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willowbelle · 3 months

Text

Sous Chef

sanji & jealousy + possessiveness

per this request from my 500 follower event!

❤︎ sanji x fem reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, afab!reader, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw: teasing, jealousy, obsession, possessiveness, body worship, oral (f receiving) (sanji kneels to eat you out while you're standing), fingering, breast/nipple play, piv sex, unprotected sex, kitchen sex, counter sex, dirty talk, dom!sanji (but he also gets flustered a lot), use of "good girl" + "say my name"

summary: chef innuendos, sweet sanji to jealous sanji pipeline, reader is a huge tease ("i bet that swordsman could fuck me harder" type) reader really pushes sanji's buttons, sanji gets jealous, mentions of sanji being jealous of zoro, possessive sex ensues.

word count: ~5,000

tagging: @sanjisprincesswifey @bby-deerling @maddddstuff

Sous Chef

Sanji is an ardent lover; a devoted man, gentle and caring to the core. He's hellbent on making you his own and maintaining that bond, often expressing it through sweet gestures like gifting flowers, freshly-cooked meals, and handwritten love letters.

However, sometimes the gentle cook gets sloppy, and his tender demeanor falters, allowing his lustful yearnings to take the reins long before his kind heart can intervene.

He's quite susceptible to teasing, easily flustered by your sharp tongue and playful remarks, often hiding his flushed face behind his blonde bangs. His shy demeanor emboldens you, making you feel uncharacteristically confident. You frequently find yourself pushing boundaries, testing the waters to put his adoration to the test, seeing just how much you can get away with before his gentlemanly persona dissolves entirely.

You've never witnessed his possessive nature firsthand, but deep down, you're certain it lies within him. It must.

Today is one of those days; you're determined to draw it out.

————

You’re pushing his buttons, as you often do, and though you've become accustomed to him brushing it off, offering a sweet smile and an amused laugh, today, the tender chef seems… different.

Silently, he moves about the kitchen, his movements precise and deliberate, taking long drags of the cigarette that dangles from his lips as he works. The sizzle of oil, the rhythmic chop of vegetables, and the gentle simmer of sauce provide a soothing backdrop to his thoughts. Yet beneath the surface of his composed facade, jealousy prickles at his skin like tiny, agitated needles.

As he stirs the saucepan, his mind wanders to the image of you with that swordsman, sharing a moment he's not a part of. It gnaws at him, a subtle ache in his chest that refuses to be ignored. He tries to focus on the task at hand, on the symphony of flavors he's orchestrating, but the green-eyed monster coils tighter around his heart with each passing moment.

His movements become more brisk, more forceful, as if trying to exorcise the unwelcome emotions through sheer physical exertion. Yet, despite his best efforts, the simmering resentment refuses to be quelled. It taints the air in the kitchen, adding a bitter undertone to the aroma of spices and herbs.

And so, he continues to cook in silence, the smoke from his cigarette clouding his face, the clatter of utensils masking the turmoil within. He knows that until he can silence the jealousy that festers within him, his efforts will be in vain.

To an outsider, he appears calm, composed, his attention solely fixed on the task at hand. Yet, to you, the recipient of his affection, it's evident that something is amiss. There's a tension in his demeanor, a subtle urgency that belies his usual ease. He's unusually stiff, his movements hurried, and he nervously gnaws at his bottom lip—a stark departure from the fluid grace that typically characterizes his actions.

So, you aim to tease, yet again.

“Don't like me flirting with that swordsman, do ya, cook?”

It’s a playful jab, but one that’s sharp, piercing through the thin veil of his composure. It's innocuous on the surface, a needle, perhaps, but to him, it’s a dagger.

Sanji’s hands momentarily still, the utensil he holds clenched a little tighter. His jaw tenses, and a flicker of hurt flashes in his eyes before he quickly masks it with a forced smile. Inside, jealousy ignites like a sudden spark in the dark, consuming his thoughts and sending a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

In that moment, the carefully constructed facade of calm shatters, revealing the turmoil within. Your words hang in the air, that damn nickname, a painful reminder of the insecurities that gnaw at his soul. He struggles to regain his composure, to push back the rising tide of jealousy threatening to overwhelm him.

But despite his efforts, a crack has formed in his chivalrous armor, and he knows that once unleashed, jealousy is a force that's hard to contain. With a forced laugh and a shaky exhale, he busies himself once more, hoping to drown out the tumultuous emotions that threaten to consume him whole.

“It doesn’t bother me, beautiful,” he murmurs, more so to reassure himself, “I know you’re all mine.”

“Are you sure, Sanji?” you press, casually leaning against the kitchen counter, idly twirling a strand of hair between your fingertips, a deliberate gesture intended to stir his interest. “I don’t know, Zoro’s really been grabbin’ my attention lately.”

Sanji continues to cook, the simmering jealousy within him only grows more pronounced, like a pot left unattended on a blazing stove. Each word that leaves your lips fuels the fire, each syllable stroking the flames of his insecurity. He reaches for another cigarette, his hands trembling slightly as he lights it, the flame flickering in the dimly lit kitchen. The smoke curls around him, a tangible manifestation of his inner conflicts, and he takes a long drag, hoping to find solace in its bitter embrace. He clings to his kind side, outwardly at least,

“A wonderful woman like you has many admirers, I bet.”

He smiles but grits his teeth, the cigarette dangling from his lips like a lifeline, a futile attempt to quell the storm raging within him. The scent of burning tobacco mingles with the aroma of spices and sauces, a bitter undertone to the dishes he’s preparing.

"He'd never love you the way I do," the chef mutters through clenched teeth.

The remark is so subdued that you almost question if you heard it, but the tight grip on his wooden spoon, stirring with such sudden intensity, confirms you’d heard him correctly.

A smirk tugs at your lips. He's jealous. Bingo.

“What’s that, cook?” you jab, “Did ya say somethin’?”

That nickname again, it slices at his heart. He’s been worn thin, and you’ve stretched him to his breaking point.

With a sharp exhale, Sanji stubs out his cigarette, the ember extinguished with finality.

Slowly, he turns to face you, the simmering jealousy that had been gnawing at him now burns brightly in his eyes, an unspoken challenge in their depths.

His movements are deliberate as he approaches, each step echoing with an air of quiet intensity. There's a newfound resolve in his demeanor, a steely determination to confront the source of his unease head-on.

As he stands before you, the tension in the room is palpable, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Yet, despite the storm raging within him, his voice is steady as he finally speaks, his words laced with a quiet authority that brooks no argument.

“I said,” he begins, “That moss-headed loser could never love you like I do, y/n,” he rasps, making you gulp dryly. His expression is authoritative but not unkind as he looks down at you.

For a moment, you’re at a loss for words, caught off guard by the unexpected intensity of his presence. It's a stark reminder that beneath his gentle exterior, lies a depth of strength and resolve you hadn't fully appreciated.

As you take in his determined expression, a flicker of admiration sparks within you mingling with the lingering shock. You realize that this is a side of him you’ve only glimpsed in passing, a facet of his character that demands your attention.

Despite the initial shock, the playful, devilish side of you creeps in once again, up your spine, taking root in your skull.

Leaning in close, your breath tickles his ear as your hand glides up his toned arm, coming to rest gently on his shoulder.

"I believe it's time you remind me who I belong to," you whisper, your voice laced with a playful yet provocative undertone.

The chef feels a tremor run through him, a reaction to the proximity of your touch and the suggestive tone of your voice. His muscles tense beneath your hand as it trails up his arm, a subtle yet undeniable gesture that sends a shiver down his spine.

Despite his efforts to maintain composure, he can feel the telltale flush creeping up his neck, coloring his cheeks with a rosy hue. It's a familiar sensation, one that often accompanies your playful advances, yet it never fails to catch him off guard.

His heart races in his chest, the rapid thud echoing in his ears as he struggles to find his voice amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. With a shaky exhale, he finally manages to muster a response, though it comes out as little more than a breathless murmur.

"Y-Yes, of course," he stammers, his words faltering as he meets your gaze. It's a vulnerable moment, one that exposes the depth of his feelings, and he can't help but feel a surge of both exhilaration and apprehension at the prospect of revealing his true desires.

But beneath the surface tremors and flustered facade lies a steadfast determination, a quiet resolve to seize the opportunity before him and lay claim to the love he knows is rightfully his. And as he gathers his courage, he silently vows to show you, once and for all, just how deeply you belong to him.

In an instant, he’s closing the distance, placing his hands on the countertop on either side of you as he crashes his lips onto yours.

His kiss is urgent, filled with a hunger that mirrors your own, and though his lips are slightly chapped and carry the faint taste of tobacco, you find yourself equally eager, reveling in the sensation of having him exactly where you wanted him—jealous and possessive.

You moan softly into his mouth as his gifted hands find their place on your waist, slender fingers softly digging into your warm skin.

Aiming to rile him up even more, you take the opportunity to take his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging softly on the tender flesh, earning a hearty moan from the man before you.

“Fuck,” he rasps, sliding his hands up your body to grasp at your tits, molding the clothed mounds in his soft hands as his hot tongue snakes its way into your awaiting mouth.

You mewl out at the sensation, a sound that excites the chef beyond belief. You wrap your arms around his neck as your tongues dance together, desperately attempting to get closer to him, to meld into one.

He pulls away, making you whine out at the loss. He pauses a moment, to gaze at you, your blushing face, heaving chest, it's almost too much to bear. He’s quick to connect your skin again, swiftly attaching his lips to the sensitive, untouched flesh of your neck. You whimper at the feeling of his hot lips on your body, the sensation is new and intoxicating, instantly causing goosebumps to bud all over your needy skin.

One of his hands slides up to gently hold your chin as he continues to kiss down the column of your neck, making you softly tilt your head back to give himself more access to your flesh.

“Good,” he rasps against your skin in between kisses, “Just like that, my love.”

The gesture is simple and gentle, but it exhilarates you, the chef is always kind with his touches, but tonight, he knows he’s in charge.

Weak, breathy moans and whines escape your lips as Sanji continues to kiss and nip down your neck, to your collarbones, then your chest. He pauses here, of course, taking his time with each breast. He’s devoted, tracing the contours of your body with reverent hands, his touch tender yet possessive, as if committing every curve and crevice to memory. He hooks his slender fingers beneath the hem of your shirt and shoots you a questioning glance. With your nod of approval, he lifts your shirt over your head slowly, savoring the way your curves are steadily revealed to him. His breath catches in his throat, and his heart pounds in his chest as he takes in the sight before him, drinking in every detail with hungry eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” Sanji whispers, awestricken.

Your cheeks flush a deep crimson at his words. While you've grown quite accustomed to this love-sick chef’s constant compliments on your beauty, this time feels different, as if his words carry a weight of sincerity and authenticity that pierces through his usual flattery.

His fingers linger over every inch of your skin, worshipping you with a fervor that borders on obsession. He revels in the warmth of your flesh beneath his fingertips, the way you respond to his touch with a soft sigh or a shiver of pleasure.

His hands are practiced and skilled, taking their time with your skin the same way he does preparing a plate. He carefully slides his hands up and down your bare torso, tracing your dips and curves with precision. His touches are slow and meticulous but they’re perfect, the right pressure in all the right spots. As if he’s taking his time selecting the finest ingredients, he takes in every aspect of you, savoring each nuance and subtlety.

He reaches around you, using just one skilled hand to unclasp your bra, letting it fall off your shoulders and down to the floor. You gasp softly at the sensation of the cool kitchen air hitting your bare chest, your nipples hardening instantly. He’s kind, picking your bra up off the floor and placing it on the counter before returning his attention back to you.

He waits for a moment, taking in the sight before him. His skin is hot and his cock aches in his ever-tightening pants, but he’s dedicated to pleasing you, determined to worship every inch of you before he lets himself get off. He leans down, hot breath against your hardened buds as he speaks,

“You’re so perfect, y/n,” he whispers against your skin before taking your nipple into his mouth, making you toss your head back and whine softly at the sensation. His mouth is hot around your cool skin, and his tongue is no different, melting you as it swirls slowly around the stiff bud.

“Oh, Sanji-” you whine, your hands flying down and finding themselves in his blonde locks, fingers lacing in the strands as he continues to suck on your breast.

“Mm,” he moans softly before pulling away, just momentarily, to return to your other breast, rewarding it with the same wonderful treatment.

As he sucks and licks at your breast, his hand grants the neglected one with attention, squeezing it softly, rolling and pinching your nipple in between his talented fingers.

The sensation is beyond pleasurable, allconsuming, even, and you feel your core aching for more, dampening your panties.

“Sanji,” you whine, making the chef pull away to look up at you, “I-I need more,” you beg, “Please.”

The man's cheeks flush with a surge of blood in response to your plea. He's taken aback, but undeniably aroused; what sort of man would he be to deny your desires?

“Say no more, my love,” Sanji purrs, instantly sinking to his knees in front of you.

His newfound position ignites something within you—a testament to his unwavering devotion, his fiery passion. As you gaze down at him, the man on his knees before you, ready to fulfill your every desire, it's a powerful reminder of his dedication to your pleasure. It makes heat tickle your skin and take root in your aching cunt, your body slightly trembling as it prepares itself to be pleased.

Sanji’s preparing, too, eyes wide and pupils blown with lust, his mouth watering as he awaits your taste. He loops his fingers beneath the waistband of your skirt before giving them a gentle tug, pulling the fabric down your thighs to pool at your feet.

Part of him wants to wait; oggle you for a moment, your trembling thighs, your slick crotch, but the other part of him, the determined side, overpowers this fleeting yearning, making him to instantly lean forward to plant a gentle, yet firm kiss to your clothed slit.

The sudden sensation causes you to throw your head back, eyes screwing shut as you tug at his strands.

“Mm, Sanji,” you whine, “Please, more.”

Despite his jealousy pangs, he's still a giver in every sense of the word; he knows his head is meant to be slotted between your trembling thighs. And so, he gives in to your pleas, looping a finger beneath the crotch of your soaked panties to tug them aside. He immediately leans forwards, planting another kiss, this time to your bare cunt.

“Fuck,” you inhale shakily, instinctively spreading your legs to give your lover more access to your intimate parts.

“Mmm,” he lets out a pleased noise at your eagerness, granting you with a long, wet stripe of his hot tongue to your needy slit.

“Fuck,” he rasps against your cunt, his words sending vibrations up your body, “Divine,” he groans, licking once more, “You taste divine.”

You moan again, needier this time, more breathless,

“That means a lot, coming from a chef,” you smirk playfully, earning an amused chuckle from the man between your legs.

Sanji continues his gentle assault, his skillful tongue moving up and down slowly from your aching clit to your needy hole, groaning in pleasure as he works.

Your limbs are shaking so you try to ground yourself, planting one palm firmly on the countertop while the other rests on Sanji’s head, your fingers tangled in his golden strands. As he continues to swipe his tongue along your slit, he takes one of your thighs into his hand, lifting your leg so you can rest your foot on his shoulder, allowing you take some weight off your feet, and in turn, allowing himself more access to your needy pussy.

“Fuck,” you moan in pleasure at the gesture, the newfound sensation of Sanji’s tongue stimulating new parts of your cunt making flames of pleasure lash at your skin.

He takes one more solid lick upwards before latching onto your clit, suckling skillfully on the pulsating nub.

“Sh-Shit-!” you curse, throwing your head back, tugging harder on the strands of hair between your fingers.

You instinctively open your thighs, desperate for more, knuckles growing white as your grip the countertop harder with each suck to your clit.

When you open up for him, he brings his dominant hand up, gathering your essence on the tips of his middle and ring fingers before slowly pushing them inside you.

You let out a weak whimper as he pushes his digits inside you, grinding your hips against them.

“Fuck, Sanji-!”

The pace at which he’s suckling on your clit never falters as he begins pumping his slender fingers inside you. They’re gifted things, perfecting cuisine for years, now deep inside you, pulling you further towards your orgasm with each pump and curl.

He curls his fingers with each pass to hit your sweet spot, stars dancing beneath your eyelids as you feel yourself starting to become deliciously overstimulated.

He’s just as desperate as you, sensing you’re close, he begins sucking on your swollen clit more feverishly, pumping his fingers in and out of you with a heightened intensity, hellbent on getting you off, to make you gush on his tongue, to allow him to taste everything you have to give him.

