#op:crocodile

[snailpaste]

CROCODILE x MALE! READER

IN THE LOW LAMPLIGHT

Content: Male AMAB Reader, bottom reader, top Crocodile, cockwarming, office sex, lap sex, light overstimulation, dom/sub undertones, NSFW 18+ MDNI

Synopsis: Cockwarming Crocodile in his office and reaping the rewards

Word Count: 1428

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You had no idea how long you’d been sitting like this for – sat in your lover's lap, bare front pressed against his clothed chest and face tucked into the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent. Bergamot, cardamom, the sweet smoke of his cigars. You’d lost track of time like this, speared open on Crocodile’s thick, throbbing cock, lulled into a haze by the scribbles of his pen on paper and the rhythmic tics of the grandfather clock.

You let out a content sigh, stretching your back and subtly shifting your hips back onto the cock filling you up so good-

“Patience.” Crocodile’s gruff voice cut through the silence of his office, cold metal hook digging warningly into your hip.

Reluctantly settling back into his lap you wrap your arms around his muscled waist, easily slipping back into a state of mindlessness, knowing only the stretch of his member and the occasional soft kisses pressed to your temple.

Through your haze you watch the light from the large arched windows dim, the water growing darker and bananawani growing lazy outside as dawn came and went.

Lazily, you tilt your head to get a better look at your lover, the sharp contours of his face illuminated by the warm amber desk lamp, wavy strands falling in front of his eyes, brow pinched in concentration. He’d always scoff when you told him he was beautiful, but god if it wasn’t true.

Every now and then Crocodile grinds lazily up into your wet heat, groaning at the snug fit of your walls. He chuckles darkly at your mewls as he teases your rim with his hook, nipping at your ear– “Easy now, darling,” his breath hot against your neck, hand coming up to tug at your hair and expose the marked column of your neck, “You’re doing so well for me. Hang on a little while longer.”

Soon only the hanging mosaic lamps illuminated the room, casting soft shadows across the velvet drapes and tome-filled shelves that stretched towards the domed ceiling. And still, the only sound in the room came from the clock, and the scratches on -what had to be- the final sheets of paper.

Suddenly you feel cool metal run up the dip of your spine, ripping a whimper from your lips, your back arching and cock throbbing. Crocodile hums in appreciation, snapping the pen cap with a satisfying click. He was silent for a while, but you could feel his hungry gaze lingering over your naked form.

Crocodile’s eyes raked over you: legs spread over his thick thighs, cock leaking and wetting his shirt, completely naked while his pants were open only enough to free his cock and heavy balls. He breathed deeply, huge hand coming up to the back of your head, tangling in your strands and easing back to look at you. And, oh, he had to bite back a moan, because he thought you looked divine looking up at him with flushed parted lips, and glassy blown eyes.

“God,” He breathes, suddenly a little too hot, opting to unbutton his shirt and shed the green cravat. You bite your lip at each inch of exposed muscle- something Crocodile doesn’t miss, smirking and soothing a thick finger over your lips, tapping for entrance– “Suck.”

Obediently, you wrap your mouth around the digit, curling your tongue and bobbing your head just the way he likes, and his hook digs deliciously into your hip in response. His throat bobs as you make eye contact, dragging your teeth teasingly and flicking against the tip.

“Fuck.” He growls. Pulling his spit-slicked fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, Crocodile reaches down and wipes them across your puffy rim, relishing the way you jump and instinctively tighten. “So fucking handsome.”

And finally, finally, he begins to grind lazily into your throbbing, aching hole.

“Croc-” you moan, voice hoarse and needy, rocking your hips in desperate need of “more!”

He grins softly, eyes darkening even more, “You need more? That so sweetheart?” Rings dig into your skin as he wraps a large hand around your waist, lifting you slowly up off his cock until only the tip was nestled inside. “How ‘bout this then?” And slowly, achingly, he drops you back down, pulling a wrecked gasp from your spit-slicked lips.

“I-” you gasp, the drag of his girth against your prostate setting your nerves on fire, “Please~”

And how could he ever refuse you? Crocodile grunts, biting his lip and starting to bounce you on his cock. He fills you up with deep, slow strokes, watching your eyes flutter and jaw slacken as his blunt tip bullies into your prostate.

A particularly harsh snap of his hips has you crying out, slick walls clenching tight and turning him feral. He starts fucking into you hard and fast and rough, gritting his teeth and groaning “Jesus fuck baby."

It was good. It was better than good. You could feel your orgasm coiling untouched, eyes rolling back each time his cock sunk deep inside. Your soft groans spurred Crocodile closer and closer to the edge, eyes flitting down to where your cock bobbed against his stomach, precum beading prettily at the tip and begging to be sucked.

It was almost too much, everything becoming too sensitive as your stomachs tightened and tightened.

The sound of skin slapping skin and the squelch of lube filled the room, Crocodile bringing you into a sloppy kiss, all tongue and nipping teeth, hot and fast and taking as he groaned into your mouth.

