#chew x reader

[shadowsandcoffedripss]

Hi, I hope it's not too late yet, but, Could you make a Chew/kuroobi x human??

Please consider it (⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)

Yes! Of course I can write some headcanons for my babies qwq

They are so underrated omg-

I'm going to do them separately, if that's ok!

Chew

• Would act like a true bitch at the start, only because he won't admit he fell in love with a human in the first place-

• Every time you two are in the same room, he would give you his little head tilt and won't stop looking at you with his big blue eyes (me next-)

• Eventually would start flirting with you, but still wouldn't admit his feelings. Cause his kind of an hotheaded bitc-

• Insist on staying with you every time you are in Arlong Park to make sure you don't do anything stupid, but he actually wants to stay with you because he got feelingsss

• Likes playing with your hair, and if he keeps too much the eye contact he will smile in the cocky way he does and go like "what?" as if he wasn't doing anything-

• would eventually pull you into a long kiss when he can't justify himself anymore, and oh boy he's definitely a great kisser...

• I mean did you see him??? His lipssss-

• He would always, ALWAYS cheer you up when you are sad, no matter if he's busy with Arlong tasks or something else... You are his first priority. Always.

• Since he's VERY tall... (Reminder, this is his live action version...) he might joke about your height difference some times, and he will be the little spoon too a few times... Ok more than a few times...

• Uses petnames. Oh yes he does. I mean, we are talking about the silly guy who called Buggy "honey"... (And in that moment I knew... I was down bad)

• You are the only human who doesn't think he's a monster or ugly. He would never admit to someone else, but he's so grateful for you loving him.

Kuroobi

• Won't admit to himself he's catching feelings for you... Since he's more of an introvert he will take him some time to confess his feelings..

• But eventually he gets there. And Chew would immediately notice him acting weird around you, or when you are in the same room together.

• "You are only smiling when she is around... Did you catch feelings for her, Ku?"

• "What? No. Absolutely not. Shut up."

• "Then I can tell her about your not crush, I'm sure she won't mind~"

• "Don't you dare-"

• He had a little crush. Ok, more than little.

• You knew he had it because not only was he indeed smiling only when you were around, but he always seemed protective over you.

• When he admitted his feelings, you were now sure that he was in love.

• Likes to wrap his arms around you, and just feeling your body close to his. He's the big spoon.

• If you ask, he may also braid your hair, since he does his own hair, he's actually very good.

• Also would focus only on you if you have any problem whatsoever. Anything really. He doesn't want you to be sad, he doesn't even want to imagine you getting hurt.

• Willing to risk his life for you and you only.

• The only human he would never hurt, you are the exception to his own crew thoughts and opinions about humans he learned to follow through the whole time.

• Won't admit it, but he feels more safe when he is around you compared to anyone else.

can you tell I have a favorite fandom to write? Oops hehe

[mmkin]

i need all the kissu

next part of my Get You Some Arlong Pirates/Sirens of the sea collection is now up... the tale of Chew and his lovely mermaid continues. Chapter also included under the cut.

Content Warning - none that have not been used previously for this collection. mentions of slavery and PTSD. Some smut but all consensual.

VI – Give Me All the Kissu 2

o0o0o0o

You know that there are women in the village who will be happy to help take care of you as you recover from the branding, but to your surprise, Chew asks if he can attend to you. Even though you’re lovers, you have to admit that it’s surprising that one of the leaders of the Arlong Pirates would take his time to tend to you. He’s even had you moved into his apartment – and bed – and you’re happy to enjoy his hospitality.

You spend most of the first couple of days resting, taking drugs for the pain, floating in a medicinal haze. Out of the races in the world, the merfolk may be better than all else when it comes to speed in the water, but it's the fishmen that have the strength. However, Chew is gentle with you, his hands surprisingly skilled at changing the bandages and cleaning or applying salve to your new mark. There is no infection this time, but the pain is still considerable, and it is a couple of days before you're comfortable with anything more than the small, controlled movements because it seems like every time you move an arm or leg, or twist around, it pulls at the fresh wound from some angle due to its size.

He shares the bed with you, but none of his touches are sexual, and you have to admit you admire his self-control. He has a gorgeous mermaid in his bed, one he has an established relationship with, but he’s been a perfect gentleman while you convalesce.

“I might offer to use my mouth to help you feel better, but you would be twisting around too much and that’s not good for your back,” he teases as he sits there at the end of the bed, running his fingers along the back of your legs. You look over your shoulder at him and blow a raspberry.

“Thank you for taking care of me, though. I’m a little surprised Arlong would just give you the time off for that,” you comment.

“He’s not going to deny the request of a longtime friend,” Chew explains. “And you’re an excellent source of income for Arlong,” he adds dryly. “Our great Captain is not going to mismanage his resources.”

You blush at that. You enjoy being a pirate, to be sure. You provided millions of Berries for the pirates who’d captured you, and more millions for your former owner. You did not see one Berry of any of that money. Arlong is tightfisted, but not lacking business sense, and you get your cut every time. The way you see it, it’s a win-win situation for you and Arlong. And now you have a cute fishman who’s essentially become your nurse, making sure you’re eating and taking your medicine. (And there’s that mouth he mentioned earlier...maybe he’s not using it right now, but plenty of time for that later!)

After a few more days, Chew asks you if you want to see your back. The thought makes you excited but anxious. With a wall-mounted mirror and your hand mirror, you look at your back for the first time in years. The wound is still healing, but there's no more need for bandages or salve, and the red sun stands out against your skin, with slight redness of the skin around the scabbing at the edges. You stare at it for several moments, processing it. The design is not yours, but you still chose to receive the mark that Fisher Tiger had designed so many years ago for himself and fellow escaped slaves.

You’re not sad or in pain, but tears still come to your eyes.

“Are you giving me more tears to kiss away, chu?” he asks gently. You let out a small laugh to show him that you’re happy, but allow him to pull you into his arms, nuzzling and kissing your cheeks. As he does, you angle your mirror, seeing his arms now wrapped around your back, strong muscles flexing under light blue skin.

“What are you doing?” he asks when he sees what you’re up to.

“Well, I wanted to see how I looked with a sexy fishman wrapped around me.”

He smirks at that and kisses away the rest of your tears before his lips move along your neck and back. He trails his lips around your mark, skirting the tender flesh before he moves to your front, kissing his way down from your breasts. You know he’s been patiently waiting to use his mouth that way, so you relax in his arms, opening up to him.

o0o0o0o

Shallow as it may sound, one of the things that appeals to you about Chew is how attractive he is. Some people might find that hypocritical, using someone else as eye candy after you’ve been that to a Celestial Dragon for years.

But there’s a significant difference. That bastard put you on display not just for himself, but for his friends, peers, and subordinates, for various reasons – lust, power, elitism, pride, avarice.

You certainly do feel lust when you look upon Chew. Maybe a bit of pride too, because you have a handsome fishman who enjoys laving attention upon you, and what girl wouldn’t feel proud about that? But Chew is your eye candy, and you're not sharing him with anyone else. When Chew is on display, it's for your eyes only, and it's something he does of his own volition, obeying your commands when you ask him to strip or touch himself in front of you.

His fingers trail along his throbbing length, and you ache deliciously as you imagine – and remember – him burying that thick length in you. His fingers trail along his privates before circling his lower belly and inner thighs. You ponder your options. Do you have him masturbate for you, bringing himself to completion while you watch? Do you go down on him, doing that delightful humming trick you do when he's fucking your mouth? Or do you climb on top of him, bringing satisfaction to you both?

The webbing between his fingers stretches around the sides of his erection as he starts to pump himself slowly, watching your reaction. You slide off your shirt and bra, and his eyes gleam in delight as he admires your naked upper half, pumping himself a little faster. The rest of your clothing comes off, and his blush deepens as you sit at his side near his shoulder, leaning down to give him a kiss, his lips capturing yours as you slide your tongue into his mouth.

“Chew…” you sigh as you pull away from him, cupping his face as you look at him. He puckers his lips at you, and you smile before you go in for another kiss. You love the feel of his lips, and he knows it. His hand slides from his cock to pull you close, wrapping his arms around you as he places kisses along your face and neck.

“What is it you want?” he asks. You ponder the options from earlier, and still can’t decide.

“I just want you,” comes your reply. So he makes the choice for you, rolling on top of you and spearing you, giving relief to the aching cock that had been teased so much previously.

o0o0o0o

You'd given bondage a hard no. You'd heard of it, but as a former slave who'd spent enough time in restraints, the idea of being in them again, even of your volition, makes you want to run for the hills. As for tying someone else up, again, that was conflated with negative experiences.

The only time you took pleasure in restraints was when you were tying up humans who had blundered into Arlong’s territory whether by accident or design. But there was no pleasure in the idea of tying up Chew. And why was that even necessary when Chew would accept your commands? It was hard to imagine anyone actually enjoying it, but you know that your life as a slave has irrevocably affected your perspective on the world and many things in it.

So the idea of being blindfolded does make you nervous, even though Chew did not mention any other restraints.

“Why?” you ask. He smiles at you.

“I know you like looking at me. And I certainly don’t mind that. But I want to try something different. I want your attention focused on other aspects of me.” He holds up the sash that he had been toying with. “I want you to have all your senses centered on my touch and voice.”

You glance from him to the sash for a moment. It is an innocent-looking thing, made of dark and fine silk that can be tucked around your throat or tied around your waist. After a moment, you swallow and nod. He is gentle as he ties it around your head, asking if you’re comfortable as he makes sure it covers your eyes completely.

You rest your head on the pillow, wondering what is to come next. Your palms rest on the bed, fingers curling against the blanket as you hear his breathing. You open your eyes, registering a faint haze of light through the fabric but nothing else, so you close them, trying to not squirm too much.

“You look so delicious, being there on your back, open and waiting for me,” you hear him purr near your left ear. You start paying more attention to the way the mat and blankets shift under his weight when he moves.

“You can see me, but I can’t see you,” you reply with a small pout. He chuckles softly.

“Then you can blindfold me next time, how’s that?” he purrs.

“Fair is fair,” you concede, trying to bite back your impatience as you wait for his next move. He keeps you on edge with strokes of his fingertips, gentle swipes of his lips or tongue, and lingering caresses along the curves and planes of your body. He’ll go for something seemingly innocuous like your ankle, and then switch to heated breaths against your inner thigh. A finger dragging along your arm will be followed by a pinch to your nipple. You learn to have a sense of what he might do next depending on where he is positioned, and how you feel him lean or move. Every touch only leaves you wanting more, and you squirm around in obvious need as you feel his tongue circle your navel before he kisses downward to your waiting need.

You also notice that you’re more sensitive to smell, or perhaps you’re just paying more attention without the stimulus of sight. There is the ever-present smell of the sea, along with wood and leather, and the faint scent of sweat and soap on the sheets. And when he moves close enough, you smell Chew, a pleasant masculine aroma tinged with seawater.

“Chew,” you plead. You can’t see him but you are certain he is hard.

“You want this?" You feel him lean over your leg, and you feel something brush against your lap. For a moment you think it's his finger, but nope. The moment of slickness you feel is him smearing his precum on your skin as he drags the tip of his penis against you.

You feel that cock brush against your hip, him sliding the tip back and forth several times to tease you, smearing more of his essence onto your skin. He shifts around, moving up the bed, and he touches your breasts, slapping them with his tumescent organ. It’s not hard to envision him doing so. You wonder if he will bring it to your mouth, but he moves back down, positioning himself between your legs and teasing you by running his cock along your slit, up and down in a casual rhythm. He rubs the head of his cock around your opening as you try to not squirm too much.

Cheeky bastard. You’re tempted to just pounce on him. You wiggle your hips at him, lifting them in offering.

“Oh, is this all for me?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“You’ve proved your point, you’re sexy even if I can’t look at you, now please stop teasing me, can’t you see how I ache for you?” you demand breathily. “And I can feel how you ache for me…” He drags the head of his penis along your pelvic area, the sides of his cock rubbing against your thighs as he spreads more slick along the skin between your thigh and opening.

He prods your clit with his organ, and you let out a needy whine. You lift your legs, rubbing his hips and sides with your lower thighs and knees. Though he does not take the blindfold off until after he cums inside of you, he mercifully moves on from the teasing, and you arch up as he fills you with himself. He wraps his arms around you, telling you that you can use your hands now, and you do, running them along parts of his body you’re able to reach.

Even though the light coming in from the windows is relatively mild, it still seems almost too bright when Chew takes the sash off your head, letting you see him as you blink a few times.

“There you are," you tease as you cup his face in your hands before you kiss him. He smiles at that before taking you into his arms, wrapping himself around you and making you feel safe.

o0o0o0o

You can’t deny that there’s something special about the bond between the two of you. You didn’t realize it at first, of course. You were so determined to not get too close to anyone, and if you were in a relationship, you’d always maintain the upper hand. But that promise you made to yourself was hard to keep around Chew. You enjoyed dominating him, yes, but you also liked it when he took charge. And that was scary. You didn’t want to let him know that he had that sort of power over you.

But from the way he spoke to you, or responded to you sometimes, you were certain he had some inkling of that. He might not be conscious of it, but he's spent enough time with you in and out of bed to know that you respond well to a firm but respectful hand. It's easy enough to follow his orders on missions because he is one of Arlong's top officers and that is the order of things on the crew. You've never had an issue with that! You're a professional, after all.

But when things get personal… and intimate…

You contemplate that as Chew approaches you as you lay there on the futon, looking handsome in his plum-colored robe. He gave you another one to wear, coincidentally your favorite color, and you recline on the pillows, allowing the front of the robe to hang open just enough to afford a generous view of the valley between your breasts.

“Are you going to let me have a peek of other spots, chu?” he asked as he slid onto the thick mat.

“I don’t know,” you say teasingly. “What’s in it for me?”

He smirks. “My cock?”

“You drive a hard bargain. Very hard,” you purr as you reach under Chew’s robe. And yes, he is indeed already hard. The feel of it in your hand sends a thrill through you. Things end up with you being on top of him. You enjoy the sight of the handsome fishman below you, looking up at you with his cheeks a rosier shade than usual, his expression full of heated desire instead of the cool mien he usually affects. His hands slide along your sides and back, occasionally grazing the edges of your sun mark. You look down at the sun on his stomach. It’s well-placed, but you wince a little as you imagine how the brand must have felt on the tender skin of his belly.

You’re a fair hand at cooking, so you make some ramen for the two of you after your session, adding several grilled slices of fish and some spiced vegetables. The two of you sit by the large window in the front area, overlooking the ocean, a bit of the wall of Arlong Park visible.

“Have you given any thought to the future?” Chew asks. You get the feeling that he is hinting at – or maybe fishing for – something.

“What do you mean? I’m not thinking of leaving the Arlong Pirates. I like it here.” Even though you were the first mermaid at Arlong Park, you still feel comfortable and safe here. Arlong made you feel welcome here and compensated you for your skills. You were free to come and go, swimming around in the ocean instead of being confined to a tank.

“That’s good to know, chu,” he says as he slurps up some of his ramen – a fun sight with these lips of his, and you smile to yourself. The amount of things you can cook is limited, but you’ve learned to hone your skills at a few basic but versatile dishes so you can make tasty dishes for Chew. It’s a way to show him your appreciation for his kindness and care, and a way for you to feel like you’re contributing something to the household and relationship. “But I meant… aside from that?”

