spear you open on his dick, you sit in his lap having your mouth latched on his feeling his moans muffled by your tongue when you bite on his bottom lip leaving little drops of blood mixing into the shared spit.

“Think you may be the biggest man I’ve taken in a very long time sailor”

You lift your hips up and slowly lower them back down on him while you let your hand find its way to his shoulders digging your nails through his gear and clawing a hole in the back of his shirt leaving marks on his rich skin. Your rim milks out the pre cum from his mushroomed head having his hands trembling on your hips while he pushes his spit down your throat.

“I’m not a damn sailor— I’m a captain”

His words come out strangled beneath you when he pulls his lips, tearing them away only to gasp for air. Your nails dig harder letting out soft moans when his cock rubs your prostate just right making you feel warm shrills up your spine having you feeling in a state of euphoria when you ride the man.

Your eyes creep back and you grow slicker around his cock taking it with ease, Gaz lets out heaved gasps beneath you. Not having fucked anything in a few solid years due to his job, his orgasm is on edge but he does his best to hold back not wanting to come too quick but boy if your insides weren’t practically begging it out of him right now.

“Stop or I’ll—“

Before he can even finish his sentence your hand creeps up off his back and over his mouth hushing his groans when you feel his cock start pulsing inside you reaching his high and flooding your insides with his semen leaving a warm feeling inside your ice cold body.

“Now you’re gonna be good and help me get off right?”

“Y-yes ofcourse”

He nods his head when you hum your song to him not even giving him time to come down from his orgasm when you remove your hand off his mouth and reach to the hand off your hips when you guid it down to your hardened cock, letting out a hiss when he touches the base. Gaz slowly starts stroking your cock and giving it a firm touches under your tip.

He starts stroking your cock a little faster gripping the base with your cock leaking a mess in his palm having you instinctively pushing your hips back down on his cock with the semen inside

“I’m getting close”

Gaz starts stroking your cock faster making you arch your back getting closer to edge with his hand snaking off your hips to your ass giving it a squeeze in time with his strokes. Pre cum starts oozing drink you all down your shaft making a mess when your voice cracks and your orgasm rushes over you, you grip his shoulders tight with your

“Oh fuck—“

“What is it fishy? You’re actin like this is your first orgasm”

You sneer down at him frowning when he says that, ropes of thin liquid shoots from your tip leaving stains on his gear. Your chest raises and falls rapidly practically glowing with your eyes rolling forwards to look down at him under you, sitting on top of him on the ship, you slowly raise up off of Gaz, semen starts oozing out of you and onto the ships deck, your rim twitches all puffy.

Before Garrick could even say anything to you, you were gone. The water flashed and it was like you were an imagination? Your figure lurked under the water then disappeared into the fog, sirens were never known to stick to one prey forever.

“Gaz? Mate what’re you doin?!”

There stood a flabbergasted soap, his mouth agape standing next to price with their eyes focused on a ruin captain kyle Garrick ‘Gaz’ laying covered in come with his pants around his ankles laying on his back, his cock limp and his eyes lidded clearly worn out.

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dilatorywriting · 8 months ago

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Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.8k

Summary: 'Rule 27: It’s a poor choice to help a hare at high noon, but it will certainly appreciate you if you do.'

WARNING for some descriptions of violence

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

You’d first set foot on The Rose Queen when you were the tender age of eleven. Or, well, something close to that. It wasn’t like most peasant orphans were taught numbers, let alone how to interpret calendars well enough to mark the passing of years.

It was the first ship you’d ever seen up close—sleek, and salt-stained, and creaking beneath your toes. The Boy King at its helm had turned his nose up at you in his too big coat, with his too big boots and tricorn hat that kept slipping down over his eyes. It was a ragtag crew that you’d wandered into, made of nothing but runaways and street rats. The ship itself was just as unusual and fresh-faced. It was built in a very impractical sort of way, with hallways that led to nowhere and portholes that opened up into endless seas of shadow where you could tumble down, down, down for hours and never see an end (or so you’d been warned). There were paintings on the walls, all off-centered and hanging on crooked nails that wobbled with every dip in the waves. The masts and rails were stained a deep, bloody red, in honor of its title. And no matter how the raging winds and waves battered at those petals, your Captain would have you out there the next morning to paint them anew. The Rose Queen was the finest pirate ship in all the ocean, and you only half-said that out of personal bias.

The vessel of the Silver Songbirds was… not like that.

It was grand, certainly. But there was a barren cleanliness to it that didn’t feel lived in. Sure, Riddle’d had you literally scrubbing stains out of the deck with a toothbrush and pot of turpentine, but this was different. Sterile, rather than squeaky. The wood planks didn’t whine with a weary, seaworthy groan beneath your feet that you could feel through the heel of your boots—as if to reassure you it was there. The air smelled of salt, sure, and you could see a group of gulls circling overhead, but the whole of it felt… empty. Lonely.

The black haired man led you to a small, private room in the ship’s hull. That alone was strange. You’d been sharing quarters for the whole of your seafaring career. This new little suite of yours had a bed, and white paint on the walls, and a porthole for a window. He gently coaxed you into sitting at the foot of the mattress and readjusted the coat resting along your shoulders. His smile was soft, kind. The sort of warm, pretty expression that you could read about in a love poem.

You remembered your Siren’s vicious, pointed smirk—red, and haughty, and sharp enough to cut glass—and fought a pang of something you absolutely refused to put a name to.

When you blinked back into focus, his lips were moving in a slow, steady flow and you focused your best on the shape of them. It was hard, with how placid his expression was—with how little there was to make out of anything he was attempting to get across. And whether it be your furrowed brow or a sudden memory that oh right, you’d told him your ears worked as well as a three-legged horse pulling a one-wheeled cart, he startled into silence. His face twisted up with chagrin, and he offered you an apologetic smile with round, pink cheeks.

He fumbled around in his pockets for a piece of paper and scribbled out a hasty note to press into your palms.

‘My name is Neige Leblanche, and I’ll be taking care of you for this journey.’

You paused, fingers worrying at the sides of the neat, square bit of parchment. It felt right to offer your own name in return. That would be the polite thing, surely. But you paused, throat tight with uncertainty and a prickling, unpleasant sort of heat. Because you’d never even told your Siren your name, had you? Not even once.

And beneath that sudden, sour gut punch was something else.

‘Rule 116, your name is not a number, but it is your value. Do not offer it to any whose own interests are undue.’

The first time Ace had found himself with a wanted poster (‘Ugly,’ he’d complained, bitter. ‘How am I supposed to hook any tail with this? I look like a mutant potato. This stupid portrait is worse than prison.’), Riddle had taken your handwritten Book of Rules and underlined that one thrice over. You hadn’t thought much of it until you’d had to cut a hangman’s noose from around your idiot, foxy friend’s throat—the handiwork of the tavern folk he’d been boasting to only an afternoon before. And then it had made sense. Ace had survived (with a new, grand tale of woe that he liked to repeat ad nauseum until you wished you’d left him strung up), but the lesson had remained.

Carefully you swallowed the words resting on your tongue and offered a polite-ish nod in their place.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you. For saving me.”

Neige shook his head in a panicked sort of rush, hands waving back and forth with a clear ‘none of that! None of that!’ before reaching back into his pockets to search for another note.

‘It was my honor,’ he wrote, words jumbled and sloppy in his haste. ‘It’s the duty of all officers to help those in need.’

Your brow pinched. Officer? Officer of what?

Your Siren had called these Songbirds dangerous. ‘Not safe’ written into the sand over and over again with his curled claws. You didn’t know much of mainland politics and other such nonsense, but maybe there was some sort of… Siren Hunting Order? Soldiers of the King sent out to scour the seas and keep them safe for a host of weary, would-be-merman-meals? That would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.

Another note was pressed into your hands.

‘How did you end up stranded on that island?’

Islet, you wanted to correct petulantly. Riddle would have. Your Siren would have.

You opened your mouth and hesitated. Telling Nigel, or Nergal, or whatever his name was that your ship had been besieged by a pod of ravenous mers (and one fair-faced asshole who you already missed far, far too—) was as good as serving them up on a silver platter, wasn’t it? Siren hunters probably traded information like how pirates traded maps or merchants traded gold. And you’d be damned if your loose tongue was what led to your friend companion co-strandee’s family being hunted for sport just after he’d finally managed to make his way home again.

So you stiffened your upper lip and turned to look your savior in the eye.

“I fell overboard,” you said, firm. “Because I’m an idiot.”

He blinked, startled, and you could recognize the spluttered ‘…oh’ shaping his lips.

He handed you another scribbled bit of parchment, gaze averted and awkward.

‘I’m sorry.’

“Never apologize to the half-wit for whatever fallacy of their own led to them falling into the pit,” you recited naturally, and Nigel startled. His doe eyes went round with confusion and he tilted his head at you like a curious hound. Nothing intimidating, more like some kind of fluffy cocker spaniel or primped up lapdog staring up at you with too-long-lashes and too-few-thoughts.

You shrugged.

“Just a rule I was supposed to follow,” you shrugged off. You offered a slanted grin. “Though when you’re the idiot in question, it can be pretty hard to avoid.”

Neville smiled at you with a soft sort of laugh that you swore you could feel dancing along your skin.

Another note.

‘I’ll be back in a bit. Please enjoy the amenities here and get some rest. If you need anything, let us know and I’ll get it sorted personally.’

You dipped your chin in thanks and collapsed back against the small, flat mattress in the corner. It was soft, sturdy, probably good for your back and all that nonsense. The sheets were crisp and white, and they rubbed blandly at your weary hide. You could smell the lingering, sharp fragrance of some kind of tacky soap in the cotton. Totally not unpleasant at all. Theoretically, it should have actually been the best bed you’d ever slept in. But a part of you missed swaying back and forth in a net hammock, and an even bigger part missed plopping down in the sand with the heat of a crackling fire at your front and the even steadier warmth of the long, curling, press of gemstone scales at your back.

You flopped over onto your side and stared at the empty, carefully manicured surface of the desk opposite you and wished more than anything that you’d brought your shell.

The room was cold when you next woke, and you shivered into the jacket Neige had draped along your shoulders (because it was ‘Neige.’ It had been signed on the bottom of the note he’d left you that morning alongside your breakfast. Which was stupid. The dumbest name you’d ever heard). The starched fabric of it all wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than shivering through the chilly ocean mists that were seeping in through the porthole.

You burrowed into the swathe of white and blue wool like a rabbit in a hole, and then winced in irritation when another of those stupid, gaudy pins dug into your cheek.

You plucked the first from its place—the duo of silver songbirds. It really was quite pretty, despite the ominous undertones and all. Two, graceful, delicate sets of feathered wings arching up into the sky—forever frozen in a dance to the clouds. You dropped it into the little, dark crevice between your bed and the wall. Good riddance.

