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fanaticsnail · 2 months

Note

i just wanted to say i really liked your garp fic and i was wondering if you were going to do a part 2?

Bonnie Lass (2/2)

Masterlist Here, Part 1 Here.

Word Count: 7,925

Synopsis: You finally meet with the handsome older gentleman at the other end of the den-den-mushi. He promises a night you will both not forget in a hurry - will it live up to that expectation?

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+ You have been warned, smut, p in v sex, oral afab!receiving, bonnie lass - wee bonnie - lass - bonnie gendered terms used, afab! reader, "The Garpening", flirting, supportive boss Mihawk, den-den-mushi calls, both are shameless, age gap, unprotected, creampie.

Notes: This fic was brought to you by a bottle of wine, long chats with @carrotsunshine, @since-im-already-here, @sordidmusings, and @feral-artistry, my incessant need to write for older men, and an overbearing need to know exactly where Garp's appetite leads him.

Apprehensive and Apologetic Tag list: @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @cinnbar-bun @i-love-myself-xd @the-reas0n-is-y0u

The seabreeze whipped through your hair, the gullsong serenading you as Mihawk’s vessel made to dock at the Marine port. You squint your eyes up, staring at the bleached stone walls of the large building that held the promise of good food and pleasurable company. Hanging on the words Vice-Admiral Garp last spoke to you, your body immediately felt compelled to wander forward to exit the ship and gleefully skip towards the mighty doors.

But you knew better.

The presence of your boss, Dracule Mihawk, fell beside you: his bicep brushing with the pointed tip of your shoulders as he physically began rumbling a low growl. He despised attending meetings held by the World Government, meaning he would likely require additional resources to get him through the week you were to remain docked at harbor.

“My lord,” you addressed him, turning your body with a curt nod to him. He hummed in response, unbreaking his eyes away from the headquarters of the world government. With a small exhale of breath, you regained your composure and began relaying his itinerary for the day to him.

“An hour after we dock, your presence is required to partake in a meeting of the warlords of the sea,” you began, elevating your clipboard and scanning the paper pages for the next item on his agenda, “Afterwards, you have a brunch with Boa Hancock and Jinbei - to what end, I was made unaware. After that, you’ll be given your assignment to rid the outer ring of the ‘unruly plague of piracy’ the World Government deems important enough for your skill - likely to be completed over four days of battle, given the numbers,” Your brows furrowed, searching the pages for further information, “Then you are to meet with your tailor, just before your new headshots are to be confirmed by den-den-mushi.”

Mihawk clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as the marines roped his ship into port. The more you spoke, the more agitated he became. Not agitated at you, never agitated with you - he despised these meetings, and hoped that bringing you along would ensure a safe and swift encounter. He always struggled with managing his agendas and itineraries with these encounters, almost electing to bring you along simply for moral support if nothing else.

“And then?” Mihawk spat through his clenched jaw, fists balling at his sides.

“And then,” you confirmed, placing your clipboard under your arm and smiling up at your boss, “You have been booked into an onsen for a private spa, a massage and hot stone session in the hamam, and,” you stepped further towards Mihawk, adjusting his overcoat and soothing over his shoulders to rid the material of fray, “After that, I have sent a bottle of Rosso, and asked for for the next book in that romance series you have been indulging in to be awaiting you in your personal suite.”

Mihawk exhaled a sigh of relief, clapping a hand over your shoulder in a gesture of appreciation. You smiled up at your boss, nodding at him to affirm your notion of providing his relief. You turned away, bringing your attention back up to the top of the building, and focussed your pointed gaze at the silhouette glaring over the balcony of the highest point.

“And while I am distracted by a good book and a bottle of wine,” Mihawk’s taunting purr cracked into your ear, “Where will you be, my dear?” You drew a sheepish grin up to your lips, a faint flush igniting your cheeks

Mihawk leant down into your ear, his breath tingling and hot against your flesh as he uttered his warning into your ear.

“Wined and dined by an old man?” he taunted down, his smirk visibly present in his tone, “Keeping me at bay while you enjoy a few stiff drinks, before being railed by something else stiff-.”

“Lord Dracule Mihawk!” you scolded him, turning to join your ignited gaze against his playful, honey-colored orbs, “I am first and foremost your assistant.” Mihawk’s lips twitched at the corners, indicating his amusement as close to a smile as he would ever publicly display. You huffed out your breath, shaking your head while adding, “I have never met him in person, and he is yet to extend a formal invitation to join him for dinner. I will be busy all day tending to your affairs, as I always am, Sir.” His amusement never lessened, only growing on his lips with another twitch.

“And after the day of your duties?” Mihawk’s brow twitched in interest, “What then?”

“What then,” you shoved your index finger into his chest, scraping it up to tap the tip of his nose, “Is that I will be tucked safely within my bedsheets after a long bath and a hot meal. I am here to serve you, sir. I am your assistant, and I am a damn good one.”

“That you are, dear,” he confirmed, placing his other hand on your shoulder, holding you in place, “Which is why, after today, I have given you three days paid shore leave.” Your stunned silence only propelled him on further to add, “Buy yourself a new pretty dress, and enjoy the sights,” he leant forward with a small wink, his darkened lashes kissing against the waterline to hide his brilliant amber eyes briefly, “And then, get the old man to roar your name in the thralls of joint ecstacy. By my orders, dear. You have earnt it.”

The warm rise of warmth held against the apples of your cheeks all day, constantly repeating Mihawk’s comments in a circular swirl within your mind. From the moment your temporary office was welcomed by a pink-haired cadet, to filling in a variety of paperwork, to taking various den-den-mushi calls, to clocking out for the day - the flushed heat held firm against your cheeks.

No whisper of a word, nor scroll of a calligraphed note, graced your temporary office with its presence. You honestly thought you had been forgotten, neglected in the knowledge that you had journeyed long beside Dracule Mihawk to be within close proximity to the man who held your undivided attention every day for the past year.

Just as you were packing away your desk for the day, the den-den-mushi began to roar to life on your wooden countertop. The reverberation of its guttural grunts and gurgles had you satiating its tone by answering the call.

“Lord Dracule Mihawk’s den-den-mushi. State your intentions, and make it quick-,” you growled, your professional tone wavering in agitation due to the proximity of your shift ending.

“-Oh, sweet bonnie lass. I dinnae mean t’keep ‘ye waitin’,” the soothing drawl of Vice-Admiral Garp purred through the transponder. You huffed out an exasperated breath, your brows furrowing further against your forehead as you navigated through your swelling mind.

“Vice-Admiral,” your warning tone cut through the air, halting all further conversation with a concluding utterance of, “My office hours have concluded for the day. Should you desire to reach Dracule Mihawk for any need, you may try again at-.” Your words were stolen from you by Garp’s tone cutting through them like a knife through hot butter.

“-Please, lass,” his plea cracked through the den-den-mushi, holding you hostage to his words, “Please dannae brush me aside. I have been in meetin’s all day, and I have been trying to claw my way to you from the wee hours of the morn, to the quiet moments of the noon.” You rotated your neck, relieving tension found within the tight bands of your muscles.

“Vice-Admiral,” you began, interrupted once again by his rumbling brogue growling through the mouthpiece of the den-den-mushi, “I have had a long journey at sea. My only welcome being more work at the bequest of my employer. I do not have time to entertain you over the transponder today. If you desire to speak further, you can try again tomorrow, Vice-Admiral-.”

“-Garp, lass. It’s Garp, please,” his breathy voice gasped through the speaker, “I’ll make it up to you, I swear. I should’ve been down by the docks waiting - up to my knees in sea water to reign your ship in with my bare hands.” You hummed at the thought: a high and mighty Vice-Admiral of the marines lowering himself to the duties of a simple cadet at the chance of meeting his eyes with your own in person.

You took a moment's pause, contemplating his words and mulling the thought of him demonstrating his strength and stamina to you while shepherding Mihawk’s ship into port. Did he have old navy tattoos on his biceps? Did his advanced age hinder his ability to perform such a task? Gathering he was the one who suggested such a notion, and him being a man of high honor, you gathered he would be up to such a muscle burning task.

“Alright, Garp,” you hummed into the transponder, leaning back into the transponder and purring through your vocal challenge, “Make it up to me.”

A shuddered groan sparked through the mouthpiece, your own giddy joy elevating in your chest and igniting your body with soft tingles. If he had this much sway over you with just a small growl of his voice, you were unsure of where the next few moments were to bring you.

“Meet me at the docks in two hours, Bonnie Lass,” his tone was hushed enough to draw you in closer, your ears pricking to catch every syllable granted to you, “And I’ll treat you to a night you willnae forget in a hurry.” Your broad grin split your face, a small squeak of joy threatening to escape your lips with a soft hum.

“And how should you like me, Garp?” you asked him, your taunting purr calling further into the receiver end, “Should I prepare my wardrobe for an outdoor activity,” you questioned, your foot tapping lightly within the air while hooking over your knee, “Or should I just throw a coat over some lingerie and call it a night?”

Several cracking objects bent and broke, echoing throughout the den-den-mushi transponder; something akin to wood snapping and nails tearing through mahogany. You rewarded such a sound with a melodic giggle, only producing more creaking wood noises in consequence.

“Wear something dainty for me,” a low rumbled growl purred at you, “What you choose to wear under it is your prerogative.”

“Aye, Sir,” you confirmed with a curt nod, “Two hours, and I’ll be all yours.”

“All mine,” his low drawl parroted back to you, the giddy chirp of his voice endearing in your ears. At the click of the receiver, you sprung immediately into action and hurried out of the office doors.

You bid a cheery farewell to the cadets loitering in the hallway, thanking them for arranging your office, before leaving the washed-stone building of the World Government headquarters. Your smile never left your lips, the promise of meeting the man who held your romantic affections weighing heavily on your mind and fluttering harshly within the pit of your stomach.

While bathing, cleansing your skin and hair, and ensuring every part of you was styled and scented with the sweet and sultry persona you had presented yourself to be, your thoughts turned to pondering unspoken questions. Will he enjoy the way you present yourself? Will he behave like the perfect gentleman? How should you act: the way you shamelessly speak over the den-den-mushi, or poised like a lady? Would he like this particular color on you, or on the floor beside you?

You shook your head to rid them of the spiraling doubts, soothing over your tight dress and hooking your coat over your forearm while exiting the suite you had organized for yourself. Clicking and locking your door behind you, your eyes briefly met with Mihawks: a book tucked under his arm and wine bottle within his grasp, twirling the cork with his screw and filling his wine glass in the window. He shot you a knowing look, mouthing the words: “make him roar.”

Your cheeks flooded with the heat of scorched oil, flash point igniting in your eyes at the final utterance of support from your boss. Shaking your head, you made your way briskly to the docks. The dimly lit lamplight illuminated your path, the click of your heels tapping lightly on the solid sandstone pathway. The flap of gulls wings shepherded your final steps atop the docks, your eyes meeting with a truly unique sight you were not expecting in the least.

In the middle of the pier stood a highly decorated marine, silver hair backlit by the radiance of the moon and standing with his wrists clenched behind his back. His beard was neatly cropped, his eyes fixed on your approach, his lips exhaling a shaky breath he prayed you didn’t notice. As your feet carried your body closer, you halted a few feet away from him, tilting your chin and pursing your lips playfully up at him.

“Vice-Admiral,” you purred up at him seductively, your eyes wide and innocent to contradict your expression.

“Bonnie-Lass,” he gruffly commented in response, a smile painted brilliantly on his lips. A delightful shudder flew up your spine at his undistorted voice finally meeting with you. You flit your eyes hastily over him, examining his stature inquisitively - a gesture he returned with gusto, eyes hovering over your meticulously cared and styled hair and outfit.

“May I invite ‘ye aboard, lass?” Garp’s softness in his tone pulled you in, his arms waving behind him to gesture towards his impressive ship, “I ‘kin understand if being on a ship again after so much time on the water might no’ agree with ‘ye-.”

“-I would love to see your ship, Captain,” you remarked gleefully, stepping past his arms and following his gesture to the broadwalk, “I adore sea travel, and enjoy the rocking of the waves. I find it comforting.”

As you stepped past, your intoxicating radiance graced Garp with the aroma of your sweet perfume. The way your presence called him immediately to follow you, his feet falling in tow with your every step, was not something he ever accounted for.

The moment your voice picked up the receiver of the den-den-mushi, Garp’s sour mood was immediately stifled under your comforting tone. The first time he called Castle Kuraigana to relay orders to the broody warlord of the sea, he was ill-prepared to be met with a tone so honey-sweet and kind. He was immediately smitten, often calling the castle with any excuse he could muster to hear more of your sweetness pouring onto him through the speaker of his den-den-mushi.

But now you were here in person, Garp truly had no idea how to handle you. He did not know if you would allow him the luxury of holding you against himself in a warm and welcoming embrace. He did not desire to lean down and claim your lips with a kiss, only to be met with a turn of your cheek and an utterance of, “You’re too old for me,” falling from your lips. He truly did not know what to expect from you, and the unspoken anxiety was eating at his stomach and clouding his mind.

“Garp?” you called over to him, halting your advance onto his ship and turning to face him, “Are you going to guide me along your vessel, or am I to find my own way without you?” Garp snapped his eyes to meet with yours, his winding thoughts pausing as he bore his intense gaze into you.

“Although I do enjoy exploring new areas, I would prefer to be ushered in with the pleasure of your company,” you continued, a coy smile springing to your features, “After all the promises you made to me of the many months we’d been speaking,” you took a step back, falling closer to his larger body, “I would prefer you to keep your word.”

“And which word might that be, lass?” his gruff whisper crooned down at you, his eyes half-lidded and lips parted in desperation, “I had promised ‘ye an array of mischief, if ‘me old mind serves correct.”

“Considering I’ll be on, I’m assuming, this ship for the next few days while Mihawk completes his assignment,” you contemplated, darting your focus between his two eyes, “Would you show me to my quarters so I may send for my belongings to arrive on the morrow?”

“All work an’ no play, lass?'' he huffed a small laugh down at you, “An’ here I thought you’d want something more playful the first time we met in person, or perhaps something a little more-...” His thoughts trailed off, his tone almost disappointed at your formal conversation. He took it as his first rejection from you, opting to not push his expectation and desires onto you should it make you uncomfortable.