You hesitate. There were a few times that Chew tried to approach the subject of your relationship, but you'd always found a way to change the subject. It certainly wasn't as if Chew wouldn't be a good mate. He is a respected member of the hierarchy, a longtime friend of the captain, and a good provider. You felt safe and comfortable with him.

“Do you want to be with me?” he asks. You automatically answer yes, because that’s the truth. His lips perk up in a smile before he puts down his bowl. “Then why is it when I want to talk about where things are going with us, you-”

You shake your head. “Is that necessary? We’re happy, aren’t we?”

Chew regards you with one of his cool gazes, raising an eyebrow. "Don't think that I am not happy. But this relationship started as a way to please ourselves and one another. It has grown into more, and you know it as well as I do."

You quickly look down at the table.

“What’s the matter?” Chew prods gently. “Do you want a future with me?”

You look back up at him and nod, whispering a soft but firm yes. Relief flashes across his expression, and it sobers you. He thought that you might leave him?

But then… as he pointed out, you kept avoiding this type of conversation. You look up at him with a stricken gaze.

“Chu.” He rises from his seat and takes you into his arms, wrapping you in his firm embrace as he nuzzles you, pressing his lips along the side of your face. “I can’t claim to completely understand what you’ve been through. I know that’s had its impact on you. Your nightmares, your panic attacks…”

You groan softly in mortification as you bury your head against his chest, and he tuts you gently as he strokes your hair.

“Don’t be embarrassed. You’re strong, I know that, but you don’t have to be so strong all the time. Let me take care of you and protect you.” He runs his fingers along your jaw. “It doesn’t make you any less strong, chu.”

“Only if I can take care of you, too,” you say with a shaky smile, lifting your hand to wipe away a tear. He takes hold of your hand and presses his lips to your cheeks, kissing away the tear.

“Does this mean more ramen for me?” he asks lightly. You giggle quietly at his levity, and he smiles at you. “You deserve this, and so do I.”

“Yes. Yes, we do.”

[tobeholyistobeempty]

joel miller • be quiet, or i’ll make you

“Tightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? I’ll make you feel good. Just lemme’ have it nice n’ deep, and I’ll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum till’ you’re cryin.”

WARNINGS - smut smut smut mdni, porn with some plot, forced proximity, feral!joel, risky/secret sex, brutal sex, size!kink, dubcon if you squint but mostly a mutual want situation, reader and joel have an unspoken relationship, copious amounts of dirty talk, piv, creampie, daddy dom joel.

The world ended in disaster.

You’ve lived with that knowledge for years now, and you think you’ve finally come to terms with the kind of things you’ll get from it. Pain. Loss. Destruction. The same chaos, day in day out, just in different forms.

You know that at this point you’ll be lucky if you survive until tomorrow; so you take it in stride.

And it’s with that thought that you find yourself following Joel into the city, your steps just as reluctant as he was to agree to this. You don’t particularly want to be out here — and neither does he — but you’ve been wanting to look for more medical supplies for a while now and Joel wasn’t about to let you go alone. Despite how much bitchin’ he did beforehand.

You can’t tell which is more depressing; the streets covered in broken glass and littered with remnants of a life long gone, or the buildings that are nearly crumbling to the ground. Neither are very pleasant to look at, but not many things are these days, so you keep moving. You have a job to do, and you don’t have too much time to do it — the sun won’t be up much longer, and you want to get the fuck out of here before the real dangerous kinds of people come out lookin’ for their next meal.

Or, whatever Joel had said earlier. Mostly just in attempt to scare you.

Minutes feel like hours as you keep your gaze pointed forward, and when you pass a shattered window belonging to some old broken down building, you don’t dare look inside.

You’d rather not know what lingers inside death eaten walls.

But it’s while you’re doing that, keeping your gaze ahead, that you miss the fact that Joel has stopped walking. When it finally registers that the world around you has gotten quieter - and when you finally do turn around - you’re surprised for two reasons.

The first being that he even stopped at all, and the second being the fucking look on his face.

“You alright?” You ask as you edge closer, glancing at the abandoned building that’s in front of him. It doesn’t look like anything remarkable, but there’s definitely something in the way he stares at it. “Joel, you still with me?”

He isn’t saying anything, his expression is rather blank — but you know him well enough to know that he’s not just seeing what’s right in front of him. He’s seeing something else entirely. He snaps back to attention faster than you would have expected at the sound of your voice, and when his eyes land down on yours - there’s something inside them that makes your heart sink.

“Somethin’s wrong.” Is all he says before he’s grabbing your wrist, and yanking you inside.

Your heart starts pounding faster, but you try your best to stay calm. He isn’t the kind of man who would panic without cause, so you know he must have seen something - or heard something - and you’re doing your best not to let that scare you.

“Joel—shit—what the hell—“ you stumble over rubble and pieces of broken furniture. “What’re you—“

He’s pulling you deeper into the building, not giving you a chance to stand still long enough to say more. When you get to a staircase he yanks you down a few steps, waiting for the sound of the door shutting behind you before shoving your shoulders back against the wall.

“You listen to me—“ he’s panting, words spat through grit teeth. “You’re gonna’ shut up, and you’re gonna’ stay quiet. Can you do that for me?”

The tone of his voice alone forces you to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from talking. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve seen him this serious. You’d almost forgotten that he was capable of producing this kind of tension - the kind that’s so palpable it could be cut with a knife.

So, you just nod, lips pressed into a thin line, and you hope that it’s enough.

“Alright.” He doesn’t seem certain of your answer, but he nods anyway, reaching for your wrist again and dragging you down the remaining stairs.

When you get to the bottom, he opens the door slowly, eyes darting around until they land on a nearby closet - and it’s only after the first step you take towards it that you hear noises on the floor above you.

Footsteps.

And way too fucking many for you to be comfortable.

The kind of heavy, laden-boot marching you’d dread to hear on good days - nevermind while you’re out in dangerous territory, trying your damnest to flee unseen. It’s only seconds before the steps grow louder, and you can feel your heart rate speeding up again - while Joel is staring at the ceiling with such intensity you think that he might just be able to will it to break if he so much as blinked at it.

Then, in a flash, he snaps out of it - dragging you toward the closet and shoving you inside before you can even think about protesting.

And god, is it fucking cramped.

The closet is small. Small enough that you have to force yourself closer to the wall so that he has space to squeeze inside behind you. And it’s within the first second that he shuts the door, and the darkness swallows you both whole - in which you realize you have a new problem altogether.

“Joel—“ you choke out as a heavy palm snakes around your waist, pressing tight against your belly. He’s a solid wall behind you, his front flush against your back, and all you can fucking feel is his hot breath against your ear - his stubble tickling your cheek. “What’s—“

“No talking.” And then he brings his free hand up to cover your mouth, and you have to stifle a noise that threatens to explode in your chest. “Not a fuckin’ word.”

You take solace in the fact that he can’t see how flushed your face becomes, but your stupid brain is working overtime - overanalyzing the feeling of his calloused palm against your lips, the heat of his mouth way too fucking close to your ear, his free hand that seems to be sliding lower down your abdomen—

“Stop squirming.” He whispers, all heat as his fingers press a little harder against your lower stomach.

You long to bark at him. I can’t control it.

But you can’t. So instead you try to focus on the sounds of the people upstairs. You try to pay more attention to the way your heart is threatening to break free through your sternum. Anything to try and take your mind off of the way he’s touching you - but he makes it so, so hard.

You’re certain you would have a better fighting chance if you were to try and move mountains.

Without even thinking, your hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, and it’s then that his lips curve into a smile against your ear. And when the realization comes crashing down - the realization that he’s fully aware of what’s happening to you - you think you may just collapse.

Oh, god, this is torture.

If it were anyone else, you’d think this was a joke. You’d think that perhaps the way he’s touching you was some kind of attempt at making the terrifying just a little more tolerable, a little more exhilarating for different reasons - but this isn’t just anyone. This is Joel. And you know his mind never works like what. Instead, he simply acts on instinct - in ways that usually leave you reeling and your thoughts in a whirlwind.

You’ve been through this a million times with him.

Unsurprisingly, this time is no different.

And as you try to focus on the footsteps above you - desperately searching for a thought, a train of any kind to follow - his hand moves again, fingertips tracing the waistband of your dirt covered cargos - barely dipping between fabric and skin.

It’s slow, teasing, but it’s enough. And you don’t currently have enough control over yourself to stop your back from arching, pressing directly against the bulge in his jeans that’s growing impatiently despite himself.

And it’s the way he exhales in your ear, the way you hear him inhale right after before his nose brushes the shell of your ear — before his hand dips lower to trace the zipper of your fly — that you find yourself fighting for your life to swallow the moan that threatens to spill because the people on the second floor are now shouting and hollering, and the whole floor seems to quake under the force of their heavy boots.

A second passes. Then two, and then ten — there’s silence. You’re pretty sure the steps are now heading away from where you’re hiding, and you think Joel must agree because he slips his hand from your mouth, sliding it down your jaw.

“Joel—“ you choke out, the last syllables of his name sounding desperate. “I-we—“

And yet again, you aren’t able to finish, because he has a habit of taking the words you think you want to say straight from your chest. You aren’t able to process it until a moment later - when his mouth finds your neck, fingers slipping into your now unzipped cargo pants.

This isn’t what you meant.

You don’t have the chance to tell him that. You don’t have the cognitive ability to push the idea that this isn’t the time. You don’t even have enough room in your head to acknowledge how this could go so badly, so quickly. You’re too drunk on the high of his touch to think straight.

And when his fingers drag the lace of your underwear to the side - all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray to a God you’re sure you’ve never actually believed in that you’ll survive this without the shame over how fucking soaked you are eating you alive first.

His fingers find your clit, making slow, small circles. Just enough to make you keen. Just enough to make you forget who you are, and what you’re doing. You think if he keeps it up for any longer, the sounds trapped behind your teeth are going to jailbreak before you can get a handle on them. He knows it too - because it’s only a split second after that thought enters your mind, that he whispers gravel in your ear again.

“If y’can’t stay quiet, I’ll make you.” And it’s said with enough sternness to let you know that it isn’t a threat, it’s a promise. “Be good f’me.”

You don’t know if you can. You don’t know if you can possibly keep yourself silent. Not when his lips are teasing your burning flesh, not when his fingers are rolling your clit, not when he’s whispering promises of heaven in your ear.

But it’s then, that you hear the floorboards creak, and you know then, that you have no choice.

Either find a way to stay silent, or throw yourself headfirst into danger.

“Mm.” He hums as his fingers slip lower, sliding along your slit until they find your embarrassingly wet heat - to which you find yourself widening your feet despite yourself.

And this time, the noise that slips isn’t audible. Not to him anyway. But you can feel the sound vibrate the back of your throat. You can feel the way it glides over your tongue - and when you have the wherewithal, you bite down on your bottom lip, hard enough that it’s almost painful. He doesn’t seem to notice, and you’re glad because you know he’d only find it funny.

He pushes a finger into you, and holy fuck—

“Oh—“ the sound gets out of your mouth before you can stop it, involuntarily defying his direct order to shut the fuck up.

You hope, foolishly, it was quiet enough for him to not hear.

It isn’t, and as a result the hand that had been sitting lazily around your jaw slips firm over your mouth again, yanking your head back against his shoulder. You feel his fingers tighten as if to let you know that it’ll only get harder as his finger pushes deeper, and then retreats, pumping into you slow and steady.

“F-fuck—“ your whine is smothered against his palm, and you somehow have half the mind to realize the footsteps have stopped. Vanished. “J-joel.”

You’re expecting some type of response, some biting be quiet — but instead, all you get is a deep grunt in your ear and a roll of his hips against your ass as he slides another finger into your cunt, thumb brushing your clit.

And there’s almost no fight in you left to resist this - to resist the pleasure he’s pouring into your veins. You’d curse him if you could, if you could put more than four coherent words together to do it - but all there seems to be left in your mind is his name, which he’s using against you like he always does.

“Good girl.” He praises between slow, steady thrusts and you have to wonder what kind of game he’s playing to get you like this - to get you so undone you don’t even remember your own goddamn name.

Then again, you know better than to think there’s a game, at all. There are no games with Joel. He does what he wants and you’re either the benefit of it, or you’re the object of his ire.

But when a third finger slips into you, stretching and stuffing your cunt wider than you were mentally prepared for - you forget about any of that as you bite down on his hand as hard as you dare because it’s just too fucking much.

“J-joel—“ you try again, shaking your head. The footsteps haven’t returned. You have to believe they’re gone. You know Joel knows it too. “P-please—“

And like someone struck a match in a room full of gasoline, he seems to have decided that you’ve waited long enough. In the blink of an eye, you feel his palm leave your mouth, and move to the limited space between you. He’s unbuckling his belt.

“What’s the matter, huh?” He all but growls in your ear, still pumping his fingers deep. “Three too much for you? How d’ya think you’re gonna’ take my cock if you can’t even take my fuckin’ fingers.”

God. His voice is deep, dripping like sin. It goes straight to the center of your chest and you feel like the walls of your rib cage are cracking open. You have no idea how you’re going to be able to take him like this - especially when he’s so far gone it’s like he’s forgotten himself.

“I-I don’t know—“ and it’s the truth. You have no concept of how you’ll take a single drop of him in this state. But he’s already shifted himself free, pulling his fingers out to yank your pants down and slide his throbbing shaft into the slick space between your thighs. “F-fuck. You’re crazy.”

“Worse.” And you already know what he’s going to tell you just by the way the word drips into your ear. “M’insane.”

Truer words.

You never imagined that you’d ever find the thought of Joel Miller going insane so enticing. You imagine all kinds of ways you would have pictured it if someone had told you back when you first met - but somehow, this was never one of the things that came to mind.

“What does that make me?” You hiss as his fingers find your clit again, as he kicks your legs a little wider to slide his leaking tip against your slit.

“A goddamned fool.” He answers as he sinks into you, and there’s never been a more divine connection in the world. He groans into your ear, and you have to bite your lip again until you’re sure you might draw blood. “But you already knew that.”

And somehow, even still - you do.

Yeah. You do. He isn’t the type of man someone can ever know fully. He’s got walls and barriers built high - a fortress, impenetrable and vast - but somehow, you still manage to squeeze your way through it. It isn’t lost on you that you’re the only one who has.

“J-joel—go fuckin’ easy, please—“ you’re grabbing at the wall infront of you as he splits you open without so much as giving you a chance for breath. “It’s—been a while—“

And that stops him for a beat - but not for long, and not long enough. He still doesn’t go easy, still thrusts right to the hilt with the kind of power you’d associate with a man half his age - a man who (if the world hadn’t gone to hell) would be so close to retiring that he could taste the future on the back of his tongue - but you wouldn’t want him to anyway.

“I know, babygirl. I know. Just take it nice n’ deep, f’me. Just take it.”

And then he grabs a handful of your hair, pulling you back so he can get even deeper, your spine arching just enough.

Fucking hell.

The sound that’s almost impossible not to make threatens to rip from the pit of your chest, but you bite down in time and it turns into something between a strangled cry and an elongated whimper. You know you’re going to be walking funny tomorrow - but right now, there’s no such thing as being able to imagine tomorrow.