Next came a crest that was familiar in a distant sort of way—a memory that tickled that back of your brain from days long past. You hadn’t noticed it before, what with the echoes of ‘not safe, not safe, not safe’ blaring in your head like an alarm, but it was just as neatly polished as the birds pinned above. It was diamond shaped, the edges embossed in twining lines like the cut of a rope. At its head sat a strange sort of crown, with the arches and more familiar pointed designs replaced by the billowing arcs of sails. All of that gallantry surrounded a pair of rearing stallions—hooves crossed along a golden edged sword and circled with blue ivy.

You twisted it between your fingers, watching the metal glint in the low light. You hadn’t set foot in proper society since Riddle had let your young, dumb self abscond into the ocean all those years ago. You could hardly remember the flag of our home country, let alone the specifics.

You frowned and the edges of the badge pricked at your fingers.

You dropped this one behind the bed too, with a petulant flick of your wrist to make sure it really stuck.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around more often, there’s some business I’ve been having to take care of.’

You handed the note back with a shrug.

“It’s no bother.”

Neige offered an apologetic grimace nonetheless and another of those smiles that looked a bit too sweet to be real.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

You bristled before you could help it, thoughts spiraling away to harpoons, and nets, and hunting parties. And then you settled your shoulders into a polite, easy line and offered one of your own too-put-together smiles in return.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, you saved me after all.”

Neige smiled again, easy and comfortable, and pressed another slip of parchment into your palms.

‘Where were you headed? When you fell overboard?’

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck you with a barbed cactus branch dipped in—

Ahem.

You cleared your throat in a way that was surely a Very Normal Person Thing To Do, and tried to ignore the fact that he was so brazenly attempting to map out his plan of attack—to pinpoint the route that the sirens had been chasing and run after it like hounds tracking a fresh scent. Which, to be fair, sirens were a scourge on the seas. Hundreds upon hundreds of good men and women had been lost to their crooning songs and wickedly sharp teeth. They were vicious, often cruel, and so much stronger than any mortal sailor that of course the world above would fear them. You’d been very much of the same opinion until only quite recently, and now—now you just couldn’t.

“I don’t know where we were going,” you lied, and Neige’s brow pinched in a dour, rejected kind of way. “But,” you tried, sprinkling in a touch of truth to make the lie go down easier, “I know we were coming from Port o'Bliss.”

He nodded, that uncongenial expression slipping off his face as easily as it’d settled there.

He rattled off something quick and bubbly, and you pointedly arched a brow. The brunette blushed bright pink and hastily scrabbled for another bit of paper.

‘Thank you for being so helpful. I know it can’t be easy.’

Your neutral expression froze on your face and when you smiled it felt more like a polite bearing of teeth. Did he know? Could he see right through you? Or worse, was he getting all the answers he wanted from you either way, no matter how you tried to coat it in a veneer of misdirection.

“Sure thing.”

He handed you another note, this time for his pocket. Crumpled and soft, the ink a bit smeared along the curling letters.

‘It’s a poor choice to help a heron at high noon,’ it said, ‘but it will certainly appreciate you if you do. So my thanks to you.’

Something settled in your gut at the familiarity, something deceptively warm and homey.

“It’s a hare,” you said, without much thought. “Not a heron.”

Neige nodded with a polite, smiling mumble that looked like another apology, and then left you to your own devices.

That night, a veritable feast was delivered to your tiny, white-walled cabin. A grand spread of food fit for a king. There was roasted fowl, pools of thick, spiced gravies, mountains of vegetables that you’d never even seen before. And tarts. So many colorful, fruity tarts that were so sweet they almost made your tongue curl.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked as Neige took a seat at your desk to nibble at the meal alongside you—a cloth napkin folded neatly across his nap and a clear glass flute for wine placed a bit precariously by his elbow.

He smiled, honey warm, and offered you another note.

‘For helping the hare.’

Neige didn’t come to visit you the next morning, and his absence had the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.

You paced and paced around your cube of a barrack. It was maybe four steps from one end to the next, but the constant bumping your toes against the wall was better than just sitting there doing nothing. The worst part was the silence. Not the one in your head. Yes, yes, you were more than used to that. On and on, yada yada. But the silence of the ship. The Rose Queen had always felt like a living thing, a great, wooden beast with a pulse you could feel thrumming beneath your toes, your palms. All you had to do was lay a hand against its side and you could feel the rumble of the tide beyond, the rushing footsteps of sailors sprinting about to meet one of Riddle’s orders or other, the thump of heavy, wet mop heads smacking the deck overhead. It was quiet, but it wasn’t quiet. This ship? No matter how you laid against the boards or pressed flat to the walls, there was nothing. And it made you feel like you were trapped aboard a vessel full of ghosts.

The sun had long begun to set by the time Neige returned, and by then you were nothing but a livewire of nerves.

Had they found him? Your Siren? Was he there somewhere, just a few floors above—strung up like a fish in a net? Caught and displayed like a fine trophy? Or had they killed him outright? Had they found his pod? Had he put up a fight? Had he—

A piece of rolled parchment was held out for you to take, a satin blue ribbon tied along its belly. Neige’s soft, brown gaze was glued to the floor and you snatched the paper from his hands like a rabid cat and tore it open. You could barely keep your eyes steady to read it all—fine, pointed print done up in a neat hand.

‘—danger to those who venture—'

‘—for the safety of the people—’

‘—therefore, the decision has been made—'

‘—with the greatest consideration—’

‘—with immediate effect—'

‘—we have declared the extermination of—'

“You can’t!” you wailed, and Neige’s doe eyes darted up to yours and immediately away once more in guilt. “He’s—he’s not bad. I swear! I know how things look—and—and I know he’s not—that’s he’s a—but you can’t—”

Neige’s wavering stared jumped back to you in open surprise, and you saw his lips twitch on one word—delicate brows pinching in question.

‘He?’

You frowned and fought the urge to stomp your feet. Because, okay, fine. Sure, you were arguing tooth and nail for someone whose name you maybe didn’t even know. Someone who had swum away from your stupidly sentimental ass with all the power and grace of a beast fit to rule the depths of the oceans while you could barely flounder at its surface. And sure, sirens killed people and ate them. But this one was—he was special, and you’d be damned if you let some primped up fishermen try to reel him in on a hook just because he’d maybe eaten a few people. And—

There was a hand on your shoulder, and Neige was staring down at you with an expression not dissimilar to that of a parent about to tell their child that the cat had got out and met a terrible, squishy end beneath the wheels of your neighbor’s carriage. He sighed, dark lashes brushing along his cheeks, and then reached out with his other hand to tap a finger between your collar bones.

“What?” you snapped, and he tapped again. “Me? What about me?”

He paused, gaze meeting yours with a pointed sort of melancholy.

Oh.

You remembered the pins you’d dropped behind your bed, one by one. You remembered the strange coat of arms crowned with golden sails and bearing a great, shining sword. Something regal, something imperial that a commoner like you would have only caught fleeting glimpses of in parades, and marches, and war calls.

Something like, say, Pyroxene’s Royal Naval Fleet.

You glanced down at the parchment again, crumpled between your fists, and smoothed it out into something legible beneath your fingers. You reread the text with careful focus.

‘For the Crime of Piracy’ it said. Right at the tippity top. In red ink.

“…ah,” you blinked. “That makes a lot more sense.”

You were to walk the plank on the ‘morrow.

Which honestly, you hadn’t even thought was really a Thing—walking the plank, argh. Fiddly dee and a yo-ho-ho. That sort of storybook nonsense. The parables that parents passed onto their children to try and scare them away from a life of villainy. Real pirates were put to the rack, or hanged in the town squares to scare the adults away from doing the same.

But you supposed it was practical, at least. Blood was hard to scrub out of wooden decks, so beheading would have been a bit of a mess. Bullets were best to be conserved out on the high seas where stocks were already low, and honestly, your body would just have to be thrown overboard anyways before it stunk up the barracks. So, like, doing it all in one would be quite efficient. You could appreciate that.

Your hands would be bound at your back and you’d be given three breaths, three steps, and then you’d be tumbling down into the waves below. Claimed by the waters that you’d patrolled for so many years now. Fitting, honestly. Riddle would be proud (beneath the raging, spitting indignation of you being caught at all, but that was another matter). At least you wouldn’t be going out from food poisoning or something mundane like that, so that was a win. And who knew. Maybe your Siren would find you again when you were nestled to rest in some seabed not too far from here, and he could finally make a meal of your dumb ass yet. Happy endings abound.

You wondered idly at the dual branches of fate you’d wandered along in these past weeks, and if it would have been better to hide away when you’d first seen those sails on the horizon. To keep to the little, crescent island you’d found yourself on and slowly starved to death. Alone, abandoned, and sitting in a forever stillness worse than any silence you’d known before. Forever staring out over the horizon for a glance of amethyst fins that you knew you’d never see again.

If given the choice between the two, you’d take the plank.

Neige brought you another feast that night, and you gorged on it merrily.

When he nervously kept piling your plate with choice cuts after choice cuts, gaze diverted to the floor and looking like a kicked puppy dog with its tail between its legs, you rolled your eyes and swatted at his fingers.

“Unclench yourself,” you huffed, and he puffed up stuttery and pink in horror. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re just doing your job, right? If we’d met under different circumstances I bet I would have shot you first. So, really. All’s fair.”

He worried his lower lip between his teeth, guilt still swimming heavy and warm in those doe eyes of his.

He said something under his breath, something that you’d bet even if your ears were working at full capacity you wouldn’t have been able to parse out. He leaned forward to scrawl a note on the napkin beside your plate.

‘You’re happier now? After all this? I don’t get it.’

You reached out to pat him merrily on the shoulder, more a smack smack smack then anything really pleasant. He could see him fighting a wince with all the trembling sort of bravery of a field mouse. Poor dear. What was the Royal Navy thinking? Hiring on someone who looked like they belonged on an advert for rouge and sweets. This was the last face a pirate was expected to jeer into? This one? Really? It was a wonder this little, squirrely man hadn’t keeled over the first time someone spat on his boots.

“It’s a poor choice to help the fish at high noon,” you said around a mouthful of crumbs. “But it’s my choice. And I’m happy to do it.”

“Fish?” you saw him mouth, brow pinched, and you batted at his shoulder again before reaching for another of those too-sweet tarts.

There was a whole procession for your execution. With speeches. Which even with the slowly encroaching panic worming into your guts, you couldn’t help but think was at least a little funny.