You exhaled through your nose, your smile not leaving your lips as you shook your head at him. As Garp allowed his spiraling thoughts to plague his mind, fully trapped within his misguided notion you had rejected his flirtatious advances, he didn’t feel the grip of your fingers around his teal tie until his body was thrust forward by the strength of your forearm.

Drawing all of the power you could muster, alongside the courage you felt you needed to complete such a feat, you claimed the lips of the decorated Vice-Admiral of the marines beneath your own. You set a bruising pace, turning your head and standing yourself up on the tips of your toes to reach more of him. Your other hand found his broad chest, dropping your coat to the floor while fisting the material of his outer coat beneath your palm and cradling him closer to yourself.

Stepping backwards onto the ship, you ushered his hulking body aboard while unbreaking from the passionate embrace. As your knees knocked with a hard benchtop behind you, you ushered the larger man to turn, forcing his body down to sit himself down on the bench. You opened your mouth, your tongue raking against his bottom lip.

A groan fled from his lips, Garp’s needy hands grasping at your flesh over the material of your dress. Fistfulls of the material was claimed within Garp’s hands, the hemline of the material being shimmied up your thighs to grant more of your flesh to be exposed to him. He opened his mouth, allowing you to seek out his tongue to brush against your own with expert and practiced precision.

As the material continued to ride up your body, you hooked your knees either side of his broad thighs and straddled his waist. The split side of your dress strained beneath the grasps of Garp’s hands, stretching the material harshly before your ears pricked at the harsh ‘rip’. You squeaked in Garps mouth, drawing your lips away from his with a frown.

“You tore my dress!” you exclaimed, your accusatory reprimand mixing with a hidden smile beneath your frown, “It was my favorite!” Garp paid your chastising tone no mind, peppering your neck with several, open-mouthed kisses.

“I’ll buy ‘ye twelve more,” he gasped, nipping and sucking at the exposed flesh of your neck, “All the colors you desire,” he raked his teeth against your jaw, “All the patterns in the world.” You keened a small moan into the air when he found a sensitive piece of flesh between your throat and your pulse.

His hand dipped between the material of your dress, raking his fingertips over your thigh to hold your hip only to pause while held in complete shock.

“You’re ‘nae wearing anythin’ beneath this dress, bonnie lass,” he growled against your jaw, his teeth catching on the bone and clamping over your soft skin.

“You said it was my prerogative,” you gasped, turning your head to seek out his lips with your own, “Why do you think I wanted you to show me to my quarters, Sir?” You pressed a long and heavy kiss against his lips before tearing yourself away once more. “But it seemed as if you couldn't handle the uncertainty for a moment longer,” you kissed his whiskered cheek, “So I am improvising.”

Garp immediately responded by raking his broad hands beneath your bare ass, barely covered by the material of your dress, hoisting you into the air and marching you throughout the corridors with heavy and intentional steps. You giggled at him, weaving your hands over his shoulders and massaging his scalp with your fingertips, and nuzzling down into his neck. You inhaled deeply, committing his cologne to memory while nipping and sucking on his exposed flesh close to his collar.

“It’s against protocol to leave visible marks above my uniform,” Garp growled, leaning his head back and exposing more of his skin to you, “If you litter my skin with any bites, I’ll see to ‘ye punishment personally.” In response to your rough, peppered kisses along his neck and bearded jaw, Garp slapped his hand on your right ass cheek before kneading it within his fingers and palm.

“I am no marine, Garp,” you confessed, wrapping your lips around his pulse and sucking at the skin with fervor, “And I’d like to see you try.”

“Y’ell do as ‘yer bloody told, lass,” he growled, leaning away from your lips. As his eyes met with yours, he squeezed the flesh of your ass with a warning pinch. You squeaked in delight, Garp’s hearty laughter pleasantly echoing within your ears.

“I’ll do as I bloody please, Garp,” you taunted in return, biting a crescent shaped mark against his pulse, soothing over the mark with your lips and tongue. You sucked at the mark, hearing a hitch in his breath as he continued to lead you towards the guest suites.

Tearing your lips away, you hummed at the heart-shaped mark you pressed into his skin. It was a medal of lust, visible to all who see it - and see it, they will. Garp’s pulse was elevated further, his passionate advances leading him on with heavy and intentional steps. His boot heel kicked in the door to cabin quarters, your anticipation only growing as Garp lowered you onto the freshly made bed.

Your back hit the plush mattress, your hair sprawling out on the sheets as he lowered his head against your neck. He pressed a few intentional kisses against your exposed flesh, his hands desperately raking over your chest to knead your breasts slowly and sensually. You sucked in a soft groan, your brows furrowing up as his thumb and index finger rolled over your puckered nipples. At your small gasp, he took it as encouragement to continue stimulating your breasts with his left hand, as his right rose the hemline of your dress over your hip.

Hastily, you shot your hands forward, fumbling over the buckle of his belt to rid it of its hold on his pants. Just as quickly, Vice-Admiral Garp surged forward: claiming both of your wrists within his circular grip to halt your advance. You furrowed your brows as he pinned your wrists beside your head, your wide eyes meeting with his mischievous grin.

“What are you-,” you began, silenced by a heavy and open-mouthed kiss pressed against your lips, claiming you beneath him with rough bites and soothing caresses. He groaned against your lips, leading your hands with his to wrap around his shoulders and weave into his hair once more within your fingertips.

“Let me taste ‘ye first, bonnie,” he growled against your sensitive skin, You gasped a sigh of affirmation, nodding against his smiling lips, “Let me make it up to ‘ye for ‘me surliness earlier. Please let me have ‘ye like this.”

Trailing open mouthed kisses down your neck, halting briefly at your breasts before trailing down your stomach; Vice-Admiral Monkey D. Garp made his intentions incredibly clear to you as he shimmied the line of your dress higher over your body.

“Let me show ‘ye how much I’ve been craving the sweet call of my name from those pretty lips o’ yours,” Hooking your knees over his shoulders, he scraped his bearded chin over the sensitive inner flesh of your thighs before grazing his lips over the top of your core, “I’ll have ‘ye cryin’ and whimperin’ for me before ‘ye even see my cock.”

He tested your sensitive flesh: flicking the tip of his tongue out to brush against your swollen clit. Immediately, your back arched up and a soft cry flew from your lips before you could stop it. Garp chuckled, looking as your pulsating core was welcoming more of his touches, giving away your arousal with a pool of your sweet essence pouring from your contracting entrance.

“You are so beautiful, bonnie lass,” he pressed a sweet kiss against the top of your groin, his smile felt against your flesh, “And ‘ye finally all mine.” After allowing another chuckle to fall from his lips, he advanced forwards and skillfully licked a clean and expert stripe along your glistening walls.

Vice-Admiral Garp was known for many things: His brutality in war, his aggression while training cadets, his calculated advances on the battlefield, his impossible strength, and his insatiable appetite. This appetite was now displayed to you as he hungrily and desperately lapped at your core like a man on death row, consuming his last meal while awaiting execution. The balance between savoring the flavor while horking down like a man starving had your eyes rolling back and hands fisting at his cropped hair to hold on tightly.

“O-Oh fuck,” you cried, your eyes now tightly clamped shut as you relished in his skilled ministrations. The roll of his tongue, the mouthing of his hungry lips, had you physically quaking against his face.

“Shakin’ like a leaf, lass,” he taunted, nuzzling into your aching core, “‘ye want ‘te see what else I ‘kin do?” Your toes curled as he prodded your entrance with his tongue, his nose circling your clit and spreading your arousal throughout your core. Skillfully thrusting his tongue in and out of your desperate and delicate slit, you felt as if you were going to explode in ecstasy the moment he began vibrating his tongue with a deep, rumbling groan.

“G-Garp. I-I don’t know if I-I can-... hnnng-... I c-can’t last m-....mmmn-... m-much longer,” you cried, your thighs clenching on his neck and shoulders to hold him in place. Your body reacted against your will, arching your back off the mattress while desperately riding his face. You felt the band winding tighter in your abdomen, each area of your body desperately shooting sparks, teetering on the edge of unravel.

Two firm hands clapped over your thighs: one holding down your stomach and pinning you against the bed, the other kneading over your thigh. Garp pulled his face away from your needy cunt, hovering his hot breath and breathing puffs of cool air over your hole. You whimpered in desperation, wriggling against his wide-spread fingers to get any stimulus to conclude your high.

“W-Why-,” you cried, a slap on your bare ass halting your words and having you throw your head against the pillow.

“-Because I warned ‘ye nae t’ leave a mark on ‘me body. It’s against protocol, lass,” he chuckled, his whiskered chin scraping over your thigh as his smiling lips pressed a kiss against the outer corner of your crotch. You growled, leaning up on your elbows, staring into his eyes with a dark agitation.

“And after all those promises of making it up to me?” you spat, your nose scrunching, lips pursing and brow furrowing. Garp rose from his low position against your exposed flesh, a foreign desperation depicted in his wide eyes.

“Were they all empty words?” you uttered. You knew, for a fact, that Vice-Admiral Garp was mad for you, but that only made you want to taunt him more, “All an act to get me to open my legs, just to leave me disappointed like the rest of them?” A stuttered gasp flew from his lips as he crawled up the bed, weaving his clothed torso through your legs to meet at eye level once again. In turn, you shimmied your body away from him, turning your face away in an attempt to hide your smile.

You knew how desperately he wanted you. The moment your lips collided with his above deck, you felt just how much he absolutely adored you. Considering he held you on the edge of ecstasy, only to pull away from you as you were about to unravel , you decided it would be more entertaining to watch him grovel for you.

“Perhaps you were only interested in leaving a sour taste, teasing me with your pretty brogue and taunting me with your dream-like promises,” you continued, lips pouting and brows triangulating up in the center of your forehead. Garp staggered in his movement, his hands reaching out in an attempt to grasp yours, only met with you pulling away.

“L-Lass, I didnae mean t-,” he began, halted by your melancholy sigh in an attempt to stifle a rising giggle in your chest.

“-You said I’d beg and plead for your hands and lips to be in a few key places, if I recall correctly,” you pouted, playing into your role, “How disappointing, only having me beg and writhe beneath you to pull away at the crescendo.”

“P-Please, lass. I’m sorry. I am a cruel, cruel man,” he confessed, claiming your left hand within his right and peppering the flesh with a flurry of kisses, “What can I do t’make it up to ‘ye, ‘me bonnie lass. Tell me,” he trailed his kisses up higher, halting at the inner flesh of your elbow, “Order me, dictate me,” he continued spreading kisses up to your shoulder, soothing over your scorching flesh, “I beg ‘ye to reconsider your withdrawal. I am ‘ye humble servant, wee bonnie.”

Your smile broke through your pouting expression, your head snapping over to meet with his. His eyes were wide and frantic, desperate to know he had not lost you by enacting his cruel punishment.

“Off the bed,” you ordered him, a twinkle of mischief sparking to light in your surly expression, “And strip yourself, slowly.”

“Aye, bonnie lass,” he stumbled over his words, immediately staggering backwards and falling to the side of the bed. He began unbuttoning his overcoat and shaking it from his shoulders hurriedly, prompting a giggle to break through your practiced character.

“I said slowly, Garp,” you purred at him, sitting up and moving your left calf along your right, “I thought you would be good at following orders, considering your title as a marine.” He halted his hasty undress, opting to silently follow your orders by unhooking the clasps of his belt and unbuttoning his pants. As the hem lay limply on his hips, he slowly popped each button of his shirt and raked his index finger along his torso to separate the fabric.

Shamelessly following each movement with a bite of your bottom lip, you reclined on your side and encouraged him to continue with your sultry and beckoning eyes. His heart fluttered, feeling so small beneath your predatory gaze. After speaking with you for so long over den-den-mushi, and desperately seeking your approval with his choice words, he was certain he knew what to expect when he met with you.

He had never been so pleased to be proven wrong in his life.

As he released the final button of his shirt, you clicked your tongue at him and pointed your index finger at the teal sash decorating his neck.

“The tie stays on,” you spoke through narrowed eyes, testing his resolve to follow your orders. He huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head as he peeled his shirt away from his skin - leaving the teal tie around his neck. He shimmied off the fabric before hooking his thumbs through his belt hoops, slowly pulling the material over his hips and down his muscular thighs.

Hungrily and awestruck, you followed each taut flex of his impressive muscles: his forearms, his biceps, his shoulders, his pectorals, his abs, his thighs - nothing was hidden from your eyes as he continued to slowly undress himself before you. His head-shot from the World Government truly did not do him justice - a man dignified and refined, muscular and carved from slated marble. He was a sight to behold, and was anxious to receive your approval at each passing moment.

Stepping away from his pants, Vice-Admiral Garp was standing before you in naught but his teal tie and tight undershorts. The growing pole to tent the center of his trousers had your mouth watering beneath your stoic and sultry expression: keeping your hand close to your chest to not reveal your desperation for him.

“Does this please you, lass?” he whispered below his breath, the corner of his mouth ticking with his melancholy expression, “An old man far from his prime, humbling himself before the delicate flower of Kuraigana. Is this all ‘ye dreamed of?” His small sigh caught your ear, prompting your brows to furrow in deep thought. His eyes were focussed on the floor, unable and unwilling to tear them away to meet with your exploratory eyes.

Vice-Admiral Garp was self conscious. He found himself unworthy to be at the receiving end of your interest, a fact that had become clearer and clearer the more the night flew on.

“Take off your undershorts, Garp,” you ordered him, slowly rising to your knees on the mattress, “And lie back on the bed.” You witnessed as his cock twitched beneath his pants, a growl purring in the chasms of his chest as he hooked his thumbs around the hemline of his undergarments.

Slowly shimmying down the elastic, his impressive cock sprang above the surface, slapping his abdomen with his shining mushroom tip on his belly. The slit was dripping with precum, the veins throbbing with anticipation while he bashfully lay his back down on the mattress. His cock stood to attention, knob throbbing while his shaft was hoisted in the air. He was neatly cropped, every follicle of his happy trail meticulously maintained down his stomach.

Without much warning, you eagerly straddled his waist with a giggle of joy. A gasp of shock fled from his lips, followed by a huff of laughter as you eagerly threw your dress off your body and looked down at his reclined form. There was a hidden uncertainty within his eyes, a hopeful sheen sucking you within his orbs each moment you gazed into them.