It pays off, and suddenly, you’re a trembling mess, shaking beneath his touch, struggling to hold yourself upright as he maintains his sinful efforts.

“Sanji,” you mewl breathlessly, chest heaving up and down as you struggle to maintain your composure, “I-I’m so close-”

Your words hold sway over this eager man, and he redoubles his efforts to please you, relentlessly pumping his fingers in and out of your throbbing opening, groaning softly against your clit as he continues to suck on it.

Pleasure washes over your instantaneously, making your limbs feel numb and tingly, your orgasm hitting you harshly, white and hot, overpowering, head-spinning.

“Sanji-!” you let out a loud moan, voice trembling as your peak rushes over you.

“That’s it, my love,” he purrs, “Give me all you’ve got”

He laps up everything you’ve given him, as if it was his lifeline, your essence clinging to his chin as he rises to his feet.

Your face is red and flushed, mouth hanging slack as you gasp for air, but before you even have time to catch your breath, the chef’s lips are on yours again. His tongue is rougher this time, more needy, you can tell he’s aching, aching for more.

“Sanji-” you whine needily into his mouth, “Sh-Show me,” you let out a shaky breath, “Show me who I belong to.”

And just like that, you feel the gentle tug of a smirk on your lover’s lips as they’re pressed against yours.

He pulls away slowly, something different in his eyes as he looks down at you.

With deliberate movements, Sanji’s hands glide over the fabric of his suit jacket, his fingers deftly working the buttons until the garment slips from his shoulders, pooling at his feet. Each motion is executed with a sense of purpose, as if shedding the outer layers of his attire is a symbolic gesture, a stripping away of the barriers between him and the object of his desire.

Beneath the jacket, his white dress shirt clings to his skin, hinting at the contours of his lean, muscular frame beneath the fabric. With practiced ease, his eyes never leaving yours, he unfastens the buttons one by one, revealing slivers of bare chest with each exposed inch.

Your breath hitches in your throat as the intricate details of his body are revealed to you; he’s thin, but toned, skin pale and smooth, untouched by the sun. He’s beautiful.

He stands before you, exposed and vulnerable, yet radiating a quiet confidence. There's a rawness to his demeanor; he’s willing to do whatever it takes to prove his devotion to you, to show you who you belong to.

He moves forward again, pressing his soft lips to yours as he slowly busies his hands with his belt buckle.

With each swirl of his tongue around yours, he makes progress with his belt, eventually removing it entirely, placing it on the counter next to you.

Soon enough, he’s sliding his pants down his legs, boxers too, making you gasp slightly into his mouth as his cock is revealed. It’s lengthy and slender, pretty, even, tip flushed a rosy pink and weeping precum.

You breathe shakily into his mouth, placing your hands on either of his toned shoulders, grounding yourself, “Please, Sanji,” you whine.

A smirk tugs at the chef’s lips as he obeys your plea, gently lifting you up to make you sit on the counter. He takes one of your legs and lifts it up, making it bend at the knee, your ankle resting on his shoulder.

Your face flushes at the lewdness of the situation, testing your flexibility as you sit nude on the kitchen counter, leg dangling over the chef’s shoulder.

Sanji lets out a shaky exhale as he takes his throbbing cock in his free hand, bringing his hips forwards to align himself with your entrance.

He shoots you a tender glance, “Are you ready, beautiful girl?” the kind man asks softly.

Locking your eyes with his, you nod, offering a soft smile,

“Ready,” you lean forwards, whispering against his warm chest as you prepare yourself for the intrusion.

Sanji slowly begins swiping his leaking, rosy tip up and down your needy cunt, making you moan softly against his flesh.

He brings his tip downwards to gently prod at your opening before pressing in, hissing through gritted teeth at the tightness of your walls sucking him in.

“Fuck, my love,” he rasps, his grip tightening on your leg as he continues to press in.

“M-Mmm, S-Sanji-” you moan shakily stumbling over your words as you slowly become accustomed to the stretch.

You reach around to dig your nails down his toned back as he finally bottoms out, making the two of you moan in-sync.

You both chuckle softly at the symphony, and Sanji begins, bringing his lean hips back to thrust into you slowly, carefully.

In an instant, he’s filling you entirely, the tip of his length cock coming forward to brush against your g-spot with each pass, making your skin tingle with pleasure.

“Fuck, Sanji,” you curse, nails raking down his back as he fucks you tenderly.

He’s groaning, face flushed red and chest heaving up and down as he gazes down at you, astounded by your body as his cock stuffs you full.

He’s gentle, petrified of hurting you, so he continues as he is, softly and carefully, bringing his free hand down to rub gentle circles against your aching clit.

In the same way a this chef meticulously crafts a culinary masterpiece, he approaches making love to you with a similar intensity, his obsession akin to the creation of a tantalizing dish.

The position you're in--your leg still up on his shoulder-- allows him to get as deep as possible, and although the sensation is welcomed, it’s simply not enough.

You want this gentle man to rail you, to make you come undone beneath him as a result of his skilled cock and brutal thrusts.

And you know just how to make that happen.

You lean forward to whisper against his chest in between moans,

“I wonder if you can fuck me harder than that swordsman could”

And just like that, something changes inside Sanji--a switch flips, a flame ignites-- soft, gentle Sanji retreats, and something new emerges from within him, just like you wanted.

In an instant, he brings his hips back to grant you with a particularly brutal, harsh thrust. His cock slams into you, battering your walls. The sudden intrusion makes you throw you head back and let out a weak squeal, but his pace only increases, thrusting in and out of you with a newfound brashness, his tip bullying your cervix relentlessly with each pass.

He’s brutal, strong, groaning through gritted teeth as he gazes down at you, watching you take his cock over and over and over again, tilting his gaze downwards to watch as your cunt greedily accepts every inch.

“Fuck you harder than this?” he groans, letting out an amused tsk as he continues, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping together harshly dismissing all other noises in the kitchen.

“Fuck, Sanji-!” you whine, screwing your eyes shut as sparks erupt beneath your lids. It’s almost too much, but you asked for it.

“That’s right,” the chef groans, “Say my name”

Your face flushes a darker rouge at the lewdness of his words, you had never heard him speak like this before-- hell, you didn’t even know he was capable.

Your chest is heaving and your mouth and tongue are hanging slack, and your strands of hair sticking to your forehead from your sweat as you take his harsh thrusts, mind flooded with only visions of this sinful chef and his gifted hips.

“Say it,” he groans again, picking up his pace once more, pounding into you mercilessly, now, “I wanna hear it from your mouth,” he rasps, “Say you’re all mine”

Through weak moans and heavy breaths you oblige, your head growing numb as the chef brutally rails you, “Sanji-!” you cry out, “I’m all yours, S-Sanji!”

A smirk tugs at his lips and his grasp tightens on your raised leg as he continues, still rubbing tight circles into your clit as his cock abuses your walls.

“Sanji, Sanji, Sanji-” you whimper, his name falling from your slack mouth like a needy prayer, in time with each of his thrusts.

“That’s it,” he groans smugly, “Don’t forget that name, y/n,”

“You belong to me.”

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roanniom · 7 months

Note

I always like to hope your little drabbles might be inspired by your sweetie podcast guy 👀

Oh they kinda are inspired by him these days 👀

One for the Road

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, a whole lot of oral (f receiving)

“I like this shirt,” Eddie mumbles against your jaw, his fingers playing at the hem of your massive thrifted t shirt. You’re standing in the dappled morning sunlight warming his shitty little apartment kitchen. His hands roam your body with an urgency that belies the way he’d fucked you onto his messy sheets just thirty minutes prior.

“The day I got it I also got a Hellraiser t shirt. Huge. With a big picture of Pinhead on the chest,” you say proudly, smoothing a hand over said chest to indicate where the horror icon’s face would be. Eddie hones in on that one detail, of course, and cups your breasts through your shirt with a groan.

“Oh yeah? If it was that big did you cut the shirt up?”

You shake your head.

“No. I left it big and oversized. You know. Sexy,” you joke. Eddie nods slowly, still focusing all his attention on your tits through this particular shirt.

“Sexy. Oh yeah,” he mutters, completely distracted. He lifts the shirt slightly to reveal the feminine pair of boxers you’ve put on for your drive home. “These are fucking cute.”

“You think?” you ask, wiggling your hips cheekily.

“Yeah, I think,” mumbles against your neck before sucking on your earlobe. You go to say something else but his hand is now sliding under the waistband of your boxers. Within seconds he’s inside your panties and playing with the slick that’s gathered there.

“Eddieeee, I have to go,” you try to argue, but it turns into a gasping whine. Eddie ignores you. Or at least, he ignores your argument. He latches onto one of your nipples through your shirt and looks up at you pointedly to watch your face while he slides two fingers deep inside you. “Oh fuck…”

You don’t know how it happens. You really don’t. One minute you’d had your bag on your shoulder and you were half out the door, and in the next minute Eddie was sliding down to his knees, pushing you up against the wall at the entrance to his apartment. He pulls down your boxers and underwear before you can protest about your lateness any further, and he hooks your leg up over his shoulder before you can do more than grasp at his hair.

“Are you serious? I - oh god.”

Eddie’s mouth is on you and you should be aware of the fact that you’re moaning wantonly right by the door that leads to an inner hallway where all of his neighbors can probably hear you as they set out on their day.

Your bag starts slipping off your shoulder and the lights start flickering - he’d pushed you against the wall where the light switch is, so each time you move you find yourself clicking it on and off with your back.

“Eddie - oh. Eddie!” you try to call his attention to the awkward placement through your laughs and gasps, but he only seems vaguely annoyed by the distraction. He manhandles you over the the kitchen island and you grip at the counter, unsure what he has planned until he gets on his knees from behind you, gripping your hips and pulling your legs back apart so he can get to you with his mouth again.

“Holy fuck…” you yelp, completely overwhelmed by the stimulation. Eddie shoves two fingers deep inside of you again, thrusting and building up momentum until you find yourself forced up onto tiptoes.

You clutch at the counter and do your best to take the force of his thrusting - it feels so fucking good when he curves his fingers just like that - but you’re so overwhelmed you finally have to say something.

“Eddie. You’re making my legs shake! I can’t…” you pant.

You’re not sure what you expected him to do, but either way you’re surprised when he clambers to his feet and grabs you into his arms. Insecure and completely unused to being lifted, you let out a scream, but you’re only in the air long enough for him to deposit you onto one of the stools by the kitchen counter.

“This better for your legs?” Eddie asks, kissing your thighs while he spreads them and settles back on his knees between them.

“Yeah, I guess - Eddie!” you cry out at the feeling of his mouth on you yet again. His lips suction around your clit and he sucks. Hard. Your leg hooks over his shoulder again and your fingers thread through his hair pulling tightly as you hold on for dear life.

You don’t even have time to warn him. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train. You spasm around the fingers he’d some how managed to get back deep inside you at one point, and he laps you up as you rock your hips into his face. Thighs press into his ears while you ride out the feeling.

By the time your breathing has finally returned to normal, Eddie has already gotten up from the floor and started assembling your clothes and bag from where they’d been strewn about.

“You’re gonna be late for work, huh baby?” he asks, with the biggest shit eating grin on his face. A massive erection stands proud in his boxers and you laugh in spite of yourself, fully breathless.

“What the fuck was that, Munson?”

He leans forward to give you a kiss

“That was one for the road.”

~*~

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Thanks for reading, please comment and reblog to let me know what you think!

#I’m being silly - this one is 100% inspired by my Wednesday morning #he shocked the fuck out of me #it was fan fic behavior I was like sir what is this holy shit #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson thots #eddie munson x fem!reader

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princesscait26 · 18 days

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Oh Deer

Alastor x Y/n

Summary: What happens when y/n uses Alastors mug.

The morning hummed with the promise of a new day at Hazbin Hotel. Y/n, feeling the pull of caffeine, ventured downstairs to the kitchen, her eyelids heavy with the remnants of sleep. A cursory glance at her array of cups revealed a mountain of unwashed dishes, prompting a tired sigh. Resigned, she reached for the nearest ceramic, which happened to be Alastor's iconic mug emblazoned with the words "Oh Deer." A mischievous grin crept across her lips as she imagined the chaos she could sow with this borrowed cup.

Pouring herself a generous serving of coffee, she indulged in a sinful amount of sugar and cream, relishing the sweetness that danced across her taste buds. With her concoction in hand, she sauntered into the living room of the lobby, her tail swishing behind her with excitement, ready to tackle the day's challenges.

From his post at the bar, Husk's bleary eyes widened in horror as he spied Y/n cradling Alastor's prized possession. Panic clawed at his chest as he approached her, snatching the mug, his voice a frantic whisper. "Are you out of your mind? He'll have your head for this," he hissed, the fear in his tone.

Y/n chuckled, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she defiantly reclaimed the mug. "Relax, Husk. I'm just a doe enjoying her morning brew," she quipped, her smirk daring him to challenge her further.

Husk's expression wavered between disbelief and trepidation, but ultimately, he decided to wash his hands of the impending chaos. With a resigned shake of his head, he retreated to the safety of the bar, determined not to be caught in the crossfire of Y/n's antics and Alastor's wrath

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Alastor, the illustrious radio demon, embarked on his customary routine. With each step echoing a sense of purpose, he descended into the kitchen, eager to fuel himself with the elixir of wakefulness before ascending to the radio tower for another captivating broadcast, replete with reminders of those who dared to cross him.

However, his meticulously planned morning took an unforeseen detour as he reached for his prized mug, only to find it conspicuously absent from its designated spot. A flicker of confusion danced across his features before morphing into a scowl of irritation. The scent of coffee hung heavy in the air, betraying evidence of recent use. How could anyone be audacious enough to pilfer his cherished vessel?

Venturing into the lobby, Alastor's keen eyes swept over the familiar faces occupying the space. Husk diligently tending to the bar avoiding his bosses gaze, Charlie engaged in animated conversation with Angel Dust, and Vaggie brushing Charlie’s hair—all mundane scenes in contrast to the brewing storm within Alastor's mind.

Yet, it was the sight of Y/n, nestled comfortably amidst a sea of paperwork, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands, that drew Alastor's attention like a moth to flame. A devilish grin spread across his lips as he honed in on the object of his suspicion.

Approaching with predatory grace, Alastor loomed over his favorite little doe, his presence casting a palpable shadow over her workspace. With a tilt of his head and a glint of mischief in his eye, he addressed her in a melodic tone that belied the underlying threat. "What have we here, my dear?" he crooned, his voice a siren's call of danger.

Y/n met his gaze with feigned innocence, her lashes fluttering as she summoned her most pure expression. "Just a cup of coffee, darling," she replied, her voice dripping with sweetness as she dared him to challenge her façade.

A tension lingered between Alastor and Y/n, their relationship a delicate dance of affection and provocation, evident to all who dwelled within its walls. Over time, they had forged a bond woven with pet names and whispered endearments, their connection an open secret among the patrons who watched with bated breath as their story unfolded.

As Y/n sat, in the familiar warmth of Alastor's presence leering against her, sending a cascade of shivers down her spine. His voice, a velvet purr, tickled her ear as he leaned in close, his breath ghosting over the nape of her neck. “That belongs to me, cheri.” Y/n was at a loss for words, heart pounding in her chest and her face as red as Alastor’s ears. With deliberate intent, he materialized before her, his proximity a deliberate distraction as he reached for the mug cradled in her grasp.

A pout graced Y/n's lips as she resisted his advance, her fingers tightening around the mug as if daring him to challenge her claim. Alastor, undeterred by her defiance, closed the distance between them, his nose almost touching hers and his gaze locking with hers in a silent challenge. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife, every eye trained on the unfolding drama, anticipation crackling in the air like electricity.

Charlie, her smile a beacon of encouragement, stood hand in hand with Vaggie, their shared anticipation mirrored in the gazes they exchanged. Husk, his expression a mixture of concern and resignation, braced himself for the inevitable fallout, while Angel Dust held his breath in rapt anticipation, his eyes fixed on the unfolding spectacle.

With bated breath, Y/n awaited Alastor's response, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of apprehension and desire. As he took the mug from her grasp, a triumphant smile graced his lips, the thrill of victory evident in his crimson gaze. He went to retreat as he thought he had won but, Y/n seized his hand with a surge of newfound confidence, pulling him close in a bold display of affection.