The whole crew was lined up in solemn formation, listening stalwartly to some judge, or high ranking officer, or whatever rattle off who even knew what. Your crimes? A homily? The lunch menu? Fuck if you had any clue. And you were the one being fed to the sharks. There had to be some joke hidden in here, right? The scoundrel pirate who could never be tried, simply because they couldn’t hear their own sentencing. You wouldn’t even know when to stand up and shout ‘I object!’ It would probably be pretty funny, right? If you just did that out of nowhere. And what was the worst that could happen? Oh, no. A fine. Please, sir. Add it to the list of debts I owe from beyond my watery grave. Amen.

A hand at your lower back gave you a gentle nudge forward and you shifted against the ropes binding your wrists. They were nicer than your own stores aboard the Rose Queen. Not nearly as itchy, the fibers neat and clearly expensive. Neige stepped up beside you and offered you a look that was likely meant to be kind, but your growing nerves had started to eat through your willingness to play friendly. You could feel the weight of the crew around you, even if you couldn’t hear them. The creak of the deck beneath your toes as they shifted about, the way their bulk must have been shielding you from the worst of the wind. Unlike with your own mismatched family of castaways, their presence wasn’t reassuring. And you kept your eyes locked forward and away from the field of sharp gazes eating into your hide.

The plank was narrow, and immediately you were fighting the urge to sway on your toes. Having your hands bound at your rear only made it worse. It threw off the whole of your center of gravity and had you feeling dizzy and seasick.

You took one breath, stuttery, and one step. The wood whined beneath your heels in a vibration you could feel all the way up to your knees.

Another breath, another step. You could feel the salt soaked board starting to bend now. Clearly it wasn’t meant to support much of anything, let alone a whole person. And for some reason the idea of it breaking beneath you was so much worse than taking that last step all on your own. A sudden plunge that was out of your control. It had your heart hammering in your throat and cold nausea bubbling in your belly.

You looked down. You didn’t want to, but it was like your gaze was a weighted, magnetic thing. Pulled down into the salty depths below. The water looked rougher than it had a moment ago, or maybe you were just really starting to panic. You could see the white froth of the wake breaking against the ship’s hull. It churned like the start of a storm, which was really, terribly inconvenient. Seeing as it’d been so still and calm just a few minutes before. And, y’know, the fact that you had to fall into that mess of sharp peaks and rocking waves. You swore you could see dark shapes flitting about just beneath the surface, a flash of grey, or maybe green. It was hard to tell, with the brightness of the early morning sun in your eyes.

No one was poking at your back, urging you forward, which you thought was quite odd. You’d been taking your sweet ol’ time sauntering to your demise. You’d assumed they’d have less patience for a pirate with cold feet. Instead, the world around you was just silent and still. Shifting with the raging waves below, but empty and quiet as a tomb for all you knew otherwise.

You took your last breath, your last step.

And then the ship lurched and you were plummeting towards the water. The dissonance between having something beneath your feet—no matter how frail—and then nothing was jarring, and it had you gasping on impulse. Hair whipping at your cheeks and lungs squeezing tight as the air screamed past your throat. It felt like you were drowning before you even hit the water.

When you did finally crash into the waves, it hurt. You’d always been a fairly proficient swimmer, but whether it be the mind numbing panic or the ropes binding you tight, tight, tight, you just started to sink. The salt stung like an open wound, and the water was cold. Frigid. Like being tossed into the jagged side of a glacier. You at least had the sense not to gulp down a mouthful of water out of reflex, but that didn’t make things much better.

You screwed your eyes shut, bubbles frothing at your nose, and tried to find that peace that you’d clung to all night long. A life for a life, one catch for another. No one was going to miss you anyways. And if you had to meet the reaper some way, then of all the ends the universe could have spun for you, at least this one had some meaning to it.

You sighed into the darkness, soft, but when your lips parted next around what should have been a mouthful of icy saltwater, all you could taste was air.

Your eyes shot open in the gloom to a mess of familiar golds and purples that you’d thought you’d never see again.

Your Siren pulled back, bubbles curling from the edge of his lips into a soft stream of warmth between the two of you. Nestling as deep as a full breath all the way in the tightest corners of your lungs. You could feel the dip of his claws as he settled his hands at your shoulders—keeping you in place. And immediately you shrieked and flailed in your bindings.

“You—!”

You promptly choked on another mouthful of sea water and your Siren wailed—all that molten fondness in those lovely amethyst eyes of his sharpening into familiar, pissy exasperation from one second to the next. He dragged your face back to his, slotting his mouth against yours and pushing more air into your lungs. You leaned into it before you could help yourself. Half for the whole oxygen thing, and half, because, well—

When he pulled away this time he smacked a hand over your mouth with a sneer, his thumb and index finger hooked upward to pinch at your nose. He jabbed a claw in your face with a clear ‘stay put’ and immediately went to work cutting through the bindings twined along your arms. The ropes fell away beneath his talons like butter to a hot blade, and he fretfully ran his palms up and down your limbs—looking for any stray bits of netting like a compulsion. Once he seemed certain that you’d been properly freed from your ties, he hauled you up against his chest in a grip that had you losing all the air in your lungs all over again. You could feel the cool jut of the sea glass around his neck pressing into your collar, and he buried his head down into your throat until you didn’t know where he ended and you began. The frills of his tail fluttered in the water, and the bulk of those twining strands curled up and around your legs like a barnacle.

He was warm. Warmer than you’d been expecting, for a creature who spent his life patrolling the darkest depths of the ocean. It wasn’t the same sort of heat that would beat off a human’s hide, but it was more comforting than any you’d ever known. You burrowed down against his shoulder, nose scrunching against the side of his neck and the fins at his ears brushing your temple. You could feel his claws flexing at your sides, feel the shift of his scales against your skin. And just as your lungs were starting to burn, he ducked forward to pull you into another kiss—filling your chest with wonderful, wonderful oxygen all over again.

You blinked blearily past the sting of salt in your eyes and he scrubbed a thumb against your cheek.

Now that those high, wonderful, heart bursting emotions were settling back into something manageable beneath your ribs, you took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. Because you’d sent him on his way, hadn’t you? Waved him off with well wishes and a hope for his happiness. And all that aside, how had he even managed to find you—

Bubbles streamed from your nose as that newest shared breath began to run dry, and your Siren hooked an arm around your waist to propel you upwards.

You crested the surface with a gasp, paddling instinctively against the churning wake. When all that did was leave you smack, smack, smacking at your Siren’s chest like a flailing toddler, he hissed—a spitting, pissy thing you could feel on the breeze—and hauled you back up against him. Just like he had all those times you’d swum together in your cove. You forced yourself to settle, bobbing gently against the tide as he kept you both aloft.

Once your body had managed to catch up with your brain to realize that it was, in fact, not drowning, all of the adrenaline rushed out of you like a broken spicket. You slumped against the Siren’s chest, fuzzy headed and dizzy. Because he’d saved you. Which made no sense in the least. But you’d almost died, and he’d saved you—

Your gaze drifted back up to the ship from which you’d only so recently taken your Cannonball of Doom and startled.

There was blood everywhere.

Staining the railings, splashed along the low flying flags, dripping along the deck. A macabre mess of gore and claw marks gutting the once grand vessel like a beached whale. Some of the crew still seemed to be hanging onto the life rafts, others were taking running leaps into the water like they were under compulsion—eyes glazed over and distant. There was a prickling all along your skin, something twisting familiar and strange in your gut, and oh. Oh.

One of the grander looking officers (the one who had been giving your pre-execution speech, perhaps? He looked similar enough) was shouting something from his place at the bow of one of the life rafts—arm extended in a grand show of valor and sword glinting into the light of the morning. And then a great, emerald siren was rearing over the side of that tiny vessel with a sharp grin on his face and sharper talons on display. The officer was dragged overboard, and the siren’s tail came down on the guardrails with a force that had the wood splintering and the already haphazard little boat rock, rock, rocking until it caught on a high wave and capsized.

You could see the flash of colorful scales and the tips of even brighter fins all around. Cresting above the water just long enough to grab hold of another wailing victim and drag them down to the depths. There was enough blood in the water that you could smell it. Acrid and copper against the ocean’s already sharp, salty musk. And sure, you were a pirate. You’d been in raids, you’d seen death. Plenty of it. But this. Well. It was unfamiliar. In a strange, detached sort of way. These assholes had chucked you overboard, after all. So you only really had a teensy, tiny pinch of sympathy for the fact that being eaten alive probably hurt like a sonofabitch.

It was more strange, you supposed, to be at the center of a sirens’ hunt and not be the one facing down the angry, bitey end.

You kicked in the water, nose scrunching when the red tide lapped against your chin.

“This isn’t going to attract sharks, is it?”

Because if you were saved from drowning at the hands of a royal militia only to wind up as a fish’s dinner, you would be terribly annoyed.

Your Siren rolled his eyes at you, like you were just the most ridiculous and stupid creature in all of creation. And then he made a languid swipe of his large, fully-healed tail and began to swim away from the literal bloodbath he and his pod had wrought. With you and all your silly, fragile humanness in tow.

It was far too relaxing, being pulled along against his side. The gentle rocking of his tail beneath you as he swam at the surface—always ensuring to keep your head above the water as he did so. You could feel your eyes starting to dip, feel a yawn cracking along your lips. Maybe it was just the adrenaline crash hitting, or maybe it was the relief that you hadn’t even wanted to address. He’d come back. For you.

The earless pirate who never seemed to do much but stumble into one conundrum after another. Who had only annoyed him at best and shorn his fins to shredded, useless bits at worst. Who had thrown shells at his head and only nicked him a little when you cut the ropes from his hide.

Who had made him human foods with fire and taught him your language in a messy scrawl of sand and snark. Who swam with him in the bay and twined a necklace of shining, purple sea glass around his neck. Who braided his hair, and laughed at his pouting, and—

There was a rough roll of surf that splashed in your face and you spluttered against the white froth.

The Siren paused and beat his tail against the deeper waters, propping you upright as you hacked and fretfully patting at your back. You could see his mouth moving as he mumbled something, brow pinched, and stared back at him with your own wobbly frown—confused.

“Why did you come back?” you asked, and the Siren’s brows jumped up into his hairline. He looked startled, genuinely. And that only had you even more befuddled. “And how did you even find me?”

This time when he huffed, there was a subtle sort of irritation there that you’d learn to recognize well.

He was pouting.

Something brushed against your fingers in the water, soft and fleeting. You glanced down just in time to catch a blur of lavender flitting nervously below the choppy waves, never dipping close enough again to touch, but looking hesitant to keep much further either.

The Siren followed your gaze only to narrow his eyes, pointed teeth bared as he swatted at the poor, round, little octopus with his tail. A clear shoo, shoo if you’d ever seen one. The octopus squeaked, sending bubbles spiraling in all directions, and frantically looped out of the way of the mer’s petulant tantrum. You whacked him right back, indignant on your teeny friend’s behalf. Because—!

