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whoo0isthatgrl · 1 month ago

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freaking wow yo

@hearts-fromani you NEED to read this if you haven’t bae

IS SOMETHING WRONG? | Trafalgar Law

content: smut

synopsis: Why don't you behave?'

What was life without a little spice?

You loved risks—thrived on probabilities and the thrill of unpredictable outcomes. Law had learned that the hard way. No amount of calculation could prepare him for your boldness.

He’d been caught off-guard before: when you pulled him into heated makeout sessions in narrow corridors, when you left subtle bite marks beneath the collar of his shirt, when your grinding left his breath ragged and voice hoarse. By now, he knew to expect the unexpected.

But this?

His breath hitched, a barely audible gasp escaping his lips as your hand slipped beneath the blankets. You didn't look at him—didn't need to. The slight twitch of his jaw and the sharp intake of air told you everything.

It was a group movie night. The crew sat around the room, eyes glued to the screen, oblivious to the quiet chaos unraveling beneath the fabric.

Law's hand gripped the edge of the blanket, knuckles white. He shot you a sharp side glance, a warning masked with need. But you only smiled, eyes still fixed on the screen.

He wasn't going to make it through the movie.

Law's elbow propped lazily on the armrest, his chin now resting in the cradle of his palm. He looked perfectly nonchalant to anyone who bothered to glance his way—bored, even. The movie's low drone filled the room, mingling with the occasional laughter or comment from the crew.

But under the blanket, your hand didn’t stop.

You palmed him slowly, applying just enough pressure to make him ache. The heat of your touch seeped through the thin layer of his sweats, cruel in its restraint, maddening in its rhythm.

His fingers curled slightly against his cheek, teeth subtly grinding as he sucked in a slow breath through his nose. His eyes were half-lidded, trained on the screen but unfocused.

You leaned in again, feigning a stretch just to press your body a little closer. Your lips hovered near his ear, voice like silk and smoke.

“Doing alright, Captain?” you whispered, giving a subtle squeeze.

His brow twitched, and a low, almost imperceptible sound slipped from the back of his throat. A breath—tighter than it should’ve been.

He didn’t look at you. Couldn’t. Not when every nerve ending in his body was tuned to the movement of your hand, to the warm friction that left him straining for composure.

His palm shifted, dragging down the line of his face like he was tired—frustrated.

“Keep going,” he muttered, lips barely moving. “See what happens when this movie ends.”

"Is that a threat captain?"

You smiled, still palming him through the fabric, slow and steady like you had all night.

He was fully hard now—straining against the fabric, every inch of him achingly sensitive beneath your slow, measured strokes.

You felt it all.

The way his hips pressed subtly forward, seeking more contact. The twitch of his cock under your palm. The way his breath no longer came in steady rhythms but shallow, controlled drags through his nose.

Law’s hand hadn’t moved from his face.

He was using it as a shield now—half hiding behind his fingers, palm dragging down over his mouth to cover the small betraying shifts in expression. His cheeks were dusted faint pink, and whether it was from arousal or the shame of liking it so much, you couldn’t tell.

Didn’t matter.

He was quiet, brooding, pretending like he wasn’t crumbling beneath your touch.

And you?

You were smiling.

Leaning in again, your voice soft, velvet-slick and wicked as it brushed his ear. “You’re so hard right now, Trafalgar. Want me to stop?”

A muscle in his jaw jumped.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t dare.

You chuckled under your breath, low and teasing. “Didn’t think so.”

Your hand adjusted its pace—slower, firmer, like you were savoring it. Like he was a reward for your patience. You felt the way he pulsed against your palm, the restraint unraveling by the second.

Still, he said nothing.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t trust himself to.

So you leaned even closer, lips almost brushing the curve of his flushed ear, and whispered, “You’re really cute when you’re pretending not to enjoy this.”

His body stiffened—just for a second. Then his hand slid from his face, slow and careful, dropping to his lap where it closed over your wrist beneath the blanket.

Not to stop you.

Just to hold it there.

As if to say: Don’t move. Don’t speak. Just finish what you started.

Your lips curled into a grin. You tilted your head staring at him with those oh-so sweet gaze like you hadn't done a single wrong thing in the world. He was soaked in your gaze, your gaze that stared right through him. His head shot up at the loud laughter of the room at some joke he probably hadn't heard.