“You—fuck.” It’s a whisper so pained someone might think you’re actually being impaled. In some ways you are. “Oh, god, Joel. Ohmygod you’re deep—“

“There she is.” He all but growls into your ear. “There’s the tough woman I know.” If he wasn’t holding you so tightly you might’d fall at the way he suddenly slams into you. “Tightest pussy I ever had. Goddamn. You wanna feel good, huh? I’ll make you feel good. Just lemme’ have it nice n’ deep, and I’ll get you back later. Let you sit on my face for hours. Make you cum till’ you’re cryin.”

You almost bite your tongue in half at the very thought of him doing that. Your mind is a wasteland of icoherent thought - and it’s then that you know with all the certainty in the world that you’d been done for the moment he came into your life. He always had a rough edge to him - but back then, when you first met, you thought it was just the product of a shitty life. But now, you know better - now, you know he’s just a good-natured person with an innate drive to protect - and you’d go to your grave knowing that you’d go there loving him for it.

Even though, right now, it feels a lot more like he’s trying to kill you rather than protect you.

“Ohhh, fuck—“ you hiss through grit teeth as he pulls out, dragging slow at tight, wet walls. “M’close to cryin’ now.”

“Mmm.” He all but purrs. “That’ll mean I’m doin’ my job right.” There’s heat in the way he speaks that you swear would burn even the toughest person. But then again, that’s always been something you’d only ever been able to say about Joel. “M’not gonna’ be gentle. You know you ain’t deserving of it right now.”

Another time, you’d tell him he was wrong. Another time, you would have argued that you hadn’t done a single thing wrong - but right now, your thoughts are just as lost as your voice.

Still, you try your best. “W-why? Because I—mmf—dragged you outta’ bed?”

“Wrong.” You can’t see it, but you’re sure there’s a smirk on his face. “You really wanna get into it? Wanna’ make a list?”

You don’t, but you have the horrible feeling that this is going to happen either way.

“Do I have a choice?” You ask with what little breath you can find.

“No.” The word sounds so simple - but in that moment, it might as well have been a dagger. “You don’t.”

He pulls out just so he can drive back into you harder, hand sliding from your hair and back over your mouth.

“First, you dragged me outta’ bed. That right there? Shoulda been spanked for it. Next, you got yourself pinned in a goddamn closet with me after raiders chased us down. Almost got us killed.” Another painfully slow draw out, followed by a hard drive back in - smacking your cervix. “An’ for what? Cause’ you don’t wanna’ listen when I say it’s too dangerous to be out here.”

There are a million retorts you could have - most of them have something to do with you being able to take care of yourself - but none of them even find the beginning of your tongue.

He’ll take that win. Just like he takes everything else.

“Not t’mention you’ve kept this perfect ass from me for far too long.” He’s fucking you hard now, head kissing your cervix with each long thrust and you’re crying out under his palm but the sound doesn’t escape. He makes sure of it. “Mmm, yeah. Far. Too. Long.”

You want to tell him to shut up - that he’s being an ass - but you’re two broken breaths from wailing at the sting on your cervix and the pressure he’s now swirling on your clit. The only thing that’s left for you to do is the only thing you can do.

Take it.

You roll your hips, shoving back against him with every thrust just to have him hit that much deeper - and if he has something to say about it, he doesn’t say it. But he seems satisfied with just that, and suddenly, you think he’s just as close as you are.

“That’s it.” His voice is tight. “Good girl. Just like that.”

His hips snap against your ass so hard you think you might end up bruised tomorrow, but the thought only adds to the haze in your mind.

“Ffffffuck—Joel—“ you mewl, pathetic desperate and needy as a whore, against his palm. His fingers speed up against your clit. “Oh!”

“Take it, baby. Make me fuckin’ proud.” He hisses in your ear, a groan slipping out between it. “So good. Pussy feels so good.”

“Gonna’ make me cum.” You try to speak - maybe another time you’d be embarrassed by how desperate you sound, but this isn’t that time and it’s not the time to be anything other than truthful. “Mmm—gonna cum J-joel—“

“Yeah you are.” He grunts, the rhythm of his thrusts stuttering just a little. “Squeezing my cock so goddamn tight. Fuckin’ cum on it, babygirl. Wanna’ feel you.”

The sound that pushes past his palm at just the last moment doesn’t sound like you - but you know it is. It's the sound of the kind of pleasure that you’ve never experienced before that makes your entire body feel like a rubber band that’s too tight, and you have the vaguest sense of your walls squeezing the life out of him but there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening at all - becuase your climax hits you like a goddamn freight train and its run you over hard.

You think he’s saying something - you know he is - but you can’t hear anything aside from the blood racing in your ears. Even still, you know exactly what happens next, because you’ve experienced it so many times. The way he loses himself, like he forgets every bit of control he prides himself for having and the need to empty himself inside you takes over.

He spills into you hard - and you love every second of it for the simplicity of the comedown.

It’s the kind of feeling that washes you in warmth. It’s the kind of feeling that tells you that the world is going to be okay, so long as you’ve got him and he’s got you. He groans and his hands come out to brace against the wall infront of you to hold himself up as he shoots hot jets of cum deep inside your cunt - and you can’t remember the last time you’d heard him breathe this hard. Though, truth be told, you can’t remember the last time you heard yourself breathe this hard, either.

Your mouth feels dry, your mind feels hazy, and your legs feel weak - and as he leans over you, he can surely tell all three - but he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he drags his mouth over your ear with an inhale.

“Mmhmm.” He grumbles as he presses a kiss to your jaw. “Look what you made me to do ya.” Your cheek gets the same treatment, and a breath later as he turns your head slightly, your lips do too. “Gonna’ have my cum leakin’ out of ya all the way back to camp.”

The sound you make doesn’t even seem human, but it’s muffled before it even comes - because he’s kissing you. And it isn’t a hard kiss like you’d expect - it’s slow and steady, and you know he’s doing it in a way to say sorry, as if he realizes he might’ve gone a little too far.

You smile into it, and he does too.

“You really are insane.” You whisper as he pulls back slightly. “My cervix gonna’ need a week vacation after that.”

“M’not a good man, darlin'. If I was, I’d say sorry for that.” He whispers with a small kiss against your lips. “But I ain’t. So, I’ll just tell you I’ll take care of you later as much as you like. That good enough for now?”

There’s only one answer for you. Only one that’s ever been the answer with him.

“Always.” There is a beat of silence, and you smile in the dark. “I love you.”

He pulls out of you, finally, leaving the part of himself behind that tells you how much he loves you too without verbalizing it. Soon as he fixes his jeans, he helps you fix yours.

“And I love you.” He whispers, calloused palm finding your own. “Let’s get outta’ here. The sooner we’re back, the better.”

And that, you can’t agree more with.

[zephyrchama]

There was a twinge of worry in Beelzebub's voice when you picked up his phone call. There was hardly any delay between the time you accepted the call and him going, "hey. Is Belphie with you? I can't find him. He's not in the attic, or our room, or the kitchen."

"Yeah, he's with me," you replied. Beelzebub exhaled a sigh of relief. You didn't have to look far to confirm the Avatar of Sloth was slouched against your shoulder. "He's taking a na-"

"I'm protecting you." Belphegor slurred his words as he stirred back to consciousness. His arm coiled around your lower back. Maybe he was still in dreamland.

You held the phone away from your mouth to explain, "Beel's on the phone. Do you want to talk to him?"

Belphegor huffed and dug his forehead into your shoulder with closed eyes. "Just tell him I'm protecting you."

"Um. Okay." You turned your attention back to the phone. "Belphie wants you to know that he's protecting me."

"That's great," his twin responded. "From what?"

"I... don't know."

You pressed your cheek against Belphegor's head to ask, "hey, Belphie? Whatcha protecting me from?"

He grumbled several sleepy little groans before insisting, once again, "I'm protecting you." There was no further elaboration.

"Cool, thanks."

Back into the receiver, you explained, "I have no idea, but he's protecting me."

"That's great," Beelzebub repeated.

[sugarwarachan]

touchstarved!sero who is naturally really flirtatious and friendly so he craves physical touch like a fucking drug

touchstarved!sero who finds every excuse to touch you—pulling out your chair at dinner functions, guiding you through crowds with one hand at the small of your back; fuck, he’ll even pull your palm into his lap and pretend to examine your lifeline just to get his hands on you

touchstarved!sero who does not fuck around as soon as he knows you’re interested

touchstarved!sero who's pressing you up against the door of the storage closet, cupping your pussy through your underwear and smirking against your lips when he feels how wet you are, "damn baby, is someone a little worked up?"

touchstarved!sero who 100 percent uses his quirk to restrain you even as you're begging to touch him, "sorry honey, gotta get my fill of you first" while prying your legs wide open and diving in between your legs

touchstarved!sero who wants you as messy as he can get you, teasing out orgasm after orgasm from his tongue alone. will not stop until you’ve squirted in his mouth, “sweet as fuckin’ candy, pretty girl, always knew you’d have the best fucking pussy”

a/n: i've never written for him before but this had me feeling a type of way. other touchstarved!mha boys here

[arminsumi]

Ahhh, student!Satoru, who's leaning into the palm of his hand, mouth concealed behind his pale hand, eyes stuck on you. And they've been stuck on you ever since he saw you first walk up the steps into Jujutsu Tech. Bright blue. Heart quivering. Fixed gaze.

He takes any excuse to be near you, even though he knows that you're annoyed by him — he's so cocky and full of himself. But don't you see that he's also just a lovesick boy? Look at the way he follows after you down the halls, long striding legs effortlessly meeting your quick pace.

You're just trying to get a cold soda from the vending machine after a long two hours of practicing martial arts with Satoru, Suguru and Shoko. And since Shoko promptly left with Suguru for a cigarette break, that left an overjoyed Satoru alone with you.

"Which flavor do you usually get?" he asks, grasping at any conversation starter he can think of. He just wants to talk to you, even if it's about something so dumb... even if it's while stood next to a vending machine.

"Uh, strawberry... it's my favorite."

He takes a mental note of that.

He's always trying to get your attention, even if he has to become a fool in order to earn a glance from you. Walking away, looking dumb, even his best friend shakes his head at him and tells him that he's way too downbad for a girl that doesn't even like him back.

But Satoru doesn't listen to anyone when they say that you don't like him back. He knows the chemistry is there, as awkward as it may be sometimes. He knows there's something connecting him and you, like an invisible thread.

He still brings you gifts on V-day. He still pesters you in class. He still shares one earbud with you on train rides. He still gets that accelerated heart beat when you so much as graze your hand over his while walking side-by-side.

So eagerly looking at your lips, Satoru pulls out lip balm and makes eye contact with you while applying it. He's always got chapped lips, he knows because someone made exactly 1 comment about it and now he's never forgotten to put a lip balm in his pocket.

"Whatchya starin' at my lips for? You wanna have a taste of strawberry?" he winks, puckering his kissable lips at you.

"Ough..." you cringe at him, "Satoru, it's no wonder you're single."

Okay, he has zero flirting skills. But he earns a smile out of you right then, so even if he's cringe, he's surely doing something right. Are the cogs turning in your head? Do you think he's cute? Do you want to kiss him should he lean into a kiss oh he's leaning into a kiss now aaand he nearly falls flat on his face, because you didn't notice that he was leaning in for a kiss and now he just has to play it off and look like a dumbass once again.

His feelings grow exponentially as the years pass.

You're always catching him staring and he doesn't even feel ashamed.

Though it's been on his mind all the time, it's not until after three years of knowing you that Satoru kisses you.

It happens one day during heavy rainfall. He runs to you with a grin, no umbrella, totally soaked, and like a bright-eyed bunny he bounces at your side.

He's unzipping his uniform jacket, hanging it over the two of you. The proximity has his heart thumping. Before he knows it, he's leaning down to kiss you, right there as the two of you are concealed from the world in your own little bubble — in reality, everyone knows that you two are liplocking under Satoru's jacket. Duh. His shoes click on the ground as he repositions himself, bending his knees and arching down to meet your lips, 'till his spine gets angry at him for falling for a short girl.

[shotmrmiller]

your superior finding out about the secret praise kink you didn't know had a name because you'd always been called an over achiever, a goody two shoes. never gave anyone any trouble, nose burrowed in a book since you had knobby knees and a library card.

you'd thought it normal that the apples of your cheeks burned when praised after giving your teacher the drawing you'd made for them the night before. that heat spread from the center of your chest up when your first boyfriend/girlfriend whistled at the sight of you outside of uniform. that warmth settles in your belly when you get a pat on the back from your platoon leader firm enough to force the air out of your lungs because you'd disassembled and cleaned a glock with the ease of a professional.

apparently it wasn't.

after weeks of training with the fabled task force, weeks of sharing elbow room with the team, weeks of soaking up the dizzying praise from the captain ("did real good out there, eh? can always count on you." you didn't question the throb betwixt your thighs, taking care of it with a cute little bullet like you've always done since joining the military)

you're confronted by the worst of the lot. ghost catches you in a break room, your back to him, hands clutching a cup of coffee that's more sludge than liquid, its warmth barely seeping through the styrofoam.

his figure fills the doorway, shoulders nearly brushing the frame. your first thought is that his brows aren't twisted together and he lacks that cold, blank look in his eyes so your death isn't in the nearest of futures. the second is that when he's not fully covering his face, the outline of his jaw is quite visible, looking sharp enough to cut.

then he crosses his sculpted arms over his chest, seams straining against the expanse of his muscles, head tipped to the side.

he moves with the keen curiosity of a predator sniffing around a newborn fawn, gaze intense yet inquisitive, assessing your every detail with a menacing interest.

"you ever gonna tell me you've a praise kink, bird?" the question sends a chill through your veins before turning into a fiery rush as it races at twice the normal speed.

praise kink? no. surely not. doesn't everyone like to receive compliments?

"sure. i don't mind gettin' told i've an impressive cock but that's bed talk. you look ready to bend over 'nd show us how slick tha' pretty cunt can get over a rufflin' of hair and a couple of empty words."

that has you positively reeling, fingertips cracking the cup in your hands, pulse on your neck fluttering. you feel a cornered, skittish animal, ready to flee lest your life come to an end in his maws.

but as usual, the cruel man more creature than person, twists the knife he's dug into you with a certain ruthlessness only he can muster.

"so be good for me, eh? love your praise? earn it."

you've always been an over achiever, proven once again by the way you take him to the root in one long, broad stroke with any complaints at the sheer size of him resting firmly behind your clenched teeth.

"tight little thing, spread open over me like you were meant for it. for me." he runs a gloved thumb over your swollen bottom lip. "there's tha' look. drivin' me bloody insane when you gave kyle tha' molten gaze. none o' tha' now, yeah?"

he creeps his ungloved hand down to circle your pearl with the spit-slick pads of his fingers, drawing in a sharp breath when your walls flutter and constrict around his cock at the feel of something other than your toy giving you the relief you need after a hard day's work.

"bloody fuckin' 'ell."

ghost claims a fistful of hair, pulling you closer to him, his breath warming the stinging, throbbing mark he bit onto the delicate skin of your neck. the shuffling of feet right outside the door snap you out of your daze, fingernails sinking into the bulging muscle of his chest but he has none of it.

he uses your hair to direct your focus back onto him and even though he'd only given you a leading tug you felt some strands of your hair come off with a pop.