He knows you’re close, fuck, he’s close, but he likes drawing things out, loves the way your walls flutter at his sinful voice.

“You gonna come for me, beautiful?” He murmurs, deep and smooth, and all you can do is babble desperate pleas, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders and whining.

With each drag of his cock against your walls the coil in your groin winds tighter. You’re so close.

Crocodile laughs breathily, snapping his hips up into you hard and reaching down to grab hold of your leaky cock. “Then cum,” He strokes once, twice, and oh. Oh fuck–

Your body snaps taught, eyes rolling closed as your orgasm washes over you with a wave of white. And crocodile doesn’t stop, milking your cock and grinding against your prostate as you shudder and gasp in his grip, cum dribbling down his wrist.

“Close.” He groans, biting your neck.

You’re too fucked out to moan or whimper as he keeps thrusting into you, overstimulating you by rubbing his his palm around your tip.

It was all too much for him: your walls squeezing and pulsing over his aching cock, the cracked moan of his name as you shudder through your orgasm, the lewd sound of squelching as he fisted your spent cock to make your legs shake-

Crocodile cums with a deep, growling moan, cock throbbing in your tight slick walls, filling you up with his hot release. You whimper his name, tugging at his dark hair when he bites your neck, marking you as his. His hips still after giving a few soft thrusts, emptying himself entirely. You can feel each pulse of his hard cock, the wetness of his cum coating your walls.

Both of you pause, wrapped around each other, panting and trembling. The room is heavy with the smell of sex and sin, and cum dribbles down your thigh as his softening cock slips out.

“God.” With a tired groan Crocodile slumps in his seat, pulling you down against his chest, "God fuckin’ shit."

Crocodile forgoes his usual after-sex cigar in favour of whispering praise and drawing soothing patterns across your skin with his hook. His voice is breathless as he cards his fingers through your hair, “So good. So good for me. My good boy.”

After a while he tilts your head back by the chin, smiling down softly, “You alright?”

His voice is calm and soothing. You nod and press a chaste kiss to his lips, drawing a hum of acknowledgement from the other man.

“Good,” he breathes against your lips before meeting yours in a soft, passionate kiss.

He presses his forehead against your own and gently picks you up, cradling you to his chest. His heart fluttering obnoxiously as you stifle a yawn into his chest and nuzzle his neck.

Picking it up from where it was draped over the desk, Crocodile wraps his warm, fleece-lined coat around your shoulders, carrying you to the pre-prepared bath, “You were perfect, my love.”

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I couldn't think of a title, so I just settled on a phrase from one of Hozier's (many) slutty smutty songs- Work Song. First post on the new blog and the first actual fic I've enjoyed writing for literally over a year. Which is. Mind blowing, to say the least.

If you enjoyed this please do let me know! :D it means a lot to me and many other writers. Happy New Years!

[snailpaste]

Can i get some McSugarDaddy Crocodile headcannons but reader actually has feelings for croco? ive been thinking about this a little too much lately

Sugar Daddy!Crocodile x GN!Reader

CONTENT: Crocodile x GN! Reader, SFW, kind of mutual pining

AN: This isn't what i wanted but if I didn’t post it now I think it’d just go to the great fic graveyard in my drive (30 and counting) sorry for the wait ;-;

You’d caught crocodile’s eye at one of the many Gala’s he hosted (after all, charity was always a brilliant way for him to further his influence, to make connections and gain power), where he’d struck up conversation with you after asking to share a drink. It had gone well, and by the time the event had drawn to an end he’d given you his den den number and offered to pay for your taxi home.

Crocodile wasn’t one to chase after people, much more content to work on furthering himself or his many business enterprises. He simply didn’t need to – there were enough many men and women willing to fling themselves at him should he ever be in need of company – which is why he found it so strange that, not but two days after meeting you at a Gala, here he was, den-den pulled closer towards him on his desk than usual, eyes flickering to it every so often as he worked through the growing heap of paperwork.

rest under cut ->

If anyone were to ask why, not they would ever question him, he’d simply tell them he was waiting on an important business call, rather than hoping for a stranger, who’s laugh he unfortunately hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, to call.

Your arrangement started as “purely transactional,” in the words of Crocodile.

He didn’t expect sexual favours (at least, to begin with) but simply wanted your company at events, a presence beside him to help gnaw away at the tedious meetings and public appearances he endured in the name of business. You’d wake up with a voice message on your den den, telling you to be ready at 7, with details scarce aside from to check your mailbox, inside which was a new outfit fitting for whatever event he saw fit to bring you to. Over time as he learned more about you, they became more and more tailored to your tastes.

He kept things distant at the start. His touches were modest, an arm around your waist or shoulder, a hand guiding you at the small of your back, but nothing more. You found yourself begging to crave his touch, leaning into the warmth of his palm or wrapping your own around his arm.

