#the Muse that has me tight in his grasp

[pearlzier]

────⠀ ⠀uhm. chris eating cooch 🔥 nomnomnomno

warnings / SMUT hi... self explanatory. chris eats pussy, oral (f!receiving), afab!reader, sitting on face, they're in a bathroom errrrr yeah

"take off your panties," chris instructs hoarsely, voice low and throaty despite his mouth watering at the wetness dampening the thin fabric covering your core. his hands rub over your thighs, grasping at them tight like he'd die if he let go. and quite honestly, you knew he felt as if he would die if he took his hands off of you.

"take off—" you stammer for a moment, chest rising and falling in quickened breaths at the thought of being bare infront of him but also just because, well, he's on his knees beneath you, ready to eat you out like his life's depending on it. "yeah? yeah, okay," you muse, realising he'd guided your hands to the waistband. fingers curling into the fabric, you slide your panties down your thighs with an unmatched determination.

it makes him laugh. and he mutters quietly, "someone's eager, huh?" he squeezes your thigh tightly, shaking his head for a moment. though, when he sees you, without the fabric covering you, he groans softly. practically feeling the way his boxers tighten around him. he's a mess, the sight of your slick, puffy folds making his head spin.

"you look so fucking beautiful, angel," he mumbles, the urge to tug you down onto his face and just devour you literally palpable. though, he enacts the faintest bit of restraint and he doesn't. not yet, anyway. chris doesn't want to scare you.

instead—he leans his head in and he starts kissing at your inner thighs. feeling the your warmth so close to his face makes his cock twitch in his pants, his hand dropping to adjust himself for a moment. to give you a taste, no pun intended, of how he's feeling, he lets his hot breath fan against your sensitive skin with every bite and lick he makes on your thighs. chris looks up at you through his lashes, blue eyes piercing under the shitty lights of the bathroom.

"so soft too," god, he's obsessed with you and he knows it. absolutely obsessed, damn it. you're obsessed with him too, one hundred percent. your eyes linger over him. searching his gaze. fingers threading through his hair, you also have to enact self restraint to not bury his head in your cunt and make yourself see stars. since he's just right there. "says you," you mumble quietly, panting a little bit. "you look perfect."

the sound of his damn voice. fuck, fuck, fuck.

chris smiles against your thighs, tongue darting out against you for a moment to lick against your thighs. "you're even more perfect, y'hear me?" his eyes shut as your fingers scratch at his scalp gently, and he moans against you, sending another shiver down your spine. his breath ghosts against you, as he lets out a few pants of his own. it takes him a few moments to get back at the task at hand.

you moan when his breath hits your wetness, and you tug on his hair a little tighter. the look of him moaning against you makes you giggle, "guess we're both perfect then," you say as you shift your weight above him.

"mmh, we're perfect for eachother then, yeah?" the mixture of the thought of getting his mouth on you and the way you tug on his hair has both feelings going straight to his dick. however he wants to focus on you. "don't worry, baby," he coos, "gonna make you feel so good."

"make me feel good?" he swallows hard and nods at your words. hey. you're not complaining at all if he wants to do that. so you nod too, and affirm, "make me feel good." you push his hair from his face gently so it doesn't get in the way, eyes fluttering over his face for a minute.

chris is sure his mouth's watering by now, when you give him that permission. he runs his hands over your soft thighs, squeezing them tightly before he looks back up at you. "yeah? sit down for me then," he's gentle but firm.

you're surprised, confused even. it literally can't be what you're thinking but it most definitely is. the cheeky gleam in his eyes tells you exactly what he's thinking. "yeah, sit," he hums, hands sliding up to your hips so he could tug you down onto his face, but he doesn't do so yet. "c'mon, ain't gonna crush me."

you look at him skeptically. you're hesitant despite the fact you can feel air against you and his hot breath too and he's already seen your pretty pussy, so why on earth are you so terrified of sitting down on his face. "right, okay," you say mostly to yourself, "i'm gonna—yeah, okay, alright," you watch as chris sits back against the wall, looking up at you expectantly.

"c'mon, angel," he drawls.

and yeah, that's right when any resolve you had plus any fight literally dies within you and you're practically clambering towards him to plant yourself down on his waiting mouth. you splay your hands against the bathroom wall, trying to grab onto at least something to steady yourself. a yelp slips past your lips the moment he practically drops you down onto him, and a moan follows suit when you feel his nose nudging your clit.

chris doesn't miss a fucking beat—his tongue darting out to give you a sharp lick. "so fuckin' sweet," you taste like heaven, god, he's lucky. he grunts, hands grasping at your hips to push your drooling cunt further onto him. god, you're in heaven too at this rate. "shit, chris, oh, fuck me—"

"we'll get to that in a bit, i'm enjoyin' myself here," chris eats pussy like a fucking champ. like it's a professional sport and he's won the damn world championship at it. he can't take it, the pretty noises you make, shit. chris moans against you, making long, broad licks across your wet folds, lapping up your slick. then, he moves in a little closer, once he's got you secured—he makes a heavy stripe with his tongue from your entrance to your clit, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud of nerves once he gets there.

"fuck," you're panting, hips canting down against his face, up into his mouth to chase any drop of pleasure he's giving you. your thighs squeeze around his face, and he's so clearly content, willing to die right there between your legs. but you still need him alive, y'know, to repay the favour. "jesus fucking christ, how'd you—"

"just, just.. baby, shut up," you know what, you get it, and you nod. a laugh bubbles out from your throat, but it soon turns back into whimpery moans as he delves deeper into your wey heat. when he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking and licking at it, you practically melt right there. with each lap of his tongue, you cant your hips towards his mouth, mewling each damn time.

"yeah, baby?" chris flutters his tongue over you. "you like that?"

"do i like that?" stupid question from him, to be honest, because you very clearly like it. those noises you're making? loud. you buck your hips down against him, the way he's eating you out sloppy and messy. but it fits him, fits you. plus, he's getting you off good. "shit, shit, fuck, m'gonna.. fuck."

"potty mouth, much?" though his voice is muffled, his hand swats at your thigh for a moment which only causes more of your arousal to ooze into his mouth as he laps at you. his grip on your thighs shifts, and he changes his position a little to get you to come on his face. he's got a very one track mind at the moment.

"just shut up," your hands in his hair tug him up into your pussy a little more, just to get him to focus on eating you out. "yes, ma'am," he mutters, all amused, into you. he rocks you down against his mouth, his tongue dragging over you in quickened paces. the moment he feels your thighs start to tremble, and the sound of your gasp? yeah, he's done for too, and he buries his head against you more just to feel the way you squeeze his head with your thighs.

"that's it, there we go, there she fuckin' is, shit.." you practically gush on his face, leaving him and his mouth soaked with your arousal. your head's spinning, the pressure in your abdomen finally bursting in the most pleasant way possible. he's on cloud nine. he really doesn't wanna pull you off, but he fears if he stays there he'll end up working you up into overstimulation and he wants to save that for another time.

"you still breathin' down there?" you ask, voice almost timid as you recover from your orgasm, the tiniest bit embarassed.

he lifts his hand up, giving you a quick thumbs up, "barely." hell, good enough for you.

taglist ／ ⋆ ۪ @pettydollie, @dayzeandhaze, @mattslolita, @https--roman, @httqvi ( i need an official taglist LMFAO i DONT know who to tag anymore lmk abt the taglist thanks pookasmooks................ )

[tadpolesonalgae]

Seated[*]

Lucien x reader

a/n: thank you for the request anon <3, it’s been quite a while since I’ve written for Lu!

warnings: oral (f! receiving), implied smut, overstim

word count: 888

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Moans spill from your lips, heat flushing your body as you struggle to stay upright, torn between bracing your hands on the headboard and tangling them in his lovely silky hair, fisting your fingers in the locks to better grind against him, soak his mouth with the slick that’s dripping from your pussy.

Lucien’s tongue flattens against your clit, lapping with short but firm strokes over the sensitive part before stroking and circling delicately in tight, mean circles as you cry out, fingers trembling with overwhelming pleasure. Your vision turns blurry, whimpering as he keeps you sat on his face, thighs spread open so he can lick and lap as he pleases.

“Lucien…” you moan, feeling as tears spill from your cheeks, skin slick with sweat as you ride his tongue that’s working you so well…the high tightening in the pit of your belly, thighs subconsciously parting…resting your weight over him as your hips wind…

You cry out as you come, one hand on the pillow and the other on the headboard, shakily holding yourself upright as you rub over his mouth, riding out your pleasure while his tongue licks up your pussy, cunt aching as he circles your clit, waves pulsing through you as you coat him with slick arousal, thick and gleaming as release barrels through you until you’re shaking.

Lucien presses a tender kiss to your clit once the high has passed, though you’re still trembling, and whimper desperately as he suckles lightly on the hyper-sensitive part, tugging it gently between his lips so the tip of his tongue can better flick over your clit.

“Lu…Lucien…” you whimper softly, desperately trying to pull away but his arms are firmly banded over your hips, keeping your sex flush with his mouth as he continues dragging pleasure from your overstimulated body. “Lucien, please! I can’t…” you cry, tears dripping down your cheeks as you try to squirm out of his hold, hips wiggling in attempts to free yourself but it only serves to bring you more stimulation.

“L-Lu…” you plead, a wave of relief breaking across your skin as he at last allows you reprieve.

“I thought you liked it, hm?” He taunts gently, words soft but clearly mocking as his tongue strokes against your pussy, causing a fresh wave of tears to spill. “I do…” you whimper, hands shakily moving back on the bed, allowing you to look down your body at him…see every movement of his tongue against your sex.

“Is my girl getting overstimulated?” He croons, and your lower lip wobbles further, cheeks flushing with heat. “You’re giving too much,” you whine, inhaling sharply as he repeats the action with his mouth. “It’s not my fault you look so perfect when you come,” he drawls in return, and you pay no mind as he guides you from his mouth down his body, basking in the relief from pleasure.

“You can’t blame it on me though…” you argue weakly, muscles still soft and lethargic from being soaked in heavenly tremors. You can acutely feel how your thighs are trembling and you doubt you’d be able to stand right now, legs feeling as sturdy as custard. “Can’t I?” He muses, thumb stroking over your hip as he quietly guides you over his lap, knowing you’re far too out of it to grasp what’s happening anymore. “With a cunt like yours?”

Your lips part at the crude terminology, heat reawakening in the pit of your belly despite being unable to handle anymore.

“You can’t…that’s not my fault…” you whimper, his palms splayed over your waist as you settle on his naked lap, hips mindlessly shifting over him when you feel the hot length of him beneath you, eager to soak more of him in your slick until he’s an aroused, gleaming mess—covered in you.

“Hm? It’s not?” He taunts, carefully encouraging you to raise onto your knees, hand lowering to his cock and your lips part as your eyes follow, watching how he’s lazily stroking himself, his own eye shamelessly glued to your dripping cunt. “I could come from just watching you,” he groans lowly, thumb swiping over his head, smearing the precum that had gathered there, nestled at his tip.

“Lu, wait. What are you…” you trail off when his hand slides between your spread legs, and you automatically begin circling your hips, rubbing against the heel of his palm despite your overstimulated state. He wraps his hand around his cock again, gliding smoothly with the lubrication of your arousal now coating the motions.

“Spread wider,” he instructs, your breath hitching at the softly uttered command. “Lu…you can’t…” you mumble, tears already rising to your lashes, “I can’t—…I can’t do anymore…”

“Yes you can,” he growls lowly, stroking your hip as he guides you down, tip pressing to the slick mess between your thighs.

“You’ve gone further before, princess. You can do it again,” he reminds as his hips roll upwards, the thick length of his cock gliding through the wetness of your cunt with ease, arousal coating him as if eager to have him inside, and you whimper at the unforgiving promise of more pleasure.

“Just a few more, okay? Just a few more on my cock, then we can go back to my mouth.”

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general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover

[delirious-donna]

His Hands [Nanami Kento]

an: it's been a hot minute since I wrote for him, but with the latest developments and the insane amount of Kento content on my dash, I couldn't help myself. This is a love letter to his hands...

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: hair pulling, manhandling, light choking, mark marking, daddy kink, dirty talk, mating press, doggy (all implied), some comfort and fluff because he deserves it

Masterlist

Nanami Kento is not a white knight.

He is not a righteous man, nor is he morally virtuous. Nanami makes no qualms about expressing what matters most to him – his time, his students and most importantly, you. If that means he has to stray into the murky grey areas of ethics then so be it. If that means there is collateral damage in ensuring the safety of his precious priorities, it matters not. However, Nanami Kento is a good man.

Fatigue has been his constant companion these past few weeks. His eyes are weary and less focused than usual, his jaw tight with seemingly endless worry and his hair tousled as if he had run fingers through it time and again. You didn’t know the exact cause of his current demeanour, all you did know was that it was your job to relieve it, at least temporarily.

Hazel eyes met yours. A tight smile faint on his lips whilst you moved from being tucked into his side to straddling his lap. Kento’s head fell back against the couch, his gaze bouncing between your eyes, simply content to observe whatever it was you were up to. Your fingers delicately wrapped around his wrist, brushing against the heavy weight of his timepiece and lifting it to your chest. His hands were rough, callouses built up along the edges of his fingertips and palm through extended training and workouts that would see him dripping in sweat.

“Y’know… I’ve always loved these hands.” An exploratory finger ran over his knuckles, the skin shiny and new from where they had not long been split open. It wasn’t an exaggeration–you did love his hands and what they could do.

An amused huff was his reply, fingers flexing in and out of a loose fist whilst you continued your journey over the wide expanse that was his hand—traversing the depths of his life line only to circle down and stroke over the pad of his thumb. How many times had you helped to patch him up after being injured in the line of duty? Too many. Bloody rags filled the bathroom sink and the smell of antiseptic stung your nose, but you’d rather do it yourself than let him tend to himself. There was no point in telling him you worried, he knew that, instead you filled the silence with the mundane moments of your day to distract him from the stark contrast of his horror-filled one.

“They’re strong and they keep me safe,” you muse almost to yourself. Unbeknownst to you, Kento’s eyebrows lift. His eyes sharpen, throwing off the dregs of tiredness to watch more fixedly at you touching him with a reverence he didn’t believe he deserved. Would you still love them if you knew what he had done with them? Of the violence they had been a part of, the injuries and deaths he had inflicted with them. As if you didn’t already know…

“Sweetheart–” The argument he had readied fell away when you lifted his hand higher, towards your throat. His thick fingers could feel the steady beat of your pulse, no jump in fear of danger, only complete trust. He swallowed; the bob of his Adam’s apple near painful.

Your breathing sped up, knees shuffling forward to bracket his lean hips and pressing your delicate skin further into his careful grasp. Memories rose to the surface of your mind like stones skimming across a peaceful lake, rippling outward until the phantom sensations of days gone by washed over you.

The searing burn of Kento’s large palm swatting at your soft ass; whether in encouragement when your thighs tired of riding him to completion or in admonishment for some very deliberate attempts at stealing away his attention in the midst of his paperwork.

The gentle grip of your ankles when he folded your thighs flush against your chest to be able to plunge deeper into your sopping cunt. His tender hold was the perfect counterbalance to how savagely he was splitting you open. Lazy circles of his thumbs against your delicate ankle bones all whilst you ringed his cock with thick cream and his pelvis smacked wetly against you.

The prickle of your scalp at the sudden yank at the roots of your hair. That deliciously big, thick hand that you adored wrapping your hair so tightly into a makeshift ponytail that you had no choice but to rear back. Warm breath fanning your cheek and neck, the deep rasp of Kento’s words caressing your ear despite how depraved his words were. “Fuck… that’s it, baby… Taking Daddy’s cock like a champ… Let me see that arch… Look at this pretty pussy sucking me back in…”

Nanami had a way of handling you exactly as you needed at any given moment. He wasn’t afraid you’d break like some fragile doll, knowing that you more than enjoyed his manhandling. He could sense how turned on it made you when he would scoop you up like you weighed nothing. Taking your weight into his arms when he fucked you against the hallway wall in those moments he simply couldn’t wait to reach the bedroom. You were his pliant little cocksleeve. His perfect pussy.

With the rough came the smooth. How tenderly his fingers would coast down the length of your spine in the warmth of the morning, stopping to admire the curve of your waist, the flare of your hips and the ripple of your backside when he squeezed it lightly. 

The soft touches against the bruises he had left the night before on your waist and hips. Each one a mark of his possession that he would never fail to become aroused by. The marks of his fingertips, the indent of his teeth on the swell of your sensitive inner thigh. If he were an animal he would scent mark you like the dog he sometimes felt like, rub himself all over you until you were bathed in his musk.

Interlocked fingers and tickles on the palm of your hands. The reassurance that you were by his side when you strolled the sidewalk together, Kento always nearest the traffic and the ability to tug you close with the flick of his wrist.

“I don’t care what these hands might have done to those that deserved whatever fate they befell. All I know is that I love them, and there isn’t anyone I would trust more to hold my heart.”

He nodded, and you knew that would be the best you would get in the form of agreement to your words. The coiled muscles in his forearm tightened, tendons contracting and his fingers squeezing a fraction tighter atop your carotid arteries. You hummed in contentment, eyelids growing heavy and his hand slipped free of your loose hold to rest over your heart whilst the other pressed between your shoulder blades to bring you to his lips.

So, no, Nanami isn’t a white knight but he is the best man you’ve ever been fortunate enough to meet. You would help him face whatever demons were lurking nearby, and with your support and unconditional love, maybe–just maybe–he’d make it back to you in one piece. 

Heaven knows he deserved some time off.

[coryosbaby]

Sleepy

Fandom: “Saw”

Pairing: Dom! Mark Hoffman x bimbo! Reader

Synopsis: On Friday nights, Mark comes to your apartment.

Cw: established relationship, age gap, nsfw . Rough sex, spanking, oral (m recieving), anal fingering (f recieving), creampie, cum play, breeding

It starts innocent— Mark, your beautiful and slightly sadistic hard working boyfriend, slides under your ruffled pink sheets. Although you haven’t moved in with each other quite yet, it’s not uncommon for the man to let himself inside your apartment on friday evenings. Cool air against the bare skin of your ankles gives way to Mark’s warm touch, his big hands wrapping around your calves, stroking the soft muscle there. Your eyes flutter at the sensation. You had fallen asleep waiting up for him, but you could recognize his touch even in slumber.

“Mark?” You murmur. Your sleepy eyes look up at him with a doe expression, and Mark thinks you’re completely gorgeous like this.