"easy. can't see your pretty face when i'm fuckin' ya if your lookin' away."

your expression twists into what you hope is bliss when he bucks his hips, your whimper drowning out his groan when he hits on something new.

something you want him to keep hitting.

"exactly like i'd thought."

everything else blurs together after that, and only when you're back in your room using a warm cloth to clean yourself up do you remember the other things he'd rumbled.

(inside o' ya, make you mine-)

(-get 'bout bein' with anyone else-)

(-ll to myself-)

you touch your tender pussy with gentle fingers at what he'd said in the end.

(leave tha' f'me, he swipes your hand away, i'll get ya there, pet.)

if price's compliments take a nose dive off a cliff you don't notice because you're getting your daily fill of them and ghost after dinner every night. kyle keeps them to one word and soap likes to tempt fate as always.

[sincerelybubbles]

no thoughts just hotch calling you honey

“honey, can you pass me that?” with an open hand, not even looking at you, too focused on the stack of paperwork in front of him.

“it’s okay, honey, i’ll be home soon,” spoken into the microphone of his phone, reassuring, aching at the distance between you two.

“hi, honey,” whispered into your hair, one hand pressed against your head to keep you close, the other pressed against the wall to keep his balance as he slides off his shoes.

“oh, honey,” spoken gently, big hands covering your cheeks as he holds you close, kissing your forehead soothingly.

“honey,” said between a laugh, a shake of his head, as he walks close to you and grabs your hips, so enthralled by you that he can’t help but bend into a kiss.

[emmyrosee]

Hey Emmy hey Emmy listen

Whenever you’re having a snack or whatever osamu leans over with his mouth open expecting a bite and he calls it “boyfriend tax”

HE CAN PRY MY FUDGE BROWNIE FROM MY COLD DEAD GRIP-

You get so into the routine with him that when you take a chip out of the bag or unwrap your candy bar, you just immediately turn to give him a taste, laying the chip on his tongue while he chews happily.

Sometimes, to mess with him, you don’t give him a first or second bite of your cookie, and you hear him whine softly and gently wrap his fingers around your shirt, tugging the hem of it gently for your attention. If you continue to not listen, he whines your name softly, and you blink mindlessly at him, “yes? Can I help you?”

“Boyfriend tax, remember?” He says, opening his mouth.

You snicker, “I remember. I just don’t feel like paying for it.” You stick your tongue out playfully, and he pouts.

Then, his brows raise, “wait, c’mere baby, you’ve got some crumbs on your lip.” You lean over for him to wipe the crumbs free-

Only to dart his head down to your hand holding your snack and take a massive bite.

“MIYA OSAMU!”

He’s immediately out of his seat and making a break for it, cackling the whole time.

[shadowsandcoffedripss]

requests open for the three fish bois (x reader)

One piece live action appearence only sowwy

i can't let them go so easily oops

Also some poly stuff cause in my head they are in a poly relantioship together lol

[mmkin]

Get You Some Chew love!

The next part of my Get You Some Arlong Pirates is now up, starring our favorite big-lipped fishman. (snippet from story included in cut below link. Content warning - mentions of slavery and abuse. NSFW but consensual between Chew and his partner)

“I’d think you would be more excited about a mermaid dragging you off into the woods to be alone with you, hm?” you ask him flirtatiously. His lips pull into one of his trademark smirks as he looks down at you, but you see desire in his eyes despite his cool facade.

So, is that how it's going to be, you wonder. Some men like to act tough or distant so that their supplicants or petitioners will grovel or beg harder. You've seen it done to slaves and commoners alike when a Celestial Dragon decides they will not grant favors so easily.

You’re not going to let Chew do that. You will have him on his knees, begging before you decide to grant him some mercy. So you reach down, boldly grabbing his crotch and kneading it through his shorts. You feel the stiffening and twitching, and you mirror his smirk with your own as you continue to massage him, remembering the times you’d caught him watching you, his expression controlled, his eyes half-lidded as they so often were.

When he is nice and hard, you slide your hand up and under his vest, feeling his abs and the sun mark that is branded onto his stomach.

“Open your vest,” you command, not wanting to deal with the hindrance of the fabric. He quickly does as you ask, and by the moonlight filtering through the leaves above your head, you’re rewarded with quite a delectable sight. Your previous owner, and many of the men you had to perform for, were disgusting, flabby humans, soft from living useless lives. On Chew, it looks like the plushest part of him is his lips, and from what you felt between his legs, his lips are the only part of him that’s soft.

“Like what you see?” Chew asks. You look up at him through your eyelashes.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” you ask as your fingers trace along his collarbone before sliding down to a nipple, and you carefully rub it with the pad of your finger. You hear a sharp intake of breath as his nipple responds, and you pinch and roll it between your thumb and finger for several seconds, watching his expression. He’s enjoying it, but still trying to maintain a calm facade. You still have one free hand, so you use that opportunity to tease his other nipple as you press your pelvis to his upper thighs, feeling the unmistakable evidence of his arousal against your lower stomach. He arches against you, and you smile before pulling your hips back.

Your nails scrape lightly against his skin as you move your hands downward. “Open your pants.”

He is quick to obey this command as well. You reach in, pulling out his turgid member. It's longer with a slight upward curve, thicker, and with a pleasing color, more attractive than any organ you've ever seen before. "Nice," you breathe almost without thinking. Nice is quite the understatement, but it's a word that will suffice for the moment, especially as your insides warm to a degree you're certain you've never experienced before. You study it for a couple of moments, admiring the gentle color shift to purplish at the tip.

You use your hands again, stroking, running your nails along the length, some pumping, while Chew leans back against the tree, watching everything you do, his teeth delicately gritted as he maintains self-control, but there is no denying that his cheeks are more rosy than they normally are. Here and there, you’ll move your hand away from his penis so that you can tease his stomach or thighs, or his nipples.

You do not allow him to try to grab you. He is surprisingly obedient when you tell him to keep his hands at his sides, though you’ll see him flex his biceps or fingers as a way to try to maintain his patience. You rub your finger along the tip, feeling the precum that oozes from there, and rubbing the slick along the head of his throbbing need, and you hear a groan as he shifts his body weight, bringing his hips forward as he does so.

You move back, refusing him the satisfaction he so craves. You wet the tip of your thumb and fingers against him before sliding them down his length and cupping his balls.

“You’re quite ready to cum, aren’t you?” you ask in a soft voice, massaging him. Fishmen typically have their balls closer to their body, not hanging so loose like humans. But there is enough there for you to feel, and you gently press into it with your palm. He nods.

“You don't get to cum until I do," you say, lifting your skirt. You're not wearing underwear. "Put these lips of yours to good use."

And he does, sinking to his knees while you lift one foot, propping it against the tree and leaning from the same side with your arm, getting yourself comfortable. His lips feel divine as he presses them against your inner thighs, and you are unable to hold back a coo of enjoyment. You do not object when he slides his hands along your legs. He's a bit awkward at first, but you're fucking horny, and he wants you to cum, so he listens to you and feels how you buck your hips against his face. His lips and tongue moved more slowly at first as he familiarized himself with you, but in due time, his attention became aggressive, his tongue working at you with a rapid-fire that makes you think of his water missiles.

You try to make sense of what is going on down there, but every vibration pummels any rational thought you attempt to form, your clit aching deliciously as he flicks his powerful tongue against that oh-so-sensitive nub… How the fuck is that even possible?

You didn’t think any man would be capable of this, but he has your hips rolling against his face frantically, and he has his hands on your outer thighs to steady you, his fishman strength giving him an edge over you as he uses them to keep you from falling over. You have to bite back screeches and cries as the unending vibrations assault your clit before he sends you crashing into orgasm, gasping and panting as you hug his head to your body with one hand tangled in his hair. He slows his pace, but his lips and tongue draw out the pleasure at a gentler pace, leaving you panting and whimpering.

Damn. You feel his hands slide from you as he stands up, and you see he is still erect. You’d become so lost in pleasure that you had nearly forgotten why you were here.

“So, little mermaid,” he whispers. “I believe it is my turn.” There is that voice you hear when he is leading a team on a mission, issuing commands with calm efficiency. Your mind scrambles to assess the situation so you can take control of it again. Your inner thighs tremble, and you swear your clit is still buzzing.

Part of you is annoyed at how he was able to surprise you in such a pleasurable way. Even now, you ache for him, having felt how thick and hard he was. You suppose you can be petty and finish him off with a handjob or tell him to finish himself off while you watch, but when you feel the tip of his cock slide along your inner thigh, the rest of your body is firm in telling you that your clit isn’t the only part of you that needs fun.

You arch your back and press against him. He takes the cue readily enough and slides into you. Even with how slick you are, his cock is a commanding presence as it fills you, making itself known with a twitch that has you moaning. One of his hands rests on the tree, and the other wanders to your side, sliding along it and gently massaging a tit as he stands there, impaling you and forcing you on tiptoe due to his height.

“Does the lovely mermaid like my cock, chu?” he demands quietly, rolling his hips against you.

“Are all fishmen this cocky?" you ask, evading his question. He chuckles at that and rolls his hips more firmly, lifting you off your feet.

“Feel that? I know you do,” Chew comments smugly. You blow a raspberry at him, and he laughs before peppering your jawline with kisses. You could become addicted to these lips if you’re not careful…

[tobeholyistobeempty]

‘you’ll get used to it.’ | captain john price

“Good girl,” he mutters, voice thick with it, and your cunt clenches around him in response. “God, you take me so—” you whimper, rolling your hips to meet his, and he hisses. “Yeah,” his mouth finds your ear. “Show me what you can give me—”

WARNINGS - 18+ mdni. smut. so much smut. darker themes ie death. a super deep and twisted interpretation of a solider who’s being reckless in attempt to run from their feelings. captain price is bred to hunt so it’s futile. piv. mirror sex. multi orgasms. size kink. dirty talk. dubcon slightly. we shouldn’t be doing this trope. slightly morally grey. a lot of sleep token references. fingering. reader afab. mentions of blood, injury. slight brat/dom dynamic. overstimulation.

The first thing you register is the weight of him.

Not his hands, though they’re there too — firm around your arms, holding you steady — but him. The heat of him at your side, sweat and cigarettes filling your muddled senses with each laboured breath you gasp for. The quiet, infernal energy that pours off him, taking up too much space, too much air from your already airless lungs.

“You with me?” His voice rumbles close to your ear.

You try to nod, but the motion sends a fresh bolt of pain ricocheting through your skull. Your breath hitches, and his grip tightens.

“Easy.” A low murmur, meant to soothe. “Almost there.”

There being the med bay, where fluorescent lights paint everything sterile. Too bright, too fucking loud alongside the offset drumbeat in your ears. He doesn’t let you sit on your own — eases you down onto the cot himself, hands as steady as they always are, even when yours are the furthest from.

You wince as you shift, and his eyes flick over you. He’s still assessing.

“Shouldn’t’ve let that bastard get a hit in,” he mutters, half to himself.

You know what he’s thinking. The result of your own impulsivity. Reckless. “Yeah, I’ll try to avoid that next time.”

He exhales sharply. A shake of his head. “Could’ve been worse.”

You know that. Just like you know he’s only saying it to ease your dread. But you can see it in the way he looks at you, something unreadable tightening at the corners of his mouth, that he’s seen it. Many more times than you think.

“I’m fine,” you tell him. “You don’t have to—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

Just gives you that look, the one that shuts people up without him having to say a damn thing. It’s something you’re still learning about him — the way he often communicates without words. How his silence and pointed stares hold more meaning than most people’s shouting. You’ve also learned the effort to argue with him when he’s like this is a futile one. You’re a part of his team. He’ll be with you through it all.

Then, without asking, he reaches for you — because he knows you’ll let him. One hand bracing your chin, tilting your head so he can get a better look at the damage.

And even through the agony, it’s all too much.

The touch, the closeness, the way he hasn’t taken his eyes off you for one goddamn second since you’d been hit. Your throat goes dry at the realization that it’s doing more to you than it should. But you’ll never get used to how he does it. How a man like him — a wartime killer with more bloodshed on his fingertips than skin covering his limbs — can still look at you with something even remotely soft, when he’s bred to be everything but.

“You always this stubborn?” His voice is quieter now. A rough rasp against his throat.

You swallow, pulse hammering. “You always this persistent?”

His lips quirk, but his grip stays firm, fingers cool against your fevered skin.

“You’ll get used to it.”

You wondered then, if you ever really would.

———————

Months later, you’re still wondering the same thing.

It’s been months since that night in the med bay. Months of keeping yourself at arm’s length. Of keeping things professional. Of projecting platonic renditions despite the cursed thing threatening to take its place.

Or, well, trying to.

Because if there’s one thing you know for certain, it’s that tension like this doesn’t fade. It festers.

No matter how deep you try to bury it, perseverance is its ally. Helps it crawl out of the grave you dug for it in every brush of his fingers against yours when he hands over a magazine clip, every order spoken gravel in your ear, every glance held a second too long when neither of you are fast enough to look away. It leaves claw marks in everything, has been ever since the day he carried you through crumbling stone and mortar — ever since you felt him so fucking close and you realized you didn’t mind it. Since the moment you learned more about him in twenty minutes than you have in the entire year by his side.

That night relinquished something. Made you see him in a new light. What was once a beacon is now a solar flare for dead gods.

And it erupts here. Now.

In the barracks washroom after a mission gone sideways. After a fight that took too much out of you — left your bones aching, your skull pounding with the remnants of a concussion you’re beginning to suspect never fully healed — skin still humming raw, soaked in adrenaline and something a little too fucking reckless.

After he follows you in.

The door slams behind him, the sound ricocheting off the tiles. You don’t turn around, just strip your tac vest off with more force than necessary, breathing hard, hissing under your breath as exhaustion begins smothering out the fire in your blood.

“You got a fucking death wish?”

You can feel him staring at you. You know he’s seeing red — the heat of his eyes on your back incomparable to the even the greediest hellfires.

You exhale, press your palms flat against the edge of the sink. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t start?” He steps closer. “You ran straight into that firefight without cover.”

“I handled it.”

“You barely walked away.”

Finally, you turn, glare at him over your shoulder. “That what this is? Another fucking lecture?”

He doesn’t scowl. Doesn’t snap at you like your previous COs would. He just watches. And somehow, that’s worse.

“That what you think I’m doing?”

You scoff, shake your head, turning back toward the sink. The mirror in front of you is cracked down the middle, splitting your reflection in two. And you think, rather ridiculously, that it’s a perfect fucking picture of how you feel. Torn. Between the persistence of him and the need to keep your distance. Between what you’ve spent months trying to ignore and the way it still catches you off guard—how you keep finding yourself watching him, noticing him, like something inside you has already made a decision you can’t retract.

Behind you, he exhales slow. You hear the shift of his boots against the floor.

“Can’t keep doing this,” he mutters. “Won’t.”

Something in your chest tightens.

“What, watching my back?” You force your voice to stay even. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

“Not like this.”