The room erupted again, laughter bouncing off the walls like cannon fire. Law’s head jerked up, eyes scanning the room in a delayed panic. Had anyone seen? Had someone noticed the pink rising in his cheeks or the twitch in his brow?

No. They were too caught up in the film. Unaware. Oblivious.

And yet, it didn’t ease the weight of your touch beneath the blanket. If anything, the background noise only made it more surreal—like you two were suspended in a bubble of sin, tucked beneath a veil of normalcy.

Your thumb traced a slow circle over his tip, and he inhaled sharply through his nose. A pulse jumped in his neck. His fingers tightened around your wrist.

“Don’t test me,” he whispered, so low it was barely a sound.

But you leaned in again, lips ghosting just beside the shell of his ear.

“I already am.”

His thigh flexed. You felt the tension building, the restraint fraying at its edges. He was close—closer than either of you had planned for. One wrong move, one more second of your devilish pace, and—

"Oi, Captain! You good?"

Shachi’s voice shot across the room, casual and clueless, eyes half-lidded from whatever snack-induced haze he was in.

Law’s spine straightened like a board.

You didn’t stop.

Didn’t even flinch.

“Yes,” Law replied, the word clipped and tight, deceptively calm.

“Looked like you were gonna pass out for a second,” Penguin chimed in, laughing around a mouthful of popcorn.

“He’s fine,” you said, voice syrupy sweet, eyes never leaving the screen. “Probably just tired.”

Law shot you a look, deadly calm. The kind that promised consequences—delayed, precise, and merciless.

You smiled, your fingers dragging one final stroke before withdrawing beneath the blanket. Just like that.

Gone.

The loss of contact hit him like a slap. His chest rose in a shallow breath, head tilted back just slightly as he exhaled through gritted teeth.

You reclined beside him like nothing happened, completely relaxed.

But he wasn’t.

His jaw was tight. His body still wired. He didn’t even attempt to hide the way his hand now rested over his lap, trying to will away the pressure you'd built with maddening grace.

The movie droned on.

The crew’s laughter carried into the next scene.

And Law?

He didn’t watch a second of it.

He watched you.

From the corner of his eye at first—casual, almost disinterested. But the longer he stared, the harder it became to pretend. His gaze grew heavier, darker, dragging over your profile like a man drinking in a mirage after a week in the desert.

You sat there like you hadn't just unraveled him with your fingers.

Legs crossed, eyes on the screen, expression soft and amused—innocent. Like you hadn’t just reduced his control to a fragile thread barely holding. The curve of your cheek caught the flicker of the TV light, and he hated—loved—how ethereal you looked. Serene. Untouched.

Untouchable.

But he had felt you. Every warm stroke. Every deliberate tease. And now?

Now he could feel the ghost of your hand everywhere.

His eyes trailed the slope of your neck, lingering where his mouth wanted to be—where your pulse would jump if he bit down. He imagined it. Played it in his mind like a reel on repeat: you pinned beneath him, breathy and squirming, begging him to lose the composure you'd so thoroughly dismantled.

His gaze drifted lower, to the slow rise and fall of your chest. The slight smile tugging at your lips.

Smug.

You knew what you’d done.

You could feel his stare, couldn’t you? He could see it—the quiet satisfaction in your posture. You weren’t watching the movie either. Not really. You were waiting.

Waiting for the moment the captain finally snapped.

The credits rolled.

Someone clapped lazily. Someone else yawned. Voices rose around the room—murmured comments, a few jokes tossed back and forth. People stood, stretched, began filing out in twos and threes, mumbling about snacks or sleep.

But Law hadn’t moved.

He sat motionless beside you, elbow still perched on the armrest, fingers curled against his lips like he was lost in thought. But his thoughts weren’t quiet.

They were loud. Loud and sinful and vengeful.

You felt the shift before he even spoke. A quietness that cut through the noise around you, sharp and deliberate.

Then, low—so low only you could hear:

“Room.”

You didn’t have time to react. Didn’t get a second to tease, to smirk, to even breathe.

The world blinked. Colors inverted. Space folded—and suddenly, you were in his quarters.

Dimly lit. Quiet.

The door slammed behind you, rattling in its frame from the force of his Haki-laced temper. Your back hit it next, your breath stolen as Law pressed in—not gently.