“This belongs to me” she says and their lips meet in a fervent kiss, the world around them falling away as they surrendered to the undeniable pull of their attraction. For a moment, time stood still, the only sound echoing through the lobby the soft murmur of their mingled breaths.

As the kiss lingered, a resounding crash shattered the fragile stillness, the sound of breaking glass punctuating the moment jolting them back into reality. Alastor, his resolve crumbling like the shards of his shattered porcelain cup, returned Y/n's embrace with both hands and a passion that ignited the room, their connection transcending the confines of words and gestures.

In the aftermath of their impulsive display, the patrons of the hotel stood in stunned silence, their shock palpable as they beheld the wreckage of Alastor's beloved mug lying in ruins upon the floor. Yet, amidst the debris, a newfound understanding dawned, as they witnessed the depth of Alastor's devotion laid bare in the wreckage of his shattered mug, a sacrifice made in favor of a love that defied all expectations.

Amidst the scattered remnants of Alastor's shattered mug, Nifty, the ever-efficient maid of the Hazbin Hotel, sprung into action with characteristic zeal. "A mess, I'll clean it," she declared, her voice ringing with determination as she swiftly gathered the fragments littering the floor.

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queers-gambit · 6 months

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Campus Breakdown

prompt: ( requested ) after a hard day, at least you can come home to him.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 1.6k+

warnings: reader's a graduate student, cursing, small angst but mostly small hurt bigger comfort.

The door slammed shut in a forceful rattle, making Carmy perk up from his place on the couch. "Baby?" He called, setting aside the magazine you left behind.

"Carmy?" You sounded confused, exiting the foyer to round into the living room. "Hey, what're you doing home so early?"

"Uh, pipe burst at work, left Fak t'deal with it," he sniffled, muting the television. "What's up with you? Or do you always slam doors happily around here?"

You sighed, "Sorry, I just - it's been a day and a half, you know?"

He pouted dramatically, offering, "Wanna tell me 'bout it?"

"It won't fix what happened."

"No, but it might help get it off your chest, filter a little emotion."

You nodded absently, "I think I might want a glass of wine first - maybe two."

He felt a surge of empathy in his chest, knowing that distant look in your eyes and the way your entire demeanor seemed absent, distracted, exhausted. Work often kicked his ass, too, so there was an understanding after so many nights you had let him rant and rave about whatever went wrong - it was only right to return the favor.

Carmy readjusted the pillows and coffee table, leaning over to light the scented candle you kept there; grabbing a blanket to prepare for you. When you entered the living room, you had stripped out of your pants and was pouring a glass of wine, leaving the bottle on the cleaned-up coffee table; sighing when you dropped onto the couch.

"All right, pretty girl," Carmy chuckled, pulling your feet into his lap. You readjusted with a small grumble as Carmy then tossed the blanket over you, but left your feet out for him to massage. "Tell me what happened today."

You held up a single finger, downing more than half your glass of wine. Carm's brows perked up, blinking in shock before nodding slowly when you swallowed. "Today. Fucking. Sucked," you told him.

"I can see that, and feel it - your feet are knotted," he noted, working his thumbs into the meat. "Did you sit down at all today?"

"Well, no, 'cause I had to work alone today," you groaned. "Lisa has mono, Brittany had to make up some exam, Benjamin apparently had a meeting with the bursar's office, and Stacy literally stood outside, fighting with her boyfriend - like what!?"

Carmy offered you a stale look in reaction to your story, "She get docked?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, I kinda had to; she didn't bus a single table, she didn't talk to a single customer, like, the only other person working with me today was Carl and he was in the kitchen the whole time."

"Doesn't sound exactly fair..."

"It's a shitty campus diner, Carmy, 'fair' isn't exactly in their vocabulary, but the tips are semi decent 'cause we have that 'drunk rush special'. Oh! Wait! That's not all," you hummed, taking another gulp. "'Cause why would anything go right on a day I worked the entire floor alone? Right?"

"What else?" He asked, turning in his seat so he could face you directly; still massaging your feet, but leaning his cheek on your bent knee to remain close.

"The fucking register went down."

"You mean the only one in the whole place?"

"Yep, of course! 'Cause why the fuck wouldn't anything go right?" You scoffed. "And it's not like any of this was, like, hidden, you know? It was very obvious I was working alone, the register was fucked, but do you think that made anyone empathetic towards the situation? No, of course not, they wanted to just pay their bills and leave. Which I fucking get! But like, what!?"

"What'd you do?"

"Took cash only," you shrugged. "ATM was still up and running, so it was on them," you wiped you eyes, sighing deeply. "Still bitched the whole time though, complained to whoever listened. End of the night, that new manager even docked my tips, you believe that?"

"Hold up - for what?" Carm snapped.

"Customers were that pissed, Carmy, so a few of them dined-and-dashed, someone had to pay," you whined, head tilted back. "Like I did any of this on purpose? Like I went and unplugged shit myself? Like I wanted to make my life significantly harder? Do people even fucking think by themselves now? Where's the empathy?"

"Nah, they definitely lack in that department," he chuckled. "Know what I'm gonna say, right?"

"Hmm? Oh, Carmy, no," you groaned, "I'm not working at The Beef."

"It's ten times better than where you work, baby," he pouted. "And I could use someone with experience like yours with the customers. Richie's not always the best 'face of the store', you know?"

"No, Carmy," you refused sternly.

"C'mon, why not?"

"You as my boss? And boyfriend? Fuck no!"

"I'm literally so nice!"

"Yeah, that's exactly what Sydney says," you laughed, nudging his stomach with your foot. "Baby, no. Listen, I appreciate it, I really do, but I get ten times the tips at that shitty diner than I would at The Beef, and it's right on campus so I lose literally no time."

He sighed, "You're only, what? A year out from your Masters?"

"Just about," you grumbled with a pout.

Carmy chuckled, "C'mon, baby, don't torture yourself. Get a new job."

"I'm not, I'm just - " You cut yourself off with a sigh, hating that advice (as if it were just so simple), shaking your head and finishing your wine. "I'm just dealing with my current circumstances, I'm sorry I came home in a bad mood - "

"No, hey, wait," Carmy sat up, reaching for your cheek to hold, "I didn't mean to make you feel as if I was shutting you down. Baby, I always want you t'talk to me, okay? I just mean, there's something better out there, and you deserve better than that place. I hate seeing you so stressed out," he pouted dramatically, making you snicker lightly.

"You're one to talk," you reminded softly, sitting up so you could nestle under his arm. "You're stressed out, like, more than 90% of the time."

"Hey now, we're talkin' about your day, not mine," he deflected with a small chuckle. "What if I asked around a bit? You know, a different server job? I can check out places close to campus, but you'd get much better tips and better customers at a nicer place."

You groaned, "Now that sounds nice." He chuckled with you now. "I mean, it's bad enough I have to deal with those creepy frat boys in class, but in the diner, I have to play nice 'cause they tip with daddy's money well if I don't shut them up. It'd be nice working somewhere they couldn't even afford t'walk into."

"See? I'm good for something."

"You're good for everything, Carm, shut up," you laughed, leaning up to kiss his jawline. "I'm just tired of this whole 'pay your dues' bullshit. You know? I get having to suffer a little to build a better character, but for fuck's sake."

Carmy pouted, "Sounds like a second glass of wine kinda rant?"

You pouted back at him, nodding, both mockingly making little noises as he lifted from his sitting position to snag the bottle of wine. You smiled as he poured, watching his face, loving the effect he had on you; feeling calm and serene, and it wasn't the alcohol. When the bottle was set aside again, he tugged your legs over his lap and laid one of his arms around your shoulders; keeping you snuggled close and under the blanket.

"What else happened?" He asked softly, kissing your temple.

"I don't want to sound like I'm just bitching."

"How else do you expect to blow off steam? Huh?" He countered. "You're not bothering me, I want to hear this, baby - all of it. So, lemme recount, yeah? Okay, so, you worked alone your whole shift with only the frycook in the back, the cash register went down, and that made a buncha customers all pissed off. Enough that a few dipped off and you had to cover their bills. But the ATM was good, so they could still pay cash, but they were still being dickheads, yeah?"

"Mhm," you hummed, halting yourself.

"Nuh-uh, c'mon, what else?"

Tears sprung to your eyes as your head lulled onto his shoulder. "It was just a really shitty day, Carm," you whispered, giving a small sniffle. "Guys are grimy and gross, they garnished my wages 'cause of those dashers - I told you. It was a fucking shit show! Oh, and a few bulbs blew all within 10 minutes of each other - like fully snap, crackle, and pop, blew out. So, I had to call the electrician, he took over 2 hours to get there, so, part of the back dining room was darker and this group of guys all decided to sit back there - it was so fucking creepy!"

Carmen frowned, listening to you rant and rave about how overworked and under appreciated you were. He held you tight, raking a hand through your hair, tracing invisible patterns on your upper arm; keeping you close as the wine slowly sunk into your blood. You grew less lucid by the passing hour, mostly the exhaustion sinking in, but Carmy didn't mind.

He just adjusted you both on the couch so he was laid out with you safely tucked between the cushions and his body. You had long since changed subjects; going from shitty work conditions to sports to your coursework load, then to The Beef, breezed over whatever Richie's daily attitude was about, then quietly debated if Carmy was taking the weekend off to spend it with you. Now, the TV was the only light on in the apartment, wine bottle empty, you resting on Carmy's chest; his arms tight around you, blanket tangled around your legs, both speaking quietly into the night before sleep claimed you both.

requesting rules and masterlist

The Bear masterlist

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msgexymunson · 1 year

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walking around the house in nothing but one of eddie's old t-shirts... knowing that the second he sees you, you're getting bent over the nearest surface.

Well! How could I say no to this??

Warnings: p in v unprotected sex (wrap it folks) implied established relationship, dom Eddie x sub fem reader

A/N: this was a good ask, exactly what I like, short and dirty (just like me) Comments and reblogs are what keep the cogs and springs in my steampunk heart oiled ❤️

Masterlist

Humming along to the radio in the warm light of the trailer, you try to be helpful, mixing ingredients in a plastic bowl you'd found in a cupboard. Eddie had left to do a deal and his uncle was away all weekend, so you'd crawled out of bed and decided to whip up some pancakes. He'd mentioned them the night before and left you with a craving so you thought you'd surprise him.

You pad around the kitchen barefoot, only wearing one of Eddie's old Hellfire T shirts, the one he hated since it was too big. It was perfect for you as a makeshift dress, just covering the curve of your butt.

Reaching on tippy toes you examine the top cupboard trying to excavate a frying pan from its depths. Over the sound of the tinny radio and your own clattering you don't notice the opening of the trailer door, or the metallic sound of Eddie's keys falling to the ground in shock.

You cannot help but notice a warm torso against your back and an unmistakable bulge pressing directly against your ass. Jumping with shock, a squeal escapes your lips.

"Jesus Eddie you scared me!"

No words. Just a firm hand gripping you by the hip, the other snaking fingers across your jaw, and a strong body pushing you hard against the counter. Panic grips you for a moment. What if it isn't Eddie?

That is until hot breath winds its way into your ear.

"Baby, look at you. What are you doing?"

You attempt to answer, whilst he grinds his hardness against the fat of your ass cheeks.

"I-I was, I was making pancakes. I was gonna surprise you?" Your words are unsure; he almost sounds mad, belying the urgent gestures of his hips.

"I mean, what are you doing in my shirt? Jesus baby, you look smokin' hot."

You attempt to move but Eddie's holding you still, hand now gripping the nape of your neck whilst the other smooths across your curves and under the hem of his old shirt. As his fingertips ghost across your heat you can't help but back into his feathering touch.

"Fuck, you're not even wearing panties? Well, fuck."

His hand moves away, making you frown, until you hear the unmissable clink of his handcuff belt. Eddie unzips his jeans and pushes them down just far enough to release his cock from its denim confines.

You feel the weeping tip rut against your slickened folds making you jolt.

"Eddie, please." It comes out needy, begging; exactly how he likes it.

"Yeah? You want it? Is that why you're wearing my shirt and nothing else?" You hear the grin in his voice and the wet noise of him spitting into his hand to wrap it around his dick.

When he starts pushing into you a gasp forces its way out of your lungs; air expelling in relief at him entering you.

Eddie gives you no time to adjust. He simply ruts into you animalistically, one hand gripping your hip leaving indents in your skin, the other leaning on the countertop as leverage, allowing him to drive into you as hard as possible.

"You drive me crazy, just walking around in my shirt, and, fuck, nothing else. You fuckin' menace."

"Eddie!" You try to retort but there's no air to breathe, unable to snap back when he's fucking you this brutally.

You feel a deep bubbling in your stomach, a powerful release clamping down on your insides, about to spill. Eddie's thrusts become sloppy and somehow even deeper as you scream your release out into the world, pussy gripping him as if it were afraid to let him go. Eddie cums inside you with a drawn out groan, body flopping over yours on the countertop.

Pressing soft kisses to your temple, he pulls from your heat and stands. You're not so lucky, legs wobbling, nearly giving out from under you like a new-born fowl.

"Woah there, sweetheart" Eddie says as he grasps you firmly by your waist. "You OK?"

Steadying yourself, you turn to face him.

"Hi."

"Hi." He chuckles, peeling a strand of hair out of your face. "You wanna go and clean up and I'll make the pancakes?"

"Sure" You grin, planting a kiss to his chapped lips.

"You wanna hand me that then sweetheart?"

Confusion floods your face, until your eyes follow his, and realise your gripping onto the spatula you had in your hands when he came in. You hand it over, fingers releasing from their death grip.

"That good eh?" Eddie smirks, full of himself.

"Shut up Munson" You hit his arm, but there's no force in it, as you make your way to the bathroom. It was, after all, a hell of a way to wake up.

I only had a tag list for Rumour, so if anyone wants to be on my general Eddie taglist please comment/reblog to say so!

@munson-blurbs @eddiesprincess86

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sughuru · 6 months

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you, me, and the sky above

- gojo satoru x reader

In the quiet stillness of the night, you find yourself waking to an empty bed, wondering where Satoru disappeared to. As you search for him throughout your shared home, you discover him staring into the dark sky, his eyes revealing the weariness from a challenging mission.

genres/warnings: angsty, fluff, hurt/comfort

notes: hello hello this is my first post on this acc so if you'd like to read more of my work, come check out my other works! my first language isn't english so don't mind the grammatical errors, sorry! :') anyways i love satoru sm u dont understand

home | masterlist

—

You woke up to the bed being empty and cold. Strange, you could’ve sworn Satoru went to bed with you last night. You grabbed your phone to check the time, reading 3:02 AM. It's barely three; where did he go? You got on your feet and slowly dragged yourself out of the bedroom to look for the man.

“Babe?’ you called out, flicking the light switch on in the bathroom, assuming he went to the toilet but there was no one. Then to the kitchen it was, maybe he needed a cup of water–But that wouldn’t make sense; he always has a cup of water by the bed in case either of you wakes up feeling thirsty. Perhaps he went out for a run, or was it an emergency mission; still, he would’ve told you. Just when you were about to give up, you noticed him.

Satoru, your boyfriend, staring out into the dark sky. What was he searching for? Upon closer inspection, you noticed the dark circles around his eyes, his eyes were slightly puffy, his blindfold dangling loosely around his bare neck.

Surprisingly, he didn’t sense your presence, he always managed to notice you but tonight, his thoughts seem to be elsewhere.

"Satoru," you said softly, approaching him cautiously. The moonlight highlighted the contours of his face, and you could see the weariness etched into his expression. You knew about how exhausting the mission was yesterday, even his facade wasn’t strong enough to fool you. Yet, you didn’t say anything, not wanting to upset him any further.

"Is everything okay?" you asked, your concern evident in your voice. Satoru turned to you, and for a moment, it seemed like he hadn't expected anyone to notice his silent contemplation. His eyes, usually vibrant with energy, now carried the weight of unspoken burdens.

Satoru hums in response, a quiet one. Usually, he would whine about how the higher-ups made him do such a tough mission or how he has to work overtime, missing out on spending time with you. Tonight, he just stayed silent.

"I didn't mean to worry you," he said, his voice carrying a weight you hadn't heard before. "I’m sorry.” he dryly laughed, plastering a smile on his face, except, that smile didn’t reach his eyes. You frowned, realizing that he wasn’t letting his guard down anytime soon.

"Don’t," you responded gently, your hand resting on his.