“Mhm.”

You lift yourself up, smiling as you wrap your arms around his neck. His smell— cologne, laundry detergent, a scent of something herbal— invades your senses. You breathe it in gratefully, thankful that Mark has come home safe and unharmed. Fingers in his hair, you pull him on top of you. A small chuckle emits from the man’s chest, his hand going down to your waist and his other wrapping around your neck in a sort of non threatening chokehold. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip. You nick at it teasingly with the tip of your tongue.

“Missed you so much, sweetheart.” Mark coos. You push up against him, the pink two piece pajama set adorning your body rubbing against the fabric of his pants. He lets out a little breath when your hand moves against the outline of his cock.

“Missed you, daddy.”

“You talkin’ to me?” He says, as his fingers dip into the waistband of your juicy couture shorts. “Or are you talkin’ to my dick?”

“Both.”

His fingers rub up against your slit, the wetness seeping through your pretty pink thong. At the feeling of the fabric touching his fingertips Marks out a growl.

“Were you waiting up for me?”

A nod. And then, spilling roughly from his lips, “Naughty fucking girl.”

His mouth crashes to yours, hot and heavy and aching with lust. It’s been only a few days since he’s saw you, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to pummel your guts like it’s been a year.

Your tongue slips into his mouth eagerly, feeling up the whites of his teeth. His fingers rub harsh circles into your clit and your hands go to the sleeves of his work suit.

“Off,” you whine to him. “Want all your clothes off.”

“I know, honey, I know.” he chants, as you thrust against the hardening bulge in between his legs. He slips off his coat, then begins to undo his tie. His chest is exposed to you as he unbuttons his shirt. Beautiful and muscled, with a bit of softness along the bottom of his tummy, he’s the most perfect man you’ve ever seen.

You bring yourself up to kiss his chest— then his shoulders, his pecks, grazing along his nipples and nibbling softly, making him let out a heavy groan. Then you move down to his lower belly and nuzzle your face into the skin there.

“Enjoying yourself?” Mark muses, as you wrap your arms around his waist. You’ve missed him so much.

“Yes, daddy,” you reply sweetly. You toy with his belt for a moment, rubbing your thumbs against the buckle. “Wanna suck you…”

“Get to it then, angel.”

Hands grasping the leather, you pull it from the loops. His pants button comes undone next, and then the zipper. The tight black briefs are now the only thing keeping you from your most prized possession.

You lean down and nuzzle your face against him again, only now on his thighs. He’s so hard, practically throbbing as he watches your eyelashes flutter shut and your mouth run over his aching, clothed shaft. Drool practically leaks out of the corners of your mouth as you taste him through the fabric. You look up to see Mark’s bottom lip caught between his teeth, his eyes looking down at you with a predatory stare.

Your fingers grip his waistband. You pull it down until his aching prick springs free, slapping against his stomach and dripping with arousal. You take his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. He groans, heavy, balls clenching up. He has so much cum to give your sweet cunt.

“Good girl, baby,” he praises, when you sink your lips down to his base. You choke a bit, but that doesn’t stop you from going so far down that the dark hair at his base is used as a pillow for your nose and lips. He always asks if it bothers you, and it doesn’t. Quite the contrary, in fact. You breathe him in and something deep and primal stabs into your guts— much like his girthy length. You move up and down, up and down, making sure to palm what you can’t take in your small hands, making sure to make the man you practically devote yourself to feel the best he can possibly feel.

And by the sounds he’s making, you seem to be doing a good job. Grunts, groans, and the occasional whimper escape from Mark’s plump lips, his head throwing itself back in ecstasy.

You can tell he’s close by the way his thighs begin to shake and quiver. You pull off of him, quick to leave one more little kiss to his cock before kissing him harshly on the mouth once again. He groans into you, grabbing your hair with a harsh grip. He turns your body over and pulls your ass up to him. Too impatient, he decides to just pull your shorts down and push your panties to the side. He slaps his cock against your clit, once, twice, making you mewl.

“Whose pussy is this?” He asks gruffly. You cry out, cunt trying to suck the tip of him as it runs along your seam.

“Yours, daddy,” you whimper. “It’s all yours. Fuck it, please, need your fat cock so bad, daddy…”

Mark lets out an animalistic noise, slowly but heavily sliding himself inside your tight snatch. It’s always hard for you to take him, his cock being so large and all, but your arousal lubricates him perfectly. And when he looks down it takes everything in him not to tear you open right then and there. Your cute little cunt, all spread out on his big dick, pussy lips wrapped tightly around him, clit bulging and throbbing.

“You’re a dream,” Mark growls. You clench around him, his voice and smell making your brain hazy. “A goddamn dream— fuck, you little slut.”

He begins to fuck into you, holding your thong to the side and watching the way your behind jiggles with every thrust. Hitting his thighs over and over, he’s hypnotized by the fat of your ass. The creamy sounds of your pussy, along with smacking sounds, is quite loud throughout the room. Mark grabs your hair and yanks you up so your back arches more. Squealing, you grab his hands in an attempt to loosen his grip. But knowing how brash the man can be, you know he won’t let up anytime soon.

“Just like that,” he grunts against the shell of your ear. “Daddy’s little girl is so pretty, isn’t she? Couldn’t wait for his cock to fill you up, huh? Couldn’t wait for his load all in your guts?”

You try to nod, but all that comes out is a desperate and loud moan.

“It’s so good! Yes, need it harder, need more..” you cry. Mark chuckles, dark— he knows exactly what you’re asking for. His hand comes down to your ass, and he gives it a light smack as if to tease what’s about to come. You grind back, trying to get his hands back on you again. “Please daddy!”

He slows. Brings his hand up. It comes down hard— as if all his frustrations and anger come out into one particular spank. You cry out desperately, but your pussy quakes. Fuck, it feels good to be hit by him. And when it comes down again, and again, and again, your orgasm draws even more closer. He begins to pound you like you’re a worthless sex doll used for his own pleasure. He pounds you like you’re a desperate whore who’s on her deathbed for some cock— and in a way, you are. It’s not long before his strong hands are ripping the shorts and panties away from you. How he has the strength to cause such a rip in the fabric, you don’t know. He presses your back against his chest and rips your tank top down your chest. Your tits are exposed, nipples puffy and swollen.

“Slutty fuckin’ tits,” he huffs out, tweaking a nipple in between his fingers. Your eyes roll back, and he smacks the pebbled buds harshly. “Slutty little cunt… slutty little ass—“

His thumb plays with your puckered hole, and you gasp when he spits down into the seam of your ass. Lubricating it, he slides his thumb in. The burn of the stretch hurts but it’s not unbearable.

“Yeah, dirty bitch,” Mark’s gasping, hot, bringing his lips to yours and clashing the both of your teeth together. “Love having that little asshole played with…god, I’m gonna cum, baby.”

You nod, pushing back, clenching.

“Give it to me, daddy! Fill my hole up with your cum, it needs you, needs your fucking cum—“

And with a ferocious yell and one last thrust, he spills balls deep inside your pussy. Fucking himself through his orgasm, his cum seeps out the edges of your dripping seam. His fingers come down to your clit, his thrusts weak and his cock overstimulated, but he’s desperate to make you cum. A few circles rubbing into your swollen button is all it takes for you to scream and finally hit your peak. Your vision goes white, your ears ringing, and you swear your body dies and goes to heaven for a moment.

Warm and filled and used, you rest there for a moment with Mark. Just basking in the afterglow, in the feeling of him inside you. After a while, he speaks.

“You okay?” He asks. You nod, a dazed smile forming on your lips.

“Never better.”

He pulls out of you slowly. Watching his cum gush out of you and run down your legs almost makes him hard again, and he presses a finger into the puddle of creamy spend dripping out of you.

“Push it all out.” He states, dark. “Let me fucking see it.”

You do, making sure to let all of it drip out as much as you can. He came a lot, and your pussy is practically overflowing with his seed. You scoop up some with your finger, licking it all up and looking behind at your boyfriend with glazed eyes. He watches, hypnotized by your lips wrapping around the white substance.

“That’s my girl.” He says. “My good little girl.”

And you know you are.

[charnelhouse]

Ok, I'm sure you're already writing something with Red, Ghost and Soap, BUT in that public smut you wrote... she somewhat flirted back / agreed to Soap with his offer to cuddle. I wonder if Ghost was murmuring some stuff (while balls deep) to arouse her further about inviting Soap... like along the lines of having Soap open her up, so she can take his {Ghost} larger member etc. Is that what the giggle was about? And morning after now that Soap has suspicions confirmed about Ghost and Red... can he be chill? Will he be chill if he got an invite? Anyway, musings in anonymous.

A/N: Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader. Mentions of anal. Smut. A dash of soap. Parallel to subtle.

“Cuddle with Soap?”

“Cuddle” is full of grit. Ghost spits it out like a dirty word as if allowing Johnny to hold you would have been akin to anal sex.

You palm his cheek, thumb digging under the edge of his mask. His cock is inside you, thick and searing. He drives forward in long, sharp strokes. “You know - oh fuck - you know I wasn’t - wasn’t going to.”

“Do I?” he rumbles, lying flat on top of you, hips rolling between your spread thighs, insistent.

It’s raining outside the safe house. A full, swollen storm pelting against the one window. The trees are swimming together, branches and dead leaves making music. Price is out front on watch. The others are asleep in the corner and Ghost had reached for you in the dark.

“We can’t.”

“The storm’s too loud. No one’ll hear.”

"I don't think-"

"I need you, Duchess."

He braces his weight, his eyes glinting in the holes of his mask as he appraises you. You clutch at him, holding tight even though he’s got you pinned. You can smell him every time you bury your nose in his soft sweatshirt: a lit tobacco pipe in the rain. He rocks forward and rows back at a consistent rhythm, soaking in the warm, slick clutch of your sex. He might do this until morning, until dawn slinks gem-red over the room. He’s tried it before. He’s succeeded.

You should have been a porn star with that stamina. I need a wheelchair.

If you think that will get you out of training, think again, Red.

No matter how subtly he fucks you, he’s still heavy, his cock so big that every plunge aches like an old burn. He punches the breath from your lungs, his bare hand finding purchase over your mouth when you whimper or grunt. The pleasure is debilitating. He blankets you, holding you down, stabbing deep, but careful not to make any noise that could awaken the others. 

You’re so wet that you hope the shift and graze of his pants, his boots creaking on the floor is enough to mute the crude song of him claiming your pussy. 

“We could ask him to join, hmm?” He nuzzles his covered nose along your jaw. “Should I have him stick his prick in you, open you up for me?”

You clench. It’s totally not your fault, but you lock up, choke his cock. “Shit,” you whisper as he sinks deeper and groans against your throat. 

“Dirty girl,” He grasps your hip, squeezes until it’ll bruise, which you wouldn’t mind. You love the marks he leaves on your skin since he’s so careful about publicizing his desire for you outside of these moments. “You fuckin’ liked that.”

His tone is etched with slight bitterness.

“I didn’t,” you murmur, but his dark eyes glisten like seal skin, they’re full of a longing that pinches your nipples - your spine - every branch of nerves. You feel so on display. The attraction for Soap can’t be helped. He’s gorgeous and hilarious, ripples like a white-yellow sun. He’s flirtatious and thrilling and you have the gut feeling that Soap eats pussy with an unreal enthusiasm. 

He’s not Ghost, though. 

He’s not Simon.

He peers down at you, the weight of him in your cunt swelling and pulsing. You’re stretched to your limit, your knees clamped against his muscular torso. The fabric of his under armor is silky against your bare skin. He’s staring so intently that you feel awkward - nervous as hell.

You giggle. A reflex. 

No. No. I don’t want to get dicked down by Johnny. 

“Liar,” Ghost finally accuses as he grinds his pelvis into your clit. You arch, nails stabbing into the nape of his neck. You can feel the strain in his tendons, the bunching of his shoulder blades. He’s balls deep, crushing your body but keeping his hand firmly planted beneath your head to protect it.

“I’d-I’d only let him if you were there,” you confess. “Inside me…fuck…holding me while-“

“Inside you?” Ghost rumbles. “You want Johnny to fill somewhere else, then?” He slides one broad hand beneath your ass, lifting your hips and thrusting down so sharply you choke. “Could you handle it, love?”

He’s in your lungs. Your guts. He’s embedded in your nervous system and you can’t remember human language. 

“Shit,” you hiss.

“Aw,” he murmurs, audibly impressed with himself. “That’s my girl.”

You bite your lip, eyes rolling back when he delivers another deliberate stroke, his length drags through your walls, ridged and colossal. It hurts just the right amount.

“I could handle it,” you answer hoarsely. “You know I could.” 

You tug him down to press your lips to the skull’s teeth, desperate to kiss him, but no that you can’t right here, right now. Ghost goes easily, allowing you to manhandle him. That’s the thing about Simon. He can toss you around, lift you against a wall and fuck you dumb, but he’s always ready to be delicate or subservient when you need him to be.

Your head falls back as you blink up at him, offer him a pointed flutter of your lashes. Ghost actually stiffens, grows harder, massive thighs forcing your knees apart. “Don’t you look at me with those bloody fuckin’ eyes,” he husks. “Tryin’ to distract me.”

“We were talking threesomes, Simon.”

“If you think I’m gonna let that cunt taste you tonight-“

“Tonight?” you echo. “So then tomorrow?”

He pauses, dropping his head and shaking it. He laughs softly. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

“You’re a pain in my arse.”

“You are in mine.”

“I’m not in there yet,” he mutters as he slides one leather-covered finger along the crease of your ass. “But we’ve got a long time ‘til morning.”

You smirk, contracting your lower muscles until his pace stutters. 

“Fuck, Duchess.”

“You’d break me if you tried that.”

“Nah,” he assures you, circling his pelvis before pushing further as if he could hit your womb. His mouth is right against your ear. “You know how good I’d make it, yeah? Use my fingers…my tongue…until you’re so fuckin’ ready-“

“Mmm maybe Soap can help. Double-team, yah know?”

His fist slams against the floor. There’s a snarl behind his mask. 

“Okay, okay,” you soothe him, petting his burly shoulders. You press a soft kiss to his covered cheek before you lie back and let him continue. “No more Johnny talk.”

You’ll table it for later. 

[luna-the-moth]

Mirror sex with Azul? Baby boy needs to learn to love himself 💜

AGREED. Sweet and soft sex has me so so weak and this kickstarted up a lot of worms in my head ,, , so i wrote a fic LOL. this was so lovely to write anon i lowkey felt possessed writing it ashdifu

18+ // gn! softdom! reader // sub! Azul with stretch marks and chub // body dysmorphia // self-directed fatphobia on Azul’s end // mirror sex // body worship // praise // eating (azul's) cum // handjob // “angelfish” used to refer to reader

WC: 1.3k

“In addition, it’s said to have a slimming effect that reduces the appearance of one’s, ah, excess,” Azul muses, thumbing through a catalog. “It seems like a good investment, does it not?”

You pause, turning to face him. 

“...your body isn’t ugly, Azul.”

“I didn’t say it was,” he retorts, the playfulness in his voice strained. 

“You didn’t say it explicitly, you mean,” you reply, taking the catalog from his hand and setting it down on the table gently but firmly, your other hand moving to cup his chin in your hand. He swallows and averts his gaze, hands settling on your waist, butterfly-light. 

“Apologies, Angelfish.”

You soften at that, running a thumb over his cheek before kissing him, drawing a finger down the front of his collar before lightly tugging at the first button. His grasp around your waist tightens.

“Let me know if you want me to stop at any point, ok?” 

He nods, a blush creeping up his cheeks and ears. You kiss him on the neck, smiling. 

Limbs entangled, the two of you stumble to the corner of the bed in front of a full-length mirror handcrafted in the Coral Sea. You let go for a moment to turn him around, spreading your legs, allowing him to settle against your chest. His body trembles, fingers grasped tight around the silk sheets underneath him as his head rests tentatively against your shoulder. His eyes are shut, unwilling, unable to look ahead and see what’s reflected.

His silk nightshirt is half unbuttoned, your hands having run up underneath them to play with his nipples. They pebble underneath your touch, and he whines as you tease and tug at them slightly, writhing in your grasp. Rubbing soothing circles over the soft fat of his thighs, you press a kiss to his earlobe.

“Are you comfortable, ‘Zul?”

“Yes,” he whines, one of his hands blindly reaching out to the back of your head. 

“Good.” You leave a gentle bite on his shoulder, running your tongue over it in apology as he lets out a shaky moan. The sight in the mirror makes you smirk, and you gently grasp his chin in your hand, turning him towards his reflection. 

“Look at yourself, Azul.”

Teary eyes snap open to meet your own in the mirror and he gasps.

Azul is a vision. His hair, meticulously styled, has loosened and become undone, the silky strands laying carelessly across his forehead. A hickey blooms across his collarbone, complemented by the pinkness of his blush. A faint trail of drool gleams from the corner of his lip.

But what stands out to him is well, him.

Azul took great pride in having maintained his figure, having come far from the “crybaby tako” of his youth, but he seldom took the time to look at the physical reminders of his former self. His usual attire gave him a slimming effect, at least to others. Nevertheless, there’s still a bit of chub on him— particularly on his thighs and stomach— despite his attempts to render it nonexistent. Lighting strikes of stark white run across his skin, and he whimpers as he realizes that you’re tracing them with your free hand.

He wanted to turn his head in embarrassment, in shame, yet he can’t quite look away. You’re looking at him from over his shoulder, the expression on your face nothing less than fond. 

“You’re being so good for me, Azul,” you purr, lavishing the side of his neck with kisses. “Do you see how beautiful you are?” A faint whine leaves his lips. He begins to squirm, but you shush him quietly, placing a soothing hand on his chest. 

“When I tell you I love you, I mean all of you. That includes these,” you bring a hand over his to trail over his stretch marks, “and these,” your other hand moves to gently hold his rolls, squishing the soft fat with emphasis. Your lips settle on his shoulder in a kiss. 

A faint sob wrenches itself from his chest and he turns his head towards you, tears beginning to trace the skin of his cheek. You raise your head and your lips meet his own tenderly, willing for your love and adoration of him to be transferred through your kiss. 

 The hand that had been stroking his stretch marks goes to the waistband of his underwear behind his pants, tugging the soft fabric downwards. He acquiesces to your silent request and raises his hips, letting the clothing slip to the floor. He shudders in pleasure as your nails drag lightly over his skin, reaching up to touch your chest.

You pull away with a hum. 