His hand pressed beside your head, caging you with the full tension of a man whose composure had been shattered.

His eyes?

They burned.

Glacial, seething heat behind that golden-brown gaze. His lips were parted slightly, chest rising and falling with the remains of restraint—threadbare and fading fast.

“You think you’re cute?” he rasped, voice jagged like it’d been dragged over gravel. “Making a mess of me like that in front of the crew?”

You smiled—slow, unrepentant. “You didn’t tell me to stop.”

His jaw clenched. Hard.

A muscle twitched beneath his cheek as his gaze dropped to your lips—then lower, like he couldn’t decide where to devour you first. You watched the war flash across his face: that stubborn captain’s discipline trying—and failing—to rein in the way his body screamed for yours.

“You really want to play this game with me?” he asked, voice a low growl that vibrated against your skin. His hand dropped from beside your head, only to drag slowly down your side until it settled at your hip—fingers digging in.

“You already lost, Captain,” you whispered, brushing your lips close to his. “The second you didn’t pull my hand away.”

His eyes darkened.

There wasn’t a warning. Just action—sudden and absolute.

Law crushed his mouth to yours, a kiss that wasn’t soft or sweet or patient. It was punishment. Tongue and teeth, breath stolen and stolen again. He kissed you like he was erasing every smug word from your mouth—like he needed to reclaim the composure you’d shattered by branding you with his desperation.

You gasped into it, and he swallowed the sound, pressing you tighter to the door. His hand found the hem of your shirt, dragging it up with swift, practiced ease—fingers skating along your bare skin as if to prove a point.

“This,” he breathed between kisses, “is what happens when you push me.”

“And here I thought you liked being pushed.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you—his eyes unreadable, wild, hungry.

Then he leaned in close again, lips brushing your jaw.

“Oh, I do,” he whispered, voice dangerous. “But you’re not walking out of here without regretting it first.”

His mouth moved lower—along your neck, down to your collarbone—biting, sucking, marking. He didn't rush. No, that wasn’t his style.

You hadn't even made it two steps from the door before he caught your wrist again—dragging you back with a quiet, purposeful force. Law spun you, and you found yourself stumbling backward until your knees hit the edge of his bed.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t need to.

You adjusted onto the bed his body caging your own. His arms on either side of your head gazing at your glowing skin. Your lace bra cupping you so sweetly.

The look in his eyes was pure command, dark and heated as he stepped forward, crowding into your space, his chest rising with barely restrained control. His hand released your wrist—only to move down, grabbing the hem of your pants and pulling them off with a single, sharp motion that made the air leave your lungs.

Then he sat.

Not beside you.

In front of you.

His sweats were already low on his hips, and beneath them—he was straining. The outline of his cock pressed against the fabric, thick and leaking where you’d teased him earlier. You could see the damp patch spreading at the tip.

He was flushed—red, angry, and glistening through the fabric.

You reached for the waistband, tugging it down slow, and he let you. Didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just watched with half-lidded eyes and parted lips as you exposed him inch by aching inch.

And when he was finally free—his cock flushed dark pink at the head, throbbing and leaking—you let out a low, breathy laugh.

“God, look at you,” you murmured, fingers wrapping around the base to steady him. “You’re so hard… You leaking for me, baby?”

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Shit—"

You thumbed over the tip, spreading the bead of precum with lazy, featherlight strokes. Just enough to make him twitch. Just enough to not give him what he wanted.

“What?” you smiled, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Don’t get shy now, Captain. You were aching for this through that whole movie.”

His jaw flexed. His thigh jumped.

Still, he said nothing.

You leaned forward between his knees, slow and poised. Your breath ghosted over the head of his cock as your fingers slid up the length with delicate, deliberate ease.

“So sensitive,” you whispered. “I barely touched you and you were already this hard. It’s kinda cute.”

His hand shot out, threading through your hair—not pulling, not guiding. Just holding, trying to anchor himself.

“Stop teasing,” he gritted out.

You smirked. “Make me.”

He exhaled through his nose, sharp and ragged. His grip in your hair tightened just slightly—warning, promise, plea. But still, you stroked him like you had all the time in the world. Like he was the one who had to behave.