His conversations, while interesting, never betrayed any of his true emotions, and he opted to leave you with cash rather than buying anything else for you specifically. Gradually, you began to hope might actually start to open up to you. What did he look like unguarded? How did he look when he was at peace 

As the weeks passed, you found yourself growing accustomed to his presence, the initial intimidation and curiosity replaced by a quiet comfort. Crocodile listens to whatever you have to say intently, eyes never leaving your face, always asking the right questions and relishing in the way you blush when he leans closer to you, blowing cigar smoke out the window and brushing your hair out of your face.

While Crocodile isn’t out of touch with his feelings, he does prefer to ignore them. He immediately noticed how you changed towards him, leaning your head into his hand when he cupped your cheek and laughing a little bit more openly, and sneaking looks when you thought he didn’t notice – he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart feel just a little warmer.

Your dates, as you unknowingly began to phrase them much to his amusement, became far more frequent, with him using anything as an excuse to be around you for longer. Crocodile, it seemed, had an uncanny ability to understand your desires. He took you to places and events you’d been wanting to go to without you asking, such as art galleries, cosy bookstores and grand libraries, or bookings at theatres or cinemas.

Crocodile encourages you to pursue any and all of your interests- there’s nothing he admires more than when you go off on a tangent about something you’re passionate about, or your dedication. With him, money isn’t an issue, he’ll happily pay whatever fees you might need to achieve.

Your relationship progressed from you being a pretty thing draped off of his arm, another way for him to flaunt his wealth and power, to something more personal. He surprised you with a visit to something you’d mentioned excitedly to him weeks ago, booked the wing of a restaurant you fancied for just the two of you, and invited you with him to the opening evening of an exclusive art exhibition of his favourite movement.

It was only when he caught himself thinking about you with a smile while smoking his evening cigar, that crocodile decided to address how he felt– whatever it was.

After a long night that left you nodding off and leaning against him, crocodile opted to take you back to his house. He’d carried you up to a guest room with his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, placing you down in the bed and mumbling a soft good-night into your hair. It was then that, in your half-asleep stupor, you accidentally confessed your feelings, clinging sleepily to his shoulders and mumbling for him to stay with you. He didn’t make a big deal of it, but he felt his heart skip a beat, and allowed you to cuddle against his chest until you fell asleep.

The following morning he told you plainly and simply, wanting to cut the tension that ran thick as you drank him out of the corner of your eye (and how could you not, with normally slicked back hair in loose waves, ringed hands sliding you a coffee across the island, his bare chest peeking through his dark brocade dressing gown) that he was interested in you, interested in a relationship more than this.

After this, he begins to open up- lets you run your hands through his hair from behind, and stay at his house as often as you’d like. His laughs become lighter and more genuine, and you find he has a dimple in his left cheek whenever he smiles just so.

He still buys you gifts and treats you, but now they’re far more intimate, and more tailored to your tastes than ever. He takes you with him on his business trips around the globe, letting you soak in the sun or encouraging you to explore the attractions while he attends to business.

He surprises you with gifts delivered directly to your house, a box of your favourite treats, each delicately wrapped in coloured paper, a potted plant he collected from your shared trip to alabasta, or something he saw you looking at or considering buying with his own note attached. Another time, he appeared at your doorstep with an assortment of flowers, (he’s very into “classic courting”) each flower was one he picked carefully to reflect a message to you.

His love languages are quality time and acts of service, but he craves physical touch and, as you find, becomes quite clingy when he’s tired. He loves sharing baths with you, holding you to his chest and relaxing in the warm bubbles, and on his one day of rest per week, lazing around in bed with you during the early morning hours.

The time he realised he was well and truly in love with you was when you were sitting in his lap, his arm looped around your waist and hand smoothing over your cheek, as you had reached up to trace your fingertips over his raised scar. He’d felt his heart jump into his throat at the feeling, realising he’d never allow anyone else to touch him there, and when you smiled at the light dusting to his cheeks, he realised he was well and truly fucked.

[snailpaste]

I just love the idea of Crocodile having an extravagant, eclectic office. Dark, gothic, antique, not enough to be clustered but tasteful. Hhnnuughhh

A high-domed ceiling with ornate carvings supported by marble pillars. Tall arched windows adorned with deep velvet drapes that reveal the lake and the inhabiting bananawani, the dimmed sunlight falling onto the polished floorboards and the accompanying Alabastan carpets.

Polished dark oak bookshelves stretching high up the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes and trinkets from his travels-- ancient marble busts, crystal vials filled with rare perfumes, a polished brass telescope sitting next to hand-annotated maps of the heavens, antique hourglasses filled with sand from each corner of the globe, and a bananawani statue from Lvneel.

Crocodile's desk lies in the very centre of the circular room, dark polished wood with secret compartments, long and sectioned into three parts that curve around his armchair. Stacks of organised papers lie on it, to be signed or read, and a sleeping transponder snail dozes at the edge. A neat row of fountain pens lies next to wax blocks and seal stamps. The seat itself is a green velvet with golden trimmings, tall and imposing.

Colourful Turkish mosaic lamps hanging in the back of the room, lighting up the collection of insects fossilised in amber. A hand-crafted gothic grandfather clock to its left, taller than Crocodile himself.

Just oooooooooooooooooh. Pretty...