“Now what, lass?” he questioned you, eyes searching yours as he reached up his palm to cradle your cheek, “You’ve got me pinned and helpless beneath your thighs. Does this please you? D-Do I-...” his voice trailed off, remaining uncertain as his eyes sought out deeper, unspoken desires within your own, “...-Do I please you?”

You sighed, flipping your hair over your shoulder and looking down at him through half-hooded eyelashes. Your soft smile drew up over your features, a secret and hidden kiss’ shadow rising within the right-hand corner of your mouth - a place that immediately held Garp rendered defeated under your beautiful features.

What began as mild lust had blossomed and flourished into something more sacred. Garp was indeed smitten with you, desperately wanting to both treat and tease you, but now that he had you - he was clawing at being a worthy partner for you to couple with. He knew you were beautiful, he knew you were intelligent, he knew you were wise - but he did not expect, upon meeting you in person, to be rendered helpless upon seeking your approval.

Wordlessly, you sought out the tip of his glistening cock with your needy hole, slowly circling the knob without welcoming him fully into your walls. He gasped at the contact, surging forward to grasp at your thighs over his waist. Your arousal coated his tip, painting it with your own lust and propelling his sinful desires on further.

“You’ll please me by letting me ride your thick cock until you can’t take it anymore,” you purred down at him, angling your lips to almost brush against his own, “You’ll please me by splitting me open and filling me up with every inch you’re willing to give me. You’ll please me-...” you leaned your torso down, your breasts brushing with his pectorals, nipples circling his own in a sultry dance as you hovered over his cock, “...-By allowing me the luxury of cumming on your cock, my pussy milking you of your thick load and splashing back onto your cock once it meets with my cervix.”

Garp held his breath, furrowing his brows as he felt you inch down to claim his shined knob within your entrance. He focussed on the hitch of your breath, the swell of your heart rate, and the small whimper in your voice. He focussed on the twitch of your closed eyes and your parted lips as you sank further along his shaft.

Although his appetite was insatiable, he would never rush you in adjusting to his girth and length. He relished in every stretch your walls made to accommodate his impressive size, focussing on how your brows knit together and breath hitched at every small move. He tried to hold back the twitch of his desperate cock, trying not to lose himself within the feeling of your cunt fluttering to adjust for his cock to fully sheathe itself within you.

As the hilt of your crotch met with his, his cock disappearing within your fluttering cunt up to the brim, he finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief at being sheathed completely within you. Grinding yourself down, you suppress a strangled moan within your throat as you feel your walls adjust and accommodate to his impressive size. Testing a small movement, you inched yourself upwards and slunk down against his shaft - a sigh mirrored within Garp’s lips as he restrained himself from fucking up into you.

You began to slowly rake your walls up, before slamming your body back down against his groin: mutual cries of bliss falling from each other's lips as you focussed on riding his cock. You hastily drew up speed, setting a rhythm that had his hips rolling beneath your own. Your mewling cries of his name were rising into the air each time you felt his knob touch the edge of your cervix.

His hands gripped firmly against your thighs, ushering you to bob, grind and gyrate against his cock to chase your own ecstasy. Your clit brushed with the small tuft of hair remaining at the base of his shaft, stimulating the small bud each time you drew yourself down to his crotch.

He stared up in disbelief at the way your body responded to him. He was mesmerized at each whimper of your voice, each flutter of your eyelashes, and each slam of your aching cunt welcoming his throbbing cock within his walls. He couldn’t get enough: you were intoxicating and addictive with each writhe against him.

Your rhythm began to get more stuttered, your body responding to the elevation of your ecstasy. Your walls began to thump against him, wringing his cock and clamping down on it as your approaching orgasm began to shudder against his shaft. His breath hitched, his own brow furrowing as he felt every pulse within your walls ushering him into his own bliss.

As you continued to grind against him, Garp struggled to hold back against his own desires of flipping you over and stapling his hips against your own by railing your body into the plush mattress below. He did not want to destroy his good standing with you by completing such a lewd act, reacting in penance from drawing himself away from cumming into his awaiting lips, and simply chose to take each moment you gave him as a gift.

The flutter of your cunt began squeezing his shaft, the sensitive spongy underside of your clit meeting with his knob propelling you further in the release of your incoming ecstasy. Your whimpers and cries of his name falling freely from your lips had both Garp’s cock and heart swell in pride that his body was granting you such bliss.

“G-Garp, I-I’m gonna-...” you called, clenching your eyes shut as you continued to gyrate and grind down against his cock.

Garp’s iron will snapped, immediately hooking his arms around your waist and tackling you against the bedsheets. He caged you beneath him, plowing greedily into your shuddering walls with an eager snap of his hips. You shrieked in shock, your ecstasy being ushered in further by Garp stampeding you both towards your ends with a heavier and more controlled rhythm.

Each heavy rake of his cock within your cunt had his balls slapping against your puckered ass. At this new angle, you cried out, desperately clawing at his back and shoulders to draw him in closer to you.

He hoisted your knee over his hip, latching his lips onto your neck and sucking a deep, angry, mark into your porcelain flesh. You cried for him, every ounce of your flesh ignited by the sparks of untamed ecstasy as you thrust your hips upwards to meet with every sharp snap of his rhythmic hips.

“Cum for me,” he purred at you in a gruff growl, “Cry out my name.” His rhythm began to weigh heavier with each deep thrust, heavier and heavier with every staggered slam of his hips. “I want the entire base t’ know I’m makin’ ‘ye feel good. Want ‘ye fookin’ boss t’ know you’re becoming unraveled by my thick cock, ‘me bonnie lass.”

At the mention of your boss: Mihawk’s verbal warning of having Garp cry your name in bliss echoed back to you. In a final ditch effort of having Garp cry out for you, you latched your lips onto the mark you created a few hours prior and teased the flesh with your teeth and tongue. Garp knit his brows, growling through yelping barks below his breath at how truly good you made him feel.

“O-Ohh f-fuck, Garp. I-I’m-... ahh-... I’m c-cumming,,” you called, clawing and gnawing at his flesh like a lifeline anchoring you to the earth. He sucked in a breath feeling the twitch of his end spurting the first few moments of his orgasm within your walls. As much as he desired to pull away from your eager cunt to not risk his seed finding purchase within your walls - he simply could not help himself. He immediately began plowing harsher into you, his cock spurting his cum within you like a valve turning to release hisses of pent-up pressure.

His voice became elevated with each staggered thrust, each subtle whimpered cry of his name coinciding with you grinding and writhing beneath him to chase your mutual highs. At one final bite of his flesh, and a particularly harsh snap of his hips, the two of you began experiencing the first realms of joint ecstasy.

“F-Fuck bonnie lass, I cannae pull out,” he roared your name, gyrating and pumping his seed deep within your cunt: splashing back spurts of his load within your needy, throbbing cunt.

“D-Don’t you dare t-try,” you scolded him, eyes rolling back in bliss as he chased his orgasm within you. The walls of your pussy began contracting against his thick cock, shepherding him into releasing hot ropes of sticky cum within your eager walls. For every thump of your walls, you were granted by a spurt of his release within them - milking him of every fiber of his essence.

As you both rode through your highs, the hums of your voices and gasps of your breath caught up with you. He snapped his hips forward, remaining sheathed within your glistening walls, as he raked his fingers through your hair. Your strands stuck against your forehead, your pupils blown with lust as you gulped back another cry of ecstasy as his cock throbbed within you. You sobbed, hiding your forehead against his chest as you attempted to come down from your high.

Taking a moment to each gulp in oxygen to fill your lungs, Garp rolled from caging you beneath him, unsheathing his cock from within your pussy slowly. He looked down at your entrance, watching as it clenched to chase his retreat from your body with an eagerness he was yet to witness in some time. You were a masterpiece, a body unraveled and glistening within the realms of the afterglow in unbridled lust. He adored you.

“You alrigh’, lass?” he asked you quietly, his lips grazing your temple as your lungs refilled with oxygen. You smiled up at him, eyes closing while your body chased his lips to feel his wired whiskers against your skin longer. You hummed at him, rolling over to your side and grazing his chest with your open hands.

“Never better, Garp,” you cooed back at him, feeling your energy supply depleting the longer you remained comfortably within his arms. He cradled you against himself, feeling the soft song of slumber calling to him each moment you remained nestled against him.

“And what of t’morrow?” Garp asked, his brow cocking up at the corner while he fought to keep his eyes open, “‘Ye got duties to attend, I’m sure.”

“Dracule Mihawk has allowed me the luxury of a few days' shore leave,” you confessed, sleepily, “I don’t think I’ll be returning to my station any time soon, Vice-Admiral-.”

“-Garp, bonnie lass. It’s Garp, remember?” he cooed down at you, shimmying his body down to locate the plush duvet and nestling you both beneath it, “When you’re with me, it’s always Garp.”

“Alright, Garp,” you purred up at him, eyes hooded and feeling serenaded by sleep, “Will you stay by me tonight? Show me you still want me in the morning?” He huffed out a breath of disbelief, cradling you further against his chest and pressing a gentle kiss against your forehead.

“Rest assured, Bonnie Lass,” the rumbling drawl of his voice cooed down at you, his fingers brushing over your hair and smoothing over each strand, “I will still want you every morning.”

Both of your warm smiles clung to your cheeks as you fell into the arms of sleep, feeling calm and at peace while clinging to one another. You had never been so pleased to be relieved of duty, your legs and body remaining blissfully numb by being plowed into by Garp’s throbbing cock.

An apology for his rough actions came in the form of caging your hips against his face, his arms weaving over your thighs, and him welcoming you to ride his head until your voice grew hoarse from the sheer number of times he had you cry his name on his eager tongue. Enthusiastically lapping at your glistening cunt with the fervor of a man being granted the feast of a lifetime, he refused to part his lips from your glistening walls until you violently shook with a scream of his name.

When riding down your high and sobbing through your ecstasy, you looked down at his eager eyes: twinkling with mischief. Upon meeting his gaze, he kissed your thigh and cooed up at you: “Just one more? One last time before I let you go, ‘me wee bonnie lass?” for the fifth time that morning. After all, his appetite truly was insatiable.

#one piece #x reader #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #monkey d garp #garp x reader #monkey d garp x reader #mihawk #platonic mihawk #mihawk's assistant #garp is a menace #monkey d garp smut #op smut #op x reader smut #garp smut #op garp #age gap kink

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joyful-enchantress · 5 months

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Loki’s costume at the end of S2E6 was perfect.

Yes, every part of it, down to those slippers.

And here’s my unsolicited (and delayed) thoughts on the matter.

First, let’s talk about his robe. Not only was it utterly beautiful, down to the draping and the deep, rich shade of green (and I mean come on, would we expect anything less?), its style was incredibly symbolic.

If you look at previous Loki ensembles, especially the ones that include a horned helmet, there is an air of grandeur and finery about them. The exquisitely stitched, buttery leather; the shiny gold trimmings and metal armor accents; the dramatic, billowing capes and overcoats. Even the silhouette of these looks is broad and structured — one might even say severe. Everything about these past looks screams “Look at me; I’m important” and reinforces Tony’s own observation in The Avengers that Loki is a “full-tilt diva” — he longs for the respect and attention that he deserves (and has been denied almost all of his life) and that longing is reflected in his clothing. They are reminiscent of the royal palace in which he was raised. They allow him to be battle-ready, because he’s had to fight and claw for every scrap of love and attention he’s managed to get. They represent a broken prince. A warrior cloaked in royalty. A would-be-king.

Now, compare that to his robe in Loki S2E6. It isn’t flashy. It has a soft silhouette. The shade of green is deeper and richer than we’ve seen; more earthy. An earthy shade of green which, in my opinion, is a nod to Yggdrasil, the cosmic tree that he will weave the branches of the multiverse into. The gold trimming across the front is subtle and understated - I even missed it at first and didn’t realize there was any gold trimming on the robe at all until I got a closer look later. It is simple. The draping is reminiscent of the robes worn by Buddhist monks. His robe reflects a Loki that has more wisdom and humility, and who has realized that being a good king — a proper god — means he will spend his life in service to others. It is the robe of a man who is confident and self-assured and knows exactly what kind of god he needs to be.

Now let’s talk about the slippers. I noticed that they got quite a bit of flack immediately after the finale aired. And I get it — they’re an odd choice, especially when we are so accustomed to the dramatic boots and finely-crafted and statement-making dress shoes he typically dons. For similar reasons as the robe, they are symbolic and fitting for Loki’s development into a wiser, more humble character. Don’t get me wrong, these loafers are still impeccably stylish, and no doubt they are of the finest craftsmanship, because this is still Loki we are talking about here. But they have a purpose, and that purpose is to get him to his final destination. These simple slippers barely even protect Loki’s feet, showing us a kind of vulnerability that we’re unaccustomed to seeing from Loki. He isn’t guarded in this moment; he’s open, connected to his purpose, and sure of himself. The shoes aren’t for battle; they aren’t meant to impress. They are meant to serve.

Now, about what is, quite possibly, my favorite feature of the costume. The horns. These iconic horns which we’ve associated with Loki from the very beginning take on an entirely reimagined look in the finale. First of all, they are bigger than any set we’ve seen resting upon Loki’s brow. So big, in fact, that they weren’t actually a physical part of the costume Tom Hiddleston wore. So big that they would likely hinder his performance if he actually had to bear their weight on his head.

In addition to their size, the horns are made of the same temporal-infused material from which both HWR’s talisman and the citadel at the end of time are constructed. Gone are the opulent golden horns that glisten and shine with the grandeur of royal finery. These horns are dark and heavy. They symbolize the unfathomable weight of the burden that Loki bears in his godly endeavor to save the multiverse. The golden temporal material that runs throughout the horns like veins is reminiscent, to me, of Kintsugi, the Japanese art of mending broken things with gold. And in a way, Loki is a broken thing that has been healed and mended throughout his personal journey of self-acceptance and friendship, and is now more beautiful than he ever has been. More humble. More selfless. More godly.