And as your lips finally hovered over his flushed tip, your tongue flicking out to taste that lingering sweetness, you locked eyes with him—mischief dancing in your gaze.

“You gonna fall apart for me again, Captain?”

His only answer was a low, guttural curse—and the way his hips jerked forward, seeking your mouth like a man possessed.

You didn’t rush.

Your lips wrapped slowly around the tip, tongue flicking teasingly at the underside—right where you knew he was most sensitive. A quiet moan vibrated in your throat as you sucked softly, letting your mouth warm him, wet him, make him twitch beneath your tongue.

Law’s head tipped back slightly, a strained exhale slipping through his lips. His hand was still in your hair, not forcing, just rooted—like he needed to hold onto something real.

And then—your tongue dragged along that spot again. That particular spot just beneath the ridge of his head, the one that made him grunt through clenched teeth during the rare times you really pushed him.

You focused there.

Pressed your tongue into it, slow and sinful. Then sucked, delicate and firm, like you meant to ruin him.

Law’s hand flexed in your hair.

And he—rolled his eyes.

Not in annoyance. Not in boredom.

It was that slow, involuntary roll of someone on the edge of blacking out from sheer overstimulation.

“Fuck…” he muttered, voice low and strangled. “That spot—again?”

You looked up at him with his cock still on your tongue, cheeks hollowing as you sucked harder.

His head dropped, jaw tightening. He couldn’t look at you anymore. Could barely breathe through the tight groan that ripped from his chest.

“Oh, you’re so dramatic,” you teased as you pulled back with a wet pop, lips gleaming. You stroked him lazily, watching the way his abs tensed with every pass of your hand.

“I’m not even trying yet, and you’re already—”

His hand left your hair and grabbed your jaw, not roughly—just firm, assertive, thumb pressing at your cheek.

“Then try,” he said, voice gravel-thick, lashes low over eyes that gleamed with challenge. “Show me how much you really want to ruin me.”

Your eyes widened, then came a smile with a incredulous scoff wicked and sweet, and lowered your head again.

And this time—you did try.

You opened wider.

Took more.

Flattened your tongue along the length of him as your lips slid down further, deeper. The hand in your hair came back, but this time with purpose. Guiding. Testing. Needing.

And Law?

He didn’t roll his eyes this time.

He closed them.

And let out the kind of sound you’d remember for days.

You watched him as you worked—really watched him.

His breath stuttered, chest rising in shallow, tight movements. The tip of his cock flushed a deep, needy red, glistening with spit and the evidence of his frustration. And still—you wanted more.

More sounds.

More twitches.

More of him breaking down.

You leaned back just slightly, lips wet and swollen, strings of saliva connecting your mouth to the flushed head of his cock. You let them fall—long, slow drips of spit sliding down his length, coating him. Your hand followed, spreading the slick mess with slow strokes that squeezed just right.

He hissed.

You smiled.

“You’re holding back,” you murmured, voice silk-wrapped and smug. “Thought I was the dramatic one.”

Law’s hand curled tight in the sheets beneath him, his knuckles pale. His eyes—half-lidded and dark—cut toward you with a look so sharp it could’ve split you in half.

But it didn’t scare you.

It thrilled you.

You leaned in again, slower this time, stroking him steadily with one hand while your other braced beside his hip. Your lips hovered just above the head of his cock, tongue flicking lazily against the slit. You watched—studied—the way his abs tightened, the subtle hitch in his throat, the way his thighs tensed like he was barely hanging on.

Then, as he exhaled another curse between his teeth, you leaned up… and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Soft.

Almost innocent.

His eyes snapped open at the gesture, confusion flickering through the haze of lust—like he couldn’t believe the same mouth that was just dragging him to the brink could also offer something so tender.

“Cute,” you whispered, brushing your nose lightly against his jaw. “You make the prettiest sounds when you’re falling apart.”

Your hand never stopped.

If anything, you stroked him slower now, more deliberately—watching him unravel at a pace that you controlled.

Law’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying—failing—to speak. His hips bucked once, almost reflexively, chasing the pressure.

“You like being watched like this, don’t you?” you purred, lips brushing his ear. “All red and leaking. So worked up you don’t even know what to do with yourself.”

He didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

His mouth was open, jaw tight, brows furrowed like he hated how much he loved this.