The simplicity of that response has currency, and you know the behaviour. The familiar silence that tells you there’s more to this. Syllables pleading behind his teeth which he isn’t quite yet dignifying — but that slice along the back of his throat all the same. You meet his gaze in the mirror, and you see it then. In the dim light of his ocean eyes.

An emergence.

“I can’t watch you go down again.” There it is. Words coaxed out in that thick accent of his that inflicts them like a wound. He’s moving closer now, extinguishing the space. Stepping up behind you. “You haven’t been right for months. I need to know why.”

At that, you almost recoil — each syllable thrusting the knife deeper into your resolve, and you realize it’s not his accent that makes them cut, but the way he speaks them. Certain. As if he’s looking at you bare. No layers left to protect you. Like you’re nothing but sinew and marrow. Like your eyes and limbs are instruments to pick apart.

You stare at the sink. “So you are always this persistent.”

It leaves your lips exactly as you mean it — a callback, a test. You don’t watch his face, but the silence stretching long tells you it landed exactly where you wanted. A synapse snap back, an echo from the depths of whatever is eating you from the inside out.

“And you,” a pause, breath ghosting against the shell of your ear. “Are always this stubborn.”

He says it like an indictment.

You’re sure it’s because he knows you. Because he sees how you bleed and pretend you don’t. How you’ve been keeping yourself at arm’s length for months. Because you’ve cornered yourself — because you let the bruises fade without ever acknowledging how deep they burrow.

Your fingers tighten around the porcelain, like if you hold on hard enough you can keep the charade going. Pretend you don’t feel what you feel. But then, you glance up, and there it is — your reflection wavering in the split mirror, cut through by the fault line of your own indecision. Your own internal warfare.

“Yes,” you whisper. “But you knew that long ago.”

“I did.” His hand braces against the sink beside yours as he all but cages you against it. “But I keep thinking, sooner or later, you’ll let yourself stop.”

Another pause. A breath suspended in air too thick, in a space that feels too small.

“You want me to stop?”

He exhales through his nose. “I want you to want to.”

It’s an invitation. A quiet demand.

You swallow against the burn in your throat because it’s clear he knows what’s hiding behind your eyes. He’s just asking you to be honest. To pull the words from where they’ve been buried, to stop dissolving them like acid on your tongue. To let him in.

“Then you want for nothing.” Your voice is softer than you mean it to be, dangerously close to breaking. “Because you know I’d tell you anything if you asked.”

His eyes meet yours in the mirror.

“Tell me what’s making you reckless.”

You’d expected that — or something like it — but it still takes you apart. Thread by thread, a rope cinched through the hollow of your ribs. Pulling, pulling —waiting for you to give.

And you almost do. Almost let it spill, let it take shape in the open air between you. The truth of it. The rot you’ve kept pressed beneath your tongue, the slow, patient decay of something you know you shouldn’t feel.

But instead—

“It’s the head injury,” you lie.

A hollow offering. Brittle. A crumbling thing in place of the real answer.

His fingers twitch against the porcelain, reflection sharpening in the mirror — cutting through the fractures he’s causing. He doesn’t scoff. Doesn’t accuse you of lying. And that’s worse. So much worse. Because it means he’s seeing you. Means he’s waiting — sifting through the hollow, the fractions of you that no longer fit together in search of the thing you hesitate to give him.

“You can’t lie to me.” It sinks deep. Sticks somewhere you can’t pull it free. He’s right. “We both know it isn’t just that.”

You exhale something like a laugh except it’s boneless and bitter, just nerves spilling out because they’ve got no where else to go.

“Didn’t know you were a medic now.” You break your eyes back to the sink. “Or a mind reader.”

“I don’t need to be.” The words come fast. Convicting. “I just need to know you.”

And that. That makes you look up at him again. Makes you meet his eyes. Makes you burn.

“Price—“

His lips are against your ear. “Tell me.”

Your throat closes. The rope pulls tighter. You know what he wants — what he’s asking. But the answer feels like it won’t fit in your mouth. The swell of truth too large. Too longly suppressed because god this is your Captain and all he did was save your life. You know you should just be grateful and yet the only thing on your mind is granting him more than the debt you owe.

Because when you can’t swallow your demons, they don’t just disappear. They turn to hunger instead.

It was his hands that had fed them. They’re still starving now.

“The truth will ruin everything, Captain.” The words tear from your throat like he’s ripped them out himself. “This isn’t something you, or anyone, can help me with.”

You feel him go still the moment the words leave you. Feel it in the hand bracing against the sink, the exhale of his breath against your neck.

“So that’s what this is.” Your stomach coils, something twisting tight as you turn your head to face him. He doesn’t move back. Just dips his gaze to your lips. “You’re feeling too much, yeah? Think by being reckless you can run from it.”

It’s startling, the way he sees right through you. Your silence is a telling confession and he reads it like scripture.

You’ve always known it would be hard with him. Knew it from the beginning, because he’s as sharp as he is skilled, because he knows how to look at a situation and read the words left unspoken.

You nod. All while wishing it was anyone else.

“You can’t outrun this.” His voice drops, dragging his free hand up the nape of your neck. “Can’t outrun me.”

He tugs you toward him, something dark flashing beneath his eyes — something like possession, something that makes your bones ache as his mouth ghosts over yours. A torturous, drawn-out motion, withholding what you know he’ll take.

A breath passes between you, your eyes closed, a million things unspoken. Spinning. Thrumming in the silence.

Then, he brushes his lips to yours. And there’s fire.

A slow-burning ruin, heat licking through your stomach, curling in your spine, and it devours you — every breath, every instinct screaming at you to pull away, to run. It’s all gone. Gone until the moment he pulls back. Presses his forehead against yours.

“I know.” You reply, and for a second you think he’s backing off.

He doesn’t.

Lips against yours again, he takes. Your mouth parts on a sharp inhale. Shock, surrender, his tongue slipping against yours, before he kisses you hard. Like he’s been waiting for this, waiting for your admittance. Like this is something he’s fought against just as much as you have.

Your hands find his shoulders, something to brace against as he pulls you in deeper. The breath is gone from your lungs, your pulse pounding for an entirely different reason now. You open your eyes as he pulls back again. Take in the sharp cut of his features — the shadow of a beard against his jaw, the darkness of his gaze, drinking you in like he wants to keep you there.

“You don’t get to die on me,” he murmurs, and it makes your world tilt. Makes you wonder if you hit your head harder than you thought, all those months ago. Makes you wonder if you’re hallucinating. “Christ.” His fingers flex at your waist. “You don’t get to be careless.”

There’s something in him you’ve never seen before. Something undone. Something you don’t understand but do at the same time — because you feel it too. The decades of loss. The battle scars. The countless near misses that linger for life. You weren’t thrusting yourself into open fire with some raging death wish — but you weren’t being as methodical as you should have been either, all to chase that fucking adrenaline spike. You didn’t think he’d have this reaction.

And there’s so much you need to say. So much you need to do. But all you can do is whisper, breathless against him. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause. A click of his tongue.

“I’m not done with you.” His mouth finds yours again, something softer this time, but no less demanding. You don’t fight it. And when his free hand dips down your back, you tilt your head up into him, hands fisted in his shirt, wishing you didn’t miss the feel of it so devastatingly when he pulls back again. “You want reckless? I’ll show you fucking reckless.”

You don’t have a chance to answer before he spins you around and shoves you against the counter. A groan slips from your lips, but you relish the feel of him — the warmth of his chest as he steps into you, crowding you until all you know is his heat.

His hands slide down your sides, gripping at your hips, the heat in your gut burning hot as he holds you in place.

“This what you want?” He mutters against the side of your throat, his nose nudging your jaw. “Or do you still want to run?”

You swallow, mouth parted, breath coming hard. It’s a question, but you know he doesn’t really want an answer. Not with everything he’s doing. Not with the way he’s holding you, the way his hands slip beneath your shirt, calloused fingers grazing bare skin as he tugs the fabric up.

Your breath hitches. “Christ, Captain—”

You feel his mouth brush against your neck, tongue lavving out to taste you. Like he’s hungry and you’re a goddamn four-course meal. You moan. It’s all you can do to stay upright, legs going weak when he nips at your jaw.

“No Captain.” A demand. His hand sliding lower, dipping under the fabric of your cargos. “John.”

John. You shudder at the implication of it. John is a rare thing—something you’ve only ever heard him give to a handful of others, and no one else. John is personal. John is when he’s no longer your superior, but instead, your equal.

“John.” Somehow, it rolls off your tongue like breathing, like it had always been waiting there for this moment. Another moan follows it, just as his fingers find your clit. “Ohgod, John—”

He hums, teasing you, fingers moving in paced, languid circles like he’s got nothing but time despite the way his chest is pacing against your back. Pressure building beneath his skin. You feel the tension in him — the way his muscles shift, the way he tenses in response.

“That’s it,” he grinds out, fingers speeding up just enough. “You like that?”

Your answer is an afterthought. You don’t speak, don’t need to. Your mouth finds his again, and he swallows the breath you try to take. All you can do is nod.

And you know you have no fucking right to know what he sounds like. How he tastes as your tongue wrestles his. Your head spinning too fast for you to think because he is everywhere, a heady mix of lust and need as you desperately try to chase the way he makes your blood race. It’s all so new. So fucking wanton. Needy. As if all the months of wanting have finally caught up to the moment, a wildfire that seems to burn all logic. You know this is wrong — but fuck you don’t care.

You know in a second, he’ll be pressing you against the granite and you’ll have to make a thousand apologies to whatever god may be listening.

But then he pushes a finger into you, and you only have one prayer on your tongue. “Oh, John.”

He exhales against you, a quiet growl that goes straight to your head. It’s the same sound he makes when he’s in a combat, and there’s something about the idea of being able to make him feel the same as he feels when he’s a man of war that makes fireworks light up behind your eyelids.

“Mm. She’s fucking tight.” He mutters as he curls his finger and presses deeper. You gasp, the sound swallowed between you. “This is what you needed, hm? Needed me to pin you down. Make you fucking feel.”

That— that’s exactly it. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror because yes. In the fractures he’d caused he’d found what you were too afraid to verbalize. And it makes you keen — the way it’s like he can rip out your soul and hold it in his hands. You know you can’t hide it in your gaze, the desperation that comes with that kind of dependency.

Of course.

“You. Mm. You always know just what I need.” You moan out, as teasing as possible, while your climax barrels closer.

And he relishes it. Every second. It’s obvious in the sharp inhale he takes, the way his pupils dilate until the blue in his eyes look like a halo in a sea of blackened lust. Your head feels like it’s splitting in two, caught between the pressure building inside you and the heat that seems to be coiling so tight you could implode.

He adds a second finger, and you have to grip onto the counter if you want to still find your feet.

“Ohmygod—fuck, John—“

You don’t know how you look, can’t bring yourself to face your reflection — but you know how it feels, the way the world is tipping like you’re on the deck of a ship, the way your stomach clenches and your nerves light like fire under your skin. The irony of the situation isn’t lost on you. You spent months running from him just to end up here. You realize now that he’s always been a step ahead in a way you can’t understand, and you know you’re playing a game you won’t win.

“Let me feel it.” He purrs against your ear, fingers pumping. “Let it happen.”

You moan loud at that, clenching around his fingers because it already is happening. The pleasure is hot and blinding.

“Ohgod—“ your voice breaks between words, your head falling back against of his shoulder. “Fuck. I’m—“

He knows. The heat building in your gut so bright it seeps through your skin. So, he dips his other hand back beneath your shirt, palming your breast and you know it’s to make you fall even harder — and christ, he manages it. You erupt, climax hitting you like a train.

The bliss is blinding, and you want to scream — but can’t because his mouth is on yours, capturing every strangled gasp you give as you try to catch your breath. You’re trembling, legs shaking, your body trying to find some sort of ground as you gasp for breath — but then he’s pulling his hand out and sliding off to one side. You feel empty. Breathless. You think, in some dim place in your mind, that you should feel embarrassed now, but you’re too distracted to care. As your breathing returns, you can hear him sucking on his fingers.

Tasting you.

You can barely stand it, the noise curling through the fog in your head. You hear a soft pop, and suddenly his hand is on your jaw, tilting you towards the mirror, and you finally look.

You think you almost look the same. You can almost pretend that that this is what it’s always been — something fleeting and nameless and reckless — but there’s a flush on your cheeks, a gloss in your eyes, that you can’t deny. In fact, the only thing that breaks you out of the fantasy is the way John’s eyes meet yours.

As if there was ever any mistaking what you would allow to happen here. You know, looking at him, that that the hunger in your gaze would always give away the truth. That he would always know how to read you.

“Reckless.” He mutters, as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, as if it’s something he’d known all along. You watch his jaw clench, his fingers digging into your cheeks. It’s not angry — it’s something more. A possession. “You do not get to leave me.”

You’ve known this man for barely a year, and yet he understands something you cannot. Something different from all your previous CO’s. Something that goes deeper than protection of a superior. And for the first time, you realize you can’t hide—not from him, not from whatever this is.

“Is that an order?” You whisper. Smirking.

He leans in, the heat of him branding against your spine, and you feel his words before he speaks them, rough and low on your throat.

“An order,” he echoes, hands sliding down to your hips. “And a threat.”

Your breath stutters, head spinning too fast to think. This is dangerous — whatever this is. It’s like the two of you are careening off the edge of a mountain, barreling toward something irreversible. You should stop this. You should pull away.

“Mm.” Instead, you arch your back, pressing against him with a low, breathy hum. “Now who’s being reckless.”

“Mhm. Knew you’d like that,” he mutters, mouth dragging against your jaw. His hands are already working, tugging down your zipper. “Brat.”

You should hate that word. Before him, you would have even more so. But something about the way he says it makes you bite your lip.

“You want to be put in your place.” His hands are purposed. Tugging down your cargos, undoing his belt. “That it?”

“Depends.” Your breath hitches. “Where exactly is my place, Captain?”

“Right here.” He presses you forward, palm splayed between your shoulder blades. His other hand grips your hip, dragging you against him, the thick weight of his need sliding along the slick between your thighs. You swallow a moan. “Right underneath me, Sergeant.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your head is spinning too fast to think. Then, he’s pushing inside you, and you lose the last of your breath.

“Fuck.” Your eyes catch in the mirror, watching as he sinks in, stretching you wide, splitting you open. The breath punches from your lungs, knuckles strained where you brace against the counter. Your head falls back, and he groans — a low, guttural sound that ripples through you. “Price—“

His fingers press into your jaw, turning your gaze back to the mirror. “Look at me.”

You do. And God. You wish you hadn’t.

Dark, blown-out pupils devour the blue of his irises. His chest heaves, the cords of his neck pulled tight. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more wrecked, more devastating, than the way he looks at you now.

“Good girl,” he mutters, voice thick with it, and your cunt clenches around him in response. His breath stutters. “God, you take me so—” you whimper, rolling your hips to meet his, and he hisses. “Yeah,” his mouth finds your ear. “Show me what you can give me—”

You try. You really do. But fuck—

“Huge,” you gasp, tipping onto your toes for respite as he buries himself to the hilt. “Fuck—John—”

“Mhm. Don’t run—” his hand slides up your throat, fingers curling, just enough to make it dangerous. You gasp, pulse hammering against his palm. He knows. Of course he does. The way he knows everything about you. “You’ll get used to it.”