Satoru took a deep breath, his gaze shifting away for a moment before returning to meet yours. “I just... I needed a moment,” he admitted, his voice soft but laden with sincerity. “The mission, it hit me harder than I thought.”

For a moment, Satoru's shoulders relaxed a fraction, as if the weight he carried had found a temporary respite. "The mission...it took a toll on me more that it should have, I-”

You squeezed his hand, offering a silent reassurance. "You don't have to go into details if you're not ready. But know that I'm here to listen whenever you're ready to share."

The two shared a moment of peaceful silence.

You prompted gently, "Is that why you're awake?"

Satoru shook his head, his gaze momentarily dropping. "Bad dream," he admitted, the vulnerability in his voice belying his usual confidence.

Your heart sank at the revelation. "Satoru-" you whispered, tightening your grip on his hand.

Satoru sighed, and a playful glint entered his eyes. "What happened to 'you don't have to go into details'?" he asked, a lighthearted tone replacing the previous heaviness in his voice.

You couldn't help but smile at the sudden change in atmosphere. "Well, you know me," you replied, matching his playful tone, "I can’t help it, I’m nosy.” she pouts

Satoru chuckled as he pulled her into his arms tightly, “come here, you’ll get cold.” He looked up at the stars again, admiring them. You couldn’t help but admire him. His blue eyes, they always shone brightly even in the darkest of nights.

"Come on," you said gently, offering a reassuring smile. "Let's head back inside. We can talk more if you want, or we can just sit in silence. Whatever you need."

Satoru's grip on the balcony’s railing loosened, and he followed you back into the warmth of the indoors. As you closed the door behind you, you couldn't help but hope that the darkness outside wouldn't linger within him for much longer.

“I love you, you know that?” he smiled, this time, reaching his eyes. You smiled back, “I love you too.”

Satoru’s blue eyes that were dulled moments ago, now sparkled with hope and love once again. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss against his forehead, a promise of warmth and solidarity.

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peanut-butter-parkerxx · 2 months

Text

Summary: A baking adventure which includes a hot make-out sesh, a food fight and a whole lotta fluff and banter Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Fem!reader Prompt(s): Friends to lovers, "i can't believe you talked me into this.", "Stop moving and let me braid your hair." Warning: food fight, kissing, making out, sensual touching

REQUEST FORM II NAVIGATION

The kitchen is suffused with the delightful aroma of freshly baked cookies, and warmth from the oven as Y/n bustles about humming a tune whilst preparing batches of chocolate chip cookies.

Elijah grins mischievously as he spots Y/n carefully measuring out the ingredients for the cookies. With a playful twinkle in his eyes, he reaches for the bag of chocolate chips, skillfully snagging it from the counter.

Y/n's attire exudes a cozy charm, with a white long-sleeved cropped top complementing her figure. Paired with grey shorts, her outfit strikes the perfect balance between comfort and style. A cute bow adorns her cascading hair, which is styled in a playful half-up, half-down fashion, framing her face with effortless grace.

Elijah: "Need these, Y/n?" Y/n looks up, surprised, but a smile spreads across her face at Elijah's playful antics.

"Hey, those are for the cookies!"

Elijah chuckles, winking at her before handing over the bag of chocolate chips. He's clad in black pants and a cuffed white shirt, which he rolls up the sleeves to his elbows. Y/n can't help but feel a warm flutter in her chest as she watches him, appreciating the subtle gesture of charm.

"You look good with your sleeves rolled up like that, Elijah." Y/n remarks as Elijah grins, his eyes sparkling with amusement at her comment. He then adds with a playful smirk, stepping closer to her.

"Need me to carry you over there so you can reach the ingredients?"

Y/n rolls her eyes, laughing softly at his teasing. "Very funny, Elijah. I think I can manage on my own, thank you."

As Y/n reaches for the baking soda on the highest shelf, her fingertips barely brush against it, and she sighs in frustration.

Before she can react, Elijah scoops her up into his arms effortlessly, surprising her. Y/n's heart skips a beat as she finds herself being carried, her feet leaving the ground.

Y/n: "Elijah, I—"

But her words trail off as she realizes the close proximity, feeling the warmth of his touch against her bare skin. The cropped top she's wearing allows Elijah's to use the opportunity to touch and caress her in a way that makes the moment feel intimate and sensual. His hand grazing her stomach and sending shivers down her spine.

Elijah chuckles softly, his warm breath tickling her ear as he carries her closer to the shelf.

"Just helping you out, Y/n. Thought you could use a lift." He speaks as if carrying an entire person was child's play.

After retrieving the baking soda with Elijah's help, Y/n holds onto the item as he gently sets her down on the kitchen counter. She watches him with a mixture of surprise and affection as he positions himself between her legs, a playful glint in his eyes.

"What are you up to now?"

"I thought I'd surprise you," he whispers, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down her spine. His fingers start to trace delicate patterns on her inner thighs, slowly inching closer to where she craves his touch the most.

Y/n's heart races as anticipation builds within her, her body instinctively arching towards him. His hands, both gentle and possessive, cradle her face as he leans in, his gaze ablaze with unwavering intensity, conveying both reverence and longing. With a delicate touch, he traces the contours of her jawline and collarbone, savoring the warmth of her skin against his fingertips. his expertise leaving her breathless. There's a softness to his expression, a tenderness that belies the intensity of his desire. As their breaths mingle in the intimate space between them, Elijah's voice, a low, husky murmur, whispers words of adoration and desire, punctuated by the confession,

"I crave the taste of your lips, the feel of your skin against mine, the sound of your breath mingling with mine." With a gentle yet purposeful motion, Elijah leans closer, time seems to slow to a standstill as he hovers just inches away, his lips tantalizingly close to hers, teasing and tempting with the promise of sweet surrender. In that moment, there's nothing else in the world but the pull of their connection, the longing that pulses between them, as Elijah leans closer still, closing the gap between them until their lips finally meet in a tender, passionate kiss.

Elijah holds Y/N tightly by the waist, pulling her closer to him with an unwavering determination. Y/N responds to his touch with a soft gasp of pleasure, her body instinctively leaning into his embrace, seeking warmth and security in his arms. his embrace is both protective and possessive, drawing her closer to him with a strength that leaves no room for doubt about the depth of his desire. Their chests rise and fall in unison, each breath mingling with the other's in a rhythm that echoes the pounding of their hearts.

Y/N's fingers thread through Elijah's hair, a low rumbling sound escapes his throat, a mixture of pleasure and desire, as he instinctively leans into her touch, savoring the sensation of her fingertips against his scalp. His own breath catches in his throat as he draws her closer, his senses overwhelmed by the heady scent of her skin and the taste of her lips lingering on his own.

The moment is suddenly interrupted as Kol and Rebekah enter the room, catching them in their intimate embrace. There's a fleeting moment of surprise before Elijah, ever the epitome of composure, swiftly composes himself, though the flicker of desire still lingers in his eyes.

As Kol saunters into the room, his eyes twinkling mischievously, he can't resist adding his signature flair, "Well, well, what do we have simmering here, lovebirds?" His teasing remark punctuates the moment, eliciting a chuckle from Elijah and a playful roll of the eyes from Y/n

Rebekah arches an amused eyebrow and offers a sly smile, her tone teasing yet affectionate, "Seems like we've interrupted quite the cozy scene here. Do I even want to know what you two have been up to?" She winks.

Elijah's lips quirk into a subtle smile, amusement dancing in his eyes as he adds, "Y/n was just indulging in her latest culinary experiment."

Y/n, feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks at being caught in such a moment with Elijah by her friends, chuckles nervously, "Yeah, I thought I'd give baking a try. Turns out, it's a bit more eventful than I anticipated." She shoots Elijah a playful look.

"Well, I must say, Y/n, your baking skills certainly have the power to surprise." Elijah gently gripped Y/N's waist as they stood together, his touch tender yet firm. With a subtle squeeze, he conveyed a sense of intimacy and affection, his fingers lightly embracing Y/N's form.

But out of nowhere, from the corner of Rebekah's eye, Rebekah spots the bowl of flour on the counter, calling her name.

"I call dibs on the flour!" With a grin, she grabs a handful and throws it at Kol, who retaliates with a handful of chocolate chips. In the chaos that ensues, flour fills the air like a soft snowfall, and chocolate smears decorate their faces and clothes.

Elijah steps in front of Y/n, shielding her from the impending mess. His stance protective as he creates a barrier between Y/N and the flurry of flour as Y/N continues with her baking, unfazed by the flour flying past them.

Y/N lets out a playful laugh, nudging Elijah's side with a grin. "Well, that was a close call, wasn't it? Almost got caught in the crossfire there," she jokes, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Elijah turns to her, his expression softening as he leans in closer, his hand finding its place gently on her waist. With a subtle smile, he murmurs, "Indeed, my dear, but I believe we have some unfinished business," his voice laced with a hint of playful mischief as he draws her into another tender kiss, their surroundings fading into the background as they savor the moment together.

Kol, in the midst of the flour fight frenzy, accidentally flings a dollop of food that lands squarely on the back of Elijah's shirt. The unexpected impact catches Elijah's attention, causing him to turn around with a bemused expression, only to find himself face to face with the mischievous grins of Kol and Rebekah.

With a chuckle, Elijah shakes his head in mock exasperation, but his gaze quickly returns to Y/N, a fond smile gracing his lips. "Seems you’re not the only one in need of protection," he teases, his hand still resting on her waist as he leans in closer.

Kol seizes the opportunity to launch a handful of flour in Y/N's direction. The powdery substance catches her by surprise, dusting her shoulders and hair with a fine white layer.

Y/N lets out a surprised laugh, brushing off the flour with a playful swat at Kol. "Oh, you're asking for it now, Kol!" she warns, her eyes dancing with mischief.

As the flour fight reaches its peak, Elijah can't help but chuckle as he watches Y/N fully immersed in the playful chaos, her laughter contagious.

"Alright, that's enough, children," Elijah calls out with mock sternness, his tone laced with amusement. "Let's save some flour for the actual baking, shall we?"

Rebekah and Kol exchange knowing glances, their laughter still bubbling just beneath the surface. Kol chuckles, wiping flour off his face. "Aw, come on, Elijah! Where's your sense of fun?"

"I thought you enjoyed a little messiness now and then." Rebekah quipped, eyeing him and y/n as if to mock the intimate moment they've had a few minutes prior.

Elijah rolls his eyes in mock exasperation, a fond smile playing on his lips. "There's fun, and then there's flour all over the kitchen," he retorts, unable to hide his amusement at his siblings antics.

"Look what you've done, you two!" Elijah add as he gestures toward Y/N, who is now adorned in a cloud of flour. "Y/N's covered in flour!"

"Well, it seems Elijah's gone all soft when it comes to you, Y/N. Watch out, he might try to put you in bubble wrap next!" Y/n blushes, feeling a warmth spreading through her cheeks at Kol's teasing.

Rolling his eyes at their teasing once again, Elijah adopts a mock stern expression. "Enough with the teasing, you two," he chides, "If you're quite finished turning my kitchen into a battleground, I suggest you clean up this mess."

Turning his attention back to Y/N, his expression softening as he gazes at her amidst the floury chaos. "Come, love," he says gently, offering her a hand. "Let's leave these two to clean up while we wash up upstairs. You can return to a clean kitchen to finish your culinary pursuits." Y/N's eyes light up with gratitude as she takes Elijah's hand, a smile playing on her lips.

#fluff #daniel gillies #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x female reader #elijah mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson #new orleans #rebekahmikaelson #vampires #kol mikaelson

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xuchiya · 2 months

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baker's secret ingerdient {k.yeosang}

cafe love m.list || k.hongjoong || p.seonghwa || j.yunho || k.yeosang || c.san || s.mingi || j.wooyoung || c.jongho

The rhythmic thwack of Yeosang's whisk against the metal bowl was a familiar soundtrack to his mornings at Cafe Love. Flour dusted his apron like a badge of honour, a testament to the countless pastries he'd brought to life within these walls. But lately, the melody of his baking had a discordant note – the growing number of disappointed sighs as customers learned his signature croissants were sold out yet again.

Seonghwa, the manager along with the food decor, were concerned about the head baker and the pressure. Seonghwa approached the flour covered man, “Yeo …”

“I don’t need help hyung …” Seonghwa feels bad that Yeosang can’t express his burden yet he understood from the dark circles underneath his eyes, the hunch of pressure on his shoulders. Seonghwa glanced at the lady at the corner, looking at them with a frosting on her cheeks.

Seonghwa sighs, “I’ll look for a way.”

Yeosang prided himself on his creations, each croissant a delicate masterpiece – flaky, golden, and bursting with buttery goodness. But the demand had become overwhelming, for days that turned into weeks that it became too much for him that he finally broke down with Seonghwa about his pressure and in need of help.

He needed an assistant, someone who could share the burden and the joy of baking.

The double door of the kitchen chimed, announcing a new arrival. Yeosang glanced up, expecting Seonghwa with another piece of bad news. Instead, a young woman with eyes as bright as blueberries stood hesitantly by the counter. Her hair, the color of melted chocolate, was pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.

"Can I help you?" Yeosang asked, his voice cold despite the flour dusting his nose that makes him soft and warm.

The woman stammered, "I, uh, saw the sign about the baker assistant position. Your manager told me to head here since today will be a little more crowded than usual, and don’t worry, I love to bake!"

Intrigued, Yeosang wiped his hands on his apron, approaching the woman with left eyebrow raised, "Love to bake, huh? Let's see what you've got then." He led her to another table, just across his, a haven of flour sacks and the intoxicating aroma of sugar and butter. Your eyes widened as you took it all in.

"This place is amazing!" You exclaimed, her enthusiasm infectious. Yeosang gave her a neutral look. "Tell me that, when you can handle 24 pieces of croissant, 20 pieces of brioche and 10 blueberry muffins."

You grinned, placing your shoulder bag down, rolling your sleeves up to your elbows; tying the complicated apron around you, "Challenge accepted."

The following hour was a flurry of activity. Flour flew, butter creamed, and the air filled with the comforting scent of baking. Yeosang watched intently as you handled the dough with surprising dexterity. Your movements were quick and confident, belying her initial nervousness yet there was something itching on Yeosang as he watched you knead the dough.

“You’re hurting your wrist if you keep doing that.” Yeosang shakes his head, approaching the woman. You move to the side to watch him knead the dough easily before removing to the side again to recreate his actions but Yeosang sighs in disappointment making you look down; you were so confident about the things you've been doing and the moment you heard that made your confidence deflate but you have to keep up with the professionalism and continue kneading the dough.

You heard Yeosang sigh once again before you felt presence on your back and a soft grip on the back of your hands as it led you to kneading on his pace. You felt his breath fanning your nape, “This is how I do it so I wouldn’t hurt my wrist.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch, paralyzed, with the close proximity of your warmth against your head baker. Your heart wasn’t also helping with the situation.

“... understood?” Your eyes widen, looking to your left; having an intense eye contact with Yeosang. Both of your hands halted, just resting each on top of each other. Yeosang had admitted the moment he was kneading the dough with you, your sweet perfume lingering in his nose and your face that was covered in flour.

You both pulled away, looking away from each other as the redness so evident on your faces. Yeosang cleared his throat, clearing the awkwardness, “Continue doing your job.”

They worked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the rhythmic kneading and the satisfied sighs escaping the oven as a new batch emerged. Finally, Yeosang pulled out a golden brown croissant, its layers impossibly thin and perfectly risen. He held it up for inspection.

You look closely at the croissant, “How is it?” You look at him– at the same time– Yeosang glance at you. Once again, you find yourself in your own world as his eyes trails on your eyes, down to your nose then to your cherry lips then back to your eyes.

You were doing no better as you took notice of his birthmark on his left eye, his lashes resting so perfectly that it made his eyes big and sparkly that you wouldn’t get tired looking at them.

“If you both are gonna kiss, please do it after the rush hour.” You and Yeosang pullaway to see Wooyoung leaning on the door with his arms crossed and playful smirk on his lips. Yeosang nodded, a hint of red on his cheeks, “Yes, of course.”

The day ended with a success, your smile was brighter than the fresh pastry, turning to your head baker, "We did it!"

Yeosang couldn't help but return the smile. He'd found his assistant, someone who not only shared his passion but also possessed a talent that rivaled his own.