“Not tonight. I want the focus to be on you.”

He feels himself ache at your words. In the back of his mind he knows he’ll want to pay back the favor— he’s never quite gotten used to ones not meant to be returned— but all he can do in the moment is let out a faint moan of your name and bury his head in your shoulder, frustrated in his desire. 

You laugh at that, carefully prying him off of you with a few kisses as bribery. Facing the mirror again, Azul’s head goes fuzzy seeing his cock erect in want, pearls of pre-cum dripping off of the head. One of your hands has gone to idly tease his chest, rolling a nipple in between dexterous fingers as you watch his reaction. He gasps as your free hand wraps around him, your thumb circling the blushing red head of his cock.

Azul arches his back and whines as the fabric of his partially undone nightshirt brushes against his sensitive skin, his head leaning back against your shoulder. Your fingers have moved to wrap against his cock fully, running up and down his length as his hips stutter, and you press a kiss to his sweating forehead. Leaning back against the bed with one hand to stabilize yourself, you slowly grind against Azul’s backside, silk pressing against skin.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you groan, throwing your head back for a moment as you bask in the feeling of his cock moving back and forth in your hand, the softness of his skin, and his panting breaths against your neck as he struggles to speak coherently. A sudden grasp on your thighs pulls you out of your reverie, and you look to see a visage as lovely as the Fairest Queen.

Azul’s flushed face meets your own, his skin shiny in sweat as he looks at you, eyes wide and pleading. His mouth is parted, pink tongue hanging out ever so slightly as drool turns his lips and chin glossy. He’s so, so beautiful. 

“Please…” He begs, nails scratching against your thighs.

You kiss him, then, moving to tighten your hold around his cock for a moment and the faint jerking motions of his hips stutter, his entire body shuddering in pleasure as he lets out whines of your name against your lips. The motions of your hand continue steadily, and you continue until he begins to hiss in overstimulation, hands clumsily batting your arm in protest. 

Once his breaths have evened out and his body has practically melted in pleasure, you reach the hand now covered in his spend up to your lips. It shimmers faintly in the dim lighting of Azul’s bedroom, and you clean it off of your fingers with relish, narrowing your eyes playfully at Azul when you catch him watching. 

“Let's get you cleaned up then, yeah?” You hum, gently petting his hair with your uncovered hand. He whines at that, burrowing his face into your neck, arms going to drape themselves around your shoulders. A petulant “no,” is murmured faintly against your skin, and you huff a laugh before holding him even closer to you. 

Cleaning up could wait, then. 

a/n: reblogs and comments appreciated <3 lmk if you would like to hear more!

[discordantwritings]

Our Precious Assistant Pt. 3 (Cross Guild x Reader)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 4.5

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, gn!afab reader, sub!reader, sub!Buggy, dom!Mihawk, dom!Crocodile, exhibitionism, vouyerism, cockwarming, PiV sex, oral sex, mastrubation, inappropriate use of Buggy’s devil fruit powers, creampie

WC: 4.3k

Summary: You get some much needed TLC and start your new work routine. Which, of course, involves some fooling around at work.

Note: I mean it was only a matter of time before Buggy’s dick being detachable was going to come up. I hope you guys like the dynamics in this one with not everyone participating at once but everyone still getting some love.

You realize you’re sore before you realize you’re awake. Slowly remembering the events of last night and earlier it all makes sense. Buggy’s arms are wrapped tight around your midsection and you have just enough room to twist around in his grasp.

His face paint had gotten washed off at some point and you can’t help but admire his features without the layer of makeup. Tracing your fingers over his jaw you feel the stubble there, coarse but the sensation isn’t bad.

Your touch stirs Buggy awake and without opening his eyes he pull you in tighter.

“Just five more minutes…” He mumbles, his face buried in your chest.

“Buggy it’s late we should get up.” You press a kiss to the top of his head and push him, but he’s stronger than you.

“Mmmm but I like where I am.” He nuzzles in and you feel that stubble rub against you.

“But I need to take a shower or something.” At this Buggy perks up, withdrawing his face from your boobs. “Croc has the best bathtub.”

So that’s how you ended up soaking with Buggy in the largest bathtub you’ve ever seen. It comfortably fits both of you and you’re pretty sure one or two more people could squeeze in here. Despite how much space you could have you’re right next to Buggy, leaning into his shoulder while you let the warm water soothe your body. Buggy has put heaps of bath salts and other soaps into the bath and the fragrances nearly put you back to sleep.

“Next time we should wait until we aren’t already bruised to get in trouble.” You muse.

“Sorry to break the news but you’re never not going to be bruised. Both of them love marking their territory.” Buggy leans and grabs some shampoo from the side of the bath. You take the bottle from him and he shoots you a confused look.

“Let me wash your hair.” You offer.

His eyes light up and you can’t help but giggle as he eagerly repositions himself in front of you. You take your time with his long blue hair and revel in the intimacy of the moment. When you’re done he returns the favor and you feel the remaining tension leave your body as he scrubs shampoo into your scalp. The both of your are just as languid finishing bathing and you don’t hop out until the bath has gone cold.

It takes a bit to get dressed again since your clothes had been thrown to every corner of the room but you manage to get dressed- well, most of the way.

“Buggy? Have you seen my underwear?” You call out, your check under the bed unsuccessful.

“Me? No. I mean I don’t think you came in wearing any.” His words have you immediately whipping around to look at him.

The edge of your underwear hangs out of his pocket while he wears a shit eating grin. You sigh and slip on your pants knowing you won’t win this battle.

“Let’s go get some dinner.” It’s been way too long since you last ate and after all your body has been through you need to recharge.

“Let’s get Croc and Mihawk one of them always pays for the good stuff.” Buggy takes your arm in his as you walk out of the bedroom and to the offices.

You find Mihawk and Crocodile in their respective offices and it’s doesn’t take much convincing to drag them out to dinner. True to Buggy’s predictions you get a secluded VIP table at a restaurant where prices aren’t even listed on the menu.

You sat next to Crocodile while Buggy and Mihawk sat across from you. They caught you up on what you missed for the day and you were surprised at how mundane it all was. This is just the way your life is now, catching up on the day with three of the most dangerous pirates in the world over dinner.

Crocodile’s large hand was on your thigh all dinner. Surprisingly it never drifted too far in he just left it resting on the top of your thigh, only occasionally squeezing. The touch kept you grounded as you chatted easily through dinner with your new partners. When going back home was brought up at the end of the night you hesitated.

“I think I’m going back to my place tonight.” When Buggy looked particularly dejected you elaborated a bit. “I can’t come into work tomorrow wearing the clothes I wore yesterday.”

“Of course you can. Anyone who even looks at you wrong will get a limb cut off.” Buggy says simply, but thankfully Mihawk is the voice of reason.

“No it makes sense, I’m sure you need some time to yourself after all of this.” Mihawk’s words calm you down, making you more confident in your choice.

“But I think I will make sure to pack an overnight back to have at the office. Just in case.” That comment gets Buggy’s mood up again, and his smile is infectious.

Dinner ends on a high note and by the time you leave the sky is dark and the wind chills you a bit, you weren’t dressed for todays weather. You’re about to excuse yourself to power walk home when a heavy coat drapes over your shoulders.

The thick smell of cigar smoke and fur tickling your neck means you don’t even have to turn to see that it’s Crocodile’s coat on your back. You pull it tighter around you, practically swimming in the dark fabric.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” You say awkwardly, unsure how goodbyes work in your new situation.

All three of them look at you a bit confused and you can’t help but be confused back.

“We are escorting you home.” Mihawk says like it’s an obvious fact and he takes your arm as he walks by you and in the direction of your apartment.

“Yeah, duh. Can’t have our star walking alone on the streets at night.” Buggy is on your other side, unattached hands gesturing.

You don’t have to look behind you to know Crocodile is bringing up the rear, his imposing presence tingling on your back.

Buggy fills most of the walk home with crazy stories that you’re not sure are true but you enjoy none the less. You’re at your door before you know it and Buggy pulls you off of Mihawk and into a big hug.

“I’m so happy you’re with me.” There’s a beat before he corrects himself. “Us.”

You hug him back and as you pull away you press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m happy too.”

Someone must be glaring at him because Buggy shrinks away to let the other two come closer. Mihawk lightly presses against your arm and you turn to face him.

“Goodnight darling.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and places a quick kiss to your lips before waiting further away with Buggy.

You shrug off Crocodile’s jacket and offer it to him. He pauses a second before taking it and draping it over his arm.

“Thank you. For everything.” You say, smiling up at him.

“We are just getting started.” He places a kiss to your forehead. “We will see you tomorrow.”

You can feel the blush on your cheeks from all of the sweet gestures as you wave at the three of them before slinking back into your apartment. A wide smile never left your face as you went to bed, excited for what life has in store for you.

Life changed but life stayed the same. Work still had to be done and they were still your bosses but of course none of them let that stop their affections. Hands on your back and shoulders as they passed by your desk, quick kisses when they got in for the day. You have to admit you’ve never been more motivated to do your work when the reward is getting a kiss.

But of course not all of their actions were so chaste. You would’ve thought Buggy would be the worst offender of dragging you off to fool around at work but it was far and away Crocodile. Being called into his office to help with paperwork always ended up with you in a compromising position- but you weren’t complaining.

“Sir- Mihawk is expecting a report-“

“Hawkeyes can wait.” You felt the low rumble of his voice throughout your body as you sat in his lap at his desk. Your chest pressed to his as you rested your head on his shoulder. Seeing you from above the desk this might have been a cute scene, you sitting with him as he worked on his paperwork. But below the desk your boss’ pants were open just enough so he could be inside you while he worked.

You had been sitting like this for an hour now, maybe more, warming his cock while you struggled not to move. Your thighs ached from being in this position and slick dripped down onto Crocodile’s lap. You’d be concerned about ruining his incredibly expensive pants if you could form coherent thoughts. The fullness you’ve been experiencing, the ache, being on edge for so long, it caused your head to empty into just a buzz. You had only remembered Mihawk when you glanced down at your watch and realized just how long you had been in this position.

Your arms were latched around your boss’ neck and your face was buried in the crook of his neck. You focused on your breathing and keeping your body relaxed- a feat that had gotten much easier as time went on with the tension in your body unable to hold itself for so long. In the back of your mind you wonder if that’s what Crocodile likes about this- having you completely docile and submissive- wearing you down to just your base instincts. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit you like this too. Not having to think or move and just existing in the moment is a kind of peace you didn’t think you would find sitting on Crocodile’s dick.

A knock on the door sends a small wave of panic through your body as you sit up at the noise- a mistake. The movement sends a fresh wave of pleasure over your over sensitive body and you bite your tongue to stifle a moan. Crocodile doesn’t make any moves but you can tell it effected him by the way his cock throbs inside you.

“Who is it?” Crocodile’s tone is short and you can tell he’s on the verge of anger.

“It’s me wondering what you’ve done with our assistant.” Mihawk’s monotone voice carries through the large wooden door and you can feel Crocodile relax under you.

“Come in and see.”

You know turning and looking to see Mihawk would garner disapproval from Crocodile so you stay still, hyper focusing on the noise to piece together what is happening behind you back. The door creaks open and you hear Mihawk’s boots click a few times on the floor before there’s a long pause.

“Shut the door.” Crocodile seems unbothered now, continuing to file through reports.

The door closes and you hear Mihawk slowly walking closer. Your heartbeat quickens as you feel his eyes on you, burning into your back. Tilting your head you look out and eagerly wait for Mihawk to come into your range of vision.

“I have to say that’s not a bad position for them.” Mihawk finally speaks, probably at the side of the desk just out of your sight.

“On that we agree. I think this is where they should be all the time, keeping me warm is a very important job.” Crocodile’s words send shivers down your spine and you can’t help the whiny moan that bubbles in your throat.

“Oh and they like it so much.” Mihawk’s voice has a teasing tilt to it as he finally slides into your vision. He’s leaning forward so his face is level with yours and his piercing eyes travel over your face, pupils dilated with hunger.

“How long have you been like this?” He asks softly.

“I don’t know… hour? More?” Your voice is breathy, needy.

“You like being senseless on his cock?” Mihawk presses his face close, forehead touching yours.

“Fuck- yes.” Your eyes are screwed shut and you feel Mihawk’s breath on your face.

You feel Crocodile’s chuckle. “Keep talking to them, I can feel how much they like it.”

Mihawk finally closes the gap and your kiss is all needy tongue and teeth as an hour of patience is broken. You push up to try and deepen the kiss but you’re promptly pulled back down by Crocodile’s hand at your waist.

“Don’t think you’re done here.” His voice is stern but you can hear arousal creeping into the edges of his tone.

Mihawk breaks away and you whine as you watch him walk away. You’re confused only for a second until you hear the drag of one of the other chairs in the room coming to sit next to Crocodile’s large office chair. Mihawk sits down next to the two of you and with his legs spread wide you can see his erection straining against his black pants.

“How long you going to keep them like this?” The swordsman asks.

“What, you want a turn?” Crocodile responds, putting down his pen and piling up some of the papers.

“No. Just wanted to know if the show was going to get exciting anytime soon.” His disinterested words didn’t hold any weight when he was unbuckling his pants.

“Seems our assistant isn’t the only needy one here. What do you say sweetheart? You ready to put on a show for Mihawk?” Crocodile lightly pushes you so you’re sitting up, face to face with him.

“Yes sir.” You say unabashedly needy.

“That’s my angel.” He mutters to you before finally kissing you. Just like with Mihawk it’s heated but he’s much more controlled- the teeth are precise as he bites your lower lip while his hand grips your hip.

You grind down on him, relishing in finally being able to move. You’re rewarded with a deep groan from Crocodile and you know both of you won’t last much longer. Crocodile’s hand slides from your waist to under your ass as he stands up, sitting you on the desk in one swift movement. Grateful you won’t have to try and use your already aching thighs you allow your head to loll to the side to get a view of Mihawk.

He’s sat back in the chair, legs spread wide as his hand slowly fists his dick. His gaze is lidded as he watches the two of you. Crocodile seems more than happy to maneuver one of your legs up so your foot is on the desk, spreading yourself wide so Mihawk can have a better view of Crocodile’s large cock splitting you open. Crocodile bites down on your shoulder as he thrusts into you and you moan loud as you feel Mihawk’s gaze burn into you.

“You like me watching you?” Mihawk asks, his breath short.

You go to respond but Crocodile thrusts up into you hard and all you can do is moan as your hands fly back to get a grip on the desk to stabilize yourself. It’s not hard to assume Crocodile loves the audience too, deep thrusts at a slightly awkward angle just to show off.

“Hawkeyes-“

“Yes.” Mihawk doesn’t need Crocodile to finish his sentence before he’s quickly by your side. You don’t know how they communicate so much with so little but Mihawk’s deft fingers circling your clit have you abandoning that train of thought.

Mihawk leans in and starts whispering praises in your ear about how good you’re taking Crocodile and how nice you looked sitting on his cock.

Mihawk’s words- His fingers- Crocodile’s thrusts- it was too much and finally after so long of being on the precipice you crashed over into your orgasm. Crocodile wasn’t far behind, burying himself until his hips were flush with yours and filling you up with a groan.

Mihawk’s ministrations on your clit slowed and helped you come down until Crocodile finally pulled out of you. If you weren’t so fucked out you might have been worried about getting Crocodile’s desk dirty but all you could do was collapse back onto it and catch your breath.

The sound of Mihawk zipping his pants up in the quiet space makes you push yourself up a bit to see what was happening. Mihawk hadn’t finished and you flashed him a confused look as you try (and then fail) to sit up.

“Don’t worry about me. You’ve been good.” He leans over and kisses your forehead. “I’m going to go bother Buggy.”

“Mmm.” You nodded and with a sigh relaxed back into the desk. Of course you would have been more than happy to help Mihawk but you have to admit you’re exhausted. Plus you can imagine how excited Buggy will be when Mihawk comes to his door already hard. You smile at him as he walks away and notice a small nod shared between him and Crocodile.

When the door shuts you finally manage to push yourself up to look at Crocodile in his chair. “How do you two do that?”

“Do what?” He’s already put himself back together, a cigar about to be lit in his fingers.

“Talk without talking. I’ve seen you and Mihawk do it a bunch.” You reach over and grab his lighter from his desk and spark it.

“Thanks doll.” He leans forward and lights his cigar. After taking a long drag he answers you question. “We just work on the same wave. Probably because of our time was warlords- same path of thinking, same muscle memory. Turns out fighting and fucking together have a lot of overlap.”

You giggle as you push off the desk and slide sideways into his lap, your legs over his thighs. Leaning into his chest you curl up into his warmth. “It’s great you two have that.”

Crocodile only hums and you let yourself relax as the two of you drift into pleasant silence.

Even if Crocodile is the worst offender that doesn’t mean Buggy isn’t an interruption to your work a lot. Most of it is quick, random kisses or gropes when no one is looking. But sometimes he will get you into his office and whine enough that you relent to him.

“They’re so mean to me baby.” Buggy is lounging on a large velvet couch in his over decorated office.

“Yes. Didn’t you sign up for that?” You stand over him, hand on your hip.

“Yeah but-“ He pouts. “You’re so nice to me.”

“And?” You notice his hands detaching and floating around behind you.

“I could be nice to you.” The innuendo is punctuated by his hands on your ass, squeezing as they push you even closer to him.

“And you know what will happen if we get up to anything without Crocodile or Mihawk.” While you admit it was fun, you weren’t exactly in the mood to be edged for hours.

Buggy dramatically flips back into the couch as you notice a hand leave and fly over to a transponder snail. The snail is picked up and placed on an end table so Buggy could talk to someone.

“Hawky baby~” He calls into the transponder only to be immediately greeted with the sound of Mihawk hanging up. Buggy gasps, offended before redialing.

“Ourassistantisherewithmeandwewantohabefunsocouldyoucomeoverand-“ Buggy rushes all his words out before he’s hung up on again. The mouthpiece gets dropped to the ground as Buggy pouts.

“I’m sure if we just wait until tonight-“ Now it’s your turn to be cut off as you hear the quick opening and closing of Buggy’s door. You turn and see Mihawk standing there, arms crossed.

“Hawky!” Buggy shoots up as his hands reattach themselves. “I knew you would be so loving and reasonable.”

“Which is why you called twice?” Mihawk deadpans.

“Yes?”

You and Mihawk look at each other and you shrug. “He said he wanted to be nice to me.”