“You followed me,” you burbled, and the little octopus spun in a fretful circle. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the poor, little dear was wringing its hands. Your Siren bared his teeth and smacked out again. “Hey! Don’t be an ass! He saved me,” you argued, and your bitch of a merman just snapped his fangs in your face like a feral cat.

You gawked.

“No way. You can’t be annoyed that you were beat out by a baby, purple octopus the size of an orange.”

He huffed and turned up his nose, and you burst out into laughter for the first time since you’d watched him swim out of your cove all those days ago.

You laughed and laughed until tears were beading at the corners of your eyes, and your Siren was grumbling in complaint and pinching your sides with his curved claws. There wasn’t real malevolence in that stern glare of his, though—just more of the prickly, teasing sort of snide side eye he’d given you in your latter weeks together. Fondness, you realized. That’s what was softening it all. The same sort of warmth you held for him.

Your favorite, pissy, preening, self-righteous goldfish.

You snorted into his shoulder, still shaking on giggles, and you could feel his sigh against your temple. You burrowed down against his side, feeling his fins brush along your hips as he kept the both of you afloat.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. “For coming back.”

You were expecting another melodramatic sigh, another plaintive roll of the eyes. Instead, his fingers came up to twine with yours and tugged your hand to rest against the pendant at his throat. You blinked, confused, and he just curled your palm around that little, sand-smoothed piece of glass.

You arched a brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

This time he did roll his eyes at you, and when he spoke he mouthed the word dramatic and wide so he was sure that you could see it.

‘Moron.’

You whined in complaint and smacked his fingers away. “But I’m your moron.”

Another huff, soft against the nape of your neck. And you could see the barest twitch of a smile on his red lips as he turned back into the tide and continued his trek home.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 5

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sky-is-the-limit · 5 days ago

Note

Monster trio and how they'd react to you making them jealous on purpose 🤭

P: F!Reader x Monster Trio

CW: Oral Sex (F!Receiving), Unprotected P in V

WC: 4,486 words

Luffy:

Initially, you didn't expect him to care.

It was Luffy. He wasn't exactly seasoned in the romance department, hell, you were his first girlfriend and half the time, he still treated you like one of the crew.

There were days when he didn't always notice when you got quiet or pulled away.

Some days he was too busy with food, brainstorming the next adventure or chasing something across the deck to even remember you were there.

So yeah... maybe you just wanted to find out if the pirate king could get jealous.

Nothing too extreme, you just gave your attention to everyone but him. Arms slung around Usopp's shoulders, giggling with Nami, slipping bites of your dinner to Chopper, the treats you'd normally keep just for him.

Meanwhile, Luffy just sat there grinning, scarfing down meat like usual.

Then that night, when the ship creaked under moonlight and everyone else was asleep, you spotted him in the corridor.

Standing in the dark. Still.

That dumb grin was stretched way too far, all quiet and weird. It sent a chill down your spine.

"You forget I'm the Captain." He muttered, and before you could reply, his arms snapped forward, stretching like ropes and yanking you through the air.

The door slammed behind you and your little game was over just as quickly as it began.

No teasing, no patience.

Luffy yanked your shorts down with a growl, baring you to the cool air before collapsing to his knees like a man possessed, tongue already lolling out like he could taste you in the atmosphere.

He licked like an animal, nose grinding against your clit and sucking so hard it made your thighs twitch.

Luffy ate like he fought. Reckless, all in with no hesitation. With his mouth soaked, juices starting to glisten his jaw and neck, spit and arousal smearing his lips as he groaned straight into your cunt.

At times, it felt like he couldn’t choose what to do.

Flat, curling swipes over your throbbing bud one second, then tongue-fucking you deep the next, loud, wet noises as though he wanted the whole ship to hear.

He pulled your hips forward by your soft thighs, holding you up with sheer strength as you writhed, his moans vibrating through you.

"Mmm, better than meat-" He mumbled against your sweaty flesh, grinning before spitting straight onto your sensitive core and letting it dribble down.

His tongue flicked up the mess like he couldn’t bear to waste a drop, licking fast and sloppy whilst your hips bucked against his face to shove him in, chasing every drag of his mouth.

"Say it..." The pirate murmured, two fingers now buried to the knuckle, curling into that sweet spot over and over.

"Say what?" You gasped, almost sobbing.

He looked up at you from between your legs, lips shiny, eyes half-lidded and feral.

"That I'm your captain." He said, tongue flicking over your clit like punctuation. "Tell me."

Your voice cracked. "Y-Yes - f-fuck, yes sir, you're my captain-"

He groaned like that pushed him over the edge, his whole body trembling as he devoured you again, holding you down while your orgasm crashed through you like a wave, leaving your thighs soaked and his mouth completely covered in you.

Zoro:

Lately, you'd been catching him slipping.

Less eye contact. Fewer words. No hand on your back when you walked past.

Zoro had always been a man of few words but this felt like more than that, like he was closing off again. Like back when you first met him and he didn’t trust you yet.

The more you asked what was wrong, the colder he got. Said he was "just tired" or "needed to train." But you weren’t stupid. You felt it, that he was slipping through your fingers and too proud to say why.

So... you decided to see what would happen if someone else had your attention.

"Private cooking lessons?" Sanji lit up when you asked, hand dramatically pressed to his heart. "For you? I’d be honoured."

Zoro didn’t say shit about it. Not even when you came back to the deck reeking of garlic and smugness.

Then that night, when you passed his room, he was already waiting outside, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and that dead-calm look in his eye.

"I thought you liked katanas," He muttered as the door slammed shut behind you, trapping you against his chest.

His gaze dropped to the curve of your bare skin where the shirt had ridden up, no bra in sight and the way your chest caught the dim light made his jaw tighten.

You caught that look and tossed him a smirk, pushing buttons like a brat.

Zoro's fingers slid beneath the fabric, skimming ribs damp with heat before grabbing your wrist and dragging you towards the full-length mirror hanging on the wall.

"What happened? You downgraded to kitchen knives?"

Then he kissed you like he hadn’t in days, like he’d been holding himself back and just snapped. His tongue shoved past your lips, messy, hungry, taking back what he decided you owed him.

One hand slid under your shirt, dragging up your skin and cupping your breast fiercely, guaranteeing soreness.

A rough squeeze followed and the sensation of his thumb swiping across your nipple to coax out a gasp from your throat.

The mirror loomed ahead, big and unkind to your dishevelled state.

The swordsman shoved your chest into the glass with one palm between your shoulder blades, the cold surface shocking your nipples as your breath fogged up the reflection.

His other hand dragged your pants and panties down in one rough pull to strip your ass to the room and the air to prickle over your sensitive skin.

Leaning close, his breath warmed your ear.

"You wanted my attention," He murmured, cock pressing between your cheeks. "Now you have it."

He didn’t give you time to respond. One hand tangled in your hair with the other gripping your hip like a vice as he drove his cock into you with a single thrust.

The stretch stung, a thick burn splitting you open as he sank in to the hilt with one brutal stroke and gave you no chance to breathe.

He hammered into you hard again and again, hips slapping skin with a wet, nasty sound that bounced off the walls, making you feel like the whole damn room was shaking.

The muscles in his arms flexed with each thrust, jaw locked and sweat dripping down his temples like he was sparring, not fucking.

"Eyes up." Zoro snarled, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at the mirror. "Watch yourself take it."

You whimpered, eyes locking onto your reflection. What a mess. Your face was flushed, lips parted, tits bouncing with each thrust and drool starting to smear the corner of your mouth.

His body behind you was all strength and sweat, veins bulging along his arms as he fucked you rough, unforgiving almost.

"Don’t look away." He snapped when you tried to close your eyes from the stimulation.

"You had no problem putting on a show for the waiter, right? Now watch how fucked up you get for me."

One hand slid between your legs, fingers grinding rough, circling your wet clit like he was claiming it, making you gasp loud enough to be heard next door and legs trembling under him.

The sounds were filthy. Every shove soaked and provocatively loud, your cunt squelching around him like it was begging for more.

Wetness dripped down his swollen erection, stringing between your thighs whilst the slap of his hips against your ass bruised the tender flesh.

"No one else gets to have this," Zoro muttered low against your shoulder, breathing heavy.

"No one else gets to have you, understand?"

Sanji:

You always thought you could handle it.

Sanji was a flirt. He always had been. Compliments, heart eyes, blowing kisses to every woman he passed.

For the most part, you never took it seriously.

He was sweet to you, kind in a way he wasn’t with anyone else. You figured once things got serious between you two, you’d be chill about it and he'd tone it down to respect your boundaries.

Until that night.

The crew had docked and found a half decent bar, the kind with warm lights, loud music and everyone spread out to relax.

Sanji went to grab drinks while you chatted with Robin and Nami about everything and nothing.

Then, when you glanced over, you caught him leaning over the counter, giggling with the pretty bartender like they were sharing secrets. She touched his wrist. He didn’t pull away.

That was it. Something flipped and the green monster possessed you.

So when he brought the drinks back, you turned to Zoro who was already a few pints deep and barely upright and asked loud enough for the crew to hear,

"Think you could give me some private combat lessons?"

Zoro blinked. Grunted and nodded before downing the 10th shot for the night.

Sanji's laugh died mid-breath. He straightened, lips tight as if someone spat in his drink.

"I'm heading back to prep dinner." He announced, tossing a glance your way. It wasn’t quite a glare but he clearly expected you to follow.

And just like that, he was gone with you trailing behind.. through the ship, past the quiet halls, into the kitchen.

"Come here, mon coeur." His blue eyes dragged down your body, tongue swiping over his bottom lip like he already tasted you.

"Looks like it's my turn to teach you a thing or two."

Sanji gripped your thighs and hoisted you up like you weighed nothing, sliding you across the cold metal table until your ass hit the edge with a soft thud.

His body slotted between your legs, heat radiating off him, erection already straining his slacks as he kissed you deep.

Fingers yanked your shirt up and your bra was gone in a flash, his breath hot on your bare skin as lips closed around your tits, sucking hard and tongue swirling over your nipples with teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm.

He groaned when you arched for him, teeth grazing sensitive skin before he flicked his tongue again, leaving your chest wet, tender and marked.

"Thought I'd get jealous? Of him?" Sanji murmured, lips trailing down your stomach while undoing his belt.

"I don't get jealous, sweetheart... I get even."

That killer smile was all you could focus on before he guided his cock through your folds first, letting it glide through the slick mess you made, the head nudging your clit with every pass until you whined desperately.

Then he pushed in slow and steady, thick length stretching you inch by inch until you gasped, legs tightening around his waist.

"S-Sanji, someone could walk in-" You whimpered his name like prayer, breath hitching enough to make you choke.