In addition to the horns, the cape, too, is the largest we’ve seen Loki wear. And while at first, this dramatically oversized cape may seem to stand in opposition to the humility that the rest of the outfit encapsulates, it works. It works because, like the horns, it is symbolic of the burden Loki has chosen to bear. This cape would be unbearably heavy; it would make even the most basic movement difficult. And on top of its sheer size, his cape even becomes torn into strips that are woven into the timelines themselves, literally securing his burden — his service to the multiverse — around his neck.

Lastly, I want to talk about the way this outfit manifested. There’s been a common thread throughout this discussion about the humility and selflessness that this ensemble puts on display. And while that’s true, we’re talking about a relative level of humility and selflessness, when compared to Loki’s previous tendencies. This is still Loki we’re talking about here. He’s got a flair for the dramatic. He’s nothing if not intentional about the way he presents himself. And the way he marched down that gangway like it was his own personal runway, while his clothing fell away in shreds and tatters to reveal this completely fresh but familiar look, was completely on-brand for him. It was theatrical. It was glorious.

His outfit at the end featured accessories that were heavy and larger than life. Those parts were a burden.

It wasn’t short on the style and drama that we’re so accustomed to seeing from Loki. It was glorious.

And every part of it, down to his humble shoes, was fit for purpose.

One look at this finale costume and you know, without doubt, that Loki is burdened with glorious purpose.

A/N: If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading my unsolicited thoughts on this beautiful piece of costume design! Also, apologies for the delay in posting. I know some of you have been told this post was coming since the night the finale aired, weeks ago. Thank you for your patience with me as I gathered my thoughts and found the time to organize them and type them out.

🏷️ @peachyjinx @acidcasualties @muddyorbsblr @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @tallseaweed @give-me-a-moose @fictive-sl0th @coldnique @maple-seed @loopsisloops @gigglingtiggerv2 @simplyholl @superficialdomina @mischief2sarawr @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @wheredafandomat @liminalpebble @ladyofthestayingpower ++

#loki #loki season 2 #loki series #loki show #loki finale #glorious purpose #burdened with glorious purpose #costume design #loki costume #joyful enchantress writes #costume analysis #costume symbolism

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dhampling · 3 months

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sylvan gn!reader, 2.8k

THIS IS IT! THE UNICORN FIC! ALSO COINCIDENTALLY A 300 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION PIECE! THANK YOU!!! based on THIS ask, where a chance series of encounters in youth come together on one night, where everything just clicks for Astarion and his unicorn. this has plagued my brain. this is all i know now. i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. wc: 2.8k c/w: descriptions of mutilation. fluff. reader WAS a unicorn. yippee.

A bed of burning coals. Belly on a smooth stone slab.

Low candlelight as Cazador works, each measured smite into the milky flesh of Astarion’s back feels akin to a dull goring; blood a balm of cooling as it spills.

A mouldering steak.

With each biting shovel of the gouging blade he knows this is a horribly permanent form of disfigurement.

The pale face in the very periphery of his waning vision, flickering often to look at some tome of reference before conferring with Dufay in frequent sharp whispers.

He wipes the skin to clear his canvas after each twist of his tool. A searing rag. He can feel the fluff, the grit, as it settles deep into the exposed sticky blazing valleys between his shoulder blades. He feels the birth of rancid infection. The prickle of each and every prick along his tendons that the debris sets alight.

He knows little else in this moment.

He knows his limbs are useless in tight leather binds, but that this isn’t a case of reprimand as a flaying or a visit to the kennels may be. He’s been good this month. He hasn’t pushed his luck, nor toed the line. He hasn’t even seen Godey in a four tenday.

He knows that the gods can’t hear him down here, wherever here is. He was mercifully sedated at one point, but now all that remained were the paralytic properties of whatever was in the chalice presented oh-so-mightily to him at dinner. That his foetid, mortified carcass won’t allow him to howl, or whine, or scream.

He thinks that he had a similar tool to this when he was young.

He remembers the cool blunt edge in the kitchens and running the tip of his small thumb along it. Feeling it in his pocket, warmed by the heat of his still-breathing body. Sitting in the forest just the other side of the fence with a small wicker basket of apples beside him. Woven blanket underneath linen tunic, woollen overcoat despite the early Kythorn sun; juices running down his little chin as he looked up at the birds singing through the canopy of trees.

He then remembers his mother’s beckon call, leaving the cores to rot on the peaty floor; seeing the yellowing flesh dotted with twigs and brown leaves, glistening still.

“Are you coming?” He whispers sharply, head peering around the yawning mouth of your tent.

You stretch and roll your wrists, freeing your eyes of sleep with a soft rub.

“Hm?”

Astarion clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. You look at him in a daze.

He bristles in the post-gloaming purple dusk, your amber candlelight bringing his face warmth as his eyes scan your face. Behind him you can see a tapestry of stars starting to form in the sky.

His head shakes a little. Claps once. Incredulous.

Oh.

“Overslept.” You mumble. He sighs.

“Gods.’

Pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

‘You have five minutes before I pull you out of this foetid little pit, whatever state you’re in.”

He turns on his heel.

“Is that a threat?” You shout after him.

His head ducks quickly back in.

“A promise. Just so we’re clear.”

A nap in the thulsun heat. A day of rest. Astarion ‘knock, knock’-ing on your tent flap as you read and slinking in like a cat, perching precariously on the chair you use to throw your unwashed armour onto after battle. Several quips about the smell. You threw a pillow at him. Hard. He repostured and continued on breezily.

He’d ‘gotten wind’ of a gathering happening on the beach twenty minutes from camp. Scavengers finishing up at the Nautiloid wreckage throwing some debauched farewell to the Ravaged Beach before some bastardised mercenary force comes in to begin clean up. All the good stuff now gone, but plenty of wine; and, obviously, an opportunity for ‘a little bit of fun’.

He’d blinked at you coquettishly, leaning on the back of the chair, daring you to ask just how he’d gotten wind of such an event.

It’s rare you’ve bounced off another with such ease since your change. You’re too intelligent for his seduction techniques - the ones you hear him rehearsing quietly to himself from his tent each evening - to work the simple way he intends. That doesn’t mean the pale elf has had no effect on you, however.

You take comfort in knowing exactly how you’ll find him every time you look, and he’ll always be ever so pleased to hear that you have been looking.

A wink. A flash of those porcelain white fangs.

An invite to your bedroll for the most sordid of midnight snacks.

Chatter between friends, an ever-present whiff of flirtation; the quirk of a moonlit lip and the pleasure of mutual relief in the dead of night.

You fumble around the darkened tent in underwear searching for your discarded camp clothes as his fire-lit silhouette lingers outside.

Astarion thinks about the apples from time to time.

Tough, yet yielding. Biting. Sweet flesh bursting in season, ripe and white. Scraps of red skin stuck between hungry teeth. Seeds in their hard little hollows, stalks with small dry leaves. The way the juice ran so freely down his chin in the light of the sun and dampened the back of his hand as he’d wiped it away.

His full wicker basket empty by afternoon.

Highsun courtyard feasts. He remembers the animals; his mother joking with beaming eyes and a wine-dipped cheer about his ‘druidic potential’ as she held him close, hand on his head, the other on his chest, he stood against her legs as she wittered. Time spent watching for an opportunity to slip through the gate and sit in silence with the birds.

Cazador trenches into his back deeper this time. What Astarion assumes must be blood spatters into his hair with the force of flying blue jay shit, and he’d know.

He remembers the first time he saw the unicorns in the forest, how bewildered he felt. Startling white in such vivid contrast to the surrounding browns and greens.

They weren’t skittish like the deer were, nor could they have been ‘lost property’ like the horses who often roamed by. The kobolds were mean to him on more than one occasion and the boars who passed were simple creatures.

As a decisive yank is made and the gouging tool changes direction, fully embedded in the flesh it tears, he thinks about the smallest one.

Despite being fraught with innuendo and obvious peacocking, Astarion’s company is a reassuring distraction from your current tadpole predicament. A parody of traditional pursuit wrapped in genuine affection. He knows he doesn’t have to bring the bravado, because you’ll play along regardless.

And this eventide, alongside the fallen Nautiloid; he glows.

Skin soaked in the deep gloaming ambers and yellows of the campfire. Laugh of treacle, like a dozing highsun; a dawn chant on Lathander’s day - he tips his head back in a cotton lull and the quiet threat of his smile brimming through his sharp incisors devastates you.

You watch on from the open mouth of a scavenger tent astride a pile of pillows and blankets, surrounded in distant light and pilfered goods. A warm breeze carries the firesmoke and to your side is a newfound silver chalice full to the brim with heady Arabellan Dry.

He looks every part the favourite of the gods.

Sways gently in his seat. Imbibes generously. Lifts his arms wide in gesticulation with oft-rotating conversational partners and tells stories in hushed tones with the most salacious quirk threatening his brow.

Occasionally throughout your jaunt, you’ll wonder if he should be holding your mind like this.

Then his eyes meet yours.

Gods.

It feels like they all watch as he moves to you. Adonis in the flesh; effusive as his fingers circle the rim of his glass and he sinks to crossed legs beside you. Face by face.

“I am so fucking bored.” He mutters. Smiles widely at a passing new acquaintance before sighing a grumble.

“Which one was ‘bored’ again?” You peer mockingly into the crowds, searching with a hand resting atop your tired brow.

He elbows you. Hard.

“You sound remarkably sour, pet.”

“I’m not sour. I’ve had a beautiful evening” You sip. A gentle breeze rolls over you.

Astarion lolls his head back a little.

“Beautiful wasn’t really the plan though, was it?”

You turn to him. Narrow your eyes just the smallest bit.

Astarion tilts back and looks to the sky. He opens his mouth as if to speak. Closes it just as fast.

“What?”

You picture him falling in love with every single one he’d spoken to on the beach this evening; lifting locks of hair around nimbly twirling fingers and pulling another warm body closer. Tilting his head downwards, eyes remaining forward; struggling for words in covetous gasps. Seduction.

A small laugh. Gods.

“Beautiful. Fucking a stranger in a beach cove isn’t necessarily what I’d call beautiful, dearest.”

“That was your plan?”

“Wasn’t it yours?”

You stop for a good moment. Astarion clicks his tongue in thought. Blinks with the urgency of dripping treacle.

Gods. The memory alone would be enough to bring a smile to his face, and he remembers it so very vividly.

The apples. A baby unicorn.

One late Elient afternoon, the first time any of them had approached. His fingers stickied with juice. It didn’t appear to be cautious by any discernible means, refusing the peel he’d hesitantly offered far out on the flat of his palm.

Little thing. Just about his size, he thinks; and he was always small.

He remembers sniffing with a cold and haphazardly wiping his sticky fingers on the front of his coat. Reaching out so it could smell him.

Chewing open-mouthed, eyes closed, smoothing his face with the back of his hand.

They’d fall about together on feeble legs, his flailing arms and gentle nudges. Days on days spent venturing into the forest where it’d be waiting for him in the same clearing as always.

He remembers easing into the apple flesh with the tool edge and gently wiggling it into the crisp white to ensure a deep enough pit. Skimming imperfect rounds of the skin. Bouncing the resulting red spiral between his thumb and forefinger.

Cazador reaches for the dagger. A hundred-thousand molten pins.

The moon overhead. Unwavering in clarity. It almost feels like you’re on the precipice of a different world.

“You’re weird, you know.’ Astarion breaks his silence. The revellers continue to drink, to dance and talk clumsily around you.

Your eyes meet his. He wavers on the edge of certainty, but the performative lowering of his lids shows you he isn’t too sure. There’s a front to the nonchalance.

‘What are you?”

“Hm?”

“Fun. I said there’d be fun. You aren’t partaking.’ He takes a sip and swills it around his mouth whilst collecting his thoughts. The dossier. Racking through pages in his brain.

‘I can’t be completely sure, but I’ve met a lot of humans in my life. Seduced them. Given and taken like a market teller.’

His hands move as he speaks, a considered pattern of gesticulation.

‘And you simply… you’re above it all. You don’t even smell human. What are you?”

There it is. If you weren’t inebriated you’d be tempted to laugh him off.

Tonight, however; your bones are thoroughly wine-sodden.

Your companion has a twinkle in his eye. A beach of prospective lovers and he has collapsed at your side in respite. If he persecutes you as they would then you’ll die with his face the last thing you see. It doesn’t feel like a bad compromise.

“Not human.” You confirm, looking at your fingernails with a pert nod.

He laughs in a slight of vindication.

“Try me.”

“Sylvan.”

You can’t be sure if it’s from embarrassment or underlying fear that your head falls into your sweaty hands. Astarion’s snide streak plays at the fray of your mind.

“What? Half wood-elf or something?”

He sips.

“Unicorn.” You lift your fingers and flutter them around the sides of your head meekly.

Splutters.

“Explains why there are none roaming the actual woods anymore, I suppose.”

He’s taken it surprisingly well, all things considered. You aren’t sure what you’d expected. A minute of silence. The lazy roll of waves along the shore.

“What do I smell like?”

Maybe he’s wary of the driftwood stake near your hand.

“Apples. People don’t smell like apples. Usually sweat. Or perfume.’ He runs his tongue over his teeth and sniffs.

‘Not apples. I should’ve -”

Apples. A softness in the way he says it, you note. Favoured fruit in the allotments running the edge of the forests.

‘I’ve not had an apple in so long.”

He finishes with a wistful smile, topping off the wine in hand and refilling it with a swift glug.

“Do you miss them?”

“Apples? I-’

The cogs turn slowly - he wets his bottom lip and looks to the sky once more. His brow furrows as you watch him think.

‘I used to sit in the forest, just around the back of the garden wall. I was about- I’d have been about up to here?’ He lifts his arm to just above where his sitting head rests.

‘I was tiny. All day long. Peeling the skin, gnawing away. Ironic.”

Pauses as if in remembrance of something. Grimaces.

You smile fondly and reach for his arm. You’re willing to entertain the line of dialogue. It distracts from the situation and he seems open to indulging in it.

“Funny.”

He scoffs and taps your hand softly before taking it in his. Cool fingers lock around yours.

“How so?”

“Gods, a long time ago now - there was a boy I met who did the same thing. Fascinated by them. Would sit and peel them with a little tool. Strange thing.”

You take a sip as you imitate the focus of the young thing, pretending to work tunnels into the cooling air with your near-empty chalice.

Astarion whips his head to face yours.