“You are nice to him, so it seems only fair.” Mihawk finally walks over and picks one of the obscenely plush chairs to sit in. “Make sure our lovely assistant is appreciated for all their hard work.”

Hands suddenly grab at your waist and pull you down onto the couch with Buggy. In a flash he’s on top of you, pushing you down to lay flat on the bed while he eagerly kisses down your neck. His hands are already working at the waistband of the pants and pulling down.

“You could go a little slower.” Mihawk comments from his chair and you look over to see him palm himself through his pants.

“But that’s no fun.” Buggy smiles up at you as his hands travel back up and push you shirt up, giving him better access to paw and your breasts. You moan as his hands work your flesh and you can feel yourself getting wet from the attention.

Buggy continues not to listen to Mihawk’s advice as he slides down until he’s kissing your hips and down the tops of your thighs. You shudder in anticipation as his hands hold your thighs open and kid mouth travels to your inner thighs, taking its time there as he sucks the sensitive skin.

“Buggy-“ You whine as your hand lands on his head, threading your fingers into his soft blue hair.

“Now who’s in a rush?” Buggy teases, hovering just above where you need him to be.

“Thought you were going to be nice to me.” You pout and you know Buggy can’t resist.

“Anything for my star.” He presses on last kiss to the inside of your thigh before he dives in.

Buggy isn’t as through and calculated as Mihawk or Crocodile but fuck if he isn’t enthusiastic. He’s loud and sloppy but as his tongue dives between your folds his nose rubs against your clit any comparisons fly out of your head. You push his head down further as you buck your hips to grind on his face and Buggy takes that lead well, never slowing down. You’re keenly aware of Mihawk’s gaze and you let your head fall to the side to make eye contact with him.

His dick is out now and his thumb is rubbing over the bright red head. He must like this a lot you think- sitting back and watching the ones more eager to show off. You like it too.

You turn your moans and whines up to eleven, doing your best not to break eye contact with him even when Buggy’s tongue reaches deep inside you. When he does that your grip tightens on his hair and he moans into your pussy. Mihawk’s gaze leaves your eyes for a second to dart down before connecting with yours again.

“Buggy.” Mihawk is short and commanding and to Buggy’s credit he immediately stops and rests his head on your thigh. “Show them your trick.”

“I have a lot of tricks you’re going to have to be more- ohhhhhhh.” Buggy gets a devilish grin on his face as realization clicks.

You’re confused and prop yourself up a bit when Buggy’s hands leave your body to work at his pants and he pulls them down just enough for you to see how worked up he’s gotten from eating you out. What surprises you is when he tugs at his dick it pops off of his body. It makes sense, given his powers there’s no reason it shouldn’t but it’s still a sight. Once the initial shock wears off there’s a fresh wave of arousal as Buggy guides his cock to your entrance, teasing around your folds and gathering the slick there.

“Now go slowly.” Mihawk commands.

You whine as Buggy’s tip pushes into your entrance, stretching you out. True to his orders Buggy goes painfully slow, giving every inch it’s time to drag against your walls. When he’s about halfway in he adjusts and you gasp when suddenly his mouth is around your clit, sucking. You grip his hair hard as he moans into that bundle of nerves and create a pleasure filled feedback loop. Buggy continues to ease himself into you and lap at your clit and all you can do is grip onto him and stare into Mihawk’s golden eyes.

You see him working himself, pacing his hand with Buggy’s slow rhythm in and out of you. Seeing him watching, knowing Buggy and you are under his control even as he’s passively sitting there is thrilling. Knowing he gets off on it too feels just as good.

The overload of this new combination of sensations has you a moaning mess, babbling as you grip onto the couch and Buggy’s hair for dear life. Buggy is close too from you tugging at his hair and your cunt pulsing around him he is using all his focus to keep tonguing at your clit.

“Buggy- ‘m close just-“ You manage to choke out and he gets the message. He pumps himself inside you faster and as he’s slamming into you lightly nips at your clit.

You cum with a loud moan and you feel Buggy close behind you, filling you as your walls seize from your orgasm. You are able to catch Mihawk finishing into his hand, cum spilling over his abs.

Buggy collapses onto you, head nuzzled into your thigh as he catches his breath. You run your fingers through his hair as you gain your senses back.

“Don’t forget we are going out for dinner tonight.” Mihawk says as he finishes cleaning himself up, bringing over some wipes for you and Buggy. “So do be cleaned up.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and then presses one on Buggy’s cheek.

You never thought this is where your life would end up but as contentment and love fills up your chest you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[mcondance]

note: office sex, fnaf takes place in the 2000s so william’s gf is a Black juicy tracksuit hyperfem girly!, cervix kissing, praise (it’s me what do you expect), reader has braids, that’s it i believe

something along the lines of being bent over wiiliam’s desk in his office, thrown over mountains of paper spread over his desk while the words almost swim across the pages.

tracksuit pooled around your ankles, the red fabric pulled down hastily to let you and william get to the business that he finds much more important than counseling people on what jobs to get, it’s a show of desperation with how he fucks into you.

your shirt and jacket are splayed by the chair near the door, he’d pulled them off a couple minutes after you entered the room, after the candy scent that always follows you filled his nose as he hangs onto your every little word, his blue eyes dilating like a fuckin pavlovian dog, his whole body pumping blood to his cock at your smell, at the sight of the sparkling glitter that hangs onto your entire being.

your hands grip tight at the old wood, colorful acrylics sliding, trying and failing to find a tether as steve sends your body pressing into his desk. his hips are strong and rough as they slap wildly against the soft curve of your ass, big hands draped over your waist and digging just a little too hard into your dewy skin, a soft sheen casted over you, your back shimmery with sweat and sparkles.

stretched is how you feel, filled an even better word for the way he makes a home for himself inside you, fucks you so good you drool onto the desk beneath you, a disgusting pool of slick spit that you know he’ll see as a trophy after you’ve both had your fills.

a soft chuckle meets your ears, a rough hand slides up your thigh and it has you shivering, clenching down on his cock as he huffs out a groan, his eyes transfixed by how your body rocks forward and your ass ripples with each of his firm thrusts.

with every forward push of his hips the desk creaks, his hips against your ass sounds out, perverse pats and slaps filling the white-lit room. even in the poor lighting you look so pretty bent over like this, braids tossed to the side so they don’t get “messed up”, as he says, his infatuation with everything you do clear as day.

“pretty, pretty girl” he purrs, pushing in as deep as he can go now and you let you a pretty little cry, his girth stretching you out, thick tip pressing softly against your cervix. he stays there, humming appreciatively at your sounds and how you push back against him, grinding his pulsating length against that electric spot inside you.

“feels so good, so go- ah” you cut yourself off with a gasped squeak as he grinds himself just right and pushes forward. your head rolls forward, face down, and you’re pushed onto the desk again, glowy hands flexing as you tense up, teary eyes snapping shut. again he pushes, a little harder this time, and his name tag falls off the desk and clatters to the floor, the noise barely heard by either of you for being lost in the haze of pleasure.

“what, baby? finish your sentence.” he muses with a sensual lilt, delivering slow grinds. he wants to hear your slurred voice, wants to hear your heavy tongue try and fail to convey how you feel. but still, he asks, though he knows you’re too filled to even think.

he receives no response, just a hoarse groan, and his eyes find your hands; he almost coos at the way they’ve stopped grasping at his desk. you can’t even try to calm yourself down. he’s taken that from you.

shaking, you push your ass back weakly against him. he gladly follows your movements with admiration at how good you look fucking yourself on him.

“pussy fuckin’ me so good,” he groans, pulling back and pushing forward, feeding off your nasty, unbridled moans until he’s back at the pace he was before. the lewd sounds of sex fill the room again, your whined response to his groan mixing with skin against skin and the wet squelch of your cunt pervading out through the air.

your hand flies to his soft stomach, nails scraping his pillowy skin. he catches your wrist, intertwining his fingers with yours in a gesture that would be romantic if you weren’t being fucked nasty over his desk.

he doesn’t have to talk much and neither do you, you’re more than happy to just listen to the sounds that escape you both as you meet in the middle again and again and again.

[chackyxyooj]

Cold Showers

╭──────────.★..─╮

Description: Showering with MS boys, but you turn the water cold - drabbles. Included: Laurance, Zenix, Gene, Vylad CW: Slightly provocative themes (Looking at you, Zvahl) - nothing explicit.

╰─..★.──────────╯

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Laurance Zvahl

Laurance slips his arms around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. You can tell from the way he leans forward to press a kiss against your shoulder that he wants more. You’ve become accustomed to his tricks, but you don’t have time to indulge him today.

“Laurance…” You begin to untangle yourself from the boy’s embrace but he tightens his grip.

“Yes, My Love?” He presses another kiss against your shoulder, this time letting his lips linger as one of his hands wander up your side.

You grasp his wandering hand with a stern look. “We’re going to be late if you don’t control yourself.” From the way Laurance laughs you know he’s caught the look on your face and that he’s choosing to ignore it.

“They can wait a few minutes for us. Come on, please?”

You sigh as you lean back against Laurance’s embrace, giving the boy a false sense of security as he peppers kisses along your jaw. Just as his hands creep further up your body the water of the shower turns cold. Just like that Laurance is snapped out of his lustful daze and begins attempting to use you as a shield from the cold water.

“Hey! Why’d you do that?” The boy inquires as you slip away from his grasp.

You turn to him with a coy smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, My Love.”

He pouts, rubbing a hand over the goosebumps now covering his skin on one of his arms to try and get them to settle. As you lean past him his eyes flit, staring down at your naked form for only a moment before he lets out an annoyed huff again.

You roll your eyes as an amused smile pulls at your lips. “If you promise to behave yourself I'll turn up the heat… but only a little bit!”

Laurance gives you a firm nod, his expression determined. "Fine, deal. But I’m not happy about it." He shifts to grab the soap, keeping his eyes firmly away from you so he can avoid getting distracted. If you weren’t so right about being tight for time, he knows you would’ve let him get away with more. So for now he’ll settle for having you by his side.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Zenix

“Just get in the shower with me.” You can’t help but laugh at the stubbornness of the boy who stands outside of the shower.

“It was so hot today and yet you’re still taking a hot shower? No way.” Zenix has his arms crossed and a less-than-amused look on his face. “And I know how hot you like your showers, so no, I will not be showering with you.”

“It’s not that hot.”

“I can literally see steam coming out from the top of the shower!”

You laugh at being caught red handed. Though you do like your hot showers, you’re willing to compromise. “Fine, fine. If I turn down the heat will you come shower with me?”

Zenix’s gaze flickers up and down your body for a brief moment. To your delight he begins to shed his clothes. “I’m not taking a single step in the shower until you turn it down though.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.” You muse as you adjust the temperature of the water. You can hear Zenix grumbling to himself as he steps into the shower behind you. The moment the boy steps in he looks at you with furrowed brows.

“Did you even turn it down?”

“Is the water still too hot for you, my tender little frog?” You catch the irritation on Zenix’s face from your choice of nickname but you can’t help but laugh. Between your fits of laughter you grab the boy’s hand and hold him in the shower, reaching over to the faucet and turning down the heat even more. “There, I turned it down. Stay and shower with me. Please?”

Zenix stares down at you with words bubbling on the tip of his tongue but he suppresses the urge to say any of them. Instead he rolls his eyes as he takes his shampoo and hands it to you.

Wordlessly the boy leans down toward you so that you can more easily scrub the shampoo into his hair for him. You do, of course, and Zenix finds himself leaning in toward your touch. Maybe one of these days he’ll build up enough resistance to your shower temperatures to join you more often, but today is not that day.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Gene

When Gene steps into the bathroom you pull the shower curtains back to catch a glance at him. He’s already removed his top layer of clothes and is working on the rest. 

“I’m almost done showering. Did you want me to leave the water on for you?”

In response to your question Gene flashes you a grin. “You’re almost done already? I just assumed that you would still be mid-shower when I came to join you.”

You roll your eyes and return to the water. “My showers aren’t even that long! You’re just being dramatic.”

“I never said long showers were a bad thing, Doll.” Gene snickers to himself as he pulls back the curtain and steps into the shower with you. He knows that you were almost done, but he wanted to jump in anyway.

Gene leans forward to pull your body against his but you swat his hands away. “You’re still dirty!” You frown. The only thing you have left to do is rinse out your conditioner and you’re not about to let Gene get any of his dirt or grime on you now.

“All I want is to hold you close. Is that so much to ask for?”

Though you roll your eyes, amusement pulls at your lips. “Next time you want to hold me in the shower, get in at the same time as me.”

“I am in the shower at the same time as you.”

“You know what I mean!”

As Gene reaches out to grab you again you step back out of the flow of the water. With a coy smile you reach behind your back and turn the temperature of the water down as much as it goes. Being the only one under the faucet, Gene is hit with an abrupt change in temperature.

A short string of curses escape Gene’s lips as he recoils from the stream of water. Before you have a chance to escape out of the shower Gene gets a hand on yours and pulls you into his arms.

“Gene!” You gasp as the boy wraps his arms around your waist and holds you against himself. The longer you stand there the more the frigid water snuffs out any warmth you once had. “What are you doing? Let me go!”

“You made your bed, Doll. Now it’s time to lay in it.”

You can hardly think of a way to wipe Gene’s cocky grin off his face, so you give in and pull yourself closer to the boy’s chest. “If I didn’t like you so much I’d leave you high and dry.”

“Is that so?” Gene laughs in a satisfied manner as he feels you shift closer. “Then I guess I’ll count myself lucky.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Vylad Ro'Meave

Vylad enjoys the feeling of your hands against his face as you gently scrub your new cleanser on him. He’s usually one for trying new things and today you looked particularly excited to try it with him. What else could he do but happily oblige?

“Okay, you can open your eyes now. Careful not to rinse it off too quickly though!” You caution, rinsing your hands before applying cleanser to your own face.

“What’s the point of applying it in the shower if we’re supposed to let it sit?” Vylad inquires. He doesn’t bother trying to hide his lingering gaze from you, though in the name of being decent he mostly keeps his eyes above your shoulders. Mostly.

Your eyes carefully flutter open once you’ve applied cleanser to your own face. “I guess we didn’t have to apply it in the shower, but… I don't know. I wanted to, I guess.”

“How long until we can rinse it off?”

“The instructions say to let the cleanser sit for a minute or two, so it should be fine if you rinse yours off now.” You say, stepping aside and allowing Vylad greater access to the water.

Just as Vylad is about to step under the water it gets significantly colder - so much so that the boy nearly backs up into you just to avoid it. “Is it just me or did the water get colder?” Asks Vylad, his eyes turning to meet yours curiously.

“Sorry! That was me.” You admit, barely holding back a laugh from the reaction you unintentionally provoked. “I should’ve warned you that you’re supposed to rinse it off with cold water.” 

Vylad isn’t quite as amused as you are but he takes it in good stride. As Vylad rinses what remains of the cleanser he can’t help but appreciate the feeling of cold water against his skin after taking such a hot shower. “You know, I’ve actually heard that cold showers help build immunity to sickness and increase blood circulation.”

“Are you saying that in hopes of getting me to take colder showers?” You ask as Vylad steps out of the shower.

He chuckles to himself. “Maybe.”

“Vylad Ro’Meave, what am I ever going to do with you?” Despite how you sigh there’s an air of amusement in your words, so of course Vylad is willing to play along. As you shut off the water and step out of the shower, Vylad hands you your towel and places a kiss against your cheek.

“Help me apply moisturizer, I hope.”

[chocochipsushi]

𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲

SFW

🌸Word count: 539 words

🌸AU: Toji x clumsy bimbo reader

Part 2 >>

“Do you think plants feel pain when we trim them?” 

There is silence, so you look up from grooming your green babies to look at Toji, who is sitting on the flower-shaped chair, his elbow on the leaf-like armrest, his fist holding up his cheek. He is watching you unblinkingly, almost mesmerised. 

You wave your pink scissors in the air between the both of you. “Hello? Toji~ Toji Fushiguro~”

He blinks several times as if waking himself up from his stupor. “Hmm?”

“I asked if you think plants feel pain when I trim them,” you repeat, placing the hand with the scissors on your hip. 

He rubs his palm over his face. “I’m not sure, baby. Maybe.” 

You stare at him for a second before grinning. “Hey! ‘Baby’ and ‘maybe’ rhyme!” Toji can only stare at you in amusement. You lift the scissors in the air and flick it to the left. You don’t know that Toji’s heart stops with every swish of your wrist. “Maybe, baby,” you say. Then you flick the weapon to the right. Toji’s heart halts again. God, if you accidentally hurt yourself with that… “Baby, maybe.” You giggle and look at Toji. “Say ‘Maybe, baby’.”

He indulges you, hoping to stop you from waving the dangerous thing in the air. “Maybe, baby.” 

Seeing the smile growing on your face, his features soften just a little, until he sees you running towards him with the pair of scissors in your hand. 

“STOP!” 

You do exactly just that, shocked by his yell. Toji’s body is tense and his heart is racing. But he notices the kicked puppy look on your face. So he lets out the breath he didn't know he had been holding and tries to calm himself down. He points to the tool in your hand. 

“Let’s always put sharp things down before we do any running, shall we?” he says slowly and gently, like he is talking to a toddler. 

You glance at the pair of pink scissors in your hand and realise that he is right. He has warned you many times about running with dangerous items in your grasp — even more about just running in general, actually. You are such a klutz that the only way to protect you from yourself is to treat you like a child under surveillance. 

So you stick the pointed end of the scissors into the soil of the closest plant and turn back to Toji with hopeful eyes. He rolls his eyes and sighs, and you know that he is giving you permission to run now. So you rush over to your boyfriend, throwing yourself onto his lap, your arms around his neck. He immediately wraps his arms around you, cushioning any injury you might have attained from the sheer impact of you jumping on him. 

“I don’t get why people think you’re so scary, Toji,” you muse as you brush his fringe from his eye. “You’re so cute and so sweet to me. You’re like a big, cuddly bear!” you squeal as you give him a big, tight hug.

Toji squeezes your waist in response as he murmurs in your hair, “Yeah, well, people would be more tolerable if they were more like you.”

-

© chocochipsushi 2023 all works are mine, please do not rewrite/plagiarise

[gomu-fer]

Law the muse

fluff drabble + gn reader

Masterlist

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Law was a workaholic, you knew this better than anyone. Since the dawn of time you had tried relentlessly to change his habits, worrying about his wellbeing and craving his presence and attention. Regardless, your good intentions had gotten you nowhere, so this is how now you find yourself tucked away at your special corner in Law’s office. A comfy sofa and a nightstand with a beautiful lamp and cozy pillows the doctor had put together for you to be alone together with him.