"Then you better keep those pretty noises down, yeah?" He said, grinning against your neck, his teeth biting down.

"Sanji-"

"You think anyone else could touch you like this?" He whispered, grinding in slow just to hear you struggling to keep a breathing pattern.

"I’ve had you soaked the moment I kissed you."

He bent you back until your shoulders hit the table, fucking you flat while your legs spread around his torso.

Every filthy smack of flesh reverberated off the kitchen walls, the sound of your slick pussy clenching around him as he rutted into you hard being the only thing clouding your mind.

Fluids dripped off the table’s edge, pooling beneath you whilst his hands gripped your hips like handles, knuckles pale as he fucked you dumb.

"Not letting you go yet-" Sanji grunted. "They can all hear it. Let 'em."

The blonde man fucked you until your legs shook uncontrollably, until your juices mixed and poured down the backs of your thighs, ruining the table and his trousers.

You came with a sob, nails in his messy hair, head thrown back as he drove into you over and over and your cunt spasming around him, milking him like it didn’t want to let go.

#needs editing but i accidentally posted it so yay stupid me #I'm back babyyyyyy #op brought my motivation back #one piece #one piece smut #opla #opla smut #one piece x reader #monster trio #monster trio x reader #monkey d. luffy #luffy x reader #luffy smut #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro smut #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #sanji smut

424 notes · View notes

inseobts · 19 days ago

Note

REQUESTS ARE OPEN, WOWIE!! Id like to request a scenario with a gender neutral reader with the strawhats platonically, where for whatever reason (devil fruit or if they were born like this), the reader is a full on monster in the very literal sense. Like a Lovecraftian beast hellbent on protecting their crew.

The Crew and the Creature

strawhat crew x gn ! strawhat ! reader (platonic)

words count: 2.3k

tags: monster reader, found family, platonic bonds, protective reader, light horror, humor

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The sea is quiet. Too quiet.

Then something massive moves beneath the Thousand Sunny.

“Monster below!” Usopp screams, pointing over the railing “I saw a shadow—huge! With, like, tentacles!”

Franky rushes over “Maybe it’s a Sea King?”

“No,” Robin says calmly, her eyes scanning the water “That’s not a Sea King.”

The crew stares down. Bubbles rise. A thick, black shape coils in the deep.

Then it breaks the surface.

It is you.

You are not pretty. You are not small. You rise from the water like a nightmare pulled from the darkest part of the ocean. Your body shifts, sometimes scales, sometimes flesh, sometimes something else. You have too many eyes. Your teeth are not right. You drip seawater and silence.

And still, Luffy smiles.

“Hey!” he shouts, waving “You’re back!”

You let out a sound. It is not a word. Not exactly. But it means something like safe.

Chopper runs to you “Are you hurt?” he asks, climbing onto your arm, checking your many strange surfaces.

You gently lower him to the deck.

“I missed you,” Nami says, though she hides behind a mast “You scared away those bounty hunters back on Orange Island.”

“Yeah, and half the town,” Sanji adds, lighting a cigarette “Still... thanks.”

You do not speak like the others. Sometimes you speak in dreams. Sometimes in strange sounds. But they always understand.

Luffy laughs “You’re our monster!”

You blink all ten eyes at him.

“I mean it in a good way!” he says quickly “Right, guys?”

Usopp gulps “Y-yeah! Like, a cool, creepy bodyguard.”

“Cool,” Zoro mutters, sheathing his swords “Creepy’s right.”

But he’s smirking.

You settle on the deck, body shifting into a lower, less frightening form. You try to look less sharp. Less shadowy. More… crew.

“Still terrifying,” Brook says, his skull rattling “But I feel very safe. Thank you.”

Usopp looks over at him and says "You're the one talking about terrifying??"

Luffy sits on your back without asking “We’re heading for a new island. Lots of Marines. Lots of trouble.”

You growl low.

“Yeah,” he says “I knew you’d like that.”

You do not eat. You do not sleep like the others. But you stay. Always near. Always watching. Always protecting.

They are your crew. And no god, beast, or man will touch them while you still exist.

As the Thousand Sunny sails through the mist, thick fog clings to the deck. The sea is quiet again.

“New island ahead!” Nami calls “But something’s off…”

Robin narrows her eyes “There’s no wind.”

No waves. No gulls. Just silence.

Then it hits them.

A blast of air. Cold. Heavy. Wrong.

From the fog, a Marine warship appears, black sails, no flag. The kind used for secret missions. Assassins.

“Ambush!” Usopp shouts “They’ve got cannons aimed at us!”

The crew rushes to action.

Luffy cracks his knuckles “Let’s go.”

The Straw Hats move fast, Zoro to the bow, Franky to the cannons, Robin already summoning arms.

You rise from the lower deck.

You are not yet monstrous.

Your shape is tall. Barely human. Your skin shines wet like a deep-sea creature. Your eyes blink down your arms, across your collarbone, along your cheeks. Too many, but still familiar. You walk on two legs, but they stretch and bend wrong when needed.

“Hey,” Luffy calls out, grinning “Feel like scaring some Marines?”

You nod once “Give me a minute.”

Your voice is deep. Cold. Soft, like a wave under the hull.

You leap from the Sunny, arms snapping longer in the air, fingers clawed and sharp. You land on the enemy ship. The deck groans beneath your weight.

Marines freeze.

You stretch, spine cracking, growing taller, skin peeling back just enough to show something ancient.

They aim rifles.

You look at the captain “Don’t.”

He fires.

You disappear into smoke and shadow.

The Straw Hats watch from their deck as screams rise from the mist.

“Still terrifying” Usopp mutters.

“Effective” Robin says.

“Super effective” Franky agrees.

Within minutes, it’s over. You walk calmly back to the Sunny, not a drop of blood on you.

Chopper runs to you with a towel anyway “You okay?”

You blink “Yes.”

Sanji tosses you a can of juice “For your throat. You always sound like you swallowed gravel after a fight.”

You open the can. Sip. You do not say thank you, but you nod, which is more than usual.

Zoro stretches his arms “You went easy on them.”

You turn your many eyes toward him “They weren’t worth more.”

He smirks “Fair.”

Later that night, the fog long gone, you sit alone at the edge of the deck. You’ve shed your shape again. Tentacles hang lazily into the sea. You watch the moon.

Footsteps. Quiet ones.

Robin sits beside you. She doesn’t speak right away. Just watches the stars.

Then, softly, “Why don’t you stay in your human form more often?”

You shift, pulling yourself into it, slowly, carefully. You look almost like them again, though your eyes still glow faintly in the dark.

“Feels wrong,” you say after a long pause “Heavy. Small.”

“Unnatural?” she asks.

You look at her sideways “The monster is more me than the person.”

Robin nods “But both are you.”

You don’t reply. Not right away.

Finally, you say, “I like it better here.”

She smiles “With us?”

You nod “Yes.”

She stands “Good. Then stay.”

You watch her go. The ship rocks gently. For once, the ocean is quiet.

You stay in your human form just a little longer.

The Sunny drifts near a small island. Just trees. Rocks. Nothing dangerous. Or so they say.

“I’ll stay with the ship” you say.

No one argues.

They know you don’t like towns. You don’t fit in them. People stare. Or scream.

“We’ll bring back food!” Luffy grins “Meat for me. Saltwater things for you.”

You nod.

They leave.

You wait.

You sit still as a statue, eyes half-closed. But you’re never really asleep. You feel the ship breathe. You feel the waves talk. You feel something… else.

Something watching you.

It comes out of the forest.

A long, narrow boat. Quiet. Hidden in seaweed and shadows.

You smell them before you see them, old blood and gunpowder.

Pirates. Not smart ones.

They don’t see you until they’re close. One of them points “Thought this ship was empty—what the hell is that?”

You stand.

Limbs stretch. Flesh twists.

You don’t scream.

They do.

You don’t kill them. Not unless they try first.

They try.

So you do.

By the time the crew returns, the pirates are gone. Their boat is cracked in half, floating far from the shore.

You sit on the figurehead, dripping sea-water, arms folded, eyes open. Your "human" shape, but your mouth is wrong, wider than it should be. Smiling.

“What happened?” Nami asks.

You shrug “They were lost.”

Luffy laughs “Bet they wish they stayed that way.”

You tilt your head “You brought food?”

“Yep!” he holds up a sack.

You take it, tearing it open. Not meat. Not fish. Something else, shaped like a heart, but not a real one. Candy. Soft. Sweet.

“I saw it and thought of you” Luffy says with a grin.

You blink at him.

“You thought of me when you saw candy shaped like an organ?”

He shrugs “Yeah. You’re weird.”

You don’t laugh, but you let out a noise. A dry chuckle.

“You’re not mad?” Usopp asks, watching you carefully.

“No,” you say “I like it.”

That night, you stay in your human shape longer than usual. You sit with them around the table. You eat. You speak.

Only sometimes. Only when needed.

But when Chopper starts talking about an old wound, you listen. When Brook plays his violin, your many eyes all close.

And when the moon rises high, and the sea starts whispering again, your shape shifts slowly, carefully, into something ancient and sharp.

But your place at the table stays empty only for a moment. Sanji slides your untouched mug closer to the edge “Come back when you’re ready.” he says.

You will.

You always do.

It starts as a simple raid.

Another island. Another greedy warlord.

The Strawhats get involved because someone asked for help and Luffy doesn’t even think twice.

You follow. You always do.

The man ruling the port has a big gang too. Armed. Smart enough to use traps.

Too bad they’re not smart enough to leave your crew alone.

The fight breaks out in the old dockyard. Smoke. Fire. Screams.

You're already half-shifted, tall, monstrous, voice cracking through the air like thunder.

Zoro cuts down a wave of goons.

Robin snaps arms like dry twigs.

Sanji launches into the air, spinning, fire trailing from his heel.

Usopp covers them all from the back, sniping, covering, yelling tips no one listens to.

Then it happens.

You hear it first, a shout that turns into a scream.

“AHHH—!!”

Usopp.

Your head jerks around looking for him.

He's on the ground. A blade in his shoulder. Blood soaking his jacket. One of the gang stands over him, laughing.

“Little sniper talks too much.”

Something in you snaps.

You drop your shape like dead weight.

The air turns cold.

Even your own crewmates shudder.

You do not walk. You flow.

You grow taller. Eyes open all over your body, the kind that don’t blink, don’t weep. Tentacles rip through your arms. Your mouth opens sideways. No teeth, just depth. Your skin peels back in places, showing muscle made of shadow and ink.

The gang member barely has time to scream before he vanishes in your jaws.

Then you turn to the others.

You don’t care if they run.

You hunt.

You crash through wooden walls. Your roar knocks people to the ground. You move like water, like madness, like hunger with bones.