And you?

You leaned back down.

Took him into your mouth again.

But this time, you kept your eyes on him the entire time. watching, waiting for the moment he finally shattered.

he throbbed in the cool air, heavy and hot against his abdomen, veins pronounced, tip flushed and slick from everything you’d stirred up during the movie.

Law didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

The tension between you crackled—pure heat, raw and silent.

You wrapped your fingers around him, and his jaw clenched tight. That perfect, lethal control of his hung on by a thread. He watched your hand—eyes dark and locked in, breathing ragged as your thumb dragged along his slit, smearing the slickness over the sensitive head.

He hissed through his teeth, eyes fluttering for a split second before locking onto yours again.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warned, voice low and hoarse.

You just smiled—taunting, wicked. “I didn’t stop earlier. Why would I now?”

And then your mouth was on him.

Slow. Deliberate. A kiss to the tip, your tongue swirling, teasing—taking your time like he hadn’t been on edge for the past hour. Like you didn’t know exactly how much he needed this.

His head fell back with a sharp exhale, one hand gripping the sheets beside him, the other tangling in your hair with a possessive kind of pressure.

“You—fuck—”

You hollowed your cheeks and slid deeper, inch by inch, until his grip in your hair tightened with a grunt that vibrated through his entire body.

His hips twitched. His breath stuttered. And for the first time all night, Law lost his silence. He tried to pull you up, you didn't mind he tasted all the while good, particularly sweet if you were to put in words. A low, wrecked moan left him—short, strangled, and bitten back too late.

You smiled around him.

“You gonna fall apart for me, Captain?” you murmured, breath hot against the head of his cock.

Law's eyes burned into yours, jaw tight, the cords of his neck straining as he tried—failed—to hold onto the last thread of control. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not when your tongue flattened and dragged slow along the underside of his length, not when your lips wrapped around the tip with excruciating care.

He hissed. Low. Sharp. His hand fisted tighter in your hair.

You took him deeper—inch by inch—watching the way his head tipped back, the way his lips parted around a stuttered breath. His thighs were tense beneath your palms, twitching with every pass of your tongue, every hollow of your cheeks around him. He was trembling.

You moaned softly, just enough to let the sound vibrate through him.

“F—fuck,” he choked out, head tipping forward again to watch you. His eyes were molten, locked on the sight of your mouth wrapped around him, your lips slick, cheeks flushed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You pulled back with a wet pop, eyes gleaming. “Not yet.”

And then you sank back down, deeper this time, your hand stroking what you couldn’t take as your mouth worked in tandem—slow, sinful, unrelenting. Law groaned, low in his chest, a sound that vibrated through your bones.

He was unraveling.

You felt it in the way his hips rolled up to meet your mouth, the way his breath grew ragged, chest heaving. His hand guided you now, shallow thrusts as he lost the will to be still.

But just as the pressure built, just as his breath hitched in that unmistakable way— you stopped.

You pulled off him with a wicked smile, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. His eyes flew open, wild and disbelieving.

“Why the hell did you stop?” he growled, voice hoarse, strained.

You stood, slow and deliberate, unclipping your bra with with a graceful stretch. Then underwear, you peeled it off, leaving yourself bare under his gaze.

Law watched, ravenous and speechless, eyes devouring every inch of skin you revealed.

“Because,” you said softly, crawling into his lap, straddling him, your bare core pressing against his length, “I want to feel you come inside me.”

He let out a shaky exhale, grip finding your hips like a lifeline.

You reached between you, guided him to your entrance—slick, ready, aching.

And when you sank down, taking him inch by inch, his head fell against your shoulder with a ragged, broken curse.

You were tight. Hot. So damn wet. And he felt every heartbeat of it as you took him fully, seated flush in his lap.

You didn’t move. Not yet.

Instead, you whispered against his ear, “Still think I’m cute, Captain?”

Law didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Not with his mouth dragging over your shoulder, his breath heavy and uneven, his hands bruising your hips like he was trying to ground himself in something—anything.

And when you finally rolled your hips—

Law's gasp was muffled against your skin, sharp and desperate as your hips began to move—slow, languid circles that had him sinking deeper, the stretch of you around him driving him wild.

“Fuck,” he rasped, fingers digging into your waist like he might lose himself without the anchor of your body. “You feel…”

He couldn’t even finish the thought.