The afternoon rush was a whirlwind. Customers who'd previously left disappointed walked away with bags filled with warm, flaky croissants, their faces beaming with satisfaction. The pressure lifted from Yeosang's shoulders, replaced by a newfound sense of camaraderie as he and you worked side-by-side, a well-oiled baking machine.

By the time the cafe closed, exhaustion mingled with a deep sense of accomplishment. Leaning against the counter, Yeosang looked at you, another set of flour dusting your cheeks like a baker's badge of honor.

"Welcome to Cafe Love," he said, a genuine smile gracing his lips. You grinned back. "Thanks for having me. This is going to be fun."

As they cleaned up, they talked about baking dreams and favorite pastries, their laughter echoing through the quiet cafe. You were wiping your table when you realised how this customer always comes back ordering his pastry with so much adoration.

You spun on your heel, “Uh Yeosang?” Yeosang was busy placing back his utensils but still managed to acknowledge you, “Yes?”

You twist the towel as a sign of nervousness, “Every baker in town has its secret ingredient … Do you happen to have one?” Yeosang pauses, silently placing the last utensil inside the drawer before closing it. He looks up, wiping the cloth on his fingers as he approaches you with big strides.

Your breath hitch as you watch Yeosang lean on your ears, “It’s something you wouldn't believe even if I told you." He stops just short of your ear, his voice a low murmur sending shivers down your spine. You can feel the warmth of his breath tickle your neck."But maybe, I can show you sometime."

You were slightly confused until Wooyoung came barging into the kitchen with his enthusiastic smile, “Hey love birds! Seonghwa wants to have a drink for another successful week for us, so if you guys are finished come outside.” You nodded, placing the rag inside your apron, “Of course, thank you Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung winks at you, “Anything for you, darling and anything for this Cafe Love.” You did not question his last statement as you helped Yeosang on the cups before Wooyoung returned back inside again, just sticking his head, “Ahh .. you guys can kiss now.”

“Wooyoung!” Both you and Yeosang exclaimed, making Wooyoung cackle loudly before exiting the kitchen, “Oi~ Benvolio, take this chance man.” Yeosang chuckles at Wooyoung, hushing him.

“Benvolio? From Romeo and Juliet?” You question, Yeosang nodded, “He named me after Romeo’s cousin, for no reason.”

You pouted, thinking about the tragic love story, “From what I remember, Benvolio is like someone who tried to mediate the conflict between the families, and he was also the reason Romeo and Juliet got together. He's the nicest character that I have observe, he deserves someone to be love, you know.”

Yeosang looks at you, intrigued. He does not know much about the tale but it somehow matches what he did to Wooyoung and to his lover though, Yeosang helps Wooyoung to do the first move in talking; he and Wooyoung aren’t close as being blood related hence cousins.

But Yeosang didn’t mind much of it and continued doing his work. Yeosang knew then that Cafe Love wasn't just about the delicious treats; it was about the connections forged over shared passions and the joy of creation. And with you by his side, the symphony of baking at Cafe Love was about to get even more beautiful.

Yeosang glance at the old worn out book, it was closed but he knew inside those were the secret ingredients of creating a pastry full of love. It was a book given by Wooyoung’s significant other, Wooyoung’s long lost Juliet.

Yeosang had seen how his best friend fell in love and experienced love. So he made an oath that not every single soul will experience love not only through emotions but through food.

Yeosang smiles, looking over at you, his smile brightens and extends, “Benvolio is indeed a nice person to deserve himself a beautiful lover in this life.”

#ateez x reader #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez soft hours #ateez soft thoughts #ateez yeosang #kang yeosang x reader #kang yeosang scenarios #kang yeosang fluff #8 makes 1 team #kang yeosang fanfic #ateez atiny

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nomercymaster11 · 6 months

Text

Harmony in the Icy Depths

@GOKUJOUNOMAGURO

A/N: Rated-18 The Polar Tang glided silently through the frigid depths, its metallic exterior navigating the icy waters with a grace that belied the vastness surrounding it. Submerged beneath the surface, the submarine sailed through the underwater expanse, the hum of its engines merging with the ambient sounds of the ocean. Inside the vessel, the atmosphere was cool and efficient, mirroring the routine of its dedicated crew as they executed their duties in the submerged world.

In the heart of the ship, you found yourself in the cozy confines of the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee permeating the air. The rich aroma mingled with the metallic tang of the ship's interior. Feeling a spontaneous urge to break the monotony of the day, you decided to share a cup of warmth with the enigmatic Trafalgar Law, the ship's stoic, and brilliant captain.

With a mug in hand, you made your way to Law's office, the door marked by a subtle sign that hinted at the medical sanctuary within. A firm knock prompted Law to invite you in with a curt,

"Come in."

As you entered, you found him engrossed in his medical notes and books, the seriousness of his demeanor contrasting with the casualness of the moment.

The aroma of the coffee wafted through the room, and Law, without looking up, inhaled deeply, appreciating the familiar fragrance. You carefully placed the steaming cup on his cluttered desk, the contrast of warmth against the cold steel creating a momentary haven.

"Thanks," Law acknowledged, his attention momentarily diverted from the sea of information in front of him.

Law sips the coffee, its warmth a comforting contrast to the cool efficiency of his medical office. He continues to scan his medical books, each page turned with a focused precision that matches the steady hum of the Polar Tang.

Choosing to linger, you settled on the couch beside his desk, the cushions offering a comfortable respite from the ship's unyielding exterior. As seconds stretched into minutes, your gaze wandered around the room, taking in the organized chaos of medical supplies and the neatly stacked books that defined Law's space.

Restlessness whispered in your ear, and you rose from the couch, deciding to explore the room further. Law remained immersed in his work; his focused energy palpable.

A mischievous idea sparked, and you approached him, quietly closing the distance.

With a gentle embrace from behind, you rested your chin on the crown of his head, the proximity inviting an intimacy that transcended the professional setting.

"Aren't you done yet?"

you asked, injecting a playful monotony into your voice, challenging the seriousness that usually enveloped him.

"Just a moment,"

Law replied, his eyes still scanning the medical tomes before him.

Undeterred, you shifted your head, cheeks brushing against his, relishing the warmth that radiated from him. The room seemed to close in, and the hum of the ship became a distant backdrop to the moment shared between you two.

Unable to resist the urge to tease, you maneuvered your head to the side, lips brushing against the back of his ear. A soft, seductive hum escaped your lips as you traced a trail of kisses along the nape of his neck, each touch a delicate distraction from the weight of responsibilities that hung in the air.

The atmosphere in Law's office shifted, the air thickening with an unexpected tension as your playful teasing took a more intimate turn. Law, usually composed and focused, found himself yielding to the magnetic pull of the moment.

As you continued to lavish kisses on his left cheek, you sensed Law's surrender. His book closed with a deliberate thud, and he willingly reciprocated when you cupped his face, locking lips in a passionate kiss. Your tongue pressed forward, igniting a symphony of shivers that reverberated through Law's body.

Breaking away, Law rotated his chair to face you, confusion etching his features.

"What's gotten into you?"

he inquired; his intense gaze fixed on you.

You answered with a seductive peck on his lips, your eyes locking onto his as you bit your lower lip.

"I just missed you,"

you confessed, the words laden with desire.

Without waiting for a response, you pulled him up from his chair, guiding him to the couch. With a bold move, you positioned yourself on his lap, the subtle shift in dynamics palpable. Law, known for his stoicism, allowed himself to be led, his legs between yours.

As you settled into Law's lap, the atmosphere in the room intensified. The ambient hum of the submarine's engines melded with the rhythmic beats of two hearts caught in the dance of passion.

Law's hands, strong and determined, explored the curves of your body, his touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. He responded to the boldness with a hunger of his own, hands gripping your hips firmly. The sensation was heightened by the rhythmic movement of the submarine, adding an unpredictable element to the unfolding encounter.

The tension in the room simmered as you initiated a slow, lingering kiss, setting the pace for what lay ahead. Law, usually in control, allowed you to guide the dance of passion unfolding between you. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you entwined in a delicate embrace.

As the heat between you intensified, clothing became an afterthought. Your nimble fingers worked on the buttons of Law's shirt, revealing the inked canvas of his tattooed body. The discarded clothing found a haphazard spot on the side, a testament to the urgency of the moment.

In a reciprocal act, Law mirrored your actions, skillfully unbuttoning your shirt with a precision that hinted at a hidden layer of vulnerability. The both of you are now half-naked. Your index finger did wonders to Law's body as you traced the tattoo etched onto his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his skin beneath your touch. His muscles tensed and relaxed in response, a silent testament to the electric connection that coursed between you.

As you explored the inked canvas of his torso, Law's right hand found its way to your breast, the warmth emanating from the delicate touch of his palm to your now hypersensitive skin, send shivers down your spine. You momentarily stopped, rested your arms on his shoulders and arched backward as he leaned forward to suckle your other breast. He filled his mouth with them while his thumb and index finger skillfully pinched your nipple, creating a delicate interplay of pleasure.

His large hand traced patterns on your back, a silent plea for control, but you resisted, determined to maintain your hold on the moment.

Your lips continued their exploration, a symphony of kisses that left a trail of heat in their wake. You focused on the sensitive spots of his right ear, savoring the subtle vibrations that echoed through him. His goatee chin brushed against your nose as you descended to kiss his neck, a canvas of warmth that invited further exploration.

With each passing moment, the atmosphere intensified. Straddling Law, you could feel the telltale tightness of his pants, the bulge pressing between your legs, a silent invitation that sparked a fiery desire within you. Your hand, guided by an insatiable curiosity, stroked him, eliciting a primal response that mirrored the increasing tempo of your heart.

As desire unfurled, Law surrendered to the mounting pleasure. With practiced ease, he unbuckled his belt, and you eagerly assisted in pulling his pants off, the urgency of the moment evident in the discarded clothing. You knelt in front of him, the cool steel floor of Law's office beneath your knees serving as an unconventional cushion. His legs, once firmly planted in a professional stance, now spread open, an invitation that carried both vulnerability and desire.

As you looked up at Law, his eyes bore into yours, an intense gaze that mirrored the depth of the ocean you sailed through. Your hands explored the expanse of Law's thighs, the skin beneath your touch revealing the underlying tension, a palpable contrast to the smooth steel of the ship. The texture of Law's skin beneath your touch became a sensory journey. You traced the contours of his thighs, fingertips exploring the hidden landscape beneath.

Liberating him, you held him firmly in your hands, a sense of excitement and pride coursing through you as you witnessed his response. His head leaned backward, a low moan escaping his lips as your skin met his member.

"Oh damn, girl...!"

Law's voice, a husky mixture of surprise and pleasure, hung in the air.

The atmosphere in Law's office was charged with a potent mix of desire and anticipation as both of you surrendered to the intoxicating rhythm of the moment. Your hands and mouth worked in harmony, exploring him with an intensity that left no room for restraint.

Law, unable to contain himself any longer, gathered your hair with one hand, his intense gaze fixed on you. The connection between you deepened as your eyes locked, the unspoken language of desire flowing between you. Closing your eyes, you continue to savored him. The movement of your hand become swifter to keep pace with the fever pulsing within him and at the same time licking the tip of his member each time it passed within reach of your tongue.

With a primal urgency, Law pulled you back up, a momentary pause before the next wave of pleasure. His hands had gripped the elastic belt of your delicate lingerie and stretched them to slip them down. Licking his fingers, he slid them between your legs, sending a shiver of anticipation through your body.

"You're ready for me,"

His whispered words added fuel to the already blazing fire of desire.

Moans escaped your lips as he continued to tease and arouse you. He continued to build the intensity, each touch pushing you to the edge. His fingers stroking your folds back and forth and rubbing your sensitive core. You closed your eyes to better feel the movements of his warm, incisive fingers in you.

Unable to hold back any longer, you eased yourself onto him. Your hands gliding over his broad, tattooed chest as you straddled him, feeling the powerful beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

The slow descent onto him elicited a moan, the depth and fullness of the connection overwhelming your senses. Every thrust surprised you with his size, a delightful shock that added to the ecstasy of the moment.

As you rode him, moans of pleasure escaped your lips, blending with the rhythmic movement of your hips and Law's encouraging motions beneath you. The friction between your bodies built a fire that threatened to consume both of you. Your desperation fueled the primal dance, your movements becoming more urgent, more intense.

Law's hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding and encouraging you to move faster, to go deeper. The symphony of pleasure echoed in the room, the heightened sensations pushing you both to the brink.

"Law! I'm so close...!"

you exclaimed, the words a breathless confession of the impending climax.

With a final, deep thrust, waves of pleasure washed over you. A cry of ecstasy escaped your lips as your body convulsed with the force of the climax. Law releases a loud sigh followed by your name, also surrendering to the full embrace of the orgasm.

Collapsing beside Law, you lay on his shoulder, the aftermath of pleasure leaving you breathless and satisfied. The room, once filled with tension, now held the serene aftermath of an intimate storm, the echoes of shared ecstasy lingering in the air.

Law, lying beside you, took a moment to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of the ship, and a sated expression graced his usually composed features. You turned towards him, a satisfied smile playing on your lips as you took in the aftermath of your shared passion.

"How was it?"

you asked, your voice laced with a mix of curiosity and self-assured satisfaction. Law, still catching his breath, managed a smirk as he looked at you. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, a silent acknowledgment of the intensity you both had just experienced.

Law's voice, deep and resonant, broke the post-ecstasy silence.

"Better than expected,"

he replied, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

You chuckled, appreciating the dry humor that occasionally surfaced in his usually serious demeanor.

Lying side by side, you basked in the warmth of the shared connection, the air thick with a mix of satisfaction and contentment. The hum of the ship became a soothing background melody, and the world outside seemed distant and inconsequential in the cocoon you had created.

Law, always a man of few words, reached over to brush a strand of hair from your face. The silence spoke volumes, echoing the unspoken understanding between you two, weaving a harmony in the submarine. As the ship sailed in the icy depths, it carried with it the cadence of this shared secret, a melody echoing through the frigid waters of understanding and desire adding an intricate layer to the captain and crew's connection.

#one piece #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar one piece #law one piece #law x you #one shot collection #law x reader #trafalgar law smut #trafalgar d law x reader #reader insert smut #heart pirates

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roxxie-wolf · 22 days

Text

𝒜 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇

Chapter 1 ⭐️ Chapter 2 ⭐️ Chapter 3 ⭐️ Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Pairing: Lucifer x Fem!Reader

Summary: Helping Angel from getting a beating to entering a hotel and meeting someone who you will become close with.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: None

Note: I’m thinking making this a short series.

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝟥

The morning greeted you with a soft knock, a sound that pulled you from the depths of sleep. As you opened the door, the sight of Lucifer standing there was unexpected. *How did he know your room?* The question lingered in your mind, but the morning haze pushed it aside.

"Well good morning!" Lucifer's voice was bright and full of cheer, a stark contrast to your sleepy state.

"Good morning," your words muffled by a yawn. His observant eyes took in your disheveled appearance.

"Oh, did I wake you up?" His tone shifted, now gentle and tinged with concern. It was a small interaction, but it spoke volumes of the day that awaited—a day that promised to be as intriguing as the one before.

“It’s ok, really,” you waved your hand and scratch the top of your head. “Well, if your interested, breakfast is ready,” The offer of breakfast was a pleasant surprise, and despite the curiosity about Lucifer's motives, the thought of starting the day with a meal was appealing.

"Yea sure thank you, I’ll get ready and I’ll head down," your voice betraying the remnants of sleep.

"Alright then, I’ll wait for you here” his patience evident.

With that, you closed the door, a sense of normalcy settling in despite the extraordinary circumstances. The morning was unfolding with new possibilities, and with a quick preparation, you would soon join the others to see what the day held.

The morning held a peculiar stillness, broken only by the soft creak of the door and Lucifer's voice. His presence, an unexpected silhouette against the wall, brought a sense of anticipation. "Ready?" he asked, a question that seemed to carry more weight than the morning dew. "Ready," your smile a facade over the churn of questions within. *Why was he here, and where was Angel?*

The descent down the stairs felt like a journey between worlds, each step a note in the symphony of the day's mystery. The kitchen, with its homely scents and the promise of a new day, beckoned you both. There, Angel's voice, bright and familiar, cut through the morning haze. "Hey toots!" he called out, his greeting a warm embrace.