Luffy watches from the rooftop “They messed up.”

“Big time” Zoro agrees.

"A MONSTER!!!" the enemies start to scream at you.

And then a flash. A cannon. They had backup. One shot slams into your side.

You scream. For real this time.

The blast rips through part of your body, smoke and ichor pour out. You crash into the street, bones (or what counts as bones) twisting.

“Y/N!” Chopper yells, already running.

But you rise again.

Shaking. Bleeding. Eyes still burning.

You don’t feel pain. Not yet.

You leap.

You tear through the rest of them. You don’t stop until they’ve either run or lie broken in the dirt.

Only then do you fall.

Your limbs lose shape. Your body pulls inward. You start to collapse.

But arms catch you.

Usopp, pale and hurt, grits his teeth “I’ve got you.”

You're bigger than him. He’s shaking. But he holds on anyway.

“Stupid,” you whisper “You got stabbed.”

“You got blown up,” he says, coughing “Don’t change the subject.”

Chopper reaches you seconds later, frantic “Lie down—don’t shift again, you’re leaking—everything!”

Luffy walks up, face serious for once “You went nuts.”

You nod weakly.

“Good,” he says, grinning again “I was about to.”

Sanji lights a cigarette “That was terrifying,” he says casually “Ten out of ten.”

You close your eyes. You feel your body melting back into something half-human, half-broken. The pain is catching up now.

“You protected me” Usopp says, still holding on.

You try to say something but for once, your voice is gone.

You sleep for three days.

Not real sleep. Not dreams. Just darkness. Warmth. Weight.

Voices pass through sometimes.

“Stable,” Chopper mutters “Barely.”

“Reattaching muscle with sea-stone thread? That’s insane.” Franky says, awed.

“They’ll make it,” Zoro says “Or I’ll drag them back myself.”

You drift.

Until you wake.

It’s night. The Sunny is quiet. Your body is wrapped in cloth and bandages. Your shape is smaller, closer to human. You're too weak for the other one.

Your eyes open “Hey.”

Usopp sits next to you, one arm in a sling, face tired, but smiling.

“You’re alive. And not screaming in monster-language, so I’m calling that a win.”

You try to speak.

Only a whisper “You’re okay.”

He laughs “You nearly died. I got a scratch.”

You turn your head. The others sleep nearby, or keep quiet watch. No fear. No running. Just… waiting for you to wake up.

“Why?” you rasp “I lost control.”

“You protected me,” he says simply “You chose us.”

Your claws twitch. You remember the way your body moved, without thought. The way you devoured the man who hurt him.

“I’m not like you.”

“No,” Usopp says “You’re not.”

You tense.

He leans in “But you’re one of us.”

That doesn’t make sense.

“I lie,” he says, smiling “Nami steals. Zoro drinks. Luffy eats enough to kill ten men. You? You destroy anything that tries to take us away.”

He leans back “I think that’s fair.”

You stare at him.

Then slowly… painfully…

You smile.

It’s strange. Your teeth are still sharp. Your skin still wrong. But your smile is real.

The next day, you walk on the deck again. Still weak. Still wrapped in cloth. Still you.

Luffy cheers when he sees you.

“Y/N!” he shouts “Back from the dead!”

You nod “Barely.”

He grins wider “Good. We need you for the next fight.”

Sanji tosses you something.

A rice ball. Shaped like a heart again.

You blink.

“You’re part of this crew,” Nami says, hands on her hips “Whether you look like a horror story or not.”

Chopper adds, “But please don’t bleed out again. I can only take so much stress.”

You sit down. You eat. Slowly. Carefully.

The sun rises behind the Sunny. The wind shifts.

Robin looks at you, voice soft “Do you still think you’re just a monster?”

You think.

You look at your hands. At the crew. At the sea.

“No...” you say.

You pause.

Then “I’m your monster.”

They all grin.

413 notes · View notes

posh--bee · 2 months ago

Text

falling for you (into the deep end) || Aaron Hotchner

pairing → Aaron Hotchner x Reader

summary → One second, you're standing next to your father's pool, ready for a cold drink on a hot summer day, and the next you're suddenly falling into said pool with a man you have never met before in your life. A man who shortly after introduces himself as Aaron Hotchner to you, your father's unit chief and friend. Yep, this is definitely your worst nightmare come to life.

warnings → meet-cute, fem!reader, rossi!reader, reader has rossi's last name, reader wears a bikini, reader is down bad immediately, Aaron is the sweetest guy ever, but also down bad, (unspecified) age gap, a cuss word here and there, short description of a hypothetical crime, no y/n used

author’s note → I wanted to write something for Hotch, preferably with a reader who is Rossi's daughter. Throw in a quirky and slightly awkward meet-cute and voilà—here we are! I'm pretty sure Rossi's mansion doesn't have a pool, but who cares, now it does! This fic kinda developed a life of its own near the end so let me know what you think about it <3

word count → 4.8k

masterlist(s)

series masterlist || ⋆part 1⋆ part 2 - part 3 coming soon-ish :3

The soft ripple of the pool's aquamarine water rocks you gently, caressing your sun-warmed skin, the smell of chlorine, sunscreen, and what can only be described as summer tickling your nose.

The leaves of the trees surrounding your father's property rustle in a lazy breeze and you open your eyes, the clear sky that greets you as brilliantly blue as the water you're floating in, your arms and legs spread like you're mimicking a very happy and very relaxed starfish.

It's one of the hottest days of this year's summer and you decided to enjoy it thoroughly in the best way you know how: By lazing around your dad's house—sorry, mansion—eating his food and commandeering his pool until you're all wrinkly, while he is at work, catching the worst monsters humanity has created.

You will always be worried about him when he's gone but you've only ever known a world where that is what your father does; hunting down killers, teaching others to do the same, or writing books about understanding and capturing these dangerous people. And making a ton of money in the process.

Naturally, he never wanted you to follow in his footsteps, knowing how dangerous, how grueling, how draining his work can be, hoping that his only daughter would choose a different path for her professional life.

And naturally, you defied his wishes.

Kind of.

Only last week, after years and years of studying and researching and writing papers and pulling all-nighters and drinking enough caffeine to power an aircraft, you graduated with a PhD in Forensic Science and can now proudly announce yourself as Doctor Rossi instead of Miss Rossi.

That's why you're currently back at your father's place, simply enjoying doing absolutely nothing before you're officially joining the workforce, hopefully helping to catch many more of the monsters your father and his team hunt and developing the methods and practices of your field further.

But for the moment, you're content to simply float in the pleasantly cool water, watching a single lonely cloud drift across the endless blue sky before you decide in a stroke of pure genius that a cold and fruity drink is exactly what you need to make this perfectly carefree day even better. You let yourself grow heavy in the water, your body sinking to the tiled bottom of the pool where you remain motionless for a few seconds, admiring the mesmerizing shifting patterns the sunlight paints underwater before you kick off the tiles, your fingers wrapping around the metal bars of the pool's ladder as soon as you reach them.

You climb out of the pool, water cascading down your body and creating a small puddle on the sun-warmed wooden planks of the patio at your feet. You grab your towel from one of the fancy deck chairs and quickly dry yourself enough to go to the kitchen and make yourself a drink before leisurely sipping on it while you lie in the sun, a hopefully good book keeping you company until you decide it's time for another relaxing activity.

With your game plan fully formed, you set it in action, going over to the sliding glass door that leads back into the house when you catch sight of your reflection in it, briefly pausing to fix the top of your—if you might say so yourself—super cute and flattering bikini.

But before you can then reach for the handle, a silhouette of a person appears behind the glass out of nowhere and the door slides open all the way, revealing a man you have never seen before in your life standing in front of you.

In your father's house. That you thought you had to yourself.

Oh hell no.

Immediately, your heart jumps into your throat, your pulse spiking in pure panic and you stare at the stranger fearfully, your brain frantically scrambling to find the best course of action that doesn't lead to your pictures ending up on one of the boards at your father's workplace—one photo showing a candid shot of you smiling, probably from your recent graduation, while the others would document how the killer left your broken and bruised body behind on the patio, your blood painting the wooden planks red, seeping into the cracks between them, maybe even dripping into the pool's clear water and staining it with clouds of diluted blood.

The stranger's dark brows furrow in concern, and when he gently, carefully says your name, it does nothing to calm you—not in the slightest. Your body is stiffly frozen on the spot while your fight-or-flight response is busy flipping a coin and waiting to see which side it will land on.

But then the stranger takes a step towards you and you spring into action, yelping in alarm and instinctively taking one, two, three steps backwards—away from him—which you quickly realize was a big mistake when the terrible feeling of having missed a step makes your stomach drop.

And then time slows down.

With a startled cry you fall backwards, flailing your arms helplessly but without a chance to regain balance when your back foot is already hanging over the edge of the pool. The stranger's eyes widen in surprise and he urgently reaches for you, his warm and strong fingers actually closing around your wrist firmly, trying to pull you back towards him—but it's too late.

Your momentum makes the stranger lose his footing as well and not a fraction of a second later the two of you break the pool's glittering surface in a joint, enormous splash, instantly submerged by the water.

Little drops of it are still raining down on you when you and the stranger come back up at the same time to gasp for air, your pulse ringing in your ears, looking and feeling more than a little disoriented. Your wide eyes find the deep brown ones of the unfamiliar man next to you and he silently stares back at you with an equally befuddled expression.

He's extremely handsome, your brain notes unprompted, even with his previously styled hair now completely wet, the dark strands sticking to his forehead and sending droplets running down his sharp features, some stubbornly clinging to his eyelashes and even the tip of his nose. Naturally, his clothes are completely soaked too, his dress shirt now clinging tightly to his body and it embarrassingly takes you a moment to avert your eyes from this sight, from his chest, and shoulders, and arms, especially when you notice the way he has the sleeves rolled up above his elbows.

With warm cheeks that have nothing to do with you lazing around in the sun all day, your gaze snaps back to his face which looks like he's still trying to comprehend what just happened.

And that's when the horrible realization dawns on you.

That maybe this man who didn't show any signs of aggression towards you and even tried to save you from falling, who knows your name and is dressed in suit pants, a dress shirt and nice shoes might not be a serial killer coming to end your life after all.

And you just made him fall in the pool with you—completely clothed.

Oh no. Not good. Very not good.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry! Are you—are you okay?"

The words tumble out of your mouth franticly, your voice too loud, too shrill, a wholly different kind of panic settling in that makes your hands tremble and your stomach feel slightly sick.

The stranger lets out a high-pitched, breathless laugh, an amused kind of disbelief on his face when he answers, "I am, yes. Are you alright?"

His deep voice is good-humored and kind, the kind that makes your knees go a little weak despite yourself and all you manage in response is a quick little nod, threading your fingers together in front of your body, nervously playing with them under the water.