You’ll get used to it.

The words echo back at you. The same ones he murmured the first time you asked him if he’s always this persistent. If you could think, you’d laugh. But you can’t. Because now you know the answer. Yes, he is always this persistent. And no, you will never fucking get used to it.

Your moans have long since lost restraint, spilling from your lips in time with his thrusts, raw and wanton and so fucking desperate. He takes you like it’s not the first time, like he’s not far too big to be this deep — his grip bruising in the best way, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. You feel the fractures of yourself, a thousand pieces of you suspended midair, trembling on the verge of shattering. You’ve never been this close to the sun. And god, if it doesn’t feel like fire.

Then, he says your name.

Your name. Your real name.

And it’s like breaking the surface of water after nearly drowning—like oxygen flooding into starving lungs. It strips you raw, turns the world molten beneath you, sends you spiraling into release all over again, the pleasure so sharp it almost aches. His hand claps over your mouth, muffling your sob of a moan as your body locks up, trembling.

“Yeah. There we go. Let it all out f’me.” His voice is dark, rough with something that sends another sharp pulse between your legs. His hips slap against your ass, relentless. “I’ve fucking got you.”

And you know he does. In a way you don’t trust your breath or your bones. In a way that terrifies you just as much as it makes you need.

Your vision blurs, heat rippling through your limbs, but he—he is unmoving. Steady. Like steel. Like he can take you at your best and your worst. Like he could tame this thing between you, whatever reckless, nameless thing this is, and make it his.

“That’s right. You look at yourself,” he grunts, one hand digging into your hip, the other still clamped over your mouth. Your glassy eyes flick up to the mirror, catching his reflection behind you—pupils blackened, lips parted, gaze locked on you. “M’gonna dumb you out. Fuck you ’til you can’t walk, never mind run.”

Your nails scrape divots into the granite as he shoves you further over the counter, forcing you to take him deeper. A wrecked whimper slips through your teeth, body caught between overstimulation and desperate, eager want. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the slick drip down your thighs, soaking into your ruined cargos — you know he can feel it too.

“Shit.” He rasps, voice fraying. His hand leaves your mouth, slides down to your throat, not squeezing, just holding as his other moves. Fingers finding the mess between your legs, pressing slow circles over your swollen clit. “Tight little slut.”

Your body jerks. “Fuck—John—”

“That’s it. Gimme another,” he mutters, rolling his hips, hitting something deep inside you that makes your vision blur. “C’mon, sweetheart, I know you can.”

It’s too much. The thick, hot drag of his dick with every punishing thrust — the rough slide of his fingers. The weight of his body pressing you into the counter like he’ll never let you go. You can’t think. Can’t breathe—

And then he growls your name again, deep and needing, and it sends you over with a broken sob, body writhing, mind slipping into static as you cum again, clenched so tight around him it makes him stutter.

His hand fists in your hair, dragging your head back so his lips brush your ear. “Good girl. Fucking perfect—”

You feel it when he loses himself. Through the fog of pure bliss. When his grip turns almost punishing, when his hips stutter, when the ragged groan tears through his throat. He grinds deep, burying himself to the hilt, body rigid as he groans and spills inside you with a choked curse.

And then, there’s stillness.

Both of you breathing uneven — more so him, heavy against the nape of your neck. And for a long moment, it’s just that. Just the sound of your bodies slowing, just the lingering thrum of pleasure untwisting from both of your bloodstreams.

Then, his fingers tighten on your throat. Just enough. Just to make sure you feel it.

“You ever pull some reckless shit like that again,” he mutters, voice raw, scraping against your ear, “you won’t be able to fucking talk when I’m done with you.”

Your breath stutters, thighs twitching at the promise in his tone.

“You got a problem, you come to me. You don’t run. Don’t put yourself into the fire just to fucking feel something.” His hand slides up, grips your jaw, tilts your head just enough so you can see him in the mirror — blue eyes all pupil, sharp jaw clenched. “You’re mine,” he murmurs. “And I take care of what’s mine. No matter what.”

A slow, shuddering breath leaves you. He watches your lips part, watches the way your body reacts to his words. Then, his grip on your throat eases. A slow drag of his hands down your body, like he’s memorizing the feeling of you ruined under him.

“Understand me?” His voice is quieter now, but no less dangerous.

You swallow. Nod. “Yes sir.”

He hums. Seemingly satisfied, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the back of your shoulder.

“Good.”

[anto-pops]

Sudsy Confessions - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: As the end of the school year continues to creep up on all of the seventh-year students, Sebastian has thought about what’s to come after graduation shamefully little. He’s equal parts annoyed and worried that he doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life, and he’s even more frustrated that he’s running out of time to tell you how he really feels about you. When a chance opportunity finally presents itself, Sebastian seizes the moment, even if the setting is a little… unorthodox.  

Alternatively summarized as Sebastian confessing his long-harbored love for you while you’re naked in a bathtub. 

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, love confessions, bathtub sex

Full fic can also be found here on Ao3 with more diverse tags :))

It was rare for Sebastian to get so bent out of shape over Quidditch. Especially since it had been an unofficial scrimmage between him and a handful of friends– which he had still won, mind— but it was the topic of discussion that had transpired after the actual event in The Three Broomsticks that had gotten him all hot and bothered, and there was no way around the truth of the matter. 

Garreth had brought up graduation. 

It was a topic that Sebastian had done his best to steer clear of since he had yet to formulate a plan for himself after Hogwarts. Apparently Weasley would be starting an apprenticeship with J. Pippins at his shop in Hogsmeade, which had warranted a few hesitant congratulations from the rest of his motley group. It was obvious that Leander and Imelda assumed the same thing Sebastian did; that Garreth would probably blow up the shop soon after starting. 

Then there was Imelda. Headstrong, resilient, and determined to prove herself. She fully intended on trying out for the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team after graduation and refused to believe she would do anything but succeed. There was no reason to doubt her at all– she’d always been masterful on her broom and had set new records left and right since Professor Black had reinstated Quidditch again. Sebastian only hoped that he was well out of sight in the event things didn’t go the way Imelda wanted them to. 

Leander had taken a bit of a sharp turn somewhere between the start of school and the present moment and apparently wanted to apply to work at the Ministry. Specifically, he’d been talking about joining the Council of Magical Law– evidently finding the power that would come with such a position all too appealing. Sebastian couldn’t help but think it was rather on brand for the Gryffindor to think as much, but his encouragement had been lukewarm all the same. 

Though he hadn’t joined them at The Three Broomsticks, it was already known that Ominis was also thinking about working for the Ministry, but with a different motive. He wanted to get more closely involved with the Muggle Liaison Office for reasons that continued to escape Sebastian. Whether it was to learn more about their differences to wizard-kind or to spite his family further, Sebastian didn’t know, but he was frankly inclined to believe the latter. 

Then there was you. The enigma, the mystery– the great unknown that had turned his entire world upside down from the moment you’d walked through the Great Hall doors two years ago. He had no clue what your plans were after graduation, and not knowing was slowly eating him alive. It had less to do with being kept out of the loop and more to do with his unspoken feelings for you– feelings that he had been keeping to himself for years now in a bid to keep his friendship with you unmarred. After your tumultuous fifth-year, it had understandably taken some time for the two of you to get back to any semblance of normalcy, and now that graduation was approaching, he couldn’t help but feel like time was slipping through his fingers. 

Sebastian’s previously upbeat demeanor had darkened considerably after that conversation, leading him to bail entirely on drinks at the pub in favor of returning to Hogwarts to wallow in self-pity. 

He’d moved in absolute silence following his return, a metaphorical rain cloud looming over his head as he’d gone to his dorm to grab his toiletries and a change of clothes before setting off for the Prefect’s bathroom. Friday nights were notoriously quiet now that everyone’s N.E.W.T’s had been completed, and Sebastian relished in the solitude that he always found in the spacious washroom. Sneaking in and using it was well worth the risk if it spared him from more idle conversations with his fellow classmates. 

It wasn’t unusual for the door to be locked– due in large part to the fact that it always was– so he undid the latch with his wand and shouldered the door open, barreling into the humid space with the grace of a hurricane. He tossed his items down on the countertop beside the sink and ripped his toothbrush out of his bag, shoving it in-between his lips as he turned the faucet on and rifled around for his bath soaps. Disappointment clouded his mind as his thoughts wandered back to you and the unknown future. It wouldn’t take much more than courage and a slim chance for Sebastian to get his feelings for you off his chest, but his fear of rejection kept him rooted in place. He was certain that at this point, it always would. 

“Keep running the water like that and you’ll drain the entire lake,” a familiar voice said from somewhere behind him. Sebastian damn near choked himself with his toothbrush as he whirled around to face the culprit, and then he found himself on the verge of fainting when he realized it was you. 

You were lounging in the massive tub with a smile on your face, not at all bothered by Sebastian’s sudden intrusion. Your hair was pinned up off of your bare shoulders in a messy heap, and the brunet stood no chance at concealing his blatant double take when he caught sight of your wet skin. The bulk of your naked body was covered by the scant spread of bubbles, but the tantalizing view of your collarbones had a flush rapidly spreading across his cheeks. 

“I– shit– I’m so sorry, I didn’t think anyone was in here,” Sebastian frantically mumbled around his mouthful of toothbrush. Dammit, he sounded like a fool. He ripped the thin stick from his mouth and spun back around to shut off the faucet and hastily gather his belongings from the counter. 

“You didn’t really knock to find out, but it’s fine. Don’t rush off on my account.” 

Your nonchalant tone made him pause, and he hesitantly lifted his head to stare at your reflection in the mirror. True to your words, you seemed wholly unbothered by his presence, simply continuing to bask in the warmth of the water as the steam wafted up into your face.

There wasn’t a chance in hell he could have anticipated something like this happening. 

Almost reluctantly, Sebastian dropped his towel back onto the countertop, instead picking up the paste for his toothbrush before setting to work brushing his teeth. He watched through the mirror as you raked your wet fingers through the free strands of hair that had fallen in front of your face, and the sound of the disturbed water dripping down your arms echoed through the space. “Did you win your scrimmage?” Your eyes never wavered from his in the reflection, and he nodded. “Go out for drinks afterwards?” Another nod, switching to brush the other side of his mouth. “Ominis and Garreth?” Sebastian shook his head. “What, Garreth and Leander?”

He mumbled around a mouthful of foam, “An’ Imelda.”

Your expression pinched into one of confusion as you mused, “I thought you didn’t like drinking with Leander.” Sebastian only shrugged in vague response before bending forward to spit and rinse, trying incredibly hard to not think about how very naked and wet you were presently. He was unsuccessful. 

 For a brief moment, Sebastian debated on changing into his pajamas and leaving despite having come to bathe, but something possessed him to turn around and contemplate you after he turned off the faucet. The easy smile on your face and your half hooded eyes almost knocked him out, and he swallowed thickly. 

What was it he had thought to himself just moments earlier? Courage and a slim chance? Was this not exactly that? 

“Hey,” he muttered softly, his voice almost a whisper. “What are your plans after graduation?” 

You tilted your head to the side in visible confusion, a strand of hair falling in front of your eyes seductively from the movement. He tried not to stare too hard. “Plans?” 

“What will you do once it’s time to leave? You haven’t said anything to me about it– or Ominis,” he added quickly. “We were talking about it in Hogsmeade earlier, so I was just wondering.” 

You seemed to ponder his question for a minute, your wandering hands coming to a sudden halt in the mass of bubbles. Truthfully, you hadn’t brought it up to either of the Slytherin men because you hadn’t come to a final decision yet, but it made sense that with the completion of your N.E.W.T’s, people would begin planning their post-Hogwarts lives. The thought made you equal parts sad and nervous. 

“I thought about getting a job at first… to make a name for myself and save money, you know? But honestly, I think I might travel. I’ve explored virtually all of the Highlands for ancient magic sites and I think I’ve hit a dead end. I want to learn more about Isidora’s magic– the power from the Repository is still as much of an unknown now as it was two years ago. It’s just collecting dust inside of me at this point.” 

Sebastian gave you a nonplussed blink and did his damndest not to sound paranoid when he responded. “Travel? Where exactly were you thinking?” 

You shrugged and averted your gaze to the bubbles in front of you. Of course Sebastian would be displeased to discover that yet another person from his life would be departing it so soon. It was part of the reason you’d been keeping your intentions to yourself for so long. Nonetheless, you answered softly, “Maybe to Poland. Isidora’s notes mentioned that she originally hailed from there–”

“Poland?” Sebastian’s frantic voice cut you off, and he found his legs carrying him to the edge of the bathtub to kneel there and bore holes in the top of your head from across the water. “You would go that far to chase after a maybe? You don’t know for certain if looking out there will even bring you any new information– it sounds incredibly reckless.”

You fixed him with a hard, telling look. “That’s rich, coming from you. Who was it that refused to let up in his search for a cure for all of fifth-year?”

His brows slammed down atop his narrowed eyes, “That was different.” 

“How is it any different?” You sounded exasperated, and he sighed indignantly. “You wanted answers, and you never stopped looking for them. You had nothing to go off of, much like myself presently, and you were willing to do anything if it meant saving Anne. I want to use this power for something good, Sebastian. I can’t do that if I don’t know how it works. Leaving is the only plausible outcome for me.”

“It would be that easy for you, then? To leave and disappear for who knows how long searching for who knows what? Would you have even told me if I hadn’t asked just now?” 

It would be that easy for you to leave me, is what he really wasn’t saying. 

You shook your head at him, completely bewildered that he was so affected by your revelation. “Eventually, yes, I would have. I don’t understand– why do you care so much? You of all people should know I would keep in touch; I’ll send owls every week, keep you updated on where I am and what happens. Going our separate ways was practically always in the cards, Sebastian.” 

Some tiny, annoying part of him had always known that. Living at Hogwarts was a blissful reprieve from the real world, offering himself and other students a sanctuary from the concerns and problems of adult life. Hearing you voice your thoughts was a completely different thing, however, and Sebastian was woefully unprepared for the dawning realization that he wouldn’t be able to see you anymore.

He silently cursed himself for having taken this fucking long to accept how empty he would feel without you beside him. 

“Sebastian,” you whispered from across the tub, and his eyes slid shut at the sound of your gentle voice. It hurt too much to fathom not getting to hear it again, or not being able to see you and crack stupid jokes with you in the middle of Potion’s class. He wouldn’t get to duel other students with you in Crossed Wands, or go to Hogsmeade to drink Butterbeers and stop by the lake on your walks back to skip rocks. All of it would end, and he would be alone. 

Again.

“Sebastian,” you said again, and the closer proximity of your voice had him cracking his eyes open. You were directly in front of him now, evidently having left your spot on the other side of the bath to siddle directly up to the ledge in front of him. Your wide eyes gazed imploringly up at him, and your grip on the edge of the tub was white-knuckled. “Why do you care so much?” 

“How could I not care?” He forced the words out while he still had the courage, seemingly gazing into the depths of your very soul as he stared down at you. His words had your eyes widening further as a flush crept up your neck onto your cheeks, and before you got the chance to say anything, Sebastian was leaning down to capture your lips in a desperate kiss. 