Suddenly, he has become very aware how you had been sketching away in your notebook for a while now, every now and then catching your gaze on his form and sometimes, when he disappeared from your field for vision, your pencil would stop and wait for him to position himself back on his desk. Curiosity gnaws at him as he sees you completely fixated on your work

“What are you doing?” his voice breaks your focus and makes your eyes jump and stare directly at his direction

“What do you mean?” Your attention diverts coming back to your task at hand, brows furrowed in complete concentration, an antic of yours the Captain always noted to be quite endearing

“You have been squiggling for quite a while now” his remark makes you hold the sketchbook closer to you, a strong pink blush sitting on your cheeks makes Law even more curious

Before you can even explain yourself, your dear sketchbook disappears from your lap in a swift move from Trafalgar’s hand, now appearing on his desk

“HEY!” In a hurry you scream and get up storming to his place saying something about privacy and betrayal, Law doesn’t register any of the things you’re saying as his eyes land on a beautiful drawing of him working at his desk

He is quite surprised by how well you had captured his essence and the noticeable knowledge of anatomy and lighting on the piece. Even though it was just pencil and paper, he couldn’t help but find it quite homely, your feeling of the scene bleeding through the work

He can’t help the sweet smile that forms on his lips, a strange warm feeling forming at the center of his being. He feels flattered and quite proud, his ego boosted by the way you perceive him and the cute little hearts you added at the side of the drawing

“Give it back you thief!” Was the last thing he heard before you snatched the sketchbook out of his grasp

“It’s amazing” Law stares at you with a softness you rarely got to see on him, one only reserved behind closed doors

Holding your sketchbook to your chest covering the drawing, you mumble a shy “Thanks”

“Didn’t know I was your muse” he teases after seeing your obvious fluster

Your face went from pink to red in an instant making Law laugh before he tries to take the sketchbook from your tight hold. You allowed him to set it on the desk again, defeated

“You’re really good, don’t know why you’re hiding this for me”

You look at your drawing and then finally meet his gaze “I just never had such a handsome model” you say trying to turn the dynamic around but failing, feeling even more fluster after a smirk plasters on his face

“Can I have it?”

“It’s not finished”

“It’s perfect just as it is” his words makes your heart flip, Law being the first person to ever acknowledge your talent, you nod sheepishly before his arms wrap around you, his head looking up at your flushed face

“Quite the talented artist I have here”

The next morning as you enter Laws office, coffee mug in hand, you can’t help but feel so loved after spotting your drawing framed on his desk

[darlingofvalyria]

❝—Aemond, just shove your fist up my skirt!❞

part 02 | baby, all you gotta do is trust me

chapter summary:

[ Cregan is a menace in bed (sexily), Aemond is a menace on social media (derogatory), Helaena is a menace (lovingly). ]

[ 4,715 ] [ series masterlist ] | best friend's brother!aemond targaryen x f!reader, ft. cregan stark x f!reader & aemond targaryen x alys rivers,

contains— smutty beginnings, a bit angsty, mostly fluff - nsfw: p & v sex, orgasm denial, degradation kink, mating press - lemme just introduce you to firefighter!cregan stark ahe - toxic alysmond but both of them are at fault, fwb situations, fake dating, slow-ish burn - sad sack aemy is a pathetic meow meow - viserys i has a spank kink, no i will not elaborate further - no use of y/n - no gods, no kings, no betas.

a/n— it's entirely my fault, i know. i made cregan too hot. aemond might be a bit op w/ his relationship with reader, but he & her have a comfortable past...soz. comment, reblog & like at will, mwa ♡

There's this thing that Cregan does with his hips.

It's always that sweet spot when your legs are either over his shoulders or haphazardly splayed against his waist, wide open as he drilled into you like a miner trying to find gold (and he would argue that in fact, your orgasms are gold to him)—

There's that moment when he feels you clenching, when you're so close to the precipice of seeing heaven that the motherfucker of the North slows down, sweat-slicked and breathing hard, he slows down enough at the haze of you reaching orgasm where he just.

Produces waves across his body, keeping a slow, toe-curling momentum with his hips, body-waving his dick in and out of you in a slow but purposeful movement— and he's smirking down atyou're fucked out state growing irritated doing something for him.

And before you're truly out of that orgasmic state, about to curse his entire bloodline of ruined orgasms forever or push him off his own godsdamned bed and break his stupidly good penis, he's bracing himself against the side of your head, laughing— not meanly, just amused, the asshole —and asks, almost like he's just asking you for the weather, "Does the pretty little slut want to cum?"

And he's not really asking, because he's grasped your thighs, shoving you into a mating press, and having you see stars in seconds.

"You think my neighbours called 911?" he muses, fixing his hair while in front of the floor length mirror in his room as you lounge about lazily on his bed, already washed and dressed for your own shift at Meleys, sans your pants. That's still in the living room from where Cregan yanked it.

"Hm?" you ask idly, not really focused on the conversation as you scrolled through IG, rolling your eyes at Aegon's post; Hel's big brother was in Ibiza getting sun-tanned in the morning (as much as his pale as fuck skin could tan) and getting it down at clubs at night, liking it nevertheless.

"Your scream at the end there was so loud, I'm pretty sure you broke Mrs. Beesbury out of her coma." You look up at Cregan's menace of a grin, playful and goofy in his tight shirt and thick work pants for his shift at the fire station. "I might be expecting five jars of honey from Mr. Beesbury as thanks."

You roll your eyes at him, laughing. He always got like this post-orgasm; loose and goofy and prone to making the dumbest jokes. It's cute, and on a good day, it does it for you.

It's not like you don't find Cregan attractive. It's how you got into this FWB situation with him in the first place; the dark hair, the scruff on his face, the firefighter bod— and by the Seven, what. A. Bod — when he and his co-workers stumbled into Meleys two months back, seeing your former high school crush aged up and hot had you on your knees for him in the back alley faster than he can hold you from the roots of your hair and grunt.

On a good day, it's easy to see getting past the easy arrangement of sending emojis to alert you wanna get dicked down and him sending a tongue and a heart, sending memes just for the hell of it at random parts of the day— breaking the easy friendship, the nice arrangement, and see where it gets you two, with Stark. On a good day, you can be submerge in the what-if, cute couple-y scenarios and giggle.

But despite the orgasm that could shatter a septa's vows quicker than you can say 'Oh holy Mother', your good day was tentative, broken with a click.

Aemond had made his first social media post since breaking up (the latest one) with Alys.

A darkened bathroom with explicit, orange-glowed lights that covered most of his person but not the slick show of water, freshly showered, against his torso, his chest, his abs. Droplets clung in places one would imagine licking him all over.

You know that bathroom to be the one in his high class gym, one of his favourite places. Since the toxic cycle with Alys started, he frequented it more. Aemond Targaryen was a man of routines and sharp o'clocks, so you know this isn't particularly off-key for him. But the posing (mostly) completely bare with water on his wiry muscles?

"Oh, this whore." You can't help it, as much as it irritated you— because it is clearly a means to get it across that he is newly single without actually saying anything, you can just imagine his DMs firing up with notifs — you couldn't help but giggle at the absurdity.

Aemond Targaryen. Publicly posting a thirstrap.

As public as his social media can get, it's a private account with less than 200 people.

A call rings in your phone, Helaena's face flashing, and you're still giggling when she half-shrieks, "DID YOU SEE HIS IG STORY OH MY GOD."

Your gaze meets Cregan, his bushy, dark eyebrows firing upward upon being able to hear Hel's voice while you winced. You put her on speaker as Cregan giddily comes closer to the phone.

"Good evening to you too, Helaena," you say warmly, giving Cregan's arm a light kick, mouthing, 'Don't you have work?'

Stark had the audacity to shush you, pressing a finger against his lips. You mouth, 'Gossip.' In a mature response, he stuck his tongue out.

Truly a wonder that not twenty minutes ago, this man had you keening over an orgasm.

Helaena continues on, "— I've had enough of this. I already have one slutty brother, I cannot have another one. There can only be two sluts in this family and no more. And that backlit? Seven hells, the whorishness."

"Hel, babe, you are not a slut." You meet eyes with Cregan who waggles his eyebrows, pursing his lips in an air kiss. "Trust me."

Hel snorts. "I know that, I meant my father. The whore of Babylon got nothing on Viserys first of his name, spank king extraordinaire."

If you could simultaneously choke on air and saliva, you would. "Helaena Targaryen!"

Cregan smacked his entire face down on his bed and ate his covers to muffle his laughter, his body shuddering as he did his best. His ass did look good in this view.

"What? Stranger may have mercy on me, but I tell you, before he died and before their marriage imploded, and at times traumatically problematic, they sure did get it freaky when they could. They gave it a good run and traumatised me in the process. I shouldn't have insisted my room was that close to them, maybe I would have ended up being an upstanding citizen of the community."

Cregan flips up, giggles spilling him as he muffled it with his hands. You kicked him again, trying to keep him away from your phone lest Hel figure out where you were again.

"Helaena, my love, compared to your brothers, you are such an upstanding person of the citizenry, the mayor should be giving you an award at this point."

"Right? Maiden have mercy, how busy do you think your shift is going to be tonight?"

You bit your lip guiltily while Cregan smirked, standing up as he finished lacing his boots. Hel thought you had gone straight to work, making up excuses about trying out a new recipe for next month. "Um. Not sure? Probably not by much, it's a weekday."

You don't lie, not really. Cregan mouths 'liar' and throw a pillow at him.

"Good, I'll send Aemond to you tonight. I already told him yesterday and he kind of just made a noncommittal hum— praise hands for another traumatised child of Alicent Hightower who has his own brand of communications issues —" You can just see Helaena's hard eye roll, and you massaged your lips to keep your laughter. The first time you met Hel, you never would have thought she slapped-back self-deprecating jokes out of her pockets faster than you can think a response to the last one. She was sweet, kind, a floral, bohemian girl with her pastel lavender pants and daisy flower clips.

And then you met her, vibed, and there was a dark funny humour to Helaena Targaryen that you always fought just bursting out laughter at the most inopportune of moments.

As sweet and floaty as she appeared, she was a menace.

"— anyway, Mr. Social Whore is going there later tonight, I made him promise. I said if you don't tell me he didn't come, I'm posting every photo I have of him from his naked baby pics to pre-pubescent Teen Teeny-Weeny Aemond, I do not care."

You whistle. "Damn, Hel, okay, I'll tell you when he comes."

"Good. OPLAN Get Aemond Out of This Bad Track Before He Fully Becomes Aegon 2.0 has now commenced. I love my brothers, I truly do, but I can only handle one Aegon at a time. I cannot be scrolling through social media in fear for my life times two, bestie, I refuse." Hel's voice pitches. "I'll talk to you later, bye, babe."

"Bye, Hel!"

Before you could put the phone down, she calls out, teasing, "BYE CREGAN!"

Silence. Then Cregan laughs, calling out, "Bye, Hel!"

The last thing either of you heard is her tinkling giggle before she drops the call.

"Fuck," you mutter, call finished.

Cregan wolf-whistles. "She's good."

You throw another pillow. "It's because you kept giggling like a schoolgirl!"

"Excuse me, that was a manly schoolgirl giggle, I'll have you know." He picks up his keys, winking. "Come on, I'll drop you off at the bar before I pole dance the night away to my job."

You cracked, snorting through the mental image of Cregan Stark, Lead Firefighter of the Ice Wolves Division, shaking his ass on the pole. You pad to the living room. "I'll give you a dollar for your troubles."

"Cheap ass!" he shouts after you.

Aemond arrives two hours into your shift, a little awkward— no doubt remembering your silent judgment of him the morning of his post-break up affair as that has also been the last interaction you've had with him before this, almost a week ago, and now here, meeting you at the insistence (and plotting) of his sister.

Your eyes meet ice water blue. He freezes, then straightens up, giving you a shrewd tilt forward. A nod. It's jerky, mechanical. You roll your eyes, mouth twitching, before you motion him over.

You are already making his favoured drink starter, Sazerac, when he slides into an empty seat on the bar. Your back is to him, refusing anymore interaction, and you know the usual comfort he finds in the eased silence you provide is nonexistent.

Out of all of Helaena's brothers, you've always liked Aemond the most. You teased him it was because the others are Aegon, duh, and Daeron, still in high school and never really around you "old people", but it's also because it's so easy to be around Aemond. When Helaena introduced you to the tall, lithe man who hummed politely at his sister's introduction of you, you found him intriguing.

It's not just the scarred eye, or the pretty, almost marble-statue visage (because by gods, seriously. The Mother took her sweet, loving time crafting the fourth Targaryen, bloody hell— like those cheekbones? With that cupid's bow lip? Okay, Mother, you have your favourites, we get it), or that he tended to keep himself in the background, let everyone else stretch into the conversation.

He often dipped in and out of the social pool like a mirage; a trick of the eye. A nod, a hum— almost, always an answer to someone else's direct question or someone— usually Aegon — dragging him into the conversation with an anecdote needing an input, not matter how inane.

And it intrigued you.

You took yourself and your drink of choice at the time— a Shirley Temple — and sat right beside him. He looked up at you, that one eye of violet widening slightly because you had just. Plopped beside him, thighs touching, before he smoothens out his expression, shifting at your direct eye contact and small smile.

"Can I... help you?" he finally asks, thoroughly waylaid but trying not to appear so.

"The scar." You nodded to his face as he froze. "Tell me about it."

His face had been so controlled, so guarded, when he tersely said, "My sister didn't tell you?"

"Nope. It's not something for her to tell me, isn't it? It's a personal thing. Most scars are." You shrugged. "Even if they aren't, I'd prefer if you tell me. It's your body. Your body your story."

He stared at you for a quarter of a minute before he asked, "Are you drunk?"

"No, why?"

"You're too... forward."

You smirked. "I've been told. So are you telling me or nah, pretty boy?"

And he stared at you for a minute longer, or two, or three— the stare flickers to emotions so fast; shock, confusion, flatter, his own intrigue — before he told you about a stupid fight between children, about a stupid reason par another, and though his words had been concise, obviously keeping a hell of a lot more between vowels and tightened jaw, you don't press him. You let him talk.

At the end, you said, "Badass. Definitely less of a lame reason than what I was imagining, but 9/10 story. Your voice really sold most of it. It's good for telling stories."

In his brain, you could just see the click when his eyes flicked to his sister and back to you. Ah, so that's how they're friends. And he hums, truly, more than anything, stumped by you. And you smiled.

"You're definitely going to be my favourite Targaryen Brother."

It's no wonder then, that you two had gotten close. You had forced a friendship out of him, and the very unattached guy to literally anything new— suspicious of offerings, angry at pity, wary of kindness — had taken into it with a white flag.

So when the whole Alys situation happened, things shifted.

"Sazerac," you announce finally, placing the drink in front of him. He thanks you with a quiet hum, having stopped fidgeting now that you've acknowledged his existence. You raise your eyebrow as his sips turns to gulp, crossing your arms.

Just because you had promised Hel you were going to help him, doesn't mean you were going to make it easy for him. He knows you're pissed; despite the calm structure he had composed himself in, you can see the twitch in his fingers, the way his eye turned away from you the moment you refused to project your normal, warm aura with him.

He settles his drink down, watching the rim of the glass for a minute before he speaks, low and steady. "You're angry with me."

You snort softly. "Wonder why you think so?"

He sighs. "I didn't mean to. To let it get this... messy." He winces at the word, hating it.

You sigh. "Aemy." He comes alive at the familiar nickname, sitting straighter, a relief on the edge of a cliff. "Honestly, I don't give a shit. You want to be trapped in this mess? You don't want to listen to other people tellign you, 'hey dude, maybe no?'"

He winces, remembering the third time he and Alys had broken up. The police car, Aegon vomitting, Hel crying. It makes you roll your eyes.

"Sure, have at it. Have fun, in fact. There's only so much sympathy I can give you for seeking out the problem that you know is a problem before I get tired. Before I stop giving a shit, because there's someone else I love that is starting to get hurt by it. I can only love you enough as much as you are willing to help yourself." Your eyes then narrow, half-glaring into him. "But what I'm truly getting angry about is how much this is affecting Helaena."

"I understand." He sighs again, calling your name but you raise a hand.

"Hold on, I have a bone to pick with you."

"Okay."

You look at him. A second. He waits. And waits.

He speaks up. "Yes?"

You sigh. It's hard to stay mad at him, you've always found so. "I don't know. I had paragraphs to say to you in front of a mirror, but now that it's you I'm looking at, everything just went away." Under your breath, you mutter, "stupid pathetic meow, meow face."

His mouth twitch. Ah. The familiar Targaryen smugness. Pinch Cocky Aemond is back. "Did my face distract you too much, ñuha riña my lady?"

You roll your eyes, unable to hide your own smile. If you called him Aemy, he called you the High Valyrian, his ancestral tongue, my lady. To tease, to establish comfort. You've always liked this better, being closer to Aemond than despising him for his stupid choices and big feelings he has a hard time unraveling, so he makes said stupid choices.

It's ease, it's familiarity, and you both fall into a high step.

"Okay, nerd, so what did Hel—" A customer calls you. "—One sec. Sorry about that, what can I get you? Ooh, nice choice, alright give me a minute." As you pulled a measuring cup and gin, you nod back to Aemond. "What did Hel tell you we're doing exactly?"

"That you're helping me... with Alys." A hesitance. "I know you don't like her—"

"— whoa, hold up, Aemy, I like her. I like her very much. I think she's a bad bitch, absolutely sexy, and clearly, she has good tastes which I respect her for." He had the good graces to blush, still sort of unused by the compliments you so freely give him. "What I don't like is how your relationship with her— here, hey, you're welcome! — has evolved. You were so good with each other, Aemy. And then..."

You mimic a sound of a crash and burn, and a tiny person screaming. He huffs out a laugh before sobering.

"I know." He sighs. "I don't... I don't understand it myself. There's a part of me that recognises I should walk away. And then there's another part that is just... it's Alys."

His palms, open and upturned, falls on the counter. Pensive. Begging. A confused, wanting penitent looking up at a god asking for direction. "I've loved her for so long." His voice quiets, like the words are sacred.

"I've loved her for so long," he repeats as if the words have worn itself out on his tongue, "it's hard to see past her. Ñuha riña, she has always been my future. It's all her. I don't know anything else outside of her."