You settled next to Angel, the comfort of his presence a stark contrast to the enigma that was Lucifer. And then, without a word, Lucifer turned and walked away, his departure as silent as a shadow at noon. You watched him go, the space he left behind seeming to echo with unspoken stories.

“I see someone went to get ya,” Angel nudge you and winked at you.

“Angel, why did Lucifer come to fetch me?” you tried to sound casual as you spread jam on your toast.

“I don’t know, but I told ya, you got his attention,” the weight of Angel's words settled over you like a cloak, heavy with the implication of Lucifer's unspoken interest. You rolled your eyes, a silent rebellion against the complexity that seemed to follow celestial beings like a shadow.

Breakfast became a solitary affair, the clinking of cutlery against the plate a metronome to your thoughts. With each bite, you fortified yourself for whatever lay ahead, the unknown intentions of Lucifer looming at the edge of your mind.

Retreating to the comfort of the sofa, you sought refuge in the familiar scroll of social media, a digital escape from the morning's peculiarities. But the respite was short-lived. Lucifer's presence announced itself once more, his form materializing beside you with a grace that belied the tension of the moment.

"So can we talk now?" His voice, a calm interruption to your scrolling, demanded attention. You looked up, locking eyes with him. The screen's glow faded into the background as the real conversation, the one that had been waiting since his arrival, was about to begin.

Lucifer's question hung in the air, stark and unadorned, a direct challenge to the barriers you had carefully constructed. "Who owns your soul?" his gaze attempting to pierce through the defenses you held so dear. "Valentino," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, as you averted your eyes from the intensity of his stare.

"I see," Lucifer murmured, his fingers drumming a silent rhythm on the handle of his cane. “Do you want to go somewhere more private for this conversation?” The offer to seek a more secluded space for this delicate discussion was tempting, yet your hesitation spoke volumes. The walls around your heart, built from past hurts and betrayals, stood firm.

"No, I'm ok, let's not talk about it," you declared, a finality in your tone that left no room for argument. The vulnerability that came with letting someone in was a risk you were not ready to take. Valentino's shadow loomed large, a reminder of the cost of trust.

Lucifer nodded, a silent acknowledgment of your boundaries. The conversation shifted, moving away from the depths of souls and ownership, to the safer shores of the day's mundane matters.

“Alright! How was breakfast?” Lucifer's shift from solemnity to cheerfulness was as swift as a change in the wind, his question about breakfast a veiled attempt to bridge the distance between you. You sensed his efforts to get closer, to scale the walls you had erected around yourself, but those walls were not built in a day, and they would not crumble easily.

"Breakfast was great," you allowed a sliver of your true self to shine through the cracks in your defenses. For a moment, you flirted with the idea of letting go, of tearing down the barriers and basking in the simplicity of being. Yet, the specter of Valentino's manipulations was a chain that held you back, a ghost that whispered caution in the back of your mind.

The conversation hung there, a delicate balance between what was said and what was left unsaid. But the choice was yours, and yours alone, to venture out and explore the possibilities that lay in wait with Lucifer, or to remain within the safety of the walls you knew so well.

———————————

It’s been a week and you finally allowed yourself to talk with Lucifer. The room became a cocoon, a private world where time seemed to slow down, allowing for the exchange of stories and the sharing of experiences. Lucifer was attentive, giving each of your stories the weight they deserved. His own tales, were captivating.

As the hours passed, the conversation meandered through laughter and solemnity, through the mundane and the profound. It was a dance of words and silences, of listening and being heard. In that shared space, a connection was forged, one not easily defined but deeply felt.

“I want to show you something.” His sudden request to show you something piqued your curiosity, and without hesitation, you agreed. There was a sense of trust forming, delicate but real.

Reaching in his pocket he took out what looked like a rubber ducky, bright and cheerful. But it wasn't just any toy; it bore a striking resemblance to you. The details were meticulous, from the curve of the smile to the style of the hair. It was a miniature you, captured in rubber and paint.

"This is for you," his smile reaching his eyes. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, a gift that spoke volumes of his silent observations. You held the ducky, its presence in your hands both bizarre and endearing. *When did he study you so well?* The question danced in your mind, but they were not laced with fear, rather a sense of wonder.

"Thank you, it's so cute," your smile a mirror of his. In that exchange, something shifted—a barrier dissolved, a bridge built. The rubber ducky, a simple object, became a symbol of a budding friendship.

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list so you be updated every time.^^ I do try to proofread but if I missed something please let me know.

Also I sometimes tend to make minor changes to the chapters.

Thank you! For reading I hope you enjoyed it.⭐️

TAGLIST: @hazelfoureyes @tremendoushearttaco @crystal-freak24 @fallintothechasm @neptunieesworld @purplerose291 @pixleslutz @diffidentphantom @yve-barr @goreedo11 @zero-h0es4m3 @mialoveslucifer @rl800 @vififofum @cimadreamer @thedelulububble @dorck26

#hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer smut #lucifer x reader #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel

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justcallmesakira · 4 months

Note

HIII OMG I haven’t had a good laugh in a while until i came across your fyodor’s sis dating dazai hcs IT GOT ME ROLLING ON THE FLOOR 😭 can i request for dazai’s sister dating fyodor if you’re up for it? fluff crack make it silly if you want i’ll enjoy anything from you for sure!!

"Dazai with a sister dating Fyodor!"

Sypnosis: Uh oh! Looks like Dazais one and only sister he grew up with is dating a rat who the entirety of yokohama is after!

Genre: crack, suggestive? (idk sth is wrong with me)

Warning: More blasting, bombing, terrorrist, rizz,

A/N: AHHH I AM SO HAPPY U ENJOYED IT- AND I AM MORE THEN HAPPY BCS I MADE YOU LAUGH !!! >.<

nahhh like brother like sister :/

NO BCS i feel like fyodor just wanted to temper dazai by using his ugly breedable charms on you

But it backfired terribly! (like his posture)

Though you were his one and oNlY eNeMyS blood relative he just couldnt help but flirt with you and perhaps ykyk do those romantic stuff ppl do

This is so ooc rn ;skull emoji 69x;

However you were extremly LIKE extremly careful to not let your brother know

You literly sneaked off the house as if you were sneaking inthe kitchen to cook a whole buffet at 3am!!

Except you were sneaking off to EAT a whole buffet😏😏

Even the rat himself helped you to sneak to his rusty ahh apartment

Wow! The first thing he actually did for others!!!!!

Honestly dazai would be chill though-

Like oh his sister is dating someone? welp sure! i have exes all around the city hope its not one of them though hehe...HeHe

FUCKING SLU--

You took the risk of rizzing fyodor up infront of him though like:

"I am crime, I am punishment" you: "I know something else you can punish :3"

Dazai woke back from the dead with em bones fish eye when u said that

AYYY DAZAI IN HIS MELANIE MARTINEZ "PORTALS" ERA!!!!1😍

When he find out though.....oh god hes going to give you that light skin stare, with his eyes turning into nothing but a pitch black void

like my soul-- OKAY THIS IS THE LAST ONE I PROMISE--

One day you met up with fyodor and you were so excited that you nearly threw his anemic ass to the ground

"Yaaaah fedya,!! we finally met! dont give me that face do u know how hard it is to come and meet you when my lazy ahh brother puts trackers on me!" "Malyshka, please calm down---''

All of a sudden u could hear shuffling which instantly cautions the both of you only for your eyes to be meeted with your brothers eye turning into nothing but pitch black like the face he gave when he saw mori

your getting grounded <3

"Out of all people...out of 8 billion people, sister😀" "I-i-i-i i can explain"

he then looked at fyodor with the ugliest angry face ever "YOU FUCKING RAT HOW DARE YOU WOO MY SISTER WITH FEHUYOUR UGFLY AHH RATUTILLIE NO RIZZ MANIUPULATION I AM GONNA BLAST YO-"

damn.. dazai become eminem

the shift mood between to u then to fyodor was so funny

LIKE YALL SAW THE ADVICE FYODOR GAVE TO DAZAI IN THEIR CELLS? THATS A BIT--- UM YANDERE??????!!

"BROTHER CALM DOWN I WAS NOT MANIUPULATED TF-" "THAT WONT STOP ME FROM MY MANSLAUGHTER ARC" "WHAT?--"

#siblinggoalsfr

fyodor honestly only glared at him with a smile that said "If they annoy you, go for their sibling"

dazai YANKED Your arm taking you back to you apartment and just stared at you as if you got a B in maths

uh oh...

So YEAH after hours of not being able to calm him down he finally accepted!

Dazai gifted fyodor a dead rat in a helicopter after he accepted you guys😍😍😍

No bcz i think u and nikolai would have matching energy--

Nikolai: "Dos-kun bites his nails!" You: "Real except he bites my neck!"

one day ranpo jolted up from his seat with fisheye and slowly turned to you as if you ate his (dead)mother

"Dazai Y/N, you did not..." "Oh yes yes i just did :3"

everybody was so confused like did you steal his snacks or sth???

"like brother like sister i guess...." -ranpo after finding out his bestie is doing unholy things to his enemy

JKJK-

Dazai acted so overdramatic omg- ugh hes so babygirl

"I still cant believe it... MY OWN SISTER DATING-DAT-DATING A STINKY RAT! Wait- WHAT IF YOU GET MARRIED???????!!!!! WILL YOUR NAME BE D-D-D-DOS-DOE RATVESKY?? sis you better let him take your name WAIT NO I WILL NOT SHARE MY NAME WITH HIM UGFYDUTYFE"

dramatic gossip girlie fr

like its literly like

"I took your victory😈" "I took your sisters viriginty😈😈😈"

i am so sorry-WAHHHHHHHHHH- *gets shot in the head by reader for being so dirty*

during gatherings, they just smile at each other protesting in their minds who can take care of u better while your in a chair rollin around and going :3

kuro kuro kuro kuroooo kuro kuro kuro kuro ding luro kuro ding~

until your silly ahh falls! :D

And its just a second of time to see who can cath you first-

Dazais going to turn your wedding into an arson commitment!

"Breaking news!, Depressed man who half the fandom slanders burns down his sisters wdding venue with soy sauce!"

Well... its a funky ride! but hey its fyodor

A/N: i know its short but i tried okay- ENJOY!! i love doing crack if i cant laugh or be happy i will make others happy!! <33

Divider crds: @nikolaismasquerade

tags! @silverbladexyz @riiwrites @chuuyasboner @heartsfourdazai @atlasnessie @atsquie @tojifile @biscuits-lovely-corner @darling--angst

#bungou stray dogs #sakira!#bsd #bsd x reader #bungou gay dogs #dazai #dazai x reader #dazai sister #dazais sister x fyodor #fyozai x sister reader #lol #bsd crack #dirty pick up lines

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under-cotton-and-calicos · 6 months

Text

Take Me Back To Eden

Multiple Ghosts x AFAB Reader

AN: It’s been a long while. I’ve been busy [insert unhinged ao3 author life update here]. This has been sitting in my drafts for the LONGEST time jeez. Wasn’t really satisfied with any of the directions it took so I finally sat down and committed to something. May or may not have a sequel. I recommend listening to “Descending” by Sleep Token while you read this. As the title implies, I’m kinda obsessed with the band right now. Enjoy!

tags: cult sex, orgy, heavy dubcon, ghosts, ancient deity, mind manipulation, oral sex, vaginal penetration, rough sex, WEIRD CUM

Word count: 3.9k

With a pathetic sputter, the incessant humming of your old corolla’s engine gives way to silence. For a few moments, you sit in the dark and quiet, a mixture of excitement and anxiety raising goosebumps on your skin. You’ve done this hundreds of times, you’re sure that today you’re going to get your big hit. It has to be.

You slam your car door shut and take a deep breath, a gym bag filled with equipment and cameras slung over one shoulder, your free hand guiding the beam of your heavy duty torch across the entrance of the abandoned bar. The old, faded sign perched above its entrance is unreadable, faintly you can make out traces of looping letters. Its battered and dusty exterior belies the rumours you’ve heard about the place.

You were supposed to come with your posse, but every single one of them had work or family issues that cropped up at the last minute. Not one to be deterred by fear, you ended up making the drive down alone. In spite of the cool night, your skin is warm with anticipation as you cross the threshold and slip into the bar.

Not much is known about its origins or history- it’s a small, rundown lot in a slow and quiet part of town, so no one has ever paid it much attention. It had been a hole-in-the-wall style pub that attracted a small and dedicated group of patrons before mysteriously closing abruptly. Hours of digging through the net gave you enough reason to suspect that there was an abnormal cause behind why it still hadn’t been bought out for decades, though. The reports of ghostly apparitions in the crevices of obscure forums led you down a rabbit hole. Soon enough, you managed to find a video posted online, taken by some teenagers roped in by a bet. You studied it for hours, pausing at every frame.

You can still remember the sweet thrill, the goosebumps that formed on your skin when you noticed the wispy, grey figures hidden behind corners in several frames. Jackpot.

Your friends had told you that they were edited but your gut told you otherwise. There was a genuine fear in those kids’ eyes, you bet on it.

As you manoeuvre through old tables and chairs, you notice that the furniture is still well kept, barring the fact that everything is covered in layers of dust.The retro style bar, stools and shelves are all in good condition, though lacking bottles of booze and the typical drink making paraphernalia. Maybe someone still cares for the place?

You notice a few doors that hadn’t been explored in the video, so you try each handle, one of them leading to an empty storage room, another leading to a kitchen behind the bar, the next to a decrepit restroom. Curiously, there’s a long stairway behind a stuffy curtain going down to what you presume is a basement door. There’s an inlaid symbol on the door, made from burnished golden metal, its fine quality at odds with everything else in the bar. You’ve never seen anything like it before- the silhouette of a tree firmly rooted to the earth, its branches and roots reminiscent of…horns?

There’s something compelling about it. Your stomach dips at the thought of you opening the door, but you want to. There’s something on the other side of it.

When you yank on the handle, it doesn’t budge, breaking you out of your momentary stupor. You shake your head and blink.

Caught up in the moment?

“Damn.” You sigh. Typically, you would leave lockpicking to another one of your friends. There isn’t much you can do about it, so you decide to set up a few thermal cameras overlooking the tables and bar, as well as an REM pod for proximity detection on the countertop.

Kneeling behind the countertop, you turn on your spirit box, its harsh white noise filling the quiet. Through the static, you call into the night.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

There’s no response, but you introduce yourself and continue. You’re well accustomed to this pattern already, after years of this. The hauling of equipment, meticulously setting everything up, dicking around for a few hours and then packing up and heading home. Keep the time spent idle low, and expectations even lower. Perhaps it’s because you’re alone tonight. There’s a charge in the atmosphere, a certain secrecy and wonder to the ritual.

“I'd really like it if you told me your name.”

“Like.” The artificial, crackly word emerges from the static.

“Yes, I’d like it if you introduced yourself too.” You wait a few more moments before the next word. For a while, monosyllabic words are all you receive. So you dig and prompt until you tag onto something.

“More.”

“More?”

“M…More tha-an.”

“There’s more than one of you?” You say, peering around the empty bar. There’s no sign of the specters from the video, only swirling mites of dust suspended in the air under the glow of your torchlight. “Where are you?”

“H-Here.”

Suddenly, your REM pod flashes green, red, blue against the shadows, signalling that something is close by, very close by. But instead of its typical bleeping, a warbled wail echoes through the empty bar, causing you to flinch from how loud it is. The fuck?

You turn around and direct your torch towards the pod. Your heart falters.

A crowd of grey specters are standing behind the counter, their forms towering over where you’re kneeled on the ground. Their bodies are featureless, rippling as though they could blink out of existence at any moment, at odds with the physical realm. For a second, you can’t bring yourself to do anything. You feel dread, you're stunned, but underneath it all, the irrational, ghost hunting geek in you is baffled. Holy shit, holy shit.

You jump to your feet, backed against the shelves. Their heads tilt upwards, following your movement. And then you’re fleeing, terror driving you to run from the very situation that you’ve been chasing down for years.

The moment you’re behind the steering wheel, you step on the gas, your corolla protesting as it's jolted out of its sleep and forced to shoot down the empty street. You don’t stop to turn and look.

“Wait.” A real voice overlaps with the one coming from your spirit box still clutched in your sweaty palm, but you don’t stop, turning the corner around the countertop and passing through an ethereal, translucent arm reaching out to stop you. You burst out of the bar into the cooler night air and shakily jam your key into your car, cursing as you struggle to get the door open.