“Two hundred years ago?”

“Why?’

He’s watching you as if you’re holding something very fragile in your faux-gouging fingers.

‘I suppose so? Round about then. Bit longer, maybe two hundred and th-”

“Me. It was me.”

Your eyes meet.

It’s the kind of moment you’ve read about in your downtime, the way the clock stops. Everything feels silent. The sea stops rolling soft on the shore, the voices around you are naught above a whisper; the glass in the hand not clutching yours set firmly on the sand as he shuffles to face you head on.

Apples.

You watch his eyes soften wholly. Not a single ounce of guard; no sense of hesitation. Two glimmering rubies in the moonlight.

“His eyes weren’t red.” You smile.

It takes a moment for him to react. He’s studying your face reverently, with newfound interest; mapping each of the lines and blemishes with a hand hovering over your cheek.

And then he laughs. The most beautiful sound in all the realms, melodic.

“They weren’t.’

He points to the scarred fang marks above his sagging collar.

‘I was also alive at that point.’

Astarion takes a few comfortable minutes to look at you as he strokes over your hand with his thumb. You’ve spent enough of the past few weeks looking over him to know him almost by heart but you’ll indulge with the context of the revelation before you.

“Look at us now, then.”

Your voice cracks. You didn’t realise the sheer size of the lump in your throat.

“I -’

He presses his free hand to your cheek as he did when you were both young. Soft. Jowls ablaze at his wine-sticky touch.

The sincerity in his gaze is brutal. If you weren’t so deeply enamoured you might just vomit.

‘The longest night of my life, I thought of you. The apples. How -’

Astarion takes a moment to survey you. You obviously look nothing like you did back then, aside from the brightest eyes he’s ever seen in all two hundred and thirty nine years of life and the same softness in how they revere him.

‘How you never came back. I waited.’

It’s then that you crumble.

‘How happy I knew I’d be when you did return.”

It’s cataclysmic, the way he talks. The last person who was kind to you and he thought you’d left him by choice this whole time. Remembering you in his darkest moments. All you’ve both suffered and here you are, on this rancid beach in the middle of nowhere; your hand safe in his.

“It wasn’t by choice. Never.”

The look on his face suggests he’s toying with the idea of playing the fair maiden, but he sees the way you crack and almost takes to tears himself.

“Well. You’re here now, and we have a lot of lost time to make up for. It helps that I was already fond of you, of course.”

He brushes the hair from your face and plants a deep kiss on your forehead as you bring your arms around his waist, hesitantly.

It’s a start.

One you’d never have seen coming when waking aboard the crashed nautiloid in front of you; but glorious nonetheless.

#astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 #astarion ancunin #my writing #unicorn stuff

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eyesofshan-if · 4 months

Text

NOEUL OF THE SU (노을) — AN UNPREDICTABLE FOE

The right hand of the High Leader, No-Eul cuts a terrifying figure on the battlefield. When the enemy see a red flag flying high, they cry out 'Hundred Man No-Eul is here!' and scatter. Their presence is enough to turn the tide of a battle — and wherever they go, they leave a trail of bloody, burning carnage in their wake.

Displaying a mastery over nearly all weapons and near unnatural physical abilities, they throw themselves into battle with the ferocity of a wild beast and the recklessness of a madman. Both of which make for a terrifying combination, regardless of whether you are with or against them.

Brought up with a deep rooted hatred for the Empire, No-Eul has sworn to make the sun set upon Hae. They are completely devoted to the cause that they are fighting for, but when you are confronted with the near fanatical extremes of their beliefs... only time will tell if they are a friend or enemy.

If the people of Hae call them beasts, well, then No-Eul will show them what a true monster is.

APPEARANCE

No-Eul is tall enough to tower over most, with expressive eyes that always seem to be seeking out amusement or potential trouble that can be caused. Their dark hair is as wild and untamed as an unbridled horse, and is usually left loose or pulled back into traditional Shan braids with coloured string and feathers.

Their skin is rough and tanned, and they have a strong and broad build. They wear light furs during the colder months and the standard overcoat when not. And if you ever get the opportunity to look closely enough, you will see that they bear a small, faded scar just beneath their right eye in the shape of a crescent moon — or the shape of a curved fingernail.

#o: wooyoung's letters #eyes of shan #if #interactive fiction #noeul #moodboard

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wroteclassicaly · 1 year

Note

Here’s some Steve for you Midwest bestie 🥰 oh no hopefully this doesn’t make you want to write anymore smutty blurbs :( hehehe

You tryna turn me into an even bigger slut for this man and his Midwest Monster? I am here for it! Listen, a bitch got a little carried away, btw… this turned into a whole ass fic with a few surprises… ;) I listened to Kenny G’s Christmas album whilst writing parts of this, because we fuck with that dude in this house!

Sorry this took so long! It’s unedited and I hope it’s okay? It kind of developed a mind of its own… 😂

Warnings: Language, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, slight masturbation, breeding kink, & tooth rotting fluff.

Steve Harrington never paid much attention to you… It was always your bestfriend’s new frosted manicure, or if your other friend got her hair done. He noticed. He paid compliments.

But if you tried a new lipstick outside of your comfort zone he wouldn’t even give you anything but a company line and a mere glance, checking out your movies with a precise ease, saving that witty charm for your friend. If you ever went into the Family Video it had always been with friends, never really a reason to go solo. ‘Chicken shit. You don’t get his attention because you can’t handle it. One of the girls is always with you, babes.’ Your bestie’s voice rang in through your ears, tormenting you since she’d finally said it days ago.

Your visits with your friends had shortened in the amount of days, your trying to seek out Steve’s attention dwindling. Why bother if he doesn’t care, and he doesn’t… At least, that’s what you convinced yourself—all the way through your argument of going to get the videos at the store tonight instead of your parents. They were preparing for a party, you weren’t busy. It was a no brainer, according to your dad and logic. But you didn’t want to see him tonight.

You lost the battle, however, and forged your way into praying he was somewhere nursing a hot toddy instead of rewinding new releases tonight. As you pull up to candy colored, light draped strip Mall—you already know you’re screwed.

There is no such luck. You can see him behind the counter through the labeling on the glass door. God, he looks good. You sigh and push the door open, cringing as the bell dings. He spares a look as any employee would. You don’t give him the same courtesy, instead heading directly to the specially decorated rack of holiday films and picking out the tapes.

Your heartbeat is throbbing painfully beneath the silk of your evening dress, making you adjust your soft overcoat and inhale a few deep breaths to coax you to the front counter. You slide your tapes onto the green surface and flash him a friendly smile, wishing he didn’t speak to you and steal your attempts at making this quick and painless. You want to crawl in the deepest pits of hell for the sins you imagine committing on the spot. He’s wearing a pair of light wash Levi’s, his signature belt snapped close to hold the fabric nice and tight. He’s wearing a fuzzy cream colored sweater that’s rolled above his his elbows, showcasing his watch, his hair in a slight disarray from his daily shift, and… your jaw about drops when you notice something new.

Peeking out from the sweater’s collar is a thin gold chain around his neck. Your tongue clicks to the roof of your mouth and you inhale sharply—another mistake. His cologne enriches your senses and smacks you in the face. And you wonder if the fucker has some he sprays on during his breaks, keeping it in his car, because how the fuck is it so present at this time of night? You can’t stop yourself when you shift, the silk sliding between your legs, your hosiery adding extra friction.

“You and the girls doing some downtime tonight?”

You’ve forgotten his voice has an even harsher effect on your body when he looks like he needs to be fucked thoroughly. Preferably… by you.

“Huh?” He’s grinning at you, as if there’s something he’s aware of that you’re not and never have been.

He starts to scan the tapes with one hand, the other drumming on the remaining few. What you wouldn’t give to have those fingers—

“I mean, you don’t normally go for this kind of cheesy stuff, right?”

“Oh. I mean, no, it’s for the party tonight. Besides, what’s wrong with the classics?” You shock yourself with your bold little defense.

It’s no big deal. He’s almost done scanning, just go when he finishes.

“Take no offense, Y/N, I just meant that it sounds like a tame party for you and your friends. Am I wrong about that?”

You can’t help but to laugh. “It’s a family party. You know, families and pleasantries exchanged, old dudes making jokes, enough food to send everyone home with leftovers and make my mom bitch about all the clean up left to do, like she doesn’t keep hosting these every single year.”

“Ah, the festively annual wine and dine shindig of adulthood. My folks used to have many.”

You take note of the used to, remembering how Steve’s parents haven’t been around to even hang a set of lights or send out stamped holiday cards. He’s also working on a night when everyone else you know that is employed here — isn’t. A protectiveness bubbles inside of your chest, piling metaphorical ice and snow a top your former irritation with him. It’s not his fault if he isn’t into you like that, even if it really stings. You’re pursing your lips, pausing, taking the five dollar bill your mom had given you from your handbag and sliding it across the desk where his fingers meet too quickly and brush over yours.

Neither of you move, which has you feeling the goosebumps prickling your flesh, your coat suddenly too hot. Steve looks at you, and for the first time you feel like he’s caring enough to see. His fingers curl around yours, his milky white teeth bared in the cutest little grin. He licks his lips and the action is taken into your labored breathing, his hand flipping yours to draw small shapes into your palm, keeping you here in a comfortable silence…? You both hear it loudly over the intercom, a well known Christmas tune played with a smooth blend of saxophone.

You engage in simultaneous laughter, overwhelmed by the atmosphere provided for the situation. It breaks the hold he momentarily has, your hand slipping from his. That warmth settles in your belly, your voice quieter. You tuck your movies underneath your arm, meeting his puppy eyes gaze. Those fucking freckles and moles are going to undo you.

“The party starts in an hour… if you wanna swing by? Stay a while?”

Steve can’t resist, not wanting you to go, the ache in his chest too much for him to ignore. You’re so oblivious it’s cute, albeit, annoying. “You asking me to be your date? Maybe save you from a few old geezers?”

You ignore the way your heart accelerates at that tease. “No, that’s not it. You know what, you probably have plans anyways. Forget it.” You remember why you didn’t want to be here in the first place. It wasn’t him flirting, he was just talking to you, even if this is the most talking you’ve ever done. You’re backtracking towards the door and nearly on your way out when a firm hand grips you around the elbow and tugs.

You’re flush against Steve’s chest, the fabric of his sweater dragging across your exposed collarbones. A few tufts of chocolate hair fall around his forehead. “Why are you so nervous around me, huh?”

It angers you and leaves you speechless for a moment. You don’t deny it, shrugging a shoulder to try and maneuver out of the warmth his hold possesses. He shakes his beautiful head. “Uh-uh. Why?”

You let your temper lead for you. “You don’t notice me enough to know if I’m nervous around you or not, Steve.”

He scoffs, as if an incredulous impossibility, fingers rubbing along your elbow through the heavy coat. Damn, it’s really hot in here. Am I sweating?

“I noticed enough to see that new lipstick you got last time. Or when you came in with that deep red top. It’s from Leighanne’s, that new boutique downtown, right? I saw it when I was Christmas shopping for Robin.”

Your eyes widen slightly, struck by the embarrassment of your total oblivion. Steve, the idiot, is grinning. “So you hiding behind your friends every time you come in here isn’t a coincidence. Knew it.” He lips purse in an amused pop.

You swallow on a dry breath. “Yeah, well you never flirt with me, Harrington, so what am I supposed to do?”

“That’s because there’s always a crowd around you, Y/N.”

“You flirt with them,” you argue. “It’s not different, you just don’t want to.”

“Hmm…” He trails off, stepping back a little and letting you go. You resist the urge to bring his hand back, maybe… press it elsewhere. You can feel your heart racing in your lungs, this whole thing some kind of fever dream. Too fast paced for you.

“What’s.. what is that supposed to mean?” You shift the movies beneath your other arm.

“It means—“ Steve stops himself as you start to push on the door and the bell jingles, drawing his attention to something you’ve apparently missed overhead. He’s full on Cheshire grinning now. —“oh, fuck it, honey. M’ gonna show you what it means.”

You’re not prepared for those big paws to press into your cheeks, his thumb pad swiping down to smear your lipstick into a smudge, and he’s dipping in low enough that you can taste the chocolate candy he’s been eating and become overpowered by—not just his cologne—but his laundry detergent and aftershave. The music is a quickly evaporating soundtrack, an ache startling you from between your legs. Are you shaking? You’re sure that you are. Steve doesn’t give you his mouth (Which, my god, that five o’clock shadow has already started. His lips, fucking almighty they’re plush, pretty. And those map of little freckles on his cheek and… is that one on his top lip too?)

“You want me to? It’s okay?” His voice is already wrapped in a red bow, honey simmering beneath, drenching everything.

Including my underwear. Fuck me.

You nod, the action causing your noses to brush, making Steve press the barest, featherlight touch of his mouth to yours, one that has your knees filling with jelly and led weights. Are you even standing upright? He slots his lips in to fit over your own, nose’s tip pressing into your cheek, his fingers rubbing circles into your jaw, one finger sliding down to swipe across your chin. It’s a small gesture, one that helps bring the kiss to a quiet part, a light smack heard in your shared airspace. Is it the atmosphere, the upcoming holiday? You don’t know, you are only aware of how hard you’re panting, that sizzling lust dusting your bones to ash.

Steve’s pupils have blown, scattering flecks of cinnamon around the midnight black expanse. He’s looking up and pushing on your chin before you can speak to get you to look too. Hung above the door is a very familiar decoration. Mistletoe.

“Keith put it up and made sure to ‘help’ every female customer on their way out, y’know, as any good manager does.”

It makes you laugh and press your forehead into Steve’s, your spare hand finally remembering itself and coming up to pet over the softness of his sweater. “So I’ve been the most oblivious person alive? Because this all feels like a dream.”

“You’re telling me. I haven’t been so worked up to kiss a girl in years.” His thumb pokes your nose, his other hand sliding down and around your waist, holding steadily.

“I’m not like all those other girls though, Steve. Even my friends are different.” The doubt seeps in a little.

“Different is good. It’s great, actually. Kind of like you.” His lips capture yours once more, moving into slippery glide to the corner of your mouth. You’re hot lava personified, elated.

You try not moan, but it’s a deep set sound that comes out rather pitifully. He hears it immediately, a rasp squeezing around his tone. “Did you like that? I could do it again for you.”