You leaned back just enough to meet his eyes. His pupils were blown, lips parted, sweat already beading at his brow. You rolled your hips again, this time dragging your nails down his chest, feeling the way his muscles flexed beneath your touch.

“Say it,” you whispered. “Say how I feel.”

Law’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he groaned, hips jerking up involuntarily. “Perfect,” he managed, voice low and broken. “Fucking perfect.”

You smirked, kissed his jaw. “thank you captain”

That seemed to snap something in him.

He growled—low, guttural—and the next thing you knew, your back was on the bed, and he was above you, driving into you with a force that knocked the air from your lungs.

No more teasing. No more restraint.

Just Law, fucking you like he needed it to live.

Your moans filled the room, loud and raw, each thrust hitting deep, dragging across every sensitive inch inside you. Your legs wrapped around his waist, clinging to him as he pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your thigh.

“You wanna play games?” he panted, mouth hot against your throat. “Then take it. All of it.”

You cried out as he hit just the right spot, stars bursting behind your eyes. “Law—!”

He bit your neck, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you tremble. “Say it again.”

You whimpered, “Law—please—”

He shifted, hitting deeper as presses where he prints out in your stomach “again.”

“Law” you groaned, and he groaned, releasing your wrist to grip your hips, pulling you harder onto his cock as he slammed into you.

Your climax built fast—too fast—coiling low in your belly until you were clawing at his back, eyes rolling back, begging without words.

Law watched you come undone beneath him, your body trembling, nails raking down his spine, voice breaking on his name.

And then he followed—deep, hot, a strangled moan torn from his chest as he spilled into you, holding you tight like he could pour every ounce of himself inside you and still want more.

You lay there for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, bodies tangled and slick with sweat. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed, chest heaving.

You smiled, lazily, fingers brushing through the damp hair at the nape of his neck. “Still alive?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, lips twitching. “Barely.”

You leaned up and kissed him slow, soft, sweet.

Then whispered, “Next time, I ride until you forget your own name.”

Law's smirk was dangerous. “You better keep that promise.”

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whoo0isthatgrl · 1 month ago

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holy fuckkkkk. new freaking favorite tumblr post

SLOW MOTION | Sanji Vinsmoke

synopsis: pussy drunk.

content: smut

He swore he’d stop after the third round.

You were trembling, flushed, soaked with sweat and stickiness as he held your legs up like you were fragile porcelain—but his cock was already hard again. Hard again just from watching it.

Your pussy, swollen and dripping with his cum, fluttering around nothing, practically begging for him to fill you again.

Sanji was on his knees between your legs, thick golden hair clinging to his forehead, his lips parted as he watched his release ooze out of you. That creamy white drip sliding down the seam of your folds made his cock twitch violently—he groaned like it physically hurt to not be inside you.

"Sanji—” your voice broke around the syllables, drunk on pleasure and face ruined with tears, “you said… y-you said one more…”

“I know,” he whispered—like he hated how much he was about to break that promise. “I know, I did, but—look at you, sweetheart. Look what you’re doing to me.”

You followed his gaze.

His pretty cock was already standing tall again, flushed in such a lewd pink, twitching against his stomach just from seeing how messy you were—how well you’d taken him.

A whimper slipped from your lips, your body tensing involuntarily as another wave of heat rolled over you. You tried to close your thighs, but Sanji groaned, pressing kisses to them whilst pawing them apart, legs wide open with shaking hands.

"You're driving me insane," he groaned, leaning down to press his forehead to your belly as he slowly stroked himself, hand messy and desperate. "You’re addictive. Every part of you—your sounds, your pussy, the way you squeeze me when you're about to cum—fuck, it's too much."

And then—without warning—he pushed back in. Deep. All the way.

Your body arched like it had been struck by lightning.

Your head fell back against the pillows, mouth falling open in a breathless moan that never quite made it to sound. Just a sharp inhale. A jolt. Your eyes fluttered, glassy and dazed, jaw slack as the stretch and fullness bloomed inside you.

Your hands fumbled to find him—grabbing blindly at his shoulders, then his face—pulling him down into a kiss that was less lips and more instinct. Mouths dragging, hot and wet, as you pawed at his cheeks like you needed to feel something real. You kissed him like you were drowning, drunk off the depth of him, the heat, the pressure.