Holy shit, you chant over and over again, they’re real, they’re real!

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

Your alarm wakes you from a restless slumber, one of many in the past few months. With a groan, you fumble for your phone with your eyes still closed and turn it off.

“Fuck…” You curse at the soreness in your back and slick between your legs. It happened again last night.

Tugging your underwear down, you stare at the sticky mess you’d created in your sleep. Glimpses of your dream, or nightmare, flash through your head, sending a quiver down your spine. Your breath hitches at the thought, you palm your stiff nipples through your ratty old shirt and begin fingering your cunt, warm and dripping wet.

You’ve been tormented by a string of dreams lately, each one leaving you aching in the morning. So much so that you have had to incorporate masturbation into your morning routine. It’s never satisfying though, your fingers and toys don’t come even close to what you experience in the nasty recesses of the dreamscape hidden in your mind. All of them are vivid and realistic, but when you wake, you can only recall little snatches- greedy hands taking their fill of your body and being bent over, being filled…being defiled.

And with your equipment left at the bar, what can you do? There is no evidence of your findings. You can’t tell your friends that you’ve been having wet dreams almost incessantly since that night alone in the bar. You would seem like a lunatic.

But it wouldn’t be wrong to call this a kind of madness. Frantic and possessive. Bodies cast in vibrant colour, shadowed and swaying against you. Cast in the black behind your eyelids is a gold insignia, beckoning you closer and closer.

With a whimper, you cum, body folding over and shaking as you ride out your climax. Temporarily satiated, you slump back into your pillows dramatically, staring at your ceiling. Something from that bar had followed you home. And you want to go back.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

The empty district is just as quiet as it was the last time you were here. It’s a cold night, and you tug your sweater around your shoulders as you lean back in your car seat. It’s undeniable that you’re a little scared- you feel like one of those idiot teenagers in horror movies that get themselves killed for wandering recklessly into danger. Again, something tells you that it’s different. Or maybe you’re just horny.

With your torch in one hand and your phone in the other, you enter the bar. All of your equipment is just as you left it. You trace your finger over the REM pod on the countertop, dusty but intact. It’s…quiet.

What did you expect? To get jumped the moment you came in? There’s no sign of the specters as well. You’re a bit disappointed, because it means that those dreams you’ve been having might not have been supernatural at all, and worse, the specters might have been a figment of your imagination.

Just as you resolve to pack up your things and leave, a sliver of light catches your eye, cast against the dark floor. Purple light streams between the curtains that lead to the locked basement. Your heart begins to pick up pace again, and you rush over, brushing aside the thick, heavy fabric to see the stairway down illuminated. The door is open!

“H-Hello?” You call out, flicking your torchlight off and leaning it against a step. With hesitant steps, you descend, eyes adjusting to the dim artificial light. You know this atmosphere, this tension in the air from the distinctive purple haze of your dreams. Almost instinctively, your core warms and you can feel yourself shiver, a conditioned response.

When you reach the base of the stairs, your breath stalls in your throat and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips. The same apparitions that have been haunting your dreams are there, facing you, as if waiting for your inevitable return. Your nervous eyes scan the rest of the room, it looks like you’ve stepped into another realm entirely- gone are the cheap and neon plastics of the bar, there’s a pool of fabrics and pillows, and an altar, carved from stone with tall pillars of candles by its sides.

Dazed, you don’t realise that you’ve been walking until you’re a few feet in front of the specters, their heads following you uncannily.

“I-I…” You sputter, jittery under their heavy, obscured gaze. They haven’t even done anything to you yet, but your head is all cotton and gauze. Slowly, you sink to your knees.

“My dreams. I’ve seen you there.” You say, awe-struck. A delicate voice replies, soft as a gossamer sheet.

“I am glad that you’ve returned.” It confuses you. You’re not sure if the voice is coming from one of the specters before you or if it’s echoing through your head, like you’re on a phone call with someone in the same room as you. Up close, their forms are ethereal, shimmering and tinted purple from the lights, shifting ever-so-slightly.

You can still make out the shape of a mouth and a nose on their faces, as well as outlines of their limbs and hands. One reaches out to you, fitting the curve of your cheek in the palm of their hand- your eyes widen at the touch, it feels real, cold but solid against you.

“Good one…pretty one…” They close around you, clamouring to touch you. A hand combs through your hair, traces the curve of your ear, another slides past the collar of your shirt to the dip between your shoulder blades, and one presses its fingers against your lips.

Strange, you think, opening your mouth obediently for the cold fingers to savour the wet warmth of your tongue. Every cell in your body is alight, bristling with energy and ready to burst at the seams. This is what you’ve been wanting for so, so long.

How could I have been terrified of them before this?

“More, more.” Not enough of you is exposed it seems. You shed your sweater, your hard nipples visible through thin fabric. The atmosphere bristles a bit, you think, as you finally discard your shirt, your breasts and inviting skin on display for them to grab at, their touch growing more hungry.

They whisper, trailing lower and lower. You close your eyes for just a moment, the jostling bodies around you giving way to darkness as you relish in the feeling of hands that grope your chest, firm nipples being pinched and tugged at, your bare body slowly becoming accustomed to their supernatural chill. Something bumps against your lips and you smile, opening your eyes once again to bat your eyelashes up at the specter that has its stiff cock in hand, unabashedly asking for entry.

You open wide, sticking your tongue out for the specter to slide its head against you. You think you hear a whimper, and you’re pleased to feel it twitching as you close your mouth around it, humming as you bob your head and take more of its length down your throat. It’s solid, hard like a human’s, and you can feel the bump of veins trailing down its shaft. Behind you, one kneels down and presses its torso up against your back, a hand cupping your soaking sex and another kneading your breast.

“Here…!” Two more specters hovering over you tug at your arms impatiently, wrapping your hands around their own dicks. Obliging their requests, you stroke them lazily, eyes flitting between all of the spirits that surround you. The ones that are not latched to your body stand a short distance away, fisting themselves, undoubtedly staring at you get busy. Underneath their innumerable gaze, you’re exhilarated, and a thought flits through your mind- they’ll all have a chance to run you through later, and you’ll be able to experience it all in reality.

The specter shoves two fingers into your needy hole, grinding them against your sweet spot. You falter, but the specter that’s in your mouth clamps its hands around your head, sinking so deep that your face is flush with their crotch. The two rut into your tightened grip, gasping and groaning fills your head.

“So good…so good…Ah!”

When a finger flicks at your clit, you cum hard, body arching and thighs quaking. You’re stunned momentarily, and you swallow back the spit pooling in your throat, squeezing around the specter. Suddenly, its grip in your hair grows stronger, bordering on pain as it cums too, cold, thick liquid shooting into the back of your throat and covering your tongue. It tastes like nothing, you note, gasping for air when it detaches from you and releases its grip on your head.

What catches you off guard is the colour of its seed, a thick white substance that drips down your chin onto the floor between your legs, giving off an otherworldly glow. Immediately, another takes its place- the one on the right that had you fisting its cock guides it into your mouth and plugs you up again. This one is less patient, it holds you in place and fucks into your mouth. They use you like a sex toy, taking turns occupying your hands and mouth, grabbing at your chest and fingering your cunt. Any hesitation or endearing nervousness that occupied the specters has disappeared, and you’re elated. You lose count of how many have cum on you, they spill on your face, your chest, covering you in their ungodly semen. It becomes a dizzying cycle, and between your climaxes and theirs’, you lavish them with all that you can give, just as you did in your dreams. What you can take down your throat, you do gladly, an appreciative hum is your reward when you obediently swallow and accept the spurts of cum onto your body.

Suddenly, after a specter smears its cum across your tits, you’re pulled to your feet. Shaky and tired legs unable to support your body, you’re carried over to the altar that you saw earlier and laid upon it. It’s the perfect height, and you groan as a specter grinds its cock against your wet folds. Your legs are spread wide apart, and the empty spaces around you are quickly taken by eager spirits. They pause though, and seem to wait for something patiently. A name is called, something unintelligible, not in the human tongue, not anything you’ve heard before.

They say something in an alien tongue, and look upwards to the ceiling. There is something you didn’t notice before, the same sigil as the one on the door is painted there. In a split second, a collage of memories are made clear in your mind’s eye- you see offerings of wine and food, people kneeling before hulking statues and trees, orgies in secluded areas where hedonism flourishes, lush with the scent of sex and flowers.

The specter between your legs breaks you out of your reverie, and you’re suddenly in the basement once again, fully aware of your dripping cunt, the need. There’s an energy in the room that wasn’t there previously, charged and crackling. You groan when it fits its bulbous head against your entrance, hands kneading the flesh of your thighs as it enters you. And finally, finally you are one with them. You stare entranced at where you are joined, its thick, translucent cock stretching your starved cunt.

“Fuck me, please.” You rasp, throwing your head back when it begins to thrust into you, setting a brutal pace. Again, the specters crowd around you and put you to work. Closing your eyes, you lose yourself in the wave of pleasure, the friction of the heavy cock in your pussy, the numerous hands that guide you and delight in the touch of your skin.

“You…you…” The voice bristles in your head, and there it is again- snatches of that scene and the voice, it’s getting stronger. You can barely focus, between the ghostly bodies all around you and the thread of a connection to It. They’re both equally addictive- the delicious stretch and fill, the wandering hands all over your overstimulated body, and the irresistible draw to something powerful and primordial. Closer, closer, closer.

The specter fucking into you quivers, its pace quickening and its thrusts growing shallower. It’s about to cum inside you, and you wrap your legs around its translucent torso to force it even deeper inside. In response, its hands grab your hips with so much force that you’re sure they’re going to bruise.

“Perfect.” The word is whispered into the shell of your ear, low but with the power of a command. Instantly, you feel like euphoria has flooded your body, too much of it. Every sensation is painfully amplified, the bliss of each thrust between your legs rapturous and overwhelming. You cum, and the specter does too, you can feel its cold seed like ice in your hot, hot cunt, flooding you, seeping into your being. Every cell in your body is screeching from pleasure so high that it hurts.

“Oh. Too much?”

There’s tears streaming down your cheeks. Your thoughts are melting together and no words form on your tongue, all you can manage is a pathetic nod as your body seizes in agony and orgasmic bliss.

“Apologies, it’s been a while.” It says, and just as quick as it compelled you, the euphoria is sapped from your body. The relief is another form of pleasure, and as you relax, you feel a gush of liquid seep past where you’re joined to the specter- you’re squirting, a puddle of it forming on the altar and dripping onto the floor.

“Sensitive, aren’t you?” It whispers again, cool and calm as you gasp for breath. “I like it.”

“What…what-” You’re cut off by the specter dragging its cock out of you, leaving you gaping for the next one in line. You let out a high-pitched whine as the mix of semen and your slick spills out of you. As though to comfort you, one specter cradles your cheek and promptly nudges its dick past your lips. They seem to be oblivious to the conversation going on, or they carry on in spite of it.

“Don’t think. Just let go.” Another cock is thrust into you, barely giving you any reprieve as it pounds into you, intent on getting you filled again.

What are you?

“A vague question gets you a vague answer.” It tuts, “I am the bliss that found its way into your dreams, the cruelty that left you wanting more, and the hunger that brought you back here to me.”

Hands reach out to pinch and twist your nipples and clit, forcing you to let out a muffled yelp.

“It hardly seems fair for you to pay little attention to those who have been fucking you so vigorously. Well, given that you can’t form a coherent thought, the ones that have you speared on their cocks are my most devoted followers. They have been so gracious as to offer their spirits for my perusal.”

And now you understand- it’s a god, an ancient deity on the ceiling looking down upon you, casting its impartial and frigid gaze on this debauchery, orchestrated for its sake.

“And you, my little pleasure, are the first taste of life I’ve had down here in a long time.” Its tone has a vicious bite, excitement palpable. At that, the specters, or puppets in you cum, the elation of their master influencing their own pleasure, no doubt. You choke around the cock forced down your throat, cutting off your breathing until it pulls free from you and you choke down air and seed.

You’re so replete, so tired, you’re not sure whether you can take anymore-

“You will.”

Warily, you sweep your gaze across the hoard of hungry spirits hunched over you.

“After all, isn’t this what you wanted?”

Throughout the night, you’re used over and over, your poor cunt fucked and filled more times than you can count. Just as you think it may end, another specter is between your legs, alternating between lapping up the mess between your legs and pumping its seed into you again. All while some ancient and cruel god speaks to you. With each climax, you feel your consciousness slipping further away, the teasing and praise of the voice in your ear growing ever more distant…

When you wake, you’re exhausted. The specters had disappeared, leaving you on the altar. Despite the throbbing in your core and muscles, you manage to pull your clothes back on and make your way up the stairs, the unpleasant stickiness of your skin urging you to get home as soon as possible so you can take a shower.

A draft sends a chill down your spine, a whisper like a caress brushes past you.

I’ll see you soon, little pleasure.

You’re relieved to see your corolla on the streetside, and as you limp to your car you make a mental note to pack up your equipment the next time you’re here.

#monster x reader #monster x human #terato #monster lover #terato writing #monster nsft #nsft #cult stuff #COTTON HAS FINALLY POSTED SOMETHING #HUZZAH!!!!!#exophilia

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your-local-simp-writers · 2 months

Text

A Morning Ritual

Word Count: 421

Warnings: None

Soap x Fem! Wife! Reader ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The first light of dawn crept through the blinds, casting a serene glow over the quiet kitchen. You stood there, the warmth of your coffee cup seeping into your palms, lost in the tranquility of the morning. The world was still asleep, and in this rare moment of peace, you found solace.

The sound of footsteps approached, a familiar cadence that quickened your heartbeat. You didn’t need to look to know it was Soap, your husband, the man whose presence was both a comfort and an exhilaration. His arms encircled your waist, a secure fortress in the soft light, and you leaned back against his solid chest.

“Good morning, love,” Soap murmured, his voice a soothing balm. His breath tickled your neck, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cool air of the morning.

“Morning,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You could feel the stubble on his chin as he nuzzled into your hair, a gentle reminder of the man who faced danger every day yet always made it back to you.

Turning within his embrace, you looked up at him, his blue eyes reflecting the love and life you shared. His gaze held a promise, a silent vow that transcended words. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek, and he leaned down to meet your lips.

The kiss was soft at first, a tender exploration that spoke of years of shared mornings just like this one. But as Soap’s hands moved to draw you closer, the kiss deepened, igniting a familiar fire between you. It was a dance as old as time, a rhythm you both knew by heart.

His lips moved against yours with a passion that belied the early hour, a kiss that was both a greeting and a farewell. It was a reminder of what waited for him at home, a reason to fight, to survive, to return.

As the kiss ended, you both lingered, foreheads pressed together, sharing breaths and the silent language of hearts intertwined. “I’ll be thinking of you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.

“And I’ll be here, waiting,” you assured him, your hand lingering on his as he reluctantly pulled away.

With one last look, Soap picked up his gear, his figure silhouetted against the lightening sky. And as the door closed behind him, you knew that no matter where he went or what he faced, he carried your love with him, a shield against the uncertainties of the world.

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neewtmas · 8 months

Text

A Fateful Bus Ride

A/N: I'M BACK! wohoo! Hopefully at least some people are happy about that whoops

I finally somewhat dug myself out of this slump I've been in (writing and otherwise) and this is my reintroduction piece, if you will. It's not my greatest work (when is something ever lol) but I think it's decent and if anyone has any more requests, I'd be happy to write them. This request is from literal months ago (I'm so sorry it took so long, I hope you're still interested) and it's the only one that didn't get deleted with my whole inbox bc I had started writing it already elsewhere. anyways, enjoy <3

pairing: george karim x fem!reader

wordcount: 2.2k

request: Could you make a George Karim x fem or gn reader where they are on their way to a mission and they have to ride a bus and there aren’t enough seats so she sits on his lap and he realizes he likes her and he confesses to her when they get home and he holds her in his arms (sorry if that is very specific It just came to me and it’s so cute) 💜💕 - by @iloveyousomuchhhhhh (it's not 100% exact but I hope you like it anyways :))

taglist: @maraschinomerry @marinalor @oblivious-idiot @lockwood-lover @givemea-dam-break (if you want to be added or removed, just send me an ask)

masterlist

George stood in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of tea when he heard a commotion in the basement. The door to the staircase was slightly ajar, and he heard the clattering of metal chains against the concrete floor, followed by some curses and then more clattering. After a short silence, in which he contemplated if he should go downstairs to check, he heard the stairs creak as someone stomped upstairs, chains loudly sounding against the metal of the steps. The door got pushed open, and Y/N entered the kitchen, arms full of chains. She was breathing heavily as she unceremoniously dropped them next to the kitchen table on the floor. "What idiot put them into the closet like that? Of course they would just fall out and break my goddamn toes." George cleared his throat. He knew the culprit all too well, but a look at Y/N's face told him it would be wiser to feign ignorance. So he just shrugged. "Maybe Lockwood was feeling lazy last night", he offered and took a sip of tea to hide the small smile that fought its way onto his lips. From the way she glared at him, he was sure that she knew exactly who was responsible for putting the chains away the evening prior.