A surprised squeak weaseled its way from your throat as he lifted his hands to cradle your head cautiously, and you weakly curled your fingers around his wrists as he dipped lower to accommodate for the awkward angle. Sebastian kissed you hungrily and passionately– in the way he had dreamed of doing for years. He licked along your lower lip and bit gently at it, pulling a gasp from your parted lips before one of your hands came to rest on his bent knee, leaving a wet handprint behind in its wake. 

After a few heated moments, Sebastian broke away to look at you through his lashes, more surprised than anything to discover that your face was an open book; a mixture of shock and hesitance was etched into your features while something much hotter burned in your eyes, making his head fucking spin. 

“Sebastian, I– ah…” 

He let you go and sat back on his heels then, crossing his arms over his knees and resting his chin on his forearms as he peered at you nervously. There were a thousand different things Sebastian wanted to blurt out, but he settled for staying quiet as he waited for you to say something– anything.

You gaped up at him for a moment, blinking slowly as the flush across your cheeks darkened considerably. “How long?” 

He shrugged timidly before he said, “Ages. Since fifth-year, if I’m being honest.” 

“You didn’t… say anything?” His curly brown locs brushed across his forehead as he shook his head. “Why?” 

“After everything that happened in the Catacombs, I was terrified of fucking things up again. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship– I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. So I just… kept my feelings to myself. But now you’re telling me you would leave– that it was always inevitable things would end this way– and I can’t accept that. I refuse to.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Your mind was reeling from Sebastian’s revelation, and your heart was hammering away in your chest so loudly that you were certain he could hear it. Of course you felt the exact same way, but much like Sebastian you’d been worried about ruining things or complicating your already tentative relationship– especially after the events of your fifth-year. But now here he was– on his damn knees confessing to you– and your thoughts of the future vanished completely from your mind. 

Biting your lip, you stared up at Sebastian for a moment with wide eyes. One of your hands rose off the edge of the tub to trail your wet fingers across his cheek, and as Sebastian’s freckled face moved away from his arm to swim clearly into view, you stood straight out of the water invitingly and let him wrap his strong arms around your bare waist. As the water beading over your skin soaked through Sebastian’s shirt, his eyes flickered between yours, searching for the hesitance he’d seen there before. 

It was nowhere to be found.

When your lips met with his again, the softness had left them, and the two of you kissed one another hard and needily. Sebastian straightened and nipped at your lips, smiling against your mouth as you melted into him, and your breath caught somewhere in your throat when his tongue slipped into your open mouth to tangle with your own. Holding you tighter, Sebastian trailed his hands over your slick skin– traversing up your spine and into your unruly hair to tangle his fingers in the strands at the nape of your neck. He kissed you desperately, moaning softly into your mouth when he felt your hands sweep across his shoulders to fumble with the buttons at the front of his shirt. 

You’d made it about halfway down the row of clasps before Sebastian grew impatient, freeing one of his hands to deftly undo the buttons with a practiced finesse that made your mouth water eagerly. He panted along the curve of your jaw as he undressed, biting and sucking at the skin of your throat until he was pulling away to shrug the damp material off of his shoulders. His tie was still snug around his neck, clamping the collar of his button-up in place, and he growled as he loosened the thin bit of fabric before yanking it over his head and diving back into the kiss like he’d been starved of your very essence. 

Until now the bizarre angle had proved to be a non-issue– but then the pressing matter of his trousers came to light, and you felt as Sebastian blindly palmed at his belt buckle in a bid to undo it. “Need help?” Your coy offer whispered against his lips sent shivers up his spine, but he was too frantic and greedy to give you the chance to assist.

Those toned, capable arms released you so he could stand fully, his lust-dark eyes never wavering from yours as he finally succeeded in unlooping his belt from around his waist. “Just don’t move and keep watching like that– it’s helping me plenty.” 

You flashed him a mocking pout but did as he asked, settling back into the water and scanning his body longingly as he stripped down to his briefs. He teasingly ran his thumbs under the waistband of his undergarments and shot you a smug look, all too pleased with the way you licked your lips when he eventually began slipping the attire down the delectable ‘V’ of his hips. The sight of Sebastian biting his lip as his cock sprung free and arched proudly against his toned stomach had you halting your movements, though, and you audibly whimpered before the brunet threw his briefs over his shoulder and descended into the soapy water with you. 

In a flash he had you back within reach, his hands coming to cup your rear as he silently prompted you to jump into his arms so he could carry you through the water towards the rim of the massive tub. Your back bumped against the tiles there, and Sebastian took full advantage by pressing himself into you more firmly. The hard, stiff length of him rubbed tantalizingly against your folds, and you sighed contentedly before his mouth was on yours once more. 

The two of you languidly kissed for what seemed like forever, and you were more than willing to continue for as long as Sebastian saw fit. When one of the hands he had against your rear began to slip lower into uncharted territory, you smiled against his lips and huffed out an airy laugh. “Eager, are you?” 

“Shut up,” Sebastian murmured against your mouth, holding fast to your bottom harder and with greater fervor. “You have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming of this.” 

You arched your hips against Sebastian’s and drew in a shaky breath at the sensation of his shaft grazing over a particularly sensitive spot. “Then show me,” you implored. 

Growling again, Sebastian wrangled you around until you were kneeling on the ledge with your back to him and your hands braced on the rim of the bathtub. His hands were seemingly everywhere; sliding down your shoulder blades, scratching at the curve of your waist, then ghosting down the backs of your thighs as he nudged your legs apart further. You felt as he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss against the outline of your spine, and there wasn’t a chance in hell you could smother the shudder of delight that coursed through you. Sebastian moved on swiftly, though, and began pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses against your lower back, curling his hands around your hips before you felt him descend closer to your nether region. In your current position, it was just barely peeking above the thin layer of bubbles within the tub, and you heard the water slosh around Sebastian as he dropped to his knees and came face to face with your most intimate parts. 

The broad slick of Sebastian’s tongue sliding through your folds pulled a startled gasp from your lips, and your forehead fell against the tile with a soft, stuttered moan. The feeling of him tasting you– achingly and deliberately slow– had you shaking in earnest as you bit your knuckle for a semblance of control. You were struggling against the urge to rock back into his ministrations, eventually settling for reaching between your spread legs with your free hand to rub at your clit for some added reprieve, but then Sebastian slid his palms from your hips to your inner thighs to nudge your hand away. 

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered to you, and you mewled softly before tucking your hand against your chest and nodding. “Don’t hold back, either. I want to hear you.”

You were on the verge of responding, but the way Sebastian slid his tongue over you again drove whatever words you’d formulated straight out of your head. His hands ghosted along your skin as he lowered himself further, the tops of his shoulders completely submerging beneath the soapy water, and he took care to trail his fingers slowly down the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as he made himself comfortable behind you. 

Sebastian laved his tongue over you gently and encouragingly, then experimentally stiffened the muscle before poking it inside of you, leaving you whining and gasping his name. The brunet pushed his tongue in deeper then, moaning in response to the hitch in your voice as he pressed his lips against your folds and fucked the muscle into you slowly. 

“Gods, S-Sebastian–”

The man in question sighed and picked up his pace, flicking his tongue into you and dropping messy kisses against you. One of his hands slid up to your clit, brushing two of his fingers over the bundle of nerves with a moan, and when he leaned in hard to fuck his tongue as deep as possible into you, your high, airy whimpers made Sebastian’s head spin. 

With one last pump of his tongue, Sebastian pulled away, grinning at the way you twitched in response to his efforts. You heard the water stir and felt the warm, wet weight of the Slytherin drape over your back as he leaned forward to kiss across your shoulder, his hands running soothingly up the sides of your waist. 

“Fuck,” Sebastian breathed out, prompting you to turn and look at him over your shoulder. Your half-hooded eyes and parted lips sparked something in him then, and when you reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, the brunet leaned in to meet you gladly. You moaned into the kiss, drawing a like-minded sound from Sebastian when you ground your hips back against his throbbing member. His thick hands gripped at your waist tightly as he gasped against your mouth, a desire unlike any he’d ever experienced overtaking him in a matter of seconds. The urge to feel you encasing him was overwhelming– enough so that for one brief moment, Sebastian allowed himself to press so hard against you that it stole your breath and smothered your senses. 

“Sebastian,” you groaned from beneath him. Your gaze sought him out, but his own eyes were pinched shut as he relished in the ecstasy that fell over him from merely grinding against you. It wasn’t simply the act itself that was doing it for him. It was knowing that he was doing it with you. Everything he had craved for two whole years was finally coming to fruition, and despite wanting to relish in every second of it with you, Sebastian was losing himself to his impulses. You called to him again, “Sebastian, please.” 

His chocolate brown eyes cracked open at the sound of your voice coupled with your incessant tugging on his hair, and his shaky sigh told you everything you needed to know; he was incredibly eager. 

“S-Sorry,” he stammered out, swallowing thickly in a way that drew your attention to his bobbing adam’s apple. You merely shook your head in silent dismissal, then rocked back against him to spur him into motion. If it was guidance he needed, you were more than happy to provide it. “I don’t know how much longer I can draw this out,” he admitted with a low voice, and as though to punctuate the statement, you felt his fingers dig into the skin of your hips to prevent you from moving against him any further. 

“Then don’t,” you insisted needily, yanking lightly on his hair once more to goad him into moving. “I’m ready if you are.”

“If it’s all the same to you,” Sebastian murmured, his voice gravelly and directly against the shell of your ear. “I’ll be the judge of that.” 

You shivered in anticipation when you felt one of his hands trail down the swell of your rear to probe at your slick entrance with one of his fingers. His other hand traced soothing circles against lower back, relaxing you further until you had melted against the rim of the tub with your neck craned to the side to watch Sebastian as he worked. 

When he sank one of his fingers into you slowly, you let loose a shaky exhale and felt a flush creep up your neck and onto your cheeks, leaving Sebastian biting his lip at the wanton image you made as he pressed the digit knuckle deep. Thrusting slowly, he eventually managed to work a second finger into you, trying not to think too hard about the way you looked spread around him, or the way you moved back against him, or how fucking wet you were. 

“Sebastian,” you groaned. His eyes flicked back up to yours, entirely certain that he looked just as fucking needy as you did– especially given the way you shivered and rode back against his hand a little harder. “C-Curl your fingers down a little–” he did so, and was instantly rewarded with a telling jolt from you. “Oh fuck– there–” 

The sound of Sebastian moaning to himself was almost lost in the way you were gasping and keening, and he moved his hand from your back to your hip to hold you in place as he followed the same path you’d instructed him to with his fingers. He thrusted a little harder, curling his digits against your sweet spot, and the way you arched your back and spread your thighs as far as you could without slipping while you gasped for Sebastian was fucking intoxicating. 

It was too much. 

Sebastian pulled his fingers free and reached towards you without a second thought, coiling his arm around your waist as he leaned in to kiss you again. You couldn’t help but whine at the way his cock rubbed against you, and you were near boneless in the brunet’s arms as his lips molded to yours and his tongue delved into your mouth. His strong arm held you fast to him as the other braced against the rim of the tub, holding him steady above you as he kissed you senseless. When he finally broke away to catch his breath, you practically sagged into the water beneath him. 

“Merlin, Sebastian…” 

“Are you okay?” The Slytherin’s voice was rough when he asked, low and raspy with arousal, and once you gave your enthusiastic approval, Sebastian reached between the two of you to line himself up before pressing into you. 

Sebastian’s eyes squeezed shut at how you felt around him; tight, hot, and utterly incredible. He just barely managed to keep his composure as he slowly filled you, and your scarcely stifled gasps and keening whimpers were decidedly not helping him keep his wits about him. Every fiber of Sebastian’s being urged him to ram his cock into you– to fuck your brains out and hear his name spill from your lips in breathless screams. When he finally did sheathe himself all the way inside of you, he melted against your back, holding you tightly and whispering your name against your ear over and over again. 

“Fuck, you’re…” you trailed off, subtly shaking against Sebastian’s damp skin. “You’re b-big.”

“Gods, darling,” Sebastian breathed, exhaling roughly into the nape of your neck. “Can I move?” 

You gave a stuttered assent, but you were still insanely tight around his cock, so for both your sakes when Sebastian pulled back a little and rolled his hips back in, he did so slowly in a bid to test the waters. 

No pun intended.

Your choked moan was more than enough of an answer for him, so he worked to set a slow, deep rhythm, buying himself time to get used to the heat wrapped around his cock. The gentle sigh that emanated from you coupled with the way your back bowed ever so slightly told Sebastian that his restraint was appreciated. But then you were glancing back at him from over your shoulder, and the rosy flush that colored your cheeks combined with your glazed over eyes nullified the majority of his self-control. 

Sebastian blindly trusted you to keep steady on your knees as he gripped your hips to thrust into you harder, moving faster and giving gasping moans as you tensed and groaned, squeezing him in the most perfect way. He pulled you back onto his cock, adjusting his hips so he could fuck into your sweet spot, and the way you arched under him and cried out was fucking amazing. 

“Oh f-fuck, Sebastian,” you moaned, reaching back to tangle your hand in his damp, brown curls, and Sebastian let you tug him closer so he could mouth along your shoulder, tasting the sweet-smelling bathsoaps as he went. The water splashed around you both, and you swore softly as a small wave of sudsy water sloshed up the side of the tub and sprayed you in your face. 

Taking note of your predicament, Sebastian slowed his movements and angled his head so he could murmur directly in your ear, “Do you want to move?” 

“We could, but– damn, Sebastian–”

Sebastian didn’t want to fucking move. He did want to see your face, though. He pulled out swiftly, and before you could move to climb out of the water, he grabbed and maneuvered you around so your back was pressed against the side of the tub with your legs bent over his elbows. When he reached back further to grip the rim of the tub on either side of you, he sank back into you with a low moan. Water wasn’t the most spectacular of lubricants as it turned out, but you were naturally slick enough that it was essentially a nonissue.

The expression that spread over your flushed face drove Sebastian a little crazy. He moved hot and slow, pulling back far with every aching thrust before filling you up and making you whimper. It’s exactly what Sebastian had wanted, but the way your eyes rolled shut just made him want to fuck you harder, water splashing in your face be damned. 

He leaned in close and nipped at your swollen lips, still rolling his hips maddeningly slow. “I want to fuck you so hard,” he managed, voice shaking. “I want to hear you scream my name. I want to see you fall over the edge so hard that you pass out in my arms.” He snapped his hips, just enough to make you cry out. “I’ll fuck you just like that. I’ll make the Prefects come running from how loud you are. I hope you don’t have plans this weekend, because you’re mine until the bell tolls on Monday.”

You whimpered and shivered under Sebastian, sucking in sharp breaths with every slow thrust, and when you rode your hips back into the brunet, he couldn’t help but let his head hang between his shoulders, his dark eyes sliding shut. The way you were sucking him in deeper was mind-blowing, the water flowing in waves around the two of you, until a burning, tightening sensation took root in your gut and made you grit your teeth together in anticipation. 

“S-Sebastian, fuck,” he thrust harder in response, grinding his hips into you and causing your back to arch with a gasping cry. “Sebastian, I’m– I’m going to–”

“Do it,” he gasped, leaning in to kiss you quickly and messily. “Let me see how you come for me.” 