You pour an Arbor Gold in a stemmed glass and pushes it to him. It's his favourite drink and he smiles at you, at the care, at the memories.

"I understand that," you say carefully. "And I already promised Hel I'd do it, whatever you need of me, to make her see you. But you should know that I'm doing this more for her than for you because... Aems, I believe you deserve so much more. A love that's exciting without it being harmful. A love that's pretty, as easy as breathing. One that doesn't hurt at the edges and pinches like a barbed wire."

"Is that possible for me?" he asks ironically, trying for a joke but you catch that lilt at the end. At that exhale. So much of his history had been broached by pain, borne from it. There are injuries that run so deep, they continue to bleed.

"Honestly?"

He places the wineglass down. "Yes."

You smile. "Yes."

You don't know if he believes you, or if he just indulges in your starry-eyed view of his future, but he smiles nevertheless, as best as he can and murmurs a gratitude.

It's pacifying, insecurity. You let it go for now because there's nothing you can say to a person truly down to trust your words.

"You're going to do this, then?" he asks. "For Alys and I?"

You shake your head. "I'm doing this for Hel and no chores for a month." And you, to show you that there's more past a future that you and I both know doesn't exist anymore. That if you prolong it, ignore how deep the barbed wire has gotten into your skin, it'll be too hard to untangle it when you realised you've bled out enough.

So will you just wear the pain proudly after that?

You shake another order in place, pulling ice and mint. You raise an eyebrow. "I've always known I was going to help. Are you willing to do this? Honestly Aemy, this can go two ways. One, she'll realise losing you is the worst thing that can ever happen— truly losing you to someone else, or two, she thinks you're truly moving on from her. And that's assuming she even thinks it's real, like I mean come on, it's me and you."

He arches a perfect silver eyebrow. You had already asked him if he gets his eyebrows done, and apart from Helaena messing with him back in high school, has been all natural. You think he's lying.

"And what is me and you?"

"Aemy, come on. I'm your sister's best friend. We're like... I dunno, family? She's always known that."

"Doesn't mean she's never felt jealous of you," he hums, swirling his wine with pinch fingers. It's elegant. Entrancing. The red liquid swirls and there are knots and strain in his hand, going through his arm.

And despite the bags under his eye, he still looks so good. Silvery blond hair wrapped in a low half updo, the shirt that hid nothing of his muscled chest.

His words sink in, breaking you from the hypnotizing reverie of looking at a marbled statue. "What? She felt jealous of me?"

He smiles gently, a little bit cockily. "Ñuha riña. Of course she did. Just because she understood your place in my life, in Hel's, doesn't erase the fact that you're gorgeous and we get along well. She liked you, truly, but she isn't blind. It's nothing that you've done, even she knew that. You're just too perfect."

You blink at him, unable to stop yourself from blushing. He chuckles meanly.

"Shut up."

He exhales a laugh. "I didn't say anything!"

"You know what you did." You give him the stink eye before you serve two more customers, thanking at a pretty hefty tip from one of your regulars, bidding him goodnight as he left. It is a slow night, you didn't lie to Helaena.

You almost don't catch Aemond murmuring, "I've missed this. I've missed you. I never like it when you're pissed at me."

"Good," you joke. "So you can watch yourself better. But yeah, I've missed you too. So how are we doing this?"

"I thought you had an idea, having agreed to Hel's plan before I even knew there was a plan."

You roll your eyes. "Well, I've had a few ideas here and there... it's more your comfort I'm worried about."

He frowns, pouty lips pursing. "My comfort?"

You place your palms behind the bar and hitch yourself up by your physical strength. He leans forward, confused still. You smirk. "Well, Aemy, I'm wearing a skirt."

"I... I don't know what that means, ñuha riña." He blinks his one good eye. "Nice skirt? You look pretty."

You force a pout instead of getting flustered by the compliment out of the blue. "I forgot you weren't all that popular in high school."

"No need for insults," he deadpans.

You laugh. "We're going to make Alys jealous, right? It'll be too much to hard launch my new status of existence in your life when you just broke up... but... if we can allude, at least..."

"I-" His frown deepens, the skin on his other eye, the scar, pinches as you see his mind whirr and whirr where your mind was reaching. "I'm still confused."

"Gods, alright, I'll just show you."

"Dude, bro, just put your hand under my skirt—"

"Ñuha riña—"

"Yeah, you know what, godsfuckingdamnit, if I alienate you that bad just shove your fist up my skirt, yes, Aemond, just shove your fist up my skirt!"

He calls your name, tips of his ears beet red, as a few patrons turn to you two, bewildered and a little amused. You wave at them but you sigh noisily at him. You're sat beside him on the counter, your phone on one hand with the camera app open, and you're glaring at him.

"Are you seriously telling me you've never placed your hand on Alys' thigh?"

"Of course I have!" He lets out a strangled sigh and groan.

"What's the difference?"

"I've never done it so publicly," he explains as calmly as possible, as if he's talking to a child. "And with the idea of posting it for everyone else to ogle. I've always just done it... under a table. Or. On her knee..."

"You're blushing so hard, you look like a tomato?" You snort. "I'm your fake Alys now, and we're soft launching an intimate relationship. This is basic."

"You're not my fake Alys. You're not my fake anytihng and you're not Alys." he says seriously, frown sharpening into a point before he exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can't it just be my hand over yours?"

 You frown, forgoing the uncomfortable twinge from not my anything and not Alys. "Is this uncomfortable for you? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"It's not that, never that." He purses his lip. "It's the opposite. I don't want to make you uncomfortable with my touch."

"Aemy," you say softly, smiling slightly. "I am giving you permission. Wouldn't have suggested it otherwise. And you touching me has never made me uncomfortable. Now, come on. Hand on my thigh, pretty boy, so I can take this pic and get the ball rolling."

There's a second more of restraint, of holding back, and before you sigh and suggest something else— maybe he is truly uncomfortable with you, with you not being anything to him, and not being Alys, but is too polite to say anything — he places his palm, warm and heavy, against your exposed thigh.

It's a... new sensation. You've held hands with Aemond before, smacked it a few times even, but it's different when it's on a more... well, when it's not on a non intimate area of your body. New skin, new nerve endings to his familiar warmth and crease.

It makes you swallow how big his hand is compared to your whole ass thigh. Thumb to pinky and he nearly swallows the gaps.

He really has pretty hands. Knotted veins twisting upward to muscled arms.

Both of you nestle in the quiet, just staring at his hand over your thigh.

"Okay," he says, voice even. He's taller than you, always taller even when you're both sat down, and he's closer to the top of your head at this distance, his breath flutters against your hair. "What now?"

"I... take the picture." You blink, shaking your head slightly, as you take his drink and add your hand within the frame so it looks like you mean to take a photo of your drink and not the glaringly obvious hand on your thigh, before you you angle it. You take one, two, three. A few different angles before you feel you've got a few nice ones. "Okay, done."

It feels cold when he takes his hand away, giving your thigh a soft tap before it's back on the counter. He hums.

You get back on the work, choosing one and posting it promptly on your stories. You place Meleys' location and a kiss mark emoji before you post it.

"It does look intimate," Aemond hums, observing the story from his own phone. "But why did you post it on your account and not mine?"

"She's your ex, Aemy," you say, hopping off the chair and moving back behind the counter. The world re-orbits. Everyone back in their positions, the lines clear. The planets move in their normal trajectory again.

"She'll know it's your hand. And if we post it on mine, it has more of an impact, don't you think? We're friends on IG. She sees it on my stories, a man's hand on her thigh, in a background that's no doubt a bar. The hand is sorta familiar. And you posted that slutty mirror pic earlier tonight."

He blushes, you smirk. Planets and moons orbit back, their pace slow, their lightyears fast. Best friend's sister. Sister's best friend.

"If she doesn't recognise your hand at first, your story will prompt it on her brain. It's not a hard connection, you've been together for years. It's a girl thing. An exes thing. Bingo bango, the brain is running. Surely it isn't Aemond's hand? Even if it is... is it truly romantic?"

He exhales. "You're... kind of an evil genius."

"Just kind of? Damn." And you smile because he laughs, the sound spreading warmth across your chest.

Yeah, this is better. It always feels good when you and Aemond are on the same team, when you're not mad at him and vice versa, no matter how stupid the reason.

Saturn rings snap, black holes sink and swim in galaxies so far, far away.

You put your phone on DND as soon as the first five notifs pop up, prompting a barrage of other notifications. When you took a glance at it, it's all a varying degree of 'WHAT THE FUCK', 'WHO THE FUCK', and 'GO GET THAT DICK, GIRL OMG!!'

Only Helaena's message matters, and it brings a smile on your lips.

 'Noice'.

Another ping.

'Also— what a bunch of harlots'.

You show it to Aemond and both of you burst in stupid laughter.

TAGLIST (message to be added! please ensure you are able to be tagged to get notifs): @fan-goddess @snh96 @valeskafics @opheliaas-stuff @tempo-rary-fix @fantasticpeaceharmony @diannnnsss @iamavailablesstuff @spinachtz @at-a-rax-ia @bespinnn @tsujifreya @moonlightfoxx @kemillyfreitas @joyouart @bananzaa @honey-on-mars @alexa4040 @cinnamonbambii @wintrr13 @wxb-slingrr

[hiiie]

𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏?

𓆩♡𓆪 character - wriothesley x fem!reader

𓆩♡𓆪 summary - he finds you infront of his office late at night, you couldn’t sleep, as a good fiance how could he not offer to help?

𓆩♡𓆪 warnings - nsfw fingering, praise kink, overall really sweet and fluffy || I need sometime to do me like this on sleepless nights fr (he left me on sent 🫂🫂)

It was late way past your bedtime, you couldn’t sleep, turning to the other side doesn’t help either…since he’s not here with you, you’re not really used to sleeping alone

A hard knock on the door broke his focus on the paperwork piled on his desk, when he opened he saw you standing there, all teary eyed with your frog plushie in hand, you’re wearing your loose pajamas with clearly nothing underneath, shit. He could see your hard nipples poking through, wriothesley couldn’t help but swallow his nervousness and turn his focus back on your face

“Is there something wrong sweetheart?” He did not take his eyes off you as you made a beeline towards him and plopped yourself on his lap, back against his chest, beady eyes looking up at him you finally opened your pouty mouth “I couldn’t sleep without you” breaking eye contact

Poor baby, as your fiancé it’s his duty to offer you help right? He leaned into your hair and breathed in your scent then started littering small bites and kisses on your neck, being careful not to make it painful, his right hand creeped down to your wet core, lightly toying with your nub, he could feel your body tense up “relax hun..just let me help you”

Moments after, your sobs turned into whines as he continues his rough assault on your red cunny, adding two fingers in, adding pressure against your soft spot inside, moving it in a scissor motion all the while rubbing his thumb covered in slick on your nub

His left hand on your waist holds you dearly, the gentle expression he has on his face compared to his other hand on your clit makes you weak, his eyes closely examines your features, the sounds you make and how your flimsy hands uncontrollably tighten its hold on his wrist doesn’t fail to escape his intense gaze

He mutters nothing but sweet praisings into your ear, making you want to melt into him forever, you loved how he treats you as you’re the most precious thing that ever came into his life, his sweet little muse, always so naively obedient

As he was lost in his endearing thoughts towards you, you let out a loud gasp and came on his fingers, sticky transparent goo was splattered on his hand while you laid there, smearing the slick on his lips as he licks it clean, savouring the taste of his beloved

Wriothesley did not free you from his grasp, instead he hugged you tight, feeling the warmth of your living body against him, then kissing your tears away, he loved moments like this with you, lovers embracing eachother without a care for the world, he loves you.

[blueparadis]

❝ NEVER ENOUGH ❞ + ( al-haitham, kaveh )

+. CWs —» f!reader, overstimulation, oral acts, sensory deprivation, cockwarming, unprotected, use of pet-names.

+. PRECIS —» your attempt for a ‘quickie’ fails terribly.

+. NOTES —» al-haitham was in my drafts for quite sometime, I just added KAVEH. Enjoy:>> tap here to browse through my works.

Al-haitham sets the book aside the moment you sit on his lap, hands palming his face to pull him into a kiss before he starts to decline your advances. Surprisingly, there is no resistance today. He has been noticing you lurking in his vicinity for a while now. Now that Kaveh is gone, he can relax his mind. What better way could be there than to have you in his arms and cuddle till he thinks that is enough?

A moan escapes your lips as he unlatches his lips from yours pulling you closer to his body. “Not here . . .”, you whisper feeling his hands slip underneath your dress searching for something, for the hem of your panty deliberately averting your denial. “But...”, Al-haitham bites your ears murmuring, irregular breathing, filled with low grunts, “you. . . started it, baby. . .”

Your breath hitches as his fingers clamp around your waistline. His eyes dilated with surprise. “and how amusing it is that I've got less work to do.”, he muses releasing a sigh, feeling the warmth of your bare cunt as you incline towards him. You tore your gaze away feeling embarrassed since you did not anticipate this. You did not think he would be so willing, so easy, and quick to melt. Maybe he missed you, maybe he missed you more than you missed him.

When you start to drag your body across his thigh, his breath hitches, “s-shit” he rasps. Being your face nestled in the nook of his shoulders, mindlessly grinding on him, your arousal sedimenting on his thigh makes his grip on your hips grow stronger. Your soft moans and palms grasping his broad shoulders don’t make him think straight, making the tightness in his pants unbearable. You whimper at how close you are.

“you’re something else, I swear” al-haitham pants, sliding his book away gripping your waistline firmly he lays you on the table.

“Wha-t’re you— ohhh. fuck.” your jaw drops at the sight. He was stroking his cock roughly. Your feeble protests tremble in your throat, eyes squeezed shut and desperately trying to keep your voice down as he nudges the crown of his cock against your entrance, rubbing up and down, soaking it with your slick.

“St-op te’asing me”, you snicker at him earning his stern gaze. “As.you.wish”, and at every fall of his word he taps the dick-head on your cunt. You try to sit upright but he pushes you down. He quickly scans your features, flushed cheeks, hard nipples: perfect. He thinks you look perfect, perfectly beautiful. Sliding his cock in a single thrust, he watches you wince at the pain.

You arch like a cat, hands curling into fists, vision blurring and he has not even started moving. Al-haitham feels guilty as you try to get used to him, taking his cock all at once. “Does it hurt that badly?”, he enquires carefully making you sit on his lap again. You give him a nod. “Well, then how about you sit pretty like that and I read my book, yea?”.

Al-haitham kisses your temple as you blurt out, “What if anyone comes in?”, he tucks your hair strands behind your ear lobes thinking how naive you are. “Well, we’ll see.” Thanks to Kaveh and his habit of being riled up about al-haitham which makes most people aware that it would not be wise to visit him now.

Kaveh sure likes to tease, fingers ghosting over your belly button, playing with the hem of your panty, and almost letting his fingers slip into it. But today it is different, his fingers are already knuckled deep inside you, soaking your panty with your slick for the third time yet denying you the orgasm, every damn time.

“feels good angel?” he asks, knowing that you are too lost in pleasure to answer. He has your stomach facing the wall, your head rested on his firm chest having his lips graze your ear so that he could be as quiet as possible yet you could hear his every single word, wide as a day.

Kaveh loves to pull your orgasm to the surface, your lips parting with small puffs of whines and whimpers, being so close to your orgasmic high and lost in bliss before he pulls away, smiling when you cry at the loss of orgasm. It is your fault to interrupt him while working. It is your fault when you said you would be quick but made him cancel his next meeting.

It is your fault that he has stopped you from blowing him to teach you a lesson. “shh, don’t be like that” Kaveh cups your cunt with his palm, “don’t I always make you cum?” he chimes, while all you could do is take whatever he gives, however, he deemed fit. He is back on your bundles of aching nerves, rolling his fingers. 

Kaveh rubs his cock against your back, aligining with your entrance, grinding the length—moans erupting from his chest as he utters being in haze, “you make me go crazy, ya’know that ? ” your body starts to ache, thinking of the waves of pleasure to wash over your senses yet masked with the feeling of being deprived of it again.

He is trying to keep his focus all on you, slim slick fingers rubbing again on your clit, sometimes pinching your bud but his cock keeps sporadically pulsating. Your dripping arousal saturating his cock causing his pleasure to rise. He holds his bottom lip in between his teeth, fighting back the urge to push his cock inside of you. You could feel his warm cock grazing your thighs. The feeling almost makes you go dizzy and you try to rock your hips upwards.

“ Oh fuck!—s-shit” Kaveh feels your hips buck up against his hand as he tries not to give in to the approaching orgasm, just not yet. Your head hits his shoulder as you catch up with your breathing while Kaveh quietly blows his load, dripping on the floor, and some of it coating your inner thighs.

You turn around pulling him into a kiss not having him contemplate the situation because he is gonna remember that you lasted longer than he ever could, which would not give you the upper hand. He hums giving in to your kiss while his hand instinctively flies back to your aid, to your begging pussy making you let out a throaty chuckle.

—

@tokyometronetwork

[zepskies]

Midnight Espresso

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader 

Summary: You’ve never taken Dean’s flirting seriously…until he asks you for an impromptu Spanish lesson. 

AN: The muse hit me hard on this one last night lol. I felt like "Midnight Espresso" was catchier than the working title, "Midnight Coffee Shots."

Thanks for the encouragement and inspo: @deanwinchesterswitch @iprobablyshipit91 @freewastelandstrawberry

Song Inspo: "2 Be Loved (Am I Ready)" by Lizzo

Word Count: 7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, mutual pining, body insecurity, ass appreciation, supernatural shenanigans, naughty language, bad bitch o’clock and thicc thirty. 

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

When you spot the caller ID on your buzzing cell phone, you have to smile. You answer the call.

“Well if it isn’t Dean I need a favor Winchester,” you tease. You hear his genuine chuckle, deep and smooth in your car speakers. 

“Hey, sweetheart…” He hesitates, which makes your lips curve wryly. 

“Yeah, Dean? What’cha got?”

“I need a favor.”

You sigh dramatically. “So fucking predictable.”

“Sorry, but look. We really do need you…we’ve got a situation.”

“Oh, a situation? How specific,” you chuckle.

“All right, smartass,” he says, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. “Just listen…”

When he tells you the lowdown on the case he and Sam are on, you have to change directions—all the way to a dusty little town in the south of Texas.

There you find the brothers Winchester outside La Cantina Libre. 

You greet Sam first, stretching up to meet his hug. He’s friendly and warm when he rubs your back.