For you.

He’s watching you with a heated stare, one that is pattering its way from your head to your toes and back again. You nod, before you use your one hand to fist that collar between your fingers. “I don’t want you to stop. And if we keep—“ You cut yourself off, because—fuck—he didn’t ask that.

The easiest smirk indents itself in the corner of his mouth. His voice sounds as if he’s been asleep and he’s awakened, ready to pounce, but all light and airy. “If we keep what? Let’s not get shy on me again, baby.”

“Baby?” You definitely said that out loud.

He reaches for the videos in the cove of your tucked arm, stepping his way into a backwards stride, pulling you along. He doesn’t even turn around and he’s tossing the tapes onto the counter, his hands working beneath your coat to hold onto you over the silk, fingers pressing into your waist, splayed down across your hips. He finds your nose to give it a nuzzle. “Do you wanna be baby, honey?”

With your own surging confidence, you wrap an arm around his neck and scratch at the nape, fingers pushing through those kept locks. “Why don’t I show you?”

~*~

Steve Harrington was ever the gentleman, persisting that you didn’t have to do anything beyond kissing, but you hadn’t been able to satiate your trembling and he’d ended up agreeing with you, or rather your lips when you’d pulled down his collar and nosed at the gold chain to kiss every freckle and mole within your immediate vision. It was an uncoordinated stumble into the closet of the break room, your back against the door, Steve pulling your coat off your body with a helpful shrug from you, his fingertips finding the straps in a filter, easing them down, the fabric pressing a shiver into your shoulder blades. You couldn’t stop the pleading babbles, trying to rip his employee vest off so he could tuck his arms back and escape the sweater. He’d been harboring a white tank top beneath, one that was tucked into his jeans, and that did in your manners. Underneath the glow of the decorative lights that someone hung in here with you, you can see his expression darken, surprised.

You’re already starting on his belt and his head is hung low, lips wet and stained with your enriching shading choice. He’s a damned goner when you get his belt worked open and the buckle clatters apart, your hands coaxing through his hair, lost in pent up lust, begging him aloud. Finally. “Tell me you want me? Tell me I can have you, Steve.”

His gaze sinks into yours, like melted caramel waiting to be devoured. His chest heaves beneath the white tank, chest hair on display, his chain glowing in closet lighting. He knees you into a sideways position, denim to silk, pushing until you help yourself slide with his assistance, ass resting on a piled stack of old seat cushions that are mounted a top a spare chair. It’s an odd display, a sloppy setup, but you’ll lay on the dirty floor to have Steve Harrington. His mouth nudges your chin in a pathing way of glittering kisses. “You’ve always had me.”

Your breath locks in your lungs, you hold it as he claims you in another bruising kiss, your own hand sliding in between your thighs, squeezing around your wrist for some friction. You can’t help it, you don’t mean to do it, but your modesty is gone when he’s got that dark look, a dry swallow on those pouty lips. “Jesus, how turned on are you right now that you’re gonna touch yourself when m’ just kissing you?”

“I can’t fucking help it.” You whimper, one hand sliding around his neck, the other attempting to leave its hold on your cunt. Steve’s wrist watch reflects the dull bulb above as it swipes through your sights and prevents you.

“Who said I wanted you to?” And the straps that are still on your shoulders, Steve slots his thumbs in between the silk and your skin, tugging them down enough that the dress folds and exposes the tops of your breasts in the strapless lace bra. He fits himself at a dedicated placing, at your side, his mouth finding your neck, underneath your chin, the lobe and shell, teeth nipping, where you know you’ll feel that later, your body already rocking into your hand right now.

Your head falls into a cabinet above, but Steve reaches up, fingers skimming along the side of your neck, to place his hand behind your head to ease the impact. It’s all hypersensitive to you. His chain sways forward as he kisses your jugular, even permitting his tongue to glide over the taste of your perfume, all the while his free hand dips onto the side of your evening gown and rubs, stimulates, letting you remember he’s here and that he wants something. You meet him in a heated stare, your hips rocking into your hand, Steve jutting out a knee to bump your wrist right back, assisting, encouraging. “Please, honey. Touch yourself for me, let me see what I’ve done to you, yeah?”

His hands meet your knees in the instance you nod, catching his thumb in your mouth on their way down. He kneels, splayed fingers pushing and shifting with you, and moments later you’re raising your hips at his gentle praises, boots going too, followed by your stockings and panties coming down, and all of it piles over your discarded coat. Both sharing uneven, chopping breathing, Steve reassures you, even as your dress hikes around your waist and your legs spread open for him to see, your fingers hovering, slick pooled in the creases of your thighs, cunt glistening. He resembles someone being sucker punched in the gut, grateful his jeans are undone to give his cock room to breathe, because fuck. You can’t believe he’s reacting this strongly to you, to your body.

You stifle a cry out, reaching for him as he comes, easily getting his tank top off. There isn’t a drop of airspace not shared, nor invaded when he’s close, informing you of a winded wish. “Spread yourself open, let’s how worked up you are, sweetheart.”

Hesitation finds no home here—instead—your fingers make a V and part your sticky folds wide enough that Steve immediately latches onto your swollen clit, and the squelch your body makes from the simple action alone, destroys his last bit of languid composure. “How about you sit back and let me take care of you?”

It’s a quest for permission he’s had since you first saw him. Your slick covered fingers leave to take your dress down on your waist, easing the bra cups to expose your breasts to him, taking his hands, your shine transferring over his knuckles as you let his palms touch you, tease your already hardened nipples. He plays with you for a mere few seconds, but it’s agonizing torture, and he frees you—momentarily—that newly mess on his head tickling your chin as he dips to lick and suck over your areola, lips perfectly pulling your nipple, only to release it again and give a soft blowing breath, then to focusing on the other, all the while his Midwest monster (because, wow. you knew it was big, but really?), is a prominent delicacy that you won’t ignore any longer. It takes a few tries to get him to hear your voice, those hazel irises obliterated. He seems to understand and realize something at the same instance, your brow pinching into a frown.

Is he regretting this? You start to close your legs, but Steve shakes his head, barely coherent. “It’s not that I don’t want to, I just remembered I’m literally at work.”

You’re not seeing the point? Didn’t he bring you in here? He sighs, lowering his head into your neck and back up again, hands leaving your breasts to rest on the meat of your spread thighs. “I don’t exactly bring rubbers with me on the job, honey. I wasn’t thinking with the right head when I brought you in here. Unless you’re on the pill?”

You snort outright, the sound a booming bam in the volume of the small room. “So you don’t do this all the time then?”

He’s incredulous, chuckling once, then this weird glow covers his freckly features, almost like the Milky Way map is lighting up right in front of your eyes, but it’s Steve and the vast variety of birth marks that decorate his flesh instead. A vulnerability frames him, one that makes you reach to rest your fingers along the tops of his hands, rolling over the knuckles. That half grin he does when he answers you, you’d fall in love with Steve Harrington if you weren’t already ass over elbows. “You’re the first one here with me. The only one I’ve ever even thought about, needing—“ He’s cute when he’s quick to fumble and backtrack. “—I’m not saying you’re not worth taking home and being treated right, instead of a closet, I’m just saying I couldn’t wait. Not that—fuck—I’m such a dick—“

You shut him up abruptly, tongue licking into his mouth for a prodding entry, not your most graceful kiss, but it gets him to chill out, read the Morse code loud and clear. And you’re positively swimming in the sunlight that is Steve. You answer plain as day, already finding the dip in his hips, fingernails scratching along the skin, those marks seared into him, ones you’ll have to photograph and taste another time. He presses his thumb behind your ear, causing a shiver to erupt in pops, your body arching, crying out for him uninhibited.

“Honey,” he warns, unsteady, on the precipice of already giving in. “it’s risky.”

“Hmm,” you fiddle with the chain on his very naked chest, now that it’s clearly within your eye-line, before continuing. “Wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?”

The feral rumble that wraps around him, diaphragm—deep, it sends you into a tailspin. It’s Steve who arches into your touch, needy and clinging inhumanely tighter. You raise an eagerly surprised brow. “What? You like that idea, huh, Steve? Creating a little baby with me? Like a Christmas surprise.”

He shakes his head, despite your temptress tease, but it’s the opposite meaning, his palms forcing your hips deeper into the cushions. Your cunt grows wetter, thighs damn near swaying back and forth for something, anything to satiate the ache. He kisses you gently, lips tickling, damp, his knuckles raising to brush around the apple of your cheek. You speak first. “I’m not—Steve, m’ not on the pill or anything, so if you don’t want to, it’s alright, I’ll understand.”

“As long as I get to have you, I don’t care what happens.” And it’s all moving slow motion, yet, so quick from there.

Steve’s jeans and boxers end up bunched around his knees, your legs held in their posing, his fingers sinking into you slowly with a shared, open mouthed whine at the first touch. You’ve never been this fucking wet before, and Steve is lapping it up, quite literally. He samples your arousal with a pop of those defined digits, alternating between working his thumb into a stretch to press circles into your cream soaked clit. That swoop takes hold of your insides, twisting your gut and you find Steve’s hand, thighs closing around his wrist, taking his kiss in stride, despite your jagged whimpers.

“Baby, you were about to cum, why’d you stop me?”

“Wanna try with you inside of me. Is that okay?” Steve stares at you as if you’re fine china and he’s discovering buried treasure all at the same instance.

“Of course it’s alright, honey. You think you can take me without anything?”

“Oh, I think you’ve seen that there’s plenty for you to work with, Huge Harrington.” Your body heats to an unhealthy temperature, motioning to his hand. He might not be the King Steve everyone knew, but he still knows what he does have.

He feeds you his fingers then, making you taste yourself, his cock slapping against his happy trail, smearing it. You watch in fascination, all but drooling, saliva filling the corners of your mouth. His lifts your hand in his, taking it to his shaft and pulls it away from his stomach, leaving beads of pre-come behind. His diction is clear. “Get me wet enough to fuck you.”

You don’t have to struggle to hear him, obviously, the harsh swallow that has you practically choking on spit is enough to do it, and the hot, heavy feel of his thick length in your grasp. Steve’s got another signature smirk sliding its way into his mouth’s crevices, his lips fitting over your own when you take initiative and heed his request. “Good girl.”

He licks at your mouth, tongue swiping across his own lips in the process, both your gazes working their way to watch you separate your swollen folds and drench your hand, bringing it to Steve’s awaiting erection. He sucks in sharply, abdomen tensing as you work to coat his cock in your sticky essence, getting too caught up in how pretty he is like this—literally in your hand, coming apart, throbbing, heavy. He’s nodding, face burying itself in your neck, his chain tickling you collar bones. You work his tank up and adjust to have him helping you take it off, his jeans all that remain, but you two don’t bother with those. When Steve inhales as his tip catches on your clit, he stops you, those hairy thighs tensing, bumping yours further apart.

There’s that moment, exchanged breaths hung off invisible hooks, slapping back like an elastic band, and the pause before Steve is inside of you. A shift in in what once was, your earth’s axis tilting, a new normal unrolled. Steve sees you, his thumb pushing a lock of hair back behind your ear as he kisses your cheek with a delicate fondness. He takes your hand in his and presses it beside your hip, both of you holding onto the cushioning for leverage, his other finding his now creamy cock. He’s barely able to get the question out, voice gone to the winds of desire.

“You ready, sweetheart? You’re sure, right?”

You lift your other hand to his neck’s nape, nose nudging his, breathing uneven as you scoot a little more to the edge of the arrangement for him. “Never been more sure of anything, Steve.”

You can’t win the battle to see how he enters you, too focused on his busted pupils, his flaring nostrils, that look of elated concentration. He gives himself another drag down the seam of you, before his dick parts your labia and the head catches just inside your entrance. Your jaw drops at the initial push, an overwhelming ache resting inside of your tummy, washing over every muscle nearby, your entire body on fire with the burn. Your hand squeezes his, nails biting into his palm, the hiss leaving through clenched teeth. “Oh, fuck.”

Steve stops himself right away, his guiding hand paused around himself. His voice is wet with want, and you can tell he’s holding back. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He strums your chorded nerves, kissing your mouth and letting go of your hand to swipe his thumb across the tear that’s gathered at your waterline. “Wait, this isn’t your first time, is it?” He starts to panic some, feeling worse for bringing you in a storage locker. But you’re shaking your head.

“No, I’m not a virgin. You’re just… I’ve not had anyone so t-thick. S’ been a while too.” Steve doesn’t let you close your eyes, a soft sigh settles.

“I’ll go slow, okay? And you’ll tell me if anything hurts, so I can take care of it.” It was more a demand than a question, and you naturally agree.

Steve grits his teeth on this next push of his hips, the first few inches going in with ease. You’re cunt is so slick that this won’t take long for him, and he’s worried about you adjusting to his size, despite the way it paddles his ego a little. His cupped hand reaches your body and he lets go of his cock, wet fingers tilting your chin down to see, then he brings your mouth to his, caging you in completely, chest hair dragging across your breasts. He moves, you give, and he’s bottoming out in your tight heat, his head fucking spinning and his face contorting into a painful expression that commits an affair with bliss. You can’t think of anything else but Steve and the musk he’s surrounding you with, body a switchboard of emotions and sensations.

He’s speaking to you, voice muffled and under water. You break the surface when his cock twitches inside you, your tongue slicking across your bottom lip. His balls are nestled against the globes of your ass and your forgot that you’re holding your breath, releasing it in a tremble in time for Steve to get through. “Shit, honey? Tell me I didn’t hurt you?”

You never felt this before. Full, everything being hit inside your body, all your senses coddled and tapped into. You’ve heard your friends talk about sex so good that you could cry. Well, as Steve’s eyes cast an amber glow that resembles a firelight, you can’t contain yourself. Overloaded and breathless, you rock your hips into his and gasp against his mouth. “It’s good. Fucking perfect, please…”

And you don’t know what you’re asking, but begging for. Luckily for you, Steve does. “Ah, there’s my good girl. Took me so good, so wet and warm for me.”

~*~

You meet one another in the beginning stages of your shared rhythm, a pace that is deep and relentless, the burn that Steve’s size brings only adding to your heightening discombobulation. He’s boasting praises, showering you in their wake. Your body has never felt more alive, more connected. And Steve, he’s went from steady movements, to drawing your calves over his forearms and pressing you back as far as he can get, a disgustingly sensual squelch echoing around the expanse of the room. You’re both too far gone to say anything that isn’t pure and utter filth, so why even try?