Your nails dug into his shoulder before you pulled one hand away to begin frantically rubbing circles over your swollen clit. You rocked your hips back into his and worked yourself closer to your finish with a low moan, keeping your movements in time with his thrusts. The way you licked your lips and the way you watched Sebastian with a dark, fucked-out gaze made him whimper. You were so intense– your lips parting on gasping moans of Sebastian’s name– and it took a surprising amount of self-control for him to not just fucking blow it right then. Instead, he bent you back just a little further, just enough to see that needy expression fall back over your face as he fucked you just that little bit harder. 

Your moans grew higher, louder, breathier, until you were crying out and shaking in Sebastian’s arms. “S-Seb– fuck– I’m coming, I’m coming–” 

Your spine rounded and your eyes squeezed shut as you clamped down tight on Sebastian’s cock, a guttural whine ripping from your heaving chest as your climax washed over you. The dexterous movements from your fingers took you higher than you thought possible, and the way you barely managed to choke out Sebastian’s name was enough to send the Slytherin over the edge. 

He pressed himself against you and buried his cock deep, fucking you through your finish with short, fast thrusts while he moaned your name against your throat, his hands moving to grip your sides tight with trembling fingers. “Fuck, darling, fuck–”

Blearily, you moved your arm and wrapped it around Sebastian’s neck as he came, who was shaking and babbling far too loud for it to be muffled against your slick skin. You buried your face into his tangled hair, jolting slightly from every miniscule movement of his twitching member inside of you. When the bulk of his post-coital high had subsided, he began wetly mouthing up your neck and along your jaw before sweetly peppering kisses over your cheek. The demonstration brought a breathless grin to your face, and your hands found their way to the hair at the back of his neck before you wound your fingers through the strands. 

“Merlin’s bloody balls,” Sebastian gritted out, sliding his arms out from under your knees to hold them fast to his waist. You followed his lead easily and wrapped your legs around his hips, sitting up to kiss him contentedly as your palms skimmed along his freckled back. He smiled against your lips and murmured, “We should probably get out. I can feel how pruney your fingers are.” 

“Mm,” you hummed softly, pulling back from the kiss to hold one of your hands up to see how wrinkled your skin had become in the throes of passion. “You’re not wrong. But it would be counterproductive to not wash off all the sweat, wouldn’t it?” 

Sebastian gave you a nonplussed blink before smiling brightly at you in agreement. Almost reluctantly, he slid free from your welcoming heat and deposited you on the shallow stone ledge, then hoisted himself out of the bath to pad over to his toiletry bag. After grabbing all the necessities and jumping back into the steaming water, the two of you took your time cleansing one another, lingering touches and thoughtful kisses being exchanged throughout the process. Eventually Sebatian found himself sitting with his back to the rim of the tub, your smaller figure situated comfortably between his legs as he scooped water into his hands and let it run over your shoulders. If your slouched posture was anything to go by, you were incredibly relaxed, and Sebastian realized dimly that he was too. To be with you in this way was everything he could ever want and more, and he didn’t want it to end. Not by a longshot. 

“Let me come with you after graduation,” he said suddenly, his voice a mere whisper from behind you. 

Your eyes fluttered open as you processed his request, the bathroom utterly silent except for the distant dripping of water from the faucet, and before long you were turning around to face him with your hands braced on his legs. “What?” 

“Let me come with you,” he said again, conviction burning in his dark eyes. “To Poland. I want to do whatever I can to help you. Please don’t leave me behind.” 

All you could do was blink for a moment before opening and closing your mouth in surprise. Sebastian’s unwavering gaze only prolonged the formation of words, until eventually you furrowed your brow and uncertainty took root. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him with you– far from it, in fact. The events that had transpired just minutes earlier had only proven that your close relationship was something to treasure for as long as possible, and you were more than ready to do exactly that. You just didn’t want him to throw his own ambitions to the side simply because you planned to travel. “What about what you want to do? Don’t you have your own plans? I thought Professor Weasley talked to you about–” 

“I never made a decision,” he stated firmly and with a shake of his head. “The Professor had her own ideas about what I would excel at, but I never agreed or wanted to pursue any of her suggestions. I honestly felt like I was in limbo until now. My point is, what I want is to stay with you. I want to help you the same way you helped me with Anne, and I really, really don’t want to end up sitting alone in some office in London waiting for your owls to reach me. There’s always something missing when you’re not with me.”

To say you were an emotional mess would be a monumental understatement. Sebastian’s words struck something deep within you, something sentimental and desperate to come to the surface. He evidently saw your tears before you felt them, because he was instantly sitting forward to cup your cheeks in his wet hands before wiping them away with his thumbs. The concern on his face was apparent, but you were already smiling reassuringly at him before he could verbally ask if you were alright. “You really know how to confess to a girl, huh?” 

He let loose an airy, relieved laugh that drifted over your nose and chilled your damp cheeks, and you wrapped your fingers around his wrists as he smiled anxiously at you. “I had a long time to practice. Is that a yes, then?” 

“Yes, you can come with me. I would love it if you did,” you said, and the giddy excitement that radiated from the man was the most palpable thing in the room at that moment. “Two heads might be better than one, after all.”

Sebastian was on you in an instant. He coiled around you like a baby mooncalf and smiled so brightly that it easily rivaled the intensity of the sun. Water splashed everywhere as he spun you effortlessly within the bath, your capricious laughter reverberating off the walls of the spacious room as elation flooded your system. Being encased in his warm embrace was all the confirmation you needed that you had made the right choice. In turn, knowing that his future was all the clearer brought a sense of peace and belonging to Sebastian that he would hold on to for as long as he was able. 

It just so happened that presently, he was holding on to you. 

[harehart]

Literally wrote this while getting a tat | mdni 18+ cw: a little pain play if you squint lol

simon riley x tattoo artist!reader

Being Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley’s tattoo artist 🖤🗝️🕸️

• He sees you more than he sees his own friends when he’s on leave. He’ll darken the doorway of the shop when the itch under his skin gets to be too much, and sits his large-ass self in your chair with a dull, expectant look on his face.

• You’ve done more than a few pieces on him by now, filling in the gaps in his sleeve and all that. It’s become a bit of a routine, him sitting on the couch thumbing through your portfolio until he finds something he likes. Then coming to loom over where you’re working behind the front desk, silently pointing at what he wants done.

• You don’t press him for conversation, getting lost in your work and letting him admire how your pretty eyes narrow in concentration and how you lean over him so closely he feels the heat of you soaking through his clothes. It lets him get lost in the same way; the way the needle jumps in and out of his skin and how his mind fogs over with the repetitive sting. It’s the realest thing he’s felt in months. Don’t mind how he has to tap out for a moment to tuck his chubing cock into his waistband, no use startling the pretty thing only trying to do her job.

• It’s his fourth appointment and he’s flipping through the pages when you silently slide your tablet in front of him. It’s filled corner to corner with designs. All of which fucked severely, but you were a little busy worrying about whether or not he thought it was creepy of you to have thought about him enough to draw up what you think he’d look hottest with. He wanted all of it, wanted his whole body covered in your work.

“Figured you’ve already seen all I’ve got by now,” You say, arms crossed on the desk trying not to burn a hole through your chair with how hot you feel under his gaze, “You stayed away long enough for me to get a few ideas started.”

“All of it?”

“Of course not, they aren’t even finished-”

“All of it.” he says firmly, his voice dropping to something lazy and slick.

• He loves being in your studio. Classic movie posters and album art decorating the walls and a candle burning in the corner, all very you. He asks what some of them are and is endlessly amused when you don’t believe he’s never seen the Godfather of all things. He likes it even more when you put something on for him while you work, interrupting with all your thoughts and little facts. All while he watches your hands on his skin, how your fingers shift and graze a tender spot that has him biting back his breathy sighs.

• When he goes home after a session he just about fists his cock raw to the intoxicating mix of the dull throbbing of his skin and the smell of your perfume that lingers on him like you’ve practically rubbed yourself all over him. It gets him going more than anything, especially when he’s been deployed and all he has is the dull sting of a healing tattoo to keep him company.

You’d have his head if you knew he was fisting his cock with a freshly inked hand, rich black decorating his fingers up to the second knuckle and throbbing under his rough movements but god it got him there. Thinking of how you moved his fingers like they were an extension of your own body, your own so much smaller and thinner than his as they worked their magic on him. He was pretty sure the cum spilling over his knuckles wasn’t part of your aftercare sheet. He fell asleep thinking about how you would scold him if you knew, then help him out instead with your own talented hands.

It all comes to a head one day when he stops by to drop off the deposit for his next appointment and you aren’t there to greet him at the front desk, one of the other artists waves him in and tells him to drop it off in your room out back. On his way he hears your voice down the hall only to find you in another artist’s room, on your back with your tits out getting an under-bust piece. Your eyes are closed and your breathing even, headphones in your ears and your body one smooth, lax line as you lay there. He just about stops breathing. The only two things to catch up are his cock and his mouth when it begins to water as he watches your tits rise and fall with your breathing, your nipples sadly hidden by some pasties. And fuck if he doesn’t have to bite down on the groan trying to spill from his throat at the sight of the fresh ink on your skin. Jewelry, like the kind you like to wear, draped between your tits and scooping low on your ribcage, like his own personal rosary to pray to when he’s on his knees for you.

His heart drops to his stomach when your eyes flutter open and he can’t look away fast enough.

“Simon.” The sound of you saying his name guts him, breathy and like you were happy to see him. Fuck. You don’t even look bothered to see him salivating over your half naked body, nor ashamed to have your tits out for him to see.

“Oh thanks for bringing that by, put it on my chair would you?” You lift your head to look at your coworker, “Can we take a break?”

“Fine, you’ve been sitting like shit today anyway.”

“I’m a rock and you know it.” you say, pulling the loose tank top you came in with over your chest and willing the heat away from your face before following your favorite regular.

Inside you were drowning in sensation, all of it heightened by the feeling of his eyes on you like a brand. It wouldn’t have been the first time you’ve had to hurry home to get off after getting a piece done, panties embarrassingly slick just from letting the pain wash over you and take your head to a place you’ve only been able to find under the needle. It was made much worse by him and all he did was look at you, with his deep brown eyes and pretty pale lashes. You hope you don’t wear your desire on your face as you take deep breaths to calm your madly beating heart.

“I thought it would be awhile until I saw you next.” you say breezily, “sorry I wasn’t out front, I would have waited for you if I knew.”

He only hums, giving you a slow up and down look “real pretty thing you’ve got there.” he says, nodding at your chest where a sliver of the piece pokes out from below your tank top.

You can’t help the smile that breaks from you, a shy thing that had him reaching into his pockets so he doesn’t reach for you.

“You think so?” your voice gone all breathy

“You think ‘m lying to you?” he hums, crowding your space and looking down at you, head tilting to the side as he plants the cash he brought with him in your palm.

He asks you the same thing when he’s making out with your puffy, sticky pussy. When he breaks away he doesn’t go far, unwilling to break the clear strands of your gooey slick connecting his lips back to your cunt.

“Sweetest fuckin’ thing,” he slurs and your responding moan has him rutting into your bed sheets, “still think I’m lyin’ to you?” he chuckles and plants a wet, messy kiss on your twitching clit. The wet smack of it has your back arching and he burns the image into the backs of his eyelids and hopes he dreams about it. The way your tits sit all pretty and the delicate ink wrapping around your ribcage. He wonders if he should get one to match.

[tojisun]

just. something about simon laughing when hearing you moaning mid-kiss. the image of him being so mean and demeaning. asking, “this does it f’r you, huh?” while you’re all squirming and crying on his lap.

[minholuvr333]

hyung line + overstim

pairing: hyung line x reader (chan, changbin, hyunjin, minho)

tw: edging, p in v, female presenting reader, minor hair pulling in minho’s part, pet names (bunny, kitten, princess, baby, sweetheart, sweet girl), praise, unprotected sex (be smart pls), collar mentioned in hyunjin’s part

maknae line now posted here !!

chan;

you already know what is going through his mind as soon as he steps through the door to your place. he’s got this crazy look in his eye- half starved, desperate.

“nice to see you princess,” he comes to scratch your head so lovingly, cooing at you. then, “let’s go to bed now.”

the thing about chan is, he can (and will) spend hours fucking you.

he’s usually quieter in bed, but once he’s got you wrapped around him and he’s already came once, the dam bursts.

“you’re so good for me baby,” “my princess, made for my cock, yeah?” “fuck, still gripping me so tight-“

he buries his face in your neck, your hair, your tits- whatever he can reach. moaning right next to your ear while he ruts into you. saying whatever pops in his head because he can’t even think like this.

“one more time, baby. your tight little cunt feels fucking phenomenal.”

minho;

when minho is frustrated, he takes it out on you in the best possible way.

“today has been rough, bunny. but you’ll help me feel better, won’t you?”

minho knows you love to be tossed around a little- he loves manhandling you too, if he’s being honest.

he would pull your hair until his cock sits nice and pretty on your tongue, using your mouth until you’ve swallowed two loads at least.

then you’re on the bed, face down while he fucks you into the mattress, thrusts so powerful your hands move to the headboard so it doesn’t break (again).

“that’s it, bunny- take it. fuck, you’re so wet for me,” “hope you’re not tired yet, it’s gonna be a long night.”

his hands are constantly moving; smacking your ass, squeezing your tits, rubbing your oversensitive clit, when he gets really into it he’ll even slide a finger in next to his cock just to feel how you squeeze around him.

“my bunny loves being full, doesn’t she? can’t get enough of my cock…”

changbin;

changbin is so whiny when he’s sensitive.

he can’t help it! after leg day at the gym he has so much adrenaline, his body is craving more stimulation, and you are more than happy to give him what he deserves.

he can’t even wait until you’re in the bedroom, he starts taking your panties off right there on the couch, saying “sorry, sweet girl. i’ve been thinking about this all day.”

he grips you so tight, hands wrapped around your waist while he bounces you on his cock- whining and rutting up into you over, and over, and over, until he can’t think straight.

“f-fuck sweetheart- i’m close again. you look so perfect, my cock stretching you out-“

it’s messy, he really can’t help it. he loves to watch his cum leak out of your sloppy, used hole, down his length, all over your thighs…

and if he manages to pull out, spent after hours of exertion, he’ll scoop up whatever fell out and slide his fingers right back inside. “let’s not waste it, baby.”

hyunjin;

sometimes, hyunjin likes a little extra… stimulation while he works.

especially when he’s painting, standing for hours while he picks color after color for his canvas. he likes when you sit nice and pretty for him, pillow under your knees, cock nestled down your throat, collar wrapped around your neck.

“good kitty,” he would mumble every now and then, watching you hollow your cheeks and take him further down. “you look gorgeous, love.”

sometimes it’s too much, having you on your knees like that, being so good for him. he just has to push his hips forward, hold your head a little closer-

“kitten, you’re gonna make me cum. god, your mouth feels so perfect.”

he sometimes gets tired of painting, needs to do something different, maybe sitting you on his desk and spreading your legs open might help his creative flow…

he likes to push in slow, really feel you clench around him and milk him dry. sometimes he even pulls out to paint you up like the canvas.

“so pretty, kitten. i should draw you like this, shouldn’t i?”

a/n:

happy first post :3 i hope u liked it!! requests are open love bugs, maknae lineup coming realllll soon >.<