Your legs wrapped around him without thought. Your heels dug in. He groaned, muffled against your lips, hips stuttering from how tight you clenched when he kissed you back.

“F-fuck,” he whimpered, barely pulling back an inch. “You feel—so good, baby—so warm, so full—don’t stop holding me like that.”

You moaned this time—audibly—soft and strained, like the only thing you could give him now was a cry.

And he devoured it.

“God—yes, just like that,” he whispered against your lips, trembling. “You look so beautiful”

He started thrusting again—slow and deep—watching your eyes roll back and your mouth fall open each time he bottomed out. His hand found your cheek, cradling it like you were precious even as he fucked you with a filthy hunger.

"Squeezing me so good—" he plops his head into the groove of your neck.

And every time your cunt fluttered around him, every little cry that escaped, it made him twitch and curse and moan like he was the one being undone.

He started to move again.

Not with the slow, teasing rhythm from before. It was deeper now. Steady. More honest. Like he wasn’t performing for your pleasure anymore—just feeling it. Feeling you.

His breath was hot against your skin as he sank his weight into the bed, his hips rolling into yours with quiet groans punched out of his chest. You gasped softly every time he bottomed out, your hands tightening on his shoulders.

“You feel too fucking good,” he mumbled, forehead pressed to your jaw. “I should stop. I meant to stop.”

But his body said otherwise. His cock throbbed inside you, every twitch making your walls flutter involuntarily. You could feel your own slick mixed with his cum dripping down your thighs. It was messy—so messy—and that just seemed to make him harder.

“Sanji, please” you whispered, a breathless edge to your voice. You didn’t even know what you were asking for. Maybe to slow down. Maybe to keep going. both.

He kissed your cheek, then your neck, then lower—trailing his lips wherever your skin was warm and trembling. “I know, baby. I know. But look at you. How can I stop when you’re this perfect? You’re still dripping for me.”

You turned your head, eyes locking on the way his hips moved—how deep he was, how wet the slide sounded. You should’ve been wrecked by now. Maybe you were. But you still needed more. Just like him.

Your legs hooked around his waist again, and he groaned at the feeling.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered, pushing deeper. “I’m not even sure I’m alive anymore. Just… floating in you.”

You choked out a soft laugh against his mouth, breath hitching when he hit that sweet spot again. “Then don’t stop.”

He stilled for a second. Just looked at you.

Eyes a little wide. A little awestruck. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Don’t stop, Sanji. Please.”

And that was it.

He buried his face in your neck with a low moan, like he couldn’t handle it. His thrusts picked up—deeper, a little faster. Still gentle, still careful, but full of raw want.

Every time he pulled back, your body tried to follow. You were soaked and aching and clinging to him like your life depended on it. He kissed you hard—lips sloppy, breathless, like he needed to taste the sounds you made just as much as he needed to feel your body wrapped around him.

“I’m gonna cum again,” he warned, almost helplessly. “I—fuck—I’m gonna fill you again, baby, I can’t hold it—”

You clenched around him and he whimpered. That soft, broken sound made your whole body light up.

“Do it,” you whispered, tugging at his hair, pulling him closer. “I want it, Sanji—cum inside, please—”

His hips stuttered hard, then slowed—deep, grinding thrusts that made your toes curl. And then you felt it again—his warmth flooding you, his body shuddering above yours, breath catching as he moaned your name into your skin.

You didn’t even realize you were crying again until he looked at you—sweaty, dazed, completely wrecked—and cupped your cheek.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing the wetness from your lashes. “Too much?”

You shook your head, lips parted. “No. Just… a lot. I feel full.”

He kissed you softly—no rush, no heat. Just gentle lips, soft and sweet and grateful. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “We’re okay. I’ll take care of you.”

You stayed like that for a while—your legs still around him, his cock still buried deep, the room warm with the heat of sex and sweat and something neither of you could quite name.

Then, quietly:

“You’re staying in bed all day tomorrow,” he said, pressing another kiss to your temple. “I’m not letting you walk after this.”

You laughed, weak and flushed. “Bold of you to assume I can walk.”

He smiled against your skin. Smug. Soft. A little in love.

“Good.”

#respectfully saving this for later

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