You watch him brush the hair from his forehead with one large hand, slicking the wet, jet-black strands back, water running down his arm, droplets getting caught in the dark hairs on his forearm and he quickly looks at the probably very expensive and now very drenched watch on his wrist before his kind gaze finds yours again, saying, "I'm sorry I startled you like this. I thought Dave texted you I was coming over. He has some old case files on his desk he asked me to review while he's still at the office."

As soon as these words leave his mouth, your cheeks and ears flame up in shame while your eyes widen in horror. Because that means this man who is currently in the pool with you is an FBI agent, a highly skilled profiler working on the same team as your dad, and it's all your fault that he took a completely involuntary dive with you.

And then, as if you're not already wishing for the bottom of the pool to open up and just swallow you whole to end your misery, he adds the one thing that makes this surreal situation even worse.

"I'm Aaron—Hotchner. It's good to finally meet you. Your father talks a lot about you."

Cool.

Cool cool cool cool.

Because of course, of all the agents your father works with you just made Aaron Hotchner, the BAU's unit chief and your dad's very serious, very important and very no-nonsense FBI boss fall in the pool with, completely clothed, and probably ruining his expensive shoes and watch and wallet and phone in the process.

Sure.

No problem.

Definitely not one of the most humiliating things to ever happen in your life.

You are going to drown yourself in this pool.

With your mind and body locked in a continuous state of distress, you exhale a trembling breath that does nothing to calm you, the words just spilling out of your mouth, your voice cracking pathetically as you try to explain yourself and apologize to him, completely distraught.

"Oh god, I'm so so sorry, I—I didn't know—I left my phone inside and haven't checked it in hours—If I'd known you were coming over, I'd—I'd never—oh my god—"

To make matters even worse you have to realize with renewed horror that tears are welling up in your eyes and you stubbornly press the heels of your hands to your eyes as you gasp for a breath, struggling to keep your emotions under control and regain even the semblance of composure. You refuse to make an even bigger fool out of yourself in front of him than you already have.

But that's nearly impossible when Aaron's voice is so infuriatingly understanding and kind, his tone soft and comforting.

"It's alright, you really don't have to apologize to me. You didn't know and I scared you half to death. It's not your fault, so don't worry about it, okay?"

But how can you not worry about how much you messed up when this is probably the worst first impression you have ever left on someone—and that includes the time you destroyed someone's side mirror with your own car only to learn a few days later that that someone was your then-boyfriend's very unamused mother when you visited his parents for the first time for a very uncomfortable and icy dinner. (Your mind still likes to torture you with this little incident when you're busy trying to fall asleep, basically dooming the relationship from the very beginning, but in the end it was for the best—because that woman would've shown up wearing a white dress to her son's own wedding. So you're pretty sure you dodged a huge bullet there.)

You risk a glance at Aaron through the gaps between your fingers, the reassuring smile on his face making you feel a little silly, a little overdramatic but it also makes you calm down enough to let your hands drop from your face. Not that you had any chance not to, not when he's looking at you like you couldn't do anything wrong in his eyes, ever.

"I mean it, it was just an accident. Don't blame yourself for that."

He says it with so much conviction that you're almost ready to believe him, but the unhappy frown still clings stubbornly to your face, still mentally berating yourself over this whole situation you actually had very little control over.

That's why you jump almost a foot into the air (the water you're still standing in) when a warm and big, big hand gently squeezes your naked shoulder. Aaron is somehow so much closer than before, looking down at you and steadily holding your gaze while all you can do is dumbly stare back into his eyes, captivated by the sparkle of amused patience in them, by the way his dark eyelashes frame them so perfectly, following his sharp features to the slope of his nose, further down to his lips, wondering just how they would feel pressed against yours—

Nope—!

That very attractive and very wet man in the pool with you is still your father's colleague and friend, you remind yourself with burning ears, letting out an involuntarily awkward little giggle that ends in a dramatic sigh, your whole body deflating under the comforting weight and warmth of his hand on your skin.

You manage to smile up at him despite your chest still feeling a little too tight with anxiety while butterflies undeniably start to stir in your stomach.

"Thank you for saying that," you murmur defeatedly as you try and fail to tear your gaze from his eyes. "But I'm still sorry about your clothes and watch, and everything else too."

But he simply shakes his head, easily dismissing your attempt to apologize once more, shutting down your offer to pay for the damages that would surely follow before it could even pass your lips.

"It's fine, really. All of these things can be replaced. I'm just glad you didn't hurt yourself."

How can he just say things like these with that stupidly attractive and smooth voice of his while his hand deliberately rubs up and down your arm and not expect you to fall for him right then and there? Because you're pretty sure that's what's happening right now, without you having the slightest of chances to stop it.

But that's a problem you will have to deal with later, you decide, because right now the two of you are still just standing in the water together, and while your attire is completely pool-approved his very much isn't and you probably should get him at least a towel and some dry clothes to change into.

So you softly tell him as much, nodding your head towards the house, "I could get you some of dad's clothes so you can change, I hope that's okay."

"That would be perfect, thank you," Aaron answers, a grateful smile on his lips and you can't help but notice and appreciate the enticing crow's feet framing his eyes while he does.

You give him a timid smile in return, mumbling, "It's the least I can do."

He only gives your elbow a final tender squeeze in reply before pulling his hand back, his fingers lingering on your heated skin for just a moment longer and you can't find it in you to complain about it, not when a pleasant shiver runs down your spine at that.

Crap. You're in so much trouble already.

Reluctantly, you look away from him and turn around, heading to the pool's ladder, your whole arm tingling with the ghost of his touch but you try to ignore it as best as you can—which isn't all that much.

You climb up the steps first before holding out your hand for Aaron even if it's not strictly necessary. You're delighted when he takes it anyway without hesitation, your whole hand swallowed in his firm grasp, a discovery that makes your stomach do a funny little flip.

"I hope this at least takes the first place of the most memorable ways you ever met someone for the first time," you joke as Aaron emerges from the pool, finding some humor in this absurd situation as you watch his soaked clothes lose probably half of the pool's content on the planks of the patio, the wet fabric sticking to his body unpleasantly. But you don't miss the quick upwards quirk of his lips despite him looking like a pretty miserable, drowned rat now. You try to cover up your amused snort with a cough, but you know he can't have not caught it.

He however takes it in stride and graciously ignores it, instead starting to take off his watch while saying, "It absolutely does. And I can't say I wasn't wishing to cool off all day today, but that wasn't really what I had in mind. Not that I'm mad at all about this spontaneous opportunity to take a swim with you."

He smiles at you, fully, boldly, and you're probably mistaken when you think you saw just a sliver of shyness shining in his eyes because you're too distracted by the rest of his face that looks somehow even more handsome than before.

"Well, in that case, you're very welcome," you play along easily despite your heart slamming almost painfully against your ribcage. "And what can I say, I just love to leave a lasting first impression."

You're blessed with that charming high-pitched laugh of his again while he lays his watch on the patio table before his hands move to the buttons at the top of his shirt—which is not something you should find as enticing as you do.

"You definitely did. I just hope you don't make everyone you meet for the first time fall for you like that."

The words take a moment to fully register in your mind as you're busy admiring his deft fingers working on the first button of the shirt, but when they do something must suddenly take possession of you because your mouth curls into a teasing smile without you really meaning to and you casually hum, "Hm, no. Just you."

Aaron's fingers freeze mid-movement, his gaze so much more intense than just moments before but to your own surprise you don't shy away from it, keeping your eyes locked with his as he carefully utters his next words, his voice just a little rougher.

"That must make me pretty special, then."

You consider his words with a slow tilt of your head, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to keep the eager smile threatening to overtake your face contained, your heart hammering away in your chest and your head feeling slightly dizzy. The daring and impulsive part currently in control of you makes you step directly into his personal space without hesitation where you can openly admire the small amount of chest hair peeking over the collar of his t-shirt which immediately cancels out the disappointing discovery that even in this heat he's wearing multiple layers.

"It probably does, Mr. Hotchner," you practically purr in reply, your voice almost unrecognizable to your own ears as you bring your hands up to his chest.

Your eyes never stray from his when you nudge his hands away from his shirt and replace them with your own, your fingers shaking visibly as you slowly, deliberately slide another button through its respective hole for him. And he lets you, his lips slightly parted, his gaze so much heavier, so much more heated than before that you have to suppress a full-body shiver.

You know it's not appropriate to do what you're doing right now, not with a man who is easily ten years your senior, who you never met in person before today and—most importantly—who is not only your father's superior but also his friend. And before today you would have never given in to your impulses like that, simply shoving them to the farthest corner of your mind where they would come back to haunt you during sleepless nights, making you wonder what could've been if you had just taken a chance for once in your life.

You don't know why it's different now with Aaron Hotchner of all people, what it is about him that makes you act like this so suddenly, so uncharacteristically bold, but you can't stop yourself—and to your thrilled delight, it doesn't seem like he wants you to either.

Not when you can clearly see the nice blush dusting the apple of his cheeks pink. Or when you notice the anticipation in his eyes, his tongue absentmindedly peeking past his dry lips to wet them. Or when you catch his pupils dilating as his attention snaps down to a droplet of water shining on your collarbone, his eyes following its path utterly transfixed as it slowly runs down between your breasts, the soft swell of your chest on full display for him thanks to your bikini top hugging you so perfectly.

To your astonishment, his gaze doesn't make you uncomfortable or exposed and you don't shy away from his attention—quite the opposite. You let yourself revel in it, a pleasant tingling sensation spreading from the very tips of your fingers to the rest of your body, making you feel confident and desired in a way few, if any, people have in the past.

He makes you feel cherished, the (poorly hidden) want in his eyes only increases this feeling.

But most importantly—he makes you feel safe.

That's what's so different about him.

So it's not surprising that you're lightheaded in the best way possible when your fingers slowly trail further down his shirt, smugly smirking up at him when he realizes he was caught red-handed ogling his friend's daughter's scarcely clad chest.

You see his Adam's apple work uneasily in his throat as he tilts his head slightly, not being able to meet your eyes anymore, his whole posture suddenly uncomfortable and stiff and the look on his face downright terrified. You find everything about this incredibly endearing and equally entertaining, the way his cheeks are now deeply red and probably burning hot to the touch, the tips of his ears very much in the same condition and his hand flexing by the side of his body as if debating whether physically pushing you away and creating some distance between the two of you would somehow remedy the situation.

But he doesn't, instead his gaze guiltily flickers to meet yours for a split second and then his lips part for the first words of a sincere yet deeply embarrassed, stammered apology. Yes, Aaron Hotchner, the ever-serious, ever-composed, big bad FBI agent who stares down serial killers for a living, who doesn't even flinch when the barrel of a gun is pressed against his head, actually stammers, evidently not used to losing control like this, not used to allow himself to give into temptation, anything that would expose that behind his almost perfect mask is simply a man, a human, with tragically repressed wants and needs and desires.