He bends down several times to take a nipple in his mouth, alternating, his hair messy from your now consistent pulling. His cheeks are stained pink, body prominent beneath the racing of his heart. That chain slaps messily across his neck and you can’t take it, marking your place, licking it to life. That latches onto Steve and steals the breath from his lungs, the effects heard deep inside his chest cavity. He can’t breathe in anything that isn’t you.

“Steve…” That familiar pressure signals before you’re able to comprehend.

Steve inclines his head and dips his hips to catch on that spot inside your sticky cunt, his hand dropping between your legs and rubbing fast circles around your clit. “That’s a real good babygirl.”

You whine, pressure boiling over, muscles licked and locking down. Steve noses into your jawline and kisses your mouth’s corner. “S’ it, honey. I can feel it. You gonna cum for me?”

“Don’t stop and I will!” You nearly bellow, making him chuckle throatily, and your vision whites out.

Steve fucks you through it and let’s you rest for a brief spell on his shoulder, before he’s throbbing inside of you and he has to look at you, wanting you to watch his face as it scrunches, the softest whimpers falling off his angelic mouth, and he tenses. “Baby… gonna come inside you.”

“Then do it, Steve.” It’s a challenge, a tease to earlier words. You tighten purposely and he sniffles, a warmth flooding you, his body slumping over top yours.

Your heart is hammering beneath your breast, which is smashed into Steve Harrington’s chest hair. He’s softening inside of your pussy, his spend already pooling around where you’re connected, available to view as a webbed shine when he pulls back, easing out, kissing you on the break away. He’s nuzzling you, not able to stop the kisses from flourishing. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“M’ glad you came in here, you know that?” He states, helping you dress first. After your legs regain feeling, that is.

“Me too.” Dorky smiles and shy grins transpire, until…

“So, you mentioned a party? I was thinking I could be your date and save you from the bore of the geezers, after all.”

~*~

One year later

“Mom! No, I told you it was burning five minutes ago, fuck!”

“Language, dear!”

Your mom’s laughter, following that statement can be heard from the next room, obviously charmed by something he said, ignoring your protests about the current dish of the night that’s about to be charcoal for the party guests. She’s never been more calm, making you roll your eyes as she finally does appear. “Don’t worry about it! Did you get the videos?”

You snort, a reminder ringing as clear as the bells playing from the Christmas vinyl on your dad’s record player. You smooth down your floor length black gown, enjoying how it flows in all the right places now. “Don’t I always?”

She shakes her head fondly, throwing a dish rag over her sequin overcoat and heading into the kitchen just as Steve appears in the doorway, his entire appearance ripped straight from vogue. “Wasn’t last year the first time you went to the video store on your own, babe?”

You roll your eyes and step towards him, adjusting his tie and the lapels on his suit jacket. His hair is a bit messy, albeit, still styled, and he’s freshly shaven. Your mouth waters like a woman dying of thirst. Twelve months ago tonight, you can’t believe it. Steve is also thinking the same way, his fingers reaching out to fondly stroke the apple of your cheekbone. “Twelve months ago. Hard to believe I get to be your date for the second year in a row.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love charming the granny panties off everyone here, Harrington.” He shifts his arm for you to cling onto, and you find yourselves locked in a kiss, only breaking apart when a cooing noise is heard from Steve’s hold.

You look down in his arms, an identical pair of eyes that match his own looking back at you, a red bow placed delicately atop her head, and the fullest tule dress your mom could apparently find at the JC Penny. But you can’t deny that it’s melting your heart, the memories, the present. Steve is soft, that reservation he’s got for the three month old baby girl in his arms is unmatchable. He bounces her a little, her stocking clad legs kicking, her shiny dress shoes way too tiny not to be cute.

“There’s daddy’s princess. You awake now, huh? Was it mommy’s bad language?” He’s smirking when he looks at you and you poke him in the mouth, making him chuckle.

Your mom’s footsteps are quick paced, making you and Steve both break apart as you hear her. Steve mutters a ‘grandma super-hearing’ and your mom immediately takes your daughter the moments he steps into the living room. It’s endearingly annoying how she stares your direction as Steve finds your hands (now that his are free). You don’t get the chance to ask her what she wants, before she’s voicing it herself, giggling at yours and Steve’s daughter. “So, I’m getting another one of these for Christmas next year, right?”

The implications cause you to heat up, making Steve get cocky and tease once she’s out of ear shot. “I’ll have to save you and our daughter from the geezers. But if your mom wants another one, wait—“ You frown, Steve leaning in, that raspy voice like melted caramel by your ear, tickling the lobe and electrifying your entire body. “How big is the closet in your old bedroom?”

Happy one year anniversary indeed.

#kristenwrites #my writing #my work #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things blurb #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic

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roguerambles · 1 year

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Pacts

One Piece - Reader x Gol D Roger x Silvers Rayleigh x Scopper Gaban

Warnings - 18+Only

I’m not sure about this one, and the One Piece rewatch has been progressing slowly, but I’m trying to kick the writer’s block, so have some silliness with Rayleigh, Roger and Scopper bickering over their single shared braincell.

You had settled in well with the Roger Pirates.

You worked hard, your wit as sharp as the knives you used in battle, and you had displayed absolutely no trouble keeping up with the crew. What you lacked in experience you made up for with enthusiasm, cunning and sheer, raw nerve.

You were also as pretty as you were clever, a combination of traits that never failed to pleasantly heat Silvers Rayleigh’s blood. Charm was as deadly as a dagger in the hands of someone who knew how to use it, and from how you had half the ship practically eating out of your hand, you certainly did.

This presented a potential problem, as he was definitely not the only member of the crew to notice. He’d seen you coyly stroking Scopper’s arm, the man’s eyes flaring and his smirk pleased. And Roger had certainly taken you under his wing since your arrival, but his gaze had begun to linger the way it did on a particular shiny piece of treasure he wanted to get his hands on lately. And Rayleigh would be lying if the flirtatious looks and comments you’d been sending his direction hadn’t peaked his interest considerably.

“I’m only saying.” Rayleigh murmured over drinks on deck, enjoying a brief moment of peace on the Oro Jackson. “Bedding the same crewmate can lead to…awkwardness.”

Scopper barked out a laugh, flashing a sharp grin over his mug. “Yeah, because that’s stopped anyone on this ship before.”

“Hey, what happens at port stays at port.” Rayleigh kicked him under the table. “But let’s say three of the higher ranked members of this crew started sleeping with the same woman. People might think we’re favouring her.”

Roger looked genuinely puzzled. “Who?”

Rayleigh sometimes struggled with the fact he trusted his captain with his life at moments like this. “Our newest recruit, captain. The one who’s breasts you can’t stop staring at.”

Gol D Roger was a man who lived completely without shame, so he merely grinned at Rayleigh’s accusation. “They are beautiful.”

They were, but that was beside the point. “I think we should agree to keep things…uncomplicated, while we’re at sea, at least.”

“Silvers Rayleigh showing restraint around a beautiful woman?” Scopper threw his head back with a booming laugh. “Someone tell Shakuyaku. She’ll want to know what the hell you’ve done to her husband.”

Rayleigh rolled his eyes with a smirk. “Do we have an agreement or not?”

“Oh, come on, Rayleigh.” Scopper tilted his head back, gulping more of his ale. “Don’t you think you’re overthinking this—?”

“What are you three gossiping about?”

Rayleigh turned in his chair to see you walking up from below deck, shrugging out of your long overcoat. The thin shirt you wore underneath hugged your torso appreciatively and Rayleigh felt his grip tighten on his mug without thinking.

Fuck.

“What the hell happened to you?” Scopper snorted, nodding towards your coat. Rayleigh realised the material was covered in some kind of…pudding?

You huffed and rolled your eyes, coming to stand near the table. “Apparently Shanks and Buggy thought clean up the dining hall meant have a food fight. You’re looking at the last casualty.” You tilted your head back to call across the ship, your voice echoing around. “Before I toss those two overboard at least!”

There was a bustle of frantic movement from behind some barrels and a flash of bright red hair out of the corner of Rayleigh’s eye. “Run!”

Roger and Scopper howled with laughter as the boys scrambled below deck, and you shook your head with a playful grin. Rayleigh chuckled deeply, watching as you moved around to where Roger was sitting, your hand brushing against his arm and sliding slightly over his bicep. The material of your shirt rode up slightly, showing off a strip of skin above your waist, and Rayleigh made a mental note to make sure Shanks and Buggy got extra servings at dinner tomorrow.

“Anyway, I’m going for a bath.” You leaned against Roger’s arm, your curves pressing lightly against his shoulder. Rayleigh found himself watching intently – noting the way Scopper’s throat bobbed out of the corner of his eye – while Roger looked up at you, his grin broadening. “Can you cover first watch for me, Captain?”

It was an awfully bold request for a member of the crew to make to the ship’s captain, but the soft flutter of your eyelashes and the slight curve of your lips was enough to quicken Rayleigh’s pulse. Roger grinned broadly, his eyes drooping slightly to trail down your neckline as he spoke.

“Sure thing.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Your lips grazed Roger’s cheek – lucky bastard – and you slipped from the table, lightly running your fingers across the back of Scopper’s shoulders, shooting a coy smile in Rayleigh’s direction. “Gentlemen.”

Rayleigh was thinking some decidedly ungentlemanly thoughts as together they watched you walk away, eyes glued to the slight sway of your hips. The three men sat in silence, Roger’s expression dimming slightly as realisation seemed to hit him.

“Fuck.”

“Alright.” Scopper cleared his throat, tilting his head back to down the rest of his ale. “Maybe you got a point, Rayleigh.”

It took Rayleigh a second to remember what he had been talking about before you’d arrived, and he shook his head, lifting his drink. “So we have a pact, boys?”

“Aye.” Both Roger and Scopper tapped their drinks against his and the three drank deep, and the rest of the evening passed in friendly banter and companionship.

By the week’s end the pact had been thoroughly broken by all three men, although who had done so first would be something they would argue amongst themselves for the rest of their days.

Rayleigh wasn’t sure exactly what had brought him to that section of the Oro Jackson that evening – it was a small, secluded room more often than not used as storage, but there had been nothing in particular he had been looking for when he heard the voices.

“Oh, fuck yes, sweetheart—”

His ears perked up at the sound of a deep voice groaning, accompanied by melodic laughter. The sharp screech of bedsprings and the playful growl of a man, followed by the sensual moan of a woman.

“Hmmmmm!….Scopper…!”

Rayleigh recognised both voices, and quietly stepped towards the door. The slightest sliver of space allowed him to peer into the room, dimly lit by orange light

“Fuck….! Fuck…! You feel so fucking good…!”

The muscles in Scopper’s broad back flexed and contracted, his hips thrusting with sharp, precise movements. Strong thighs clenched tight around his waist, only a thin blanket barely clinging to their lower bodies, locked together. Hands raked up and down Scopper’s back, your voice rising as you tilted your head back, moaning in sheer carnal delight.

…Fuck.

You twisted suddenly, shifting positions and pushing Scopper onto his back, the bed squeaking noisily beneath you both. Scopper laughed, tossing his head back, long dark hair slayed wildly across the pillows. “That’s it…oh sweetheart that’s it…fucking ride me—”

He groaned deeply, the tight muscles of his abdomen flexing hard as you sank down on him, his large hands grasping your hips, guiding you as you began to bounce up and down. Rayleigh felt his grip on the doorframe tighten so hard he was surprised the wood didn’t crack.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…! Yes, yes, ride me, that’s it sweetheart, fuck you feel so fucking good—holy fuck, Rayleigh—!”

Scopper gave a rather undignified yelp, his eyes locking on Rayleigh’s. He shot upwards so suddenly he nearly knocked you clean off him, causing you to cry out in alarm and grip his broad shoulders for security. Rayleigh stood frozen for a moment, before releasing his hold on the door, letting it slowly creek open.

You and Scopper stared at Rayleigh with wide eyes, and he stared back, the three of you standing in total silence. Thudding footsteps came from down the hall, and Rayleigh tore his gaze away to see Roger bounding towards him, his grin broad.

“Hey, Rayleigh, have you seen—EHHHHHHHHHH?!”

You hid your face in the back of Scopper’s shoulder, while the man groaned and rubbed his fingers against his temple. “You guys have awful timing—”

“Traitor!” Roger pointed theatrically, adopting an outraged expression. “You forsake our pact!”

“Will you stop yelling and get out already—”

“Wait, what pact—?”

“That’s rich coming from you, Roger.” Rayleigh tossed a smirk his Captain’s way, smugly noting the way his shoulders tightened and his face grew quickly nervous. “I saw you and her sneaking off together the other day—”

“What--?!”

“Aha!” Roger clapped his hands together loudly, recovering quickly to flash a triumphant grin. “We agreed not to bed her at sea. That was on that island we stopped at the other day—”

“Hang on, what—?!”

“That doesn’t count!” Scopper slid off the edge of the bed, blanket hastily tied around his waist – you grabbed his discarded shirt from the table nearby, looking around at them in total bewilderment.

“I’m the Captain and I say it counts—”

“Really, you two.” Rayleigh sighed and shook his head with a loud tut. “I’m not mad, just disappointed—”

“Oh, give it a rest, Rayleigh—”

“Will you three jackasses quit ignoring me?!”

All three men froze, their heads quickly turning to face you, perched on the bed, your expression stormy.

“Oh—”

“Crap—”

“We—”

“Quiet.” Your voiced cracked like a whip, and all three of them fell silent, wary as though trapped in a room with a wild animal. “Explain. Now.”

And so it came to be, three of the most powerful pirates of their time sitting on the floor, you sitting on the bed above them, their heads bowed like schoolboys receiving a scolding.

“So, you three have some kind of pact.” You scoffed, crossing your arms across your chest, Scopper’s shirt far too big for you. “Involving me?”

Rayleigh kept his eyes on the floor, and his mouth firmly closed. Neither Scopper nor Roger spoke either.

“Very well.” You crossed your legs – showing off a generous flash of toned thigh that made Rayleigh’s throat dry – and eyed them expectantly. “We will wait.”