“Good to see you,” he says. 

“You too, lumberjack,” you reply, noting the new layer of scruff he’s sporting on his face. Sam gives a dry chuckle and rubs his bearded chin.

“I keep tellin’ him to shave that ferret off his face,” Dean remarks. You turn to him with a grin just as he pulls you in next. 

“Aw, he looks good,” you say, giving Sam an encouraging look behind Dean’s back. The taller Winchester sports a good-natured smile. 

But you revel a bit in Dean’s warmth when he holds you tight, then let out a little breath when he pulls away, grasping your arms.

“So do you,” he says with a wink. 

You roll your eyes and playfully hit his shoulder. “Right. Eight hours of cross-country grime really becomes me.”

But you can’t help blushing a little at his smirk. Always a fucking flirt.

You turn your head to the bar in front of you. 

“What’s the deal with this place?”

“The husband of one of the victims is inside,” Sam explains. 

According to the police report, his wife returned home from a night out with her friends three days ago. She sat down in the middle of the living room, on the ground. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t eat. 

When Hector Rivera brought his wife to the hospital, neither fluids or medication helped her sleep or retain any nutrients. The official cause of death was starvation and dehydration.

It was a baffling case, both for the doctors and the police, who never found any criminal evidence to support a murder investigation.

“Okay, have you talked to Hector?” you ask. Dean raises his brows at you.

“That’s where you come in,” he says. “The guy only speaks Spanish. Neither me or Sam got the chops to Duolingo our way through.”

You can certainly believe that of Dean, but you still make sure to tease Sam on your way inside the bar. He’d studied Latin in high school, but hadn’t bothered to take Spanish? 

“Definitely a white boy move,” you tease, which Sam accepts with a chuckle. 

But you realize that the guys really would’ve been at a loss here. Most of the bar patrons are Spanish-speaking Latinos (you are a mere stone’s throw from the border of Mexico, after all). 

You ask around for Hector and find him at the end of the bar, drinking alone. He’s early forties at most, dark hair, tan skin mere shades lighter than yours. He has three shots down in front of him, and he’s working on picking up his fourth. Sam and Dean trail after you as you slide into the stool next to Hector. 

“Señor Rivera,” you greet him in your native tongue and pull out your fabricated police badge. “Good evening.”

He glances at you, then your badge with furrowed brows. 

“What do you want?” he asks in Spanish, just a hint slurring. 

“I’m very sorry about your wife. I know you’ve already given your statement, but we’re looking further into the circumstances surrounding Nina’s death,” you explain. 

He perks up at that, his brown eyes briefly lighting with something other than cold, hard grief. 

“The doctors couldn’t explain it, he admits. “They couldn’t do a damn thing. I just don’t understand…”

He glares down at his hands, at the glass of liquor between them. He fights to control himself, but you can see it’s a losing battle. You rest a gentle hand on his arm, and when Hector meets your eyes, you know he’ll find genuine sympathy. 

“I want to help you,” you tell him. “At the very least, I can look for a real explanation on what happened to Nina. Can you tell me what you know?”

A moment later, he pats your hand on his arm. And he tells you.

Dean watches from his spot behind you while he and Sam blend in, each drinking a beer. Dean admires how easily you connect with people. How genuine you are in wanting to help them. 

He knows you’ve spent years in this job. Maybe not as long as him, but long enough to get jaded. You aren’t, and you care. 

Dean thinks it’s part of the reason why you always answer when he calls. You’ve never said no to him, always been there when he and Sam need you. And that, he somehow feels guilty about.

Because what the fuck has he really ever done for you, other than put you in danger?

“Dean,” Sam says, nudging his side. 

It brings Dean back to the present when he sees you’re getting up from the bar. Despite his inner conflict, he can’t help but notice the curve of your ample ass in those tight jeans. An enticing ratio of thick thighs to smaller waist, and generous cup size to match. 

But when you turn around, it’s your sad smile that grabs his attention. You draw near, and Dean forces himself to stay relaxed when your warm hand rests on his forearm. 

It’s a familiar, comfortable thing for you to be touchy. You’re an expressive person, always talking with your hands, full-body animated when you tell stories.

Sometimes you’ll grab his wrist playfully, or brush your hand along his back when you pass by. Or you’ll grab his shoulder to steady yourself, and lean into him when you’ve had too much to drink. 

Dean likes it—all of it. In fact, he finds it endearing as hell. 

But it’s also a problem. A unique kind of torture to keep himself in check around you… 

Frankly, he doesn’t think you know what your touch does to him. 

In fact, he knows you don’t, because while you’ve got your smooth, tan hand on his arm, you’re more looking at Sam when you say:

“I think I know what this is.”

“El Sombrerón,” you repeat yourself as you flip through a book on South American lore. 

“Shouldn’t you be an expert on this already?” Dean teases as you rifle through the pages. “I thought Latin American legends were right up your alley.”

The three of you are back at their delightfully crap motel of the week. You and Sam sit at the two-seater table while Dean leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

You shoot him a wry glance. “I’m Cuban, not Guatemalan. Though apparently, El Sombrerón appears in Mexican mythology as well.”

Hector said that the night his wife went to the bar with her friends, her friend Jennine saw a man with a black jacket and a hat to match. 

She said he flirted with Nina, a sweet but introverted soul. She turned him down, of course, but he tried to cajole her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and touch her cheek. That’s when Jennine stepped in and cursed the guy out, threatening to break his nose if he didn’t back off. 

They didn’t see him again that night, but you suspect the damage had been done the moment he touched her…

“All right, so he’s a boogeyman of sorts,” Sam says, gesturing at the vivid illustration in the book he’s holding. You peer over at the page and nod.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the cautionary tale. A man dressed in black, wide-brimmed hat—”

“Like Zorro,” Dean supplies. You give him an amused grin.

“No, not like Zorro,” you reply. “Instead of being a fine-ass caped crusader with a voice deep and gritty as sin, El Sombrerón likes to lure women into the woods.” 

Dean raises a brow at your description (Deep and gritty as sin, huh?), but you continue.

“Specifically, he’s got a fetish for long hair,” you recount. “Here it says El Sombrerón’s voice and touch are a curse, rendering his victims unable to eat or sleep. Eventually, they die.”

That falls between you all like hot lead. Until Sam voices the question you’re all thinking.

“So how do we find him?”

“For the record, I’m against this fucking idea,” Dean mutters to his brother. Once again, they’re patrons of La Cantina Libre, each nursing a beer. 

“Yeah, you’ve made that known a few times now,” Sam replies in a low whisper. “She’ll be okay, Dean. We’re right here for her.”

They’re just on standby, watching you ignore flirtations from men with a coy smile. You leave a delicate ring of red lipstick on your straw while you nurse a Tequila Sunrise. 

Dean subtly (to Sam, not so subtly) watches you. His elbow rests on the counter, chin in hand, hand over mouth, while his eyes roam down your simple black dress. Your ankles are crossed under the bar counter. The toe of your platform heel bouncing against the foot rail is the only thing telling Dean that you’re a bit nervous.

You’ve let your hair down on purpose, trying to entice the “Zorro” monster with the smooth waves running down your back.

On any other night, Dean might’ve enjoyed this place. He has a good beer in hand. There’s some live music tonight, in the form of a man playing a shiny silver guitar, crooning into the mic. You turn your head to watch for a moment, and Dean sees the way your gaze sharpens on the musician. 

The man wears a black dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, tucked neatly into his dark wash jeans. His black hair is long and a little wild, almost brushing his shoulders. While he holds out a smooth note, he looks up and finds your gaze. His lips curve on a smile.

Your face heats up at the attention, but you find yourself captivated by those eyes. They’re intense, almost black under the stage lights. And as the musician’s song comes to a close, you feel a trill of something run down your spine when he sets down his silver guitar. 

Then he makes his way toward you.

He settles into the free seat next to you and orders two tequila shots.

“I have a drink, thanks,” you say. The man only smiles. 

“You’ve been holding onto that Sunrise for two hours,” he says. “I just thought you might like something stronger, before the sun actually comes up.”

Inside, you want to roll your eyes at the cheesy line.

Instead, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and his gaze is drawn to the motion. You notice it with mounting suspicion. 

“Maybe I do,” you reply. “What’s your name?”

“Miguel,” he says, offering a charming smile. “And yours, amor?”

You consider him with flirtatious eyes and a tilt of your head. You’re fairly certain you have your target.

You lay a hand on his arm, over his jacket. You lean in close enough to whisper in his ear. 

“Do you really need my name?” you ask in Spanish. 

Miguel smirks when you lean back. He offers you his hand to help you off of your stool. Wary of actually touching his skin to yours, you try your best to be graceful and sensuous as you slide out of your seat and onto your heels without his help. You then walk out of the bar through the back without waiting for him to follow you (hoping that he does).

Your instincts are right, however. When you make it out of the bar, Miguel is indeed closing in behind you. You glance over your shoulder, offering a coy smile. But when you look ahead, you have to utter a gasp. 

Miguel is suddenly there to grab you and pull you in by your waist. 

“When will your friends be joining us?” he asks, trailing a finger down your cheek. It makes you shudder, but you pretend to be confused.

“Friends?”

“Dumb and dumber, watching you like a hawk,” he says, raising a brow. “Oh, mi amor. I know a pack of hunters when I see them.”

Sam and Dean watch the musician run back for his guitar, slipping it carefully in its case before he takes off after you. 

“Get the guitar. Got a feeling about that thing,” Dean says to Sam. “I’ll follow ‘em.”

The moment Dean walks out the back of the bar, he stops short and draws his gun. His body tenses and his face falls into a glare when he sees Miguel holding you close (and against your will). But Miguel catches sight of Dean.

He forcefully turns you around and wraps an arm across your chest, pulling you back as you struggle. 

“Good evening,” Miguel greets with a smirk. He nods at the full moon. “Beautiful night for a lover’s serenade.”

His voice alone is a threat, Dean knows. And by the way your eyes widen, so do you. 

“Shut the fuck up, Mike,” Dean snarks. “Mind if I call you Mike?”

He raises his gun, but Miguel tsks at him. You grit your teeth as he pulls your hair back away from your cheek. His breath is hot an unpleasant in your ear, causing you to shudder.

“I do wish we had more time, amor,” he says, trailing a hand down your ass and thigh. “I like to play with my food.”

A hot lance of anger runs through Dean, but it runs even hotter through you, igniting your temper and making your patience run right the fuck out. You snap your head back and catch Miguel in the nose. He wrenches back with a pained cry.

You try to ignore the resulting ache in your head and reach for the silver knife in your thigh holster, beneath your dress. But Miguel grabs you by the hair. Suddenly his face has become grotesque, revealing its true form with a mouth filled with sharp, needle-like teeth.

You gasp as a trill of magic runs through your body from his touch. It paralyzes you as he wrenches your neck back and prepares to bite a chunk right out of your neck. 

But Dean shoots a warning shot by the creature’s head, all-too close to yours as he approaches. 

“Hey!” Sam calls out. He attracts everyone’s attention, even Miguel’s. Sam holds the silver guitar. 

“This is what you use to play Pied Piper, right?” Sam asks. Miguel’s face hardens, but before he can do anything about it, Sam smashes the guitar to smithereens on the gravel road. 

Miguel lets out an outraged hiss. While he’s distracted, Dean takes another shot that hits the creature in the shoulder. It gives you the opening you need to grab your knife and stab him in the leg.

Miguel cries out in pain, but before you can scramble away, he grabs your face. His sharpened nails bite into your skin, making you wince. You manage to kick out his knee. It forces him to release you, unless he wants to eat the ground hard. 

Sam is there to catch you while Dean closes in. He shoots, the creature evades, grabbing Dean’s wrist and punching him across the face. The hunter goes down to the gravel with hands held out to brace himself. But he has a large knife on his belt that he retrieves next, only to be knocked out of his hand when Miguel bears on him. 

He throws off Sam’s attempt to pull him off Dean, throwing him hard against the dumpster in the alley. 

While Dean grapples bare-handed with the monster, trying his best to evade gnashing teeth in his face, you find his discarded knife and bury it deep into Miguel’s back. 

He howls with pain and tries to throw you off. He manages to backhand you in the face and shove you away. You nearly roll an ankle on the small rocks rolling under your heels, and you end up on your back with the wind knocked out of you. 

But Dean’s able to kick Miguel off and finish what you started. Dean pins the man on the ground and twists the knife deeper. And he doesn’t let go until the creature below him stops twitching. 

Dean takes in deep breaths to account for the way adrenaline has set his blood pumping. He still sits on the ground with the body next to him. But then, he finds you kneeling next to him in your now dusty dress. Your eyes are worried when you grasp his shoulder and lay another hand lightly on his scuffed knee. 

Dean reaches for you on reflex, grabbing your arm. Both of you manage to ask your burning questions at the same time—

“You okay?”

“Are you all right?”

You crack first with a giggle. Dean quirks a grin and thumbs at your cheek. 

“Yeah, all good,” he says. 

Your relieved smile reaches your eyes, and it warms him. “Good.”

Behind you both, Sam hides his own knowing smile.

Sam and Dean invite you to stay over at the bunker after the hunt, instead of making the even longer drive home. You’re too exhausted to say no.

By the time you get to the bunker, you’re dead on your feet, practically swaying down the stairs. 

“I’m so fuckin’ tiiiired…”

“Come on, stop whining,” Dean teases as he helps you down. Sam has dropped your duffel bag on the ground floor and gone on ahead to shower, leaving you and Dean to figure this out. 

“Why don’t you just take off the heels?” he wryly suggests.

“Hell no,” you refuse with a stubborn shake of your head.

You don’t want to contemplate how much monster guts have glossed the stairs of this bunker, via the brothers’ boots. 

Maybe it’s a silly reason to suffer, but is it really suffering if you have Dean Winchester escorting you with both hands down the stairs? 

His hands are warm and you trust the strength of his hold, but when your heel wobbles on the edge of a step, you still go for the railing rather than sink all your weight on Dean. He laughs at you, and you maturely stick out a tongue at him. 

“At this point, it’d be faster if I freakin’ carried you,” Dean remarks. He reaches for you, but you stop him with a heel in his sternum.

“Eh-eh! Don’t even try,” you laugh. “I totally got this.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but you lower your heeled foot and manage to climb down the last few steps of the rickety staircase…at least, what your exhausted brain thinks is the last one. 

You almost go ass over tea kettle when you miss the final stair with a yelp—but Dean is there to catch you. 

His arms are like steel bands around your frame, curving around your lower back and pulling you flush against his chest. You gasp and cling to his arms. When you look up at him with wide eyes, you find his amused face…and maybe something else in his eyes. He tilts his head down at you. 

“Well, well. Look who keeps falling for me?” he remarks. 

You blush at the flirtatious edge of his tone. The gleam in his green eyes; you take it for amusement only, not realizing that he’s barely resisting the urge to claim your lips. 

“Right,” you laugh him off with a pat on his chest. “When was the first time again?”

You make sure your heels are firmly on the ground before you push away from Dean. As you thought, he doesn’t try to keep you. He still looks amused as he lets you go.

He flirts with anything, you remind yourself, when disappointment starts to carve a hole in your heart. Don’t take it so seriously.

You say goodnight before you take up your duffel bag and go to find a free bedroom (and a hot shower). All the while, you bite your lip against a deep-seated feeling of uncertainty.

Dean watches you go, and you don’t see the way his mask of a smile fades into a frown. 

After a nice hot shower and changing into your pajamas, that moment with Dean has unsettled you enough that you're not quite ready to go to sleep. Maybe you’re in the mood for a midnight snack. 

You take out a couple of supplies from your bag and head over to the kitchen. There you set up your little cafetera coffee press with water, and a generous few tablespoons of Café Bustelo grounds of espresso. While that brews on the stove, you make some popcorn in the microwave. 

You don’t realize that the rich smell reaches Dean all the way in his room. He sniffs the air in interest, then in confusion.��

She’s making coffee at midnight? 

He gets up out of bed and pads down to the kitchen where you’ve taken over. A large bowl of popcorn is ready and waiting for him to snatch a handful, while you’re checking the little metal carafe you have going on the stove. 

“What’cha up to, sweetheart?” he asks. You greet him with a smile. 

“Café con leche,” you reply. 

Coffee with milk, he mentally translates. That much, he can work out. 

“You drink coffee at this time of night?” he asks. 

“My people invented it. I’ve been inoculated to this stuff since I was eight years old,” you quip. “Want some? Believe me, you’ll love it.”

He shrugs. “Sure. But if I end up too wired to fucking sleep, be prepared to suffer with me.”

You laugh. “I’m sure we’ll figure out something to do.”

Dean’s not sure if you meant that as flirtatious as it sounded. But by your briefly widening eyes and blushing cheeks, maybe you just realized it. He smirks and draws closer while you break out two mugs from the cabinet. 

He notices your chosen pajamas with secret appreciation (a large threadbare Journey shirt over spandex shorts). You fill the little shorts out well. 

Though Dean spots several small holes in the shirt. He teasingly sticks his finger through one in your short sleeve. 

“Lose a fight with a pair of scissors?” he jokes. 

You shoot him an amused glance over your shoulder.

“You are the reigning king of dad jokes. I’ll have you know, this is my lucky shirt.”

He snorts in response. “What makes it lucky?”

You just bite your lip and focus back on your task at hand. With the coffee done percolating, you measure out two steaming shots of espresso into each mug. 

“Hey, you brought it up,” Dean reminds you. 

You sigh, and after you pour in the sugar and the evaporated milk into each mug, you turn around and lean against the counter. 

“I’ve never had a bad dream while wearing this shirt to bed,” you confess. His teasing gentles at that. 

When you turn back around to put the finishing touches on what you’re doing, Dean’s expression becomes more fond as he watches you. 

You then offer him his Batman mug with a brighter smile. 

“Buen provecho,” you say.

“What does that mean?” he asks predictably, taking the mug from you. 

“Enjoy! Like bon appetite, basically.”

“Ah,” he raises his brows before he takes a sip. Then they raise even higher as he hums in pleasure. “Ooh, it’s sweet…and strong. Shit.”

“Very,” you say with a chuckle, taking your own sip. You make a sound of delight, complete with a little “happy dance” shimmy. “Almost as good as my grandma makes it.”

Dean smiles in amusement at your antics. The two of you sit at the kitchen island, where there are three stools and the bowl of popcorn. The salty snack is just the right balance for the sweet coffee.

“She taught you how to make this?” he asks. 

You nod. “Yep! She’s an amazing cook too. Learned everything I know from her.”