But you smile up at him, kindly, giddily, because you're really not used to someone like him giving you this kind of attention and you refuse to let yourself feel bad about it now and start to overthink it, so you simply say, "It's okay. I don't mind."

And then, because it's the truth, you add, "Not when it's you."

Your words cause a quick succession of emotions to flash across Aaron's face—regret, surprise, doubt, relief—only to finally settle on something so soft, so gentle, so close to adoration that your first, entirely instinctual reaction is to shrink and hide away from gaze.

But he doesn't let you, holds your gaze steadily and brings his hand up to yours still lightly resting against his chest. His fingers curl around your much smaller palm and he has the audacity to smirk at your very obvious, very telling reaction to this as if your roles weren't reversed just moments before. But then he gently presses your hand against his chest, his hand still covering yours and you immediately forgive him.

Because like this, you can feel the heat of his skin slowly bleed through the wet fabric of his shirt and into your own skin. You feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the low hum forming there when your other hand moves with a mind of its own to rest on his shoulder, anchoring you to him further.

But most importantly, like this, you can clearly feel his heartbeat mirror the almost frantic, thundering pace of your own.

It's as confusing as it is exhilarating, knowing that for some bizarre reason, you and this stranger (because as many times your father has talked about Aaron, you have never met him before today) feel the same magnetic pull towards each other, and without knowing who moved in first you're suddenly breathing the same air, your faces close enough for you to count each individual dark eyelash and admire every single detail and imperfection of his handsome face.

Questions linger unspoken in the small space between you—Is this okay? Should we really be doing this?—but the small impatient noise escaping you is enough to dissipate them immediately.

He moves in even closer and you let your eyelids flutter shut, your heart stuttering in your chest when you feel his breath fan across your face, feel his lips hesitantly brush against your own, the faint touch enough to send a spark of overwhelming pleasure down your spine, the eruption of butterfly wings in your belly like nothing you ever felt before in your life, before finally—

Finally—

—the devastating sound of the front door falling shut echos through the whole house, your father's cheerful voice calling out both your and Aaron's name.

Your eyes snap open in horror, your heartrate spiking alarmingly, and like you were burned you push away from Aaron, desperate to create even the illusion of distance between the two of you. You're lucky you don't fall in the fucking pool again but only because of Aaron's quick reflexes, his arm wrapping around your naked waist and urgently pulling you flush against him, thankfully not losing his footing this time.

Terrified, you stare up at him, both of you frozen in this blatantly incriminating position—entirely too close, too intimate for two strangers, a daughter and her father's friend—his palm burning into your naked skin while your dad's footsteps are coming closer, and closer, and closer—

In a last, desperate attempt to save yourself and Aaron from being discovered like this your tardy fight-or-flight response kicks into gear again, urging you to—albeit reluctantly—exit his hold and rush towards the house, fleeing the scene of the crime and leaving poor Aaron to explain what happened to your father.

You don't stop when you run past your dad, only squeaking something unintelligently about getting some dry clothes when his confused voice calls after you, your wet feet almost causing you to slip and fall on the cold and hard marble floor but somehow you make it to the safety of the upper story, making a beeline to the master bedroom's dressing room.

With your heart beating painfully inside your chest, you curl up into a miserable ball of anxiety and regret in the middle of the room, not caring that you're dripping pool water onto the expensive carpeted floor, your shaking hands coming up to cover your face.

What the hell were you thinking? How will you be able to face your father—or worse, Aaron—ever again?!

You press the heels of your hands hard enough against your eyes that stars and shapes overtake the darkness of your vision, contemplating if staying inside this dressing room for the rest of your life is really that bad of an option.

But you're startled back into action when Aaron's calm but carefully controlled voice followed by your father's boisterous laughter travels up the stairs to you and you pick yourself off the floor before hectically digging through your father's clothes until you find something passable for Aaron to change into.

As you descend the stairs, knees weak and threatening to give out underneath you, your anxiety pressing heavily against your chest, you wonder helplessly how you will survive the rest of this day, how you will ever survive seeing Aaron again after today.

Because this afternoon, while he fell in the pool with you, you fell for Aaron Hotchner.

(And he fell in love with you, too.)

series masterlist || ⋆ part 1 ⋆ part 2 - part 3 coming soon-ish :3

divider by @/cafekitsune

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #falling for you series

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honeyshiddendesire · 3 months ago

Text

Worst Generation + Shared Kinks

Warnings: degradation, pussy drunk men, public sex, deep throating, dirty talk, pet names and teasing, doms, captian kink duh!!

Characters: Eustass Kidd, Luffy & Law

*masterlist* *banner*

Call Me Captain

Eustass Kidd fucking lovessss when you call him captain, this man don’t even care how you’re saying it. You could yell at him “Fuck off Captain.” or “Sure thing Captain.” And the man is gonna fold like some laundry. Will scoop you up over his shoulders like a bag of potatoes and immediately take you to his room for the ride of your life. Those strong hips of his would thrust into you with a force that would leave you sore for days, face scrunched up in pleasure as he encouraged you on. “Fuck- call me captain again baby, lemme hear it. Sounds so pretty coming from you.” If there’s anything you ever want best believe all you have to do is say that word for him and it’s yours. “Hell yeah I gotcha ya baby, that’s what your Captain’s for.”

Luffy when he heard you moan out the word Captain during sex instantly made him freeze, head tilting like the cute little puppy he is. You’re fucked out beyond belief to register the gears tearing in his head, his chest rising and falling faster as he suddenly had a newfound passion. Would totally want you to say it again…like alot. “Hey Y/N call me Captain again. I like it. Keep saying it for me okay?” Luffy would fuck into you like a beast that you’ve never seen before, hips snapping into you like a monster, grin so wide you practically saw your reflection in his teeth. “Say Captain- yeah just like that.”

Law is a tricky one because it wouldn’t take the both of you fucking to make his head spin hearing that word leave your mouth. It would be the moment you entered onto the crew that the feelings would harbor. Using that damn word as fuel for the way he fists his cock when he’s all alone. Picturing the way you would sound moaning it out for him as he bounces you on his cock, your expression wrecked as he pushes you down to take more of his length. “Fuck- please call me captain again.” Law would quietly mumble into the hand that he had over his own mouth. The day you too finally fuck is when you walk in saying the exact word he needed to hear in order to cum. “Hey Captain!” Yeah the man was done for but so was your pussy after he was done with you. (totally gotta write this out lol)

✨ They get called Captain all day but when it leaves your pretty lips it never sounded sweeter ✨

Public Sex

Eustass Kidd has no boundaries unless you set them. So if you don’t stop the man he would have no problem bending you over the deck and pounding into your squishy pussy till she cries perfectly for him. He wouldn’t care if you’re loud or if you’re biting your own fingers off in order to not make a sound. “Pretty pussy, just gotta have it no matter where we are.” Eustass would fuck you in an alley after hitting up a bar too, strong arms lifting you up like you weigh nothing cause to a man like him you definitely don’t. “Dammit pipsqueak, this pussy is gonna be the fucking death of me you know that right? Ugh the shit that you fucking do to me.”

Luffy also has no boundaries because that’s just who he is to be honest. Like the man genuinely has no shame in the things that he does, so he would fuck you right on the head of the Sunny. Stretchy limbs wrapped around you like ropes that keep you in place, “Damn you feel so good I don’t think I’ll be able to stop even if someone comes over. Shishishi!” To say you’re worried is an understatement but everyone would be able to spot the sex eyes that Luffy gives you and knows to stay away. Luffy would fuck you on rough tops, using his arms to slingshot you both up there for a fun rough fuck. Also in alleyways after a good meal but unlike Eustass he would do it in broad daylight, at least Eustass has some decency to wait till the sun is down. “Oh who cares who sees, we’re pirates afterall.”

Law wouldn’t know he had a public sex kink until he was fucking you in his office and the door opened up from a whale pumping into the Polar Tang. No damage would be done to the submarine but the door being unlocked would cause it to pop open. Suddenly he couldn’t help but get turned on to the taboo topic of someone passing by to see your lewd figure bent over his desk. His large cock filling up your pussy with an intense stretch as you clawed at his desk with a moan of his name that made his chest swell. The idea of someone catching your usually put together self being absolutely wrecked into a cock drunk mess made him fuck into you harder and faster. Both of you just getting drunk on the feel of each other. “Damn, would you look at that? Seems like the door opened up love. Hopefully no one sees how desperate you get for my cock.”

✨ It’s their ship and they’ll show everyone that sails the sea just who you belong to ✨

Wear Their Gear

Eustass Kidd would love love love how good you look completely naked except for his signature red fur coat draped over your shoulders. When he’s fucking your pussy in the alley he’ll use it as a shield from any prying eyes that could be lurking for a little peak of his girl. Even when you’re cold and he drapes it over his shoulders he can’t help his thoughts from drifting into the gutter. Always picturing the way you look laid out on his coat as he folds you into a mating press or ass up face down with your cheek pressed into the plush fur. “Can’t have my pretty slut getting rug burn so I'll lay my coat down for you doll.” Doesn’t like people touching his shit but you’re definitely the exception because you look so good riding his dick with his coat on. “Looking so good and cozy with my cock in you and my coat on. Shit I gotta buy you your own cause you look hot as fuck right now kitten.”

Luffy only gives his hat to important people so when he places it on your head as you bounce on his cock the man can’t help the huge grin that paints his face. “You always look good with my hat on.” Luffy would plant his feet down and fuck into you harder just to watch the hat bounce on your head forcing you to keep a hand on it. “Don’t let it fall okay.” Sometimes he would even put his hat on your head as you suck his dick, standing above you with his intense gaze that you match. Hat tipped as you suck on his stretchy cock that he pushed you further down on, his hand holding the hat in place as he thrusts his hips till you choke a bit. “Swallow every bit so you don’t mess up my hat okay?”

Law would also place his hat on your head while you suck on his cock, a smirk playing on his lips as he rests his head against his hand to relax a bit. Pushing your hair back and placing his hat on you to keep your hair out of your face. “You don’t mind holding my hat huh princess?” You wouldn’t be able to answer as he would only fuck into your throat harder making you choke on his length. “Awe I thought you liked my hat baby?” Law would taunt as your brows would furrow, gaze growing teary as you stare up at the man. His other hand would stroke your cheek lovingly, but his hips were anything but nice. “I’m sorry princess I just love seeing you in my stuff, it makes me get a little carried away.”

✨ They were picky when it came to their things, but when it’s you they don’t mind one bit ✨

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