She left the kitchen and pulled the door closed rather strongly, as she always did when she was irritated. If it had closed, the bang would have probably shaken the pictures on the wall in Lucy's room in the attic, but it didn't. Instead, Lockwood came in, pushing it open again. He seemed to be in a good mood and full of energy, strutting over to the kettle on the stove, lifting the top to check for the tea inside before turning around to George. His gaze fell to the pile of chains. "Why are there chains on the floor?" He didn't even wait for George to answer, instead, he kept talking as he grabbed a cup from the cupboard and poured some tea in. "Just got the confirmation call, the case tonight is still on. Have you had a chance to gather some information?"

George filled him in on the findings the morning in the library had brought. It wasn't anything too special, it seemed to be a routine case. "Couldn't find any deaths related to the house or the ground it was built on. The lady on the phone talked about how the haunting started sometime after her great-aunt died. She wasn't living in the house though, so my bet is on some sort of haunted heirloom." Lockwood nodded contemplatively. "Sounds interesting enough."

An hour later, the four of them stood by the door, all packed and ready to go. Lockwood had the telephone by his ear, listening to what the person on the other side was saying. His expression turned from neutral to irritated quickly. He listened for a few more seconds, then said a curt goodbye before hanging up. "Can you believe it? Not a single cab is available in all of London. That guy must be mad!"

"What do we do now?", Lucy asked and Lockwood let out a long drawn sigh. "We take the bus. As the gentleman on the phone let me know, that is just as fine of transportation as a cab." He huffed, clearly of a different opinion. But complaining wouldn't get them to their destination any quicker, so they begrudgingly grabbed their equipment and left the house. Y/N had the straps of the duffle bag containing the chains thrown over her shoulder, and she quickly realised that carrying the heavy bag down the street would be much harder than simply carrying it a few metres to a waiting cab. She had a slight stumble in her step, the weight of the chains throwing her off balance.

"Do you need help with that?" George slowed down until she was next to him and extended his hand. "No it's fine", said Y/N through gritted teeth and attempted to keep walking. It was clearly not fine. George quickly caught up to her. "Just let me help you, Y/N." She sighed, setting down the bag and rubbing her shoulder with a grimace. "Fine. But let me at least carry your bag." George couldn't help but smile at her defiance. He remembered very well how long it took him to convince her to let him help her when she was struggling with something.

When she had started working for Lockwood & Co, she had been friendly but closed off - nothing that George hadn't experienced with Lockwood already. And after all, he himself wasn't known for being the most sociable person either. But something about her had caught his interest from the very first time she had walked through the door of 35 Portland Row. He handed her the much lighter duffle bag he had been carrying and picked up the one with the chains.

At the bus stop, they didn't have to wait too long, but that made their situation only marginally better. The bus that came to a halt in front of them was full, much fuller than one would expect at this time of day. But that's just how it was in the summer months, their work started when it was still light out, and that always meant that much more people were around. They hauled their bags and themselves into the vehicle and past the passengers already sitting inside. It was very apparent that the sight of their filled duffle bags, dark clothing and especially the rapiers that gleamed at their sides made the people around them somewhat uncomfortable. There were only three unoccupied seats left, and when Y/N, who entered the bus last, reached them, they were of course claimed by her colleagues.

It wasn't very comfortable, they had too much stuff with them and the bus was already overfull. "Do you wanna sit down?" George asked her and was already about to get up to let her have his seat, but she shook her head and motioned him to sit back down. "It's fine. I can just sit on the bags." They had stacked the bags to not take up any more space. But before Y/N could find a way to make herself comfortable on them, the bus driver started the engine back up and the bus lurched forward. She stumbled back, losing her grip on the pole she had held onto and landed on George's knees. She immediately started apologizing profusely, embarrassed by their sudden closeness. "It's fine, don't worry", George interrupted her, feeling a little overwhelmed by how flustered he felt all of a sudden.

She didn't try to get up and away from him immediately, and George surprised himself with his boldness as he pulled her closer so that she was on his lap completely. "Just stay here. If that's fine with you", he added hastily, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. Maybe that was a little too forward. He half expected her to jump up and get as far away from him as possible, but instead, she sheepishly nodded and didn't move. George turned his head to look out of the window, and he could feel the stares of both Lucy and Lockwood almost burning holes in the back of his head.

It was quite a long drive to the house they would be working at tonight, and George was happy to notice that Y/N seemed to get more comfortable with every passing minute. Where she was sat straight at the beginning, she was now leaning back against his chest. And again, with a boldness he didn't know he had he wrapped his arms, which had been by his side until now, around her waist and pulled her even closer to him. For a few seconds, his heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest as he held his breath and waited for her reaction. But she just crossed her arms, placing them on top of his.

They spent the rest of the drive like this, and it was only when they reached the final stop, that George reluctantly pulled away his arms from her to let her get up. She didn't look at him, but her cheeks were pink as she grabbed her bag and dragged it off the bus. They were to only ones to get off at this stop, and so they stood alone on the sidewalk as the bus drove off. George prayed that no one would say anything about what had just happened. Luckily, neither Lucy nor Lockwood seemed to be in the mood for any teasing, though he could still feel them looking at him curiously. He chose to ignore them.

The case was just about as uneventful as he had predicted, and the source of the ghost - the great-aunt's necklace - had been found and cleared pretty quickly. Still, when they arrived back at the bus stop, it was dark. It was obvious that Lockwood still wasn't happy with this kind of travelling, but at least they didn't have to wait too long. This time, the bus was empty - no one besides agents was still outside now. The bus driver looked even more unhappy than Lockwood, and it was clear that he too would have preferred for them to have taken a cab.

But George was convinced that neither of them - neither the bus driver nor Lockwood - was quite as unhappy as he felt when he realised there was absolutely no reason for him and Y/N to repeat the seating arrangement from before. With them being the only four passengers, there were plenty of free seats available. But what somewhat lessened his disappointment, was the fact that Y/N chose the free seat next to him to sit.

Back home in Portland Row, George put on a kettle on the stove. Lockwood and Lucy had excused themselves to bed even though they came back earlier than usual from their case. Y/N on the other hand stayed with him in the kitchen while they waited for the water to boil. She was telling him about something that happened last time she had gone grocery shopping, but while he usually had no problems paying full attention to whatever she was saying, tonight it was different. He couldn't stop thinking about the bus ride. He had known before that he liked her, and that it was very different from how he liked Lockwood and Lucy - but it hadn't been clear to him just how much he liked her. And the way she had reacted to him - it gave him hope that maybe she felt something similar. He filled two cups with the water from the kettle and added the teabags. "Do you wanna sit in the library for a while?", he asked.

Y/N followed him to the library, where he sat down on the couch. She quickly contemplated if she should sit down next to him or if she should opt for the chair next to the couch. After what had happened on the bus, she was entirely unsure about how to act towards George. He smiled at her and she suddenly felt very nervous. Nonetheless, she decided to sit down on the couch, even though that meant they were now sitting very close next to each other. They were silent for a while, both sipping on their tea. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, it never was with them, but something was different than before.

Y/N finished her tea first and put the empty cup back onto the table. She was suddenly feeling very tired, but she liked the way she was sitting so close to George on the couch, and she didn't want this moment it end, even if she didn't exactly know what was between them right now. So instead, she leaned closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

George could feel his heartbeat quicken as Y/N leaned against him, and he had to force himself to finish his tea without choking on it. He quickly leaned forward to put his cup on the table as well, but the sudden movement had Y/N sit up straight again. "No no!", he said hastily, cursing himself silently for being so awkward in this moment. "Don't go away. That was nice." He almost bit his tongue. Was that too forward? But Y/N smiled shyly, in a way she had never smiled at him before. She resumed her position, and with his heart beating out of his chest, he slowly put his arm around her shoulder. A part of him was scared that this was too much, but instead of pulling away, she just cuddled closer to him and closed her eyes. "You are right, this is nice", she said quietly smiled as George leaned forward and pressed a kiss on her forehead.

thanks for reading, feedback is appreciated :)

request something

#george karim #george karim x reader #george x reader #lockwood and co #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood & co #lockwood & co x reader

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imhenritz · 8 months

Text

Giving him the love he deserves (Sanji x Reader) Part 3

Note: Reader is still Mc (Main Character), but I made it sound like it's a name! I'm still too lazy to think of a real name. Forgive me!

The prompt for the story is: "The reader gets sucked into One Piece after wishing that someone would love Sanji like he is supposed to be loved, as nobody has given him a chance. She would love to give him that chance if only she could. One time, she was in her room, falling asleep while recording her voice for a cover request sent to her. When she woke up, she found herself in a boat floating, wearing pieces of jewelry fit for nobility. Her neck, ears, and bracelets were all glittering in the darkness." P.S. I know this is Sanji fic but I'll use any excuse to use the GIF to say it's his scene! Part 3 under the cut. Part 1, Part 2 here

In the midst of the chaos, "Zoro," Nami's voice, usually sharp and commanding, was laced with genuine concern as she watched her comrade face the looming threat. "Zoro, don't do anything reckless!" Usopp added, his wide eyes reflecting the worry shared by the entire crew.

Luffy, their fearless captain, clenched his fists, his determination evident in the hard set of his jaw. "Zoro's got this, guys. He's strong!"

Amidst the tension, Mc, their calm and composed beacon, swiftly organized supplies with a precision that belied the chaos around them. Her hands moved swiftly, efficiently gathering bandages, antiseptics, and herbs, her eyes focused and determined. Zeff, their stern mentor, grappled with the puzzle. “Lass, you know this was about to happen,” he stated, not a question but a fact.

Tearfully, she explained, “He won’t listen even if I tell him. Right now, I am no one in the crew. Why would he listen to me if he won’t even listen to them?”

Zeff, begrudgingly accepting her words, said, “Sanji, give me a tequila and a yellowfin.”

“I understand the tequila, but Yellowfin?” an unusual request that left him questioning the old man's sanity. A yellowfin for someone so gravely wounded seemed absurd.

Mc managed to smile weakly at Sanji, her touch gentle on his cheek, her eyes reflecting the depth of their bond. She whispered, “Obey your dad for once,” bridging the gap between them and transforming their rough love into a father-son dynamic that Sanji had never imagined possible.

In the midst of the tension, Sanji nodded, his usual confidence wavering for a moment before he steeled himself. “He could have explained,” he mumbled but followed, determination burning in his eyes as he rushed towards the kitchen. —

When they arrived, Zoro was sprawled out on the table, blood staining his clothes and the floor beneath him. Zeff, with the precision that came from years of experience, meticulously prepared the yellowfin fish. With delicate hands, he skinned the fish and placed it against the newly stitched wound on Zoro's chest, explaining it was a sailorman’s trick, an old remedy passed down through generations.

“Old man,” Sanji marveled, his admiration for the old chef's wisdom evident in his eyes.

"It's an old trick I learned. Sometimes, the simplest remedies work wonders," Zeff replied, his hands steady despite the urgency of the situation.

After they moved Zoro to Nami's room, Nami began reading to Zoro's unconscious form, her voice a soothing melody. Her presence brought a sense of calm to the room, a brief respite from the storm of emotions that raged outside.

Outside the room, Luffy, diligently cleaned Zoro’s sword, his face set in determination. He was focused, his every movement purposeful, as if he could will his friend back to health through sheer determination alone. Mc and Sanji tried giving Luffy food, but just this once, Luffy declined. That boy never said no to food. Luffy still had that smile on his face.

Mc, Usopp, and Sanji gathered around the kitchen island, Sanji’s hands working swiftly and efficiently to prepare the yellowfin that had been skinned earlier. Mc roped Usopp in to mold some rice balls, her childlike enthusiasm managing to distract the sniper. The room was filled with the aroma of fresh ingredients, a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air.

Inside the room, tension thickened when Nami walked out, unshed tears in her eyes. The air was heavy with their collective worry and fear. Nami, her eyes filled with frustration and despair, cast blame upon Luffy for not preventing Zoro's challenge to Mihawk. Luffy's unwavering commitment to not shattering anyone’s dreams fueled the fire in Nami’s eyes. She gritted her teeth, expressing her belief that life was worth more than risking it all for a dream, her frustration evident in every word she uttered. In a huff, she stormed out of the room, leaving an atmosphere charged with emotions behind her.

Feeling Mc stiffen beside him, Sanji was aware of the burden she carried. He pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her protectively. He felt her tense muscles relax against him, her head finding solace against his chest. In that moment, he understood the weight of her knowledge from the future and the pain it brought her. The crew they had just joined was falling apart, and he couldn't bear to see Mc suffer because she couldn’t do anything about it. His grip tightened around her, silently promising to be her anchor amidst the storm, to share her burden, and face the challenges ahead together.

"No matter what happens, I'll stand by your side; I would never desert you,” he whispered, his voice a soft reassurance in the midst of uncertainty. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and love, and for a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them. —

Then a shocking revelation struck – Nami had been colluding with Arlong all along, betraying the crew's trust by handing over the map of the Grand Line.

Burdened by her knowledge of the future, Mc wrestled with the decision to withhold this information. Sensing her inner conflict, Sanji gently pulled her aside, his eyes searching hers for answers.

"Did Nami betray us?" His voice was low, filled with concern.

Mc looked into Sanji’s eyes, her gaze reflecting the pain she felt.

“Of course, she wouldn’t,” Luffy said, his voice surprisingly calm after overhearing their conversation "You-", Sanji's eyes widened in shock. "The future huh?"Luffy smiled at Mc, now comprehending the weight of Mc's burden, her knowledge from her world guiding their path, he stood rooted to the spot. His usually carefree demeanor turned serious as he realized the gravity of the situation. His voice cut through the tension of the room. "We need to save her," he declared, his tone unwavering, filled with determination and hope. "We will?" Usopp is half hesitant remembering the fishmen. Luffy clenched his fists, his resolve firm. “Of course! We're a crew. We never leave anyone behind! Let's go kick Arlong's butt and bring Nami back!"

Zoro, the swordsman with a stern expression, nodded in agreement, "Arlong won't know what hit him when we're done."

Eyes immediately went to Zoro, who was standing like nothing had happened.

"Nami would jump out of joy if she sees you awake!" Usopp said, his eyes bright with admiration for Zoro's strength.

“That’ll be a sight to see,” Zoro snorted knowing Nami.

Mc, her eyes filled with gratitude and determination, stepped forward. "You let us take care of this. Fight, but make sure you don't make those stitches worse. Unless you want to die on us.”

“Like something like that will kill me,” Zoro snorted but looked at their new crew member fondly. She, after all, supplied his alcohol during their stay. “You can fight too, eh?” Zoro smirked at Mc. She always had been away from the fights they encountered.

Usopp, his eyes gleaming with a mix of fear and excitement, chimed in, "We'll show Arlong that the Straw Hat crew doesn't back down from a fight! Prepare yourselves, because we're coming for you, Arlong!"

Clearly hearing Usopp's hesitance earlier, “You’ll scare them away, huh, great captain Usopp?” Zoro grinned.

Sanji tightened his grip on Mc's hand, his usual suave demeanor replaced by fierce determination.

══════════════════ Thanks for stopping by! The last part of the series is on its way, followed by lots of fun/fluffy headcanons. I can't help but giggle—I have tons of them! I'm a big fan of the established relationship trope and the crew's interactions.

Series here: Part 1, Part 2 here, Part 4-Ending Masterlist here!

Get ready for more Future Fluffs aboard the Thousand Sunny, featuring Mc and Sanji being their adorable married selves, along with the Straw Hats getting in on the fun!

Breakfast in Sunny

Caught in Again Part 1, Part 2(coming up)

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