“Hmm, might need to sample something of yours sometime,” Dean says, peering at you over his mug. His tone is deceptively light, but you read the double meaning in his eyes.

You hide the way your mouth falls open behind your own mug. Instead of answering, you nod and take a delicate sip. Your gaze veers away from his as you blush.

He’s in a good mood tonight, you think in bemusement. 

“So tell me. What are the best curse words in Spanish?” Dean asks. 

You have to laugh. Your head ducks as you reach for his arm. His eyes briefly go to your hand, and he smirks. 

“Of course that’s the first thing you want to know,” you tease. You take back your hand and think about his question. “Hmm…I mean, there are the basics. Coño, carajo. Like 'damn it,' 'fucking hell,' and so forth.”

“Come on, you can do better than that,” Dean says. 

“Well, yeah,” you say with a grin. “Comemierda is a Cuban fan favorite.”

“Which means?”

“Literally? Someone who eats shit,” you laugh. “A stupid asshole, basically.”

Dean’s grin deepens. “Nice.”

“The best one of all time is probably…ugh, my mom would wash my mouth out with soap for even saying it.” You cover your face with both hands, but Dean nudges your elbow. 

“Come on, give it to me,” he teases. You peek out at him from between your hands. Then you stage whisper to him.

“Hijo de la gran puta,” you say. It rolls off your tongue in such a way that, even though Dean knows it’s vulgar in some way, the ease in which you say it raises the hairs on his arms. 

“I like that,” he says. 

You giggle at him. “You don’t even know what the fuck it means.”

“Don’t matter. I just like how it sounds,” he says. “Gimme the Google Translate.”

You shoot him a narrowed look for that one. “It means son of the grand whore. Literally, the chiefest of them all. The grand poohbah of whores.” 

Dean splutters with laughter. His hand slaps the table, and you shush him, reminding him that Sam is probably sleeping by now.

“It’s literally one of the worst things you can say to somebody,” you say, though you’re also choking on laughter. By the end of it, you and Dean are chortling like fools and getting high on espresso and sugar. 

You teach him how to roll his r’s, and at his request, more slang. You explain how certain Hispanics and Latino cultures use different words for the same thing (at times, very confusing), and how something innocent to an American, like a papaya fruit, means something very different for Cubans. 

For Dean’s part, he’s genuinely interested in what you have to teach him. But he also just likes hearing you speak the language. It rolls off your tongue gracefully, effortless and sensuous without you meaning to. He likes it enough that he tells you his honest thoughts.

“It all sounds incredibly hot, I’m not gonna lie,” he says with a chuckle. You blush at that, something he finds endearing. 

“You sound like my ex,” you say in amusement. “He only went out with me to help him with his Spanish.”

Dean sobers a bit at that. “What?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle dryly. “He was trying to land some job as a strip club bouncer, but we were in Miami at the time. They needed someone bilingual.”

Dean doesn’t like the resigned tone of your voice. 

“Yeah well, the bouncer?” he remarks, trying for a teasing bump of his hand against yours. “Come on. You should at least be aiming for the owner.”

You flash him a brief smile and nod. “Ah, so I set my sights too low. Got it.”

It’s then that Dean starts to wonder about the kinds of guys you’ve gotten with in the past. Not that he has room to judge, but he can see that there was no love lost there for you. 

Dean has a thought, deep in his bones, that you deserve someone who sees how special you are. How kind, funny, loyal, caring…

“Seriously,” Dean says. “You can do better.”

“Right,” you laugh. But he’s not laughing. You raise a brow at him.

“What?” you ask.

His lips purse, but he thinks better of what he wants to say. 

“Nothing. ‘S none of my business,” he says. 

You stare back at him and frown thoughtfully. You think you’re lucky to get a date, the way you constantly move around. 

You don’t have stability, and even though you try to keep in shape, try to avoid the shittier fast food, it’s been a challenge to maintain yourself. You worry that you’ve gained five pounds in diner food alone in the past couple of months…

Okay, mostly, you’re happy with your curves. But the way Dean’s looking at you now, you can’t help a flutter of hope that rises in your chest, making your heart beat faster.  

Maybe you’re finally ready to know how he really sees you. 

“Talk to me, Dean,” you nod, and you reach out a hand to grasp his wrist. 

He looks down at your hand. After a moment, he sighs and lays his own over yours. He meets your gaze. 

“Look, I think I hear what you’re not saying,” Dean says. “And you’re sellin’ yourself short, sweetheart. That’s all.”

It takes you a moment, but a soft smile spreads across your face. It warms him in a way he doesn’t expect, but maybe he should. 

Biting your lip with a bit of embarrassment, you squeeze his hand before you get up to take the two empty mugs with you to the sink. 

“Que hombre tan pendejo, hermoso,” you mutter. “Ni siquiera sabes lo que me haces.”

You don’t realize that Dean actually hears you. He perks up, standing from his seat and approaching you from behind. 

“What was that?” he asks. 

You jump slightly, and a blush burns down your neck as you turn off the sink and spin back around. Dean is there, crossing his arms and staring you down with a raised brow. A hint of a smirk begins to edge around his mouth.

“What?” you ask.

“Oh, no. You said something just now,” he says. Like a dog with a bone, he’s not going to let this one go.

Your lips threaten to smile, but you shake your head stubbornly. “You’ll just have to invest in that Duolingo subscription.”

Dean joins you by the sink. His hand braces on the kitchen counter. 

“Well, either you’re insulting me, or you’re flirting with me,” Dean says.

His lips then edge into a smirk. “The first one I could forgive, but the second…might require some retribution.”

Your eyes slowly widen. “What, why?”

Dean has to chuckle, because your expression is all but an admission of guilt. It’s too damn adorable. 

“Because you can’t flirt with me without me knowin’ about it,” he says. “That’s just rude.”

His hands brace the counter on either side of you, trapping you in. The only way to get through him is to tell him the truth, or suffer the consequences.

You gaze up at him with wide eyes and a full flush across your tan skin. Is he actually doing this right now?

Your heart beats loud in your ears like conga drums. 

“So which is it, sweetheart?” Dean asks. His playful, but singularly focused green-eyed gaze tells you he really does want an answer.

“Well, it was kinda both,” you say with a shy, but mischievous smile. Dean’s smirk deepens.

He tucks a finger beneath your chin and lets his thumb brush your full lower lip… 

Then he leans down to kiss you thoroughly. His plush lips move over yours, hot, wet, and sinfully good. 

But it’s also short—much too short for your liking when he parts from you to gauge your reaction. He seems to like what he finds in your eyes.

“Was that the punishment?” you tease. “Kinda weak.”

Dean raises a brow. “Consider it a start.”

He pulls you into him by your waist and continues where he left off, with another searing kiss. You hum with pleasure against his lips as your fingers delve into his hair. 

His hands move down your back, making a shiver of delight coarse through you. They land on cradling your ass, squeezing and pressing you into him. 

You gasp into his mouth. You can feel his length already hard against you. That alone trills anticipation down your spine, and a dizzy feeling, the fact that your touch is turning him on. You nip at his lower lip in response, licking into his mouth. It elicits a sound deep in his throat as his touch becomes more demanding. 

He then bends down to reach behind your thighs, and before you know what’s happening, you squeal when he lifts you up on the counter. 

You grab his shoulders like a cat clinging to the edge of a bath.

Damn, he’s strong!

“What’s the matter?” he laughs. 

“I’m just not used to being manhandled,” you quip. “These hips don’t lie, but they definitely don’t fly.” 

Dean snorts. “Says who?”

“My ex, for one thing,” you joke again. Though it isn’t actually a joke.

Dean, again, isn’t laughing. 

His hands aren’t large enough to span your thighs, but it’s not for lack of trying. His firm touch burning up your parted thighs is distracting, warm over your skin, and over your thin shorts. His thumbs dip between your inner thighs, making you breathe a bit more shallowly. 

“I get the feeling that you’ve been with some ain’t shit guys,” Dean says. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lump me in with the rest of ‘em.”

Your eyes widen. Dean grins down at you and takes the opportunity to kiss you again. His hand disappears in your hair and he presses kisses down your neck. A pleasant tingle breaks out across your skin as you tilt your head for him, giving him access. 

Your fingers begin toying with his collar and glide down his chest. Unlike you, everything about him is firm, you think. But you start to think that he likes your softness, the thickness of your curves.

You didn’t take him for an ass man, but he seems very happy to get a fistful of it. It’s as flattering as it is arousing.

“I’ve wanted to get this perfect ass in my hands since the day we met,” he says. His voice is deep, full of grit and desire, but what he says next surprises you even more. 

“Wanted to ask you out that night,” he confesses. 

You pause at that. You met Sam and Dean two years ago already. The fact that he’d wanted to ask you out was one thing, but he’d been holding onto this for two years?

“Really?” you ask. 

Dean reads your incredulity, huffing a laugh. “You’re really finding that hard to believe right now?” 

He rocks against your clothed core so you can feel his reaction to you. You instinctively gasp and hold onto him. You slide your arms around his back to keep him close, even though you’re blushing. He holds you back, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“Well, why didn’t you then?” you ask. But he hesitates to answer you. 

“Dean?” you press.

“It…never seemed the right time,” he says. “And to be honest, you didn’t seem all that interested.”

Until now, goes unspoken. But you frown up at him. 

“You don’t really believe that,” you say. 

Dean leans back a bit, so you move your hands to his chest, gripping the fabric of his undershirt to he doesn’t go too far. He looks down at you, a bit uncertain for the first time. You can’t believe that he could possibly be insecure about your interest and affections. 

“I attract a lot of crap in my life,” he admits. “Shit you want no part of.”

You soften further at that. Someone who was just going to hook up with you once and never call you again didn’t consider things like that. You grab onto the lapels of his plaid shirt and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Well, that’s a stupid reason,” you say. Is this the real reason he only calls you when he really needs the help?

Maybe it’s his convoluted way of protecting you…while maybe, still wanting to see you.

“It’s really not,” Dean shakes his head. “Truth be told…I’m no good for you either.”

That disheartens you. 

You’re in this job too. And while you know that Sam and Dean are often at the center of a lot of Apocalypse-level shit, you still don’t think it’s an excuse to keep both you and Dean from possibly…being happy.

His gaze is steady, until it starts to lower away from you. You take his face in your hands, picking him back up to meet your eyes. Your thumbs caress the prickly stubble along his cheeks.

“Apparently I get with a lot of ain’t shit guys,” you reply, “but you’re definitely not one of them, Dean.”

He flickers at a smile, but he still isn’t convinced you two should do this after all.

So it’s up to you, you realize. 

You bring him down to you for a kiss. It’s slow at first. You ply him with short, sweet presses of your lips to his. But then you both inhale as you deepen the kiss, tilting your head and prying his lips with your tongue. He can’t help but welcome you in, and he takes you back into his arms.

You smile against his lips, letting your hands run down his chest and under the top layer of plaid. He shrugs out of it, then the undershirt as you help him tug it up. It falls in a heap on the floor, followed closely by your hole-ridden Journey shirt, then your little shorts.

Dean takes in the sight of your flushed skin, the rise and fall of your breasts, and even the hesitant downturn of your lips. You’re a bit self-conscious, bared for him for the first time, but he doesn’t give you a reason to have any reservations. 

His hands cup your breasts, squeezing and kneading, rolling his thumbs over the hardening buds. You let out a shaky breath against his lips, and you veer away from his mouth to burn a hot, wet trail down his neck. His voice rumbles, and you smile, nipping playfully and touching him wherever you see fit. 

“Tell me what you said before,” he rasps into your ear.

You remain playfully tight-lipped as you continue to shower his bare skin with affection. But your breath hitches when a hand leaves your breast to once again slide up the inside of your thigh. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” he says. “That’s why I need you tell me…”

You lean close to his ear and whisper. “Nope.”

Dean’s chuckle shakes his frame. His other hand cups your cheek, slipping into your hair. You hold him to you, and for the first time it’s skin to skin, with your breasts pressing against his chest. 

“All right…you sure I can’t convince you?” he asks. There’s a note of warning that you’re just a bit too slow to detect. 

His fingers swiftly bypass your panties, pushing them aside so he can tease the seam of your pussy.

You bite your lip and lean back enough to see his face, to see the mischievous edge of his smirk. You inhale sharply when two of his fingers slip in and probe in your wet heat, but don’t go further than your entrance.

“Dean,” you whine. “Please…”

“Tell me,” he insists, “what you said.” 

His lips graze your cheek, down the column of your neck. You feel the rasp of his stubble against your skin. Meanwhile, your pussy is pulsing with need, all but chasing his fingers that do no more than brush and tease. Your nails accidently bite into his shoulders in frustration.

He sucks in a pained breath. You gasp and apologize, soothing over his skin. 

Dean just laughs and noses along your throat. He knows exactly what you need, but he wants to win the game. 

At this point, you just want him.

So finally, you admit it. You confess into his ear the things you whispered in your mother tongue.  

“I said, you dumb, beautiful man,” you say, smiling with your cheek pressed against his. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Dean grins into your neck. You really don’t realize it. But to him, your voice is rich as black velvet, and sexy as hell. Doesn’t matter what language you’re speaking.  

Two of his fingers sink deeply into your pussy. You whimper, squeezing gratefully around his hand. 

“Please, Dean…”

“I got you, baby. Just relax,” he says with a grin. 

He explores your inner channel and begins to discover what you respond to, what angles make you grip onto him tighter, make your voice keen higher, especially when his thumb circles over your clit. 

You cling to him for dear life, gripping his hair, uttering encouragements (not all of them in English), and finally praises when that hot coil within you snaps and releases. 

Dean holds you while you come over his hand. You’re squeezing the shit out of him, really, in every way possible. But when that dam breaks, all you can do is lean against him and try to catch your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he chuckles. He rubs your back, pets your hair. 

“I’m…” you trail. You lean back and take his smug face in your hands, and you kiss him. You put into that gesture what your voice fails to confess. 

And when both of you run out of breath, Dean pulls back just enough to see your eyes.

“We’re not done, by any damn means,” he says. That coffee still has him wired. And at this point, his cock is throbbing with need. “But let’s head over to my room.”

“Yeah, I think I need to help you with this before you implode,” you tease him with a gentle hand along his rock-hard length. He utters a strained sound that makes you sympathetic. 

But before anything else, you caress his cheek fondly. Tonight matters to you, and you think it matters to him too. Dean flashes you a rare, boyish grin that has you smiling even harder. 

Damn it. You might just love this man. 

He helps you down from the counter, though his arms stay wrapped around you because of your jelly legs. His resolution is to pick you up over his shoulder.

“Let’s fly, baby!” With a swift spank of your ass, he carries you the rest of the way to his room. You squeal and try to stifle your giggles all the way there. 

One thing’s for sure. Sam is going to hate you both in the morning. 

AN: 😂 Well, that was fun! Please let me know what you thought.

**Just to preface, I am in fact a plus-sized Latina (Cuban, Puerto Rican and Dominican)! 🌶️🌶️

And I just want to say, I wrote a specific plus-sized body type here, but we're all different and equally beautiful in our shapes, skin tones, and otherwise outward trappings.

I like to think of us as a box of lovely assorted chocolates (not the cheap factory-made bullshit either. The chocolatier, handmade assortments that cost an arm and a leg, shipping not included).

Each delectable and unique, with something extra special inside. 😘

Keep Reading:

Yes, this has become a series! Next up is "Devour Me":

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for.

▶️ Next Story: Devour Me (Part 1)

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[twst-drabbles]

Malleus 13

Summary: You don't love this royal heir. However, you do like bullying him. It's fun, so at least Malleus has that going for him.

(Gonna try to get through the asks as quickly as I can. They've been sitting there for too long and I cannot have them sitting there any longer.)

There's always a wide berth between Malleus and the normal everyday population of Night Raven College. Nobody dares to approach him, either controlled by fear, respect, or even a combination of the two.

Even his closest companions Lilia, Sebek and Silver, do this. Not a physical distance, but a social one. They all take on roles that are meant to serve Malleus. If he were to give an order, be it imperial or a personal one, they will obey without question.

Maybe that's why this man is so infatuated with you as he is? Why he appears in a burst of green firefly sparks when you're within his sight? Why he doesn't care for the whispers that appear around you when they witness you two conversing?

Well, none of that really mattered to you. What matters is that Malleus has been… weird. Odd. Not quite on the realm of obsessive but is slowly getting there. It's difficult to pin down on the account that he's been raised as royalty. He has a number of eccentric traits to him that comes with the upbringing, alongside the fact that his composure was near impossible to break.

You think you found an emotional weakness to him? Thought you caught him off-guard? No you didn't. See, Malleus has no shame watching you walk around in the dark of your dorm. He'll even greet you with a chuckle if you stare directly at him.

Well, if he's going to be acting like this, may as well treat him the same way back.

"Hey, come here a moment," you motioned for Malleus, like he was some dog that wandered too far from your side as you sat on the fountain's ledge.

Malleus walked slowly to you, as though enjoying the time he's wasting with you. "Hmm? Is there something you need, Child of Man?" He leaned in over your shoulder, his smile widening further and further.

You reached back, cupped your hand, and splashed Malleus from head to shoulder. His limp hair made even more limp, jacket and white soaked while droplets fell from his fingertips and onto the concrete.

His eyes were wide, mouth agape and you couldn't help but sputter a laugh. The gasps around you only had you laughing harder behind your hand. People started running away, but a choice few stayed behind to watch what will probably be a bloodbath.

You reached up and flicked Malleus's horns with no shame. When he tried to back up to his full height, you grabbed his horn at the base and pulled him down.

His eyes thinned to a glare but you weren't scared. Not in the least.

"That's what you get for watching me while I bath," you hissed with a sharp grin.

Malleus breathed in, held it, then breathed out. Soon, light laughter bubbled out of him, face relaxing from it's tight expression.

"So, even this kind of attention is enjoyable," Malleus mused, "You certainly are bold, aren't you?"

"Isn't that what you love about me?" You let go but shot a hand right to his neck. You didn't squeeze down, more grasped just to feel his fluttering heartbeat, "Even this side of me, you love. I have to admit, this is fun!"

Blood rushed up to Malleus's cheeks, looking almost drunk as his face turned almost gentle, save for the absolute fervent affection in his eyes. "…certainly. But is this the best you can do? Surely you can do worse."

Oh of course he'd challenge you. He's been doing this since the start, challenging your patience.

Alright, alright, let's do worse then, if he's begging you for it.