Seconds ticked by like hours. Finally, Roger, their fearless leader, cleared his throat and straightened his back, as though he had just recalled he was Captain of this crew.

“It was all Silvers Rayleigh’s idea.”

Treacherous bastard. Rayleigh glowered at the two men he called his closest friends, as Scopper nodded along eagerly with his captain. You turned slowly to face him, brows raised expectantly.

“Of course you would be the brains behind this operation.”

“Well.” Rayleigh tilted his head, flashing you his most charming smile. “I usually am around here.”

“Then explain. Now.”

He swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the way his cock jumped at your commanding tone. Fuck. “It’s only reasonable. We all want you—” no point denying it now – “it seemed a good idea to keep that on shore. Keep things…professional?”

You raised your eyebrows, your lips forming a sly smirk that reminded Rayleigh of the way Shakuyaku looked at him when she had him exactly where she wanted, a look that both filled him with dread and sent a bolt of lightning directly to his belly. If he survived this he really had to arrange a meeting sometime—

“Is that why you were between my legs three nights ago?” You asked, and Rayleigh fought to keep his expression neutral as Scopper and Roger started yelling.

“I knew it—” Scopper shoved his shoulder. “You scheming dog—”

“Silvers Rayleigh!” Roger pointed theatrically, adopting an outraged expression. “You forsake our pact!”

“Damn it, Captain, you broke the damn pact too—!”

“In my defence.” Rayleigh said calmly, ignoring their indignant faces. “I knew you two would try to honour the agreement. That gave me time to approach her first.”

“What the hell kind of defence is that—!”

“Enough.” You clapped your hands together loudly and all three men stopped bickering, settling for glowering at each other instead. Your hands settled on your hips. “We all enjoy sex, yes?”

There was a brief, confused silence, before all of them nodded and murmured in agreement.

“We all enjoy sex with each other, yes?”

Rayleigh cast a quick glance at the other two – Roger nodded simply, while Scopper actually looked briefly flustered, before clearing his throat and nodding a little sheepishly. You sighed heavily.

“For pity’s sake—we’re all adults here. We can manage our own affairs.” You rolled your eyes. “I don’t expect any favours from any of you, and none of you should expect anything from me.” You leaned against the edge of the bed, looking at them all expectantly. “Can we please not make this overcomplicated? I rather enjoying fucking you all.”

A bark of laughter spilled past Rayleigh’s mouth at your bluntness. You grinned slightly, while Roger and Scopper broke out into chuckles. “You’ve got a point.” Scopper grinned a little before scooting forward slightly, a large hand coming to run up your thigh. “We all just wanna feel good, yeah…?”

“See, you got it eventually.” You leaned down to playfully peck his lips, but Scopper caught your jaw gently with his fingers, tilting his head to catch your lips in a deeper kiss. You giggled softly, loosely wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and Rayleigh scoffed slightly, shaking his head with a bemused grin.

“We’re still here, Scopper.”

“Yeah, well…” Scopper mumbled between kisses, waving his hand vaguely over his shoulder. “You can go now…”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” You placed a hand in the centre of his chest, pushing him back slightly with a wry grin. You stood up in front of him, teasingly running a fingertip along his jaw as your eyes flickered playfully between Roger and Rayleigh. “I think you three have some making up to do, scheming together behind poor little old me’s back…”

The mischievous glint in your eye sent a current of heat through Rayleigh’s veins, but he tried to maintain a little composure. Beside him, Roger looked like he’d just stumbled into the largest pile of treasure he’d ever seen. You suddenly slipped past Scopper, strolling past the men to head for the door, dodging Scopper’s grasp.

“Where are you—?”

“The Captain has the biggest bed.”

You flashed a wicked smile over your shoulder as you disappeared around the doorframe. The three men stared at the empty air where you had been.

Rayleigh cleared his throat loudly, suddenly feeling far too warm in his clothes. “She thinks she has us wrapped around her fingers, doesn’t she…?”

“Yeah.” Scopper croaked slightly. Rayleigh could practically hear the wheels in his head rapidly spinning. “What do you think, Captain—HEY!”

Roger was already darting out the door. Rayleigh and Scopper bumped into each other as they scrambled after him, the sounds of their bickering and your laughter echoing throughout the halls of the ship.

Precious little sleep was had that night, but the four of you would consider it time well spent, regardless.

#one piece #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #gol d roger #gol d roger x reader #Silvers Rayleigh #silvers rayleigh x reader #scopper gaban #scopper gaban x reader #roger pirates reader #one piece x reader

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sw5w · 3 months

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Anakin Looks for Cover

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:47:12

#Star Wars #Episode I #The Phantom Menace #Naboo #Theed #Battle of Theed #Battle of Naboo #Theed Hangar #Anakin Skywalker #CR-2 heavy blaster pistol #unidentified R2 unit #Lieutenant Arven Wendik #flying helmet #flying jacket #Naboo Royal Space fighter Corps #overcoat

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purecantarella · 1 year

Text

Red Velvet Reaction : Almost First Kiss

i thought to do this on a whim and i think it'd be rather cute so i hope you all enjoy!! i do base everything on the first meeting so if there are bits of confusion you can read it but its not necessarily needed red velvet members x reader disclaimer/s : a few curses but in terms of content we're good. fluffy and angsty content, wbk.

Bae Joohyun / Irene

Social cues weren’t exactly the oldest member of Red Velvet’s specialty. Of course she was intelligent and very aware of her own social image when it came to her idol persona. But she was still often lost when it came to relating to others.

You loved that about her, but also it made being her girlfriend an uphill battle.

Like during your first getaway as an official couple. It had been a perfect night, you and her having a quiet night going from food stall to food stall. Her dietary restrictions shot to hell with her wrapped in your arm as you walked by the cool ocean.

Once she was feeling tired of walking, you halted and placed your overcoat on the sandy beach. Irene felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks as you plopped down and opened your arm to her with a loving and warm smile on your lips. The crashing of the waves against the shore relaxed the singer to no ends, your warmth only adding to the sensation.

“I think you needed this, with all the performances and dealing with the girls,” Irene giggled beside you as you imply her members are more mischief than their worth. “You haven’t had much time to unwind and be yourself.” You place your lips on the crown of her head.

Irene says nothing for a moment, only moving to wrap her arms around your waist. “All of that was fine…” She whispers quietly before shyly pressing her nose into your neck. “I just hated being away from you.” You smile and pull her closer to you as the night moves in front of the both of you, enjoying the calm it brought.

Irene soaks in the moment, bliss was the only thing on her mind. You on the other hand, can’t you’re your eyes off her lips, wondering just how they would feel against yours. If when you two did kiss would it be warm like she’d always imagined or if when she smiled you would too. You breathe a shaky breath before you clear your throat and pull away slightly, much to your girlfriend’s dismay. Evident by the complainant whines.

Unable to hide the smile on your face, you lift your hand, brushing the stray hairs from her face. The charming smile on her face only makes your heart soar even higher than it already had. “You are the most amazing and perfect person I’ve ever come to know, and I’m so glad you chose me out of everyone who came your way.” You gush making the older woman smile even brighter.

Before you can lean in or do much of anything, something shoots up from a distance, illuminating the sky with a series of brightly colored lights. You both gasp and your quick to cover her ears from the sound. You look back down at her, the serenity of the moment shattered, but the childlike glee on her face makes you forget anything else.

“Look at that, N/n!” She says with an unbridled sense of joy. You feel a sense of hope, maybe you could salvage this. But once again, the mood is ruined as she squeals in shock and fear from another firework shooting up in the sky. You smile and shake your head, covering her ears further and pulling her closer. “I’ve got you, Joohyun.”

It wasn’t long until you both made your way back to the hotel, Irene needing some rest after the long day of walking around and spending time together. While you went into the bathroom to take a shower, Irene excitedly told her members about your day spent together as a couple.

“Then there were literal fireworks! It was magical and Y/n…” She sighs dreamily, “Y/n was absolutely amazing. Gosh I’ve never felt this way before…” Yeri giggles and takes the phone from where it was propped up in the kitchen. “Oooohh, somebody’s in loooove!” She teases in a childish manner. Irene blushes and rolls her eyes before the phone is snatched from the youngest member.

“Wait. Did you two kiss?” Seulgi asks with a teasing smile. But Irene’s expression quickly shifts into one of confusion. “…No…? Did she want to kiss me?”

There’s a silence before a loud whine comes from the phone, most definitely from Wendy. Snatching the phone from Seulgi, the vocalist was now the focus of the camera. “How could you have not wanted to kiss her?!” She pauses to laugh ridiculously. “The ocean, what she said, the serendipitous fireworks?! It was straight out of a movie, unnie!”

The realization of the romance of the moment suddenly dawns on Irene and she feels the need to smack herself in the head. “Shit.” Irene mumbles, amusing her members on the phone.

“You really are clueless, aren’t you unnie?”

Kang Seulgi

Seulgi liked you, a lot. But more than that, she liked getting involved with your life, friends and family, and most of all, your work. Popping into your bakeshop so much that patrons thought she was the manager, thankfully they weren’t aware of her identity or fame.

Her days off were spent there, tirelessly watching you in amazement and adoration. Today was no different. You began frosting the tops of your order’s cupcakes when you realize your girlfriend’s subtle gaze. You giggle to yourself before shooting her a playful glare. “Stare at me any longer and I’ll have to ask you to pay a fine.”

Seulgi merely smiles and props her cheeks up on her own hands as she continues to stare at you lovingly. “I’d happily pay millions to see that smile every day.” You roll your eyes before placing the piping bag down and motioned for her to come close. She stands upright and places a hand on her chest, feigning confusion to which you laugh and beckon her to hurry.

"If you're going to be here as often as you are, you can at least help." You complain jokingly. She looks at you nervously before tentatively picking up the bag filled with icing. You watch, holding back laughter, as she sloppily iced the top of your cupcakes. Feeling a twinge of guilt when you hear Seulgi wince when she squeezed the bag too hard.

Quickly and carefully, you take her hands in yours, guiding her movements in a fluid motion. Your lips press gently against the shell of her ear, innocently whispering, "Take it slow, there's no need to rush it."

Your girlfriend blushes and silently follows your movements until there's a clean swirl atop the pastry, confidence from moments ago melted away. She turns to face you and is flustered to see you as close as you were.

Only a mere breathe away.

Seulgi looks down at your lips, the light sheen from your lipgloss and the scent of cherry made her head spin. Her eyes look for yours, which are glued to the cupcakes bellow the both of you. The warmth of your radiant smile and general body heat made the dancer even more flustered.

Realizing she hadn't spoken since you stepped in to help, you refocus your attention to Seulgi. Your smile brightens as you watch her gazing at you, so flustered and so cute. You lean in to brush your nose against hers.

"There you go again with the staring, Seul." Your girlfriend smiles as she inches closer, until your noses are pressed against one another. Her eyes find yours as yours watch her lips.

Before your lips can really connect, the bell of the bakeshop rings out, your client's voice pulls you both out of the moment, "Y/n? Are the cupcakes ready?"

Your eyes widen before panic runs through your veins. You pull away from the dancer to prepare the boxes. "They'll be out in a few! I'm sorry for the wait."

Once again, Seulgi watches as you dash around the kitchen with admiration oozing from her eyes. She continues to ice the cupcakes beside her carefully. Her mind lost in imagining what your real first kiss will be like.

(you and me both seul)

Son Seungwan / Wendy

"You've been hauled up in here for days..." Wendy mused as she leaned against the doorframe of your office. Your head shot up and your glasses fell down the bridge of your nose. A low laugh falls from the singer's lips as she approaches you. "Were you really not going to pay me a visit?"

You chuckle, staring hopelessly at your laptop. The draft of your unedited chapter staring at you, taunting you for it being left uncompleted for as long as it has. Your attention is pulled from the semi-blank page when Wendy plucks your eyeglasses from your face.

The singer pouts before propping her head on her hand, staring up at you with soft puppy dog eyes. "Can't you take a break? Even for a few minutes?"

You chuckle softly before taking her free hand in yours, "Editors want these chapters by the end of the week." Squeezing her hand in yours apologetically, you look down back at your screen. Much to Wendy's dismay.

Half an hour flies by, inspiration slipping away from you, but Wendy only sat there, either on her phone or roaming around your office. Patiently waiting for your attention like a pup. You look at the time on your screen, a flourish of guilt building in the pit of your stomach. You wanted to give her as much attention as she needed.

You breathe a soft sigh, before pushing yourself out of your desk, catching your girlfriend's attention. Her eyes brighten as you smile up at her, "I could use a break. After all who better to spend my day with than my muse." You stand and walk over to Wendy, who can barely contain her joy of being called your muse.

You place a soft kiss on her temple before wrapping your arm around her, pulling her into you. She smiles up at you and begins to ramble on about the things she wants to do with you, your mind wrapped around the look of her lips as she does.

Realizing that you were zoning out, she places a hand on your cheek, thumb brushing your cheekbone gently as she stared up at you with adoration and love in her eyes. Your heart felt like it would combust in your chest.

"You alright?" The singer asks, her English accent sending another wave of bliss over your body. You're unable to say anything or hide the smile that creeps up on your lips. You place your hand on hers, leaning into her touch.

Then a stroke of genius hits you.

Your eyes burst open and you abruptly pull away, and laugh madly to yourself. "That's it! That's what I've been trying to find." You plop yourself back into your desk chair and begin typing madly, the blank page filling almost instantly. You smile up at her proudly, seeing only a look of confusion on her face.

You smile even brighter, "Go get ready, baby. We're going out tonight, and we'll do everything you want and more." She approaches with a warm expression, one that only overflows your heart at this point. "I just need to send this over to my editor..." You pause, reaching over the desk, caressing her cheek lovingly.

"I really would be lost without my muse." Wendy merely blushes and turns a heel before skipping happily over to your closet in hopes to find some clothes she'd left at your house while you excitedly type an email to your editors.

All the while, you can't stop thinking about Wendy and just how much you were going to kiss her later that night.

Park Sooyoung / Joy

Three months more of absolute torture and Joy still couldn't fine it in her heart to break-up with her boyfriend. Each time she tried she was met with immense guilt or something got in the way before she could end it with him.

None of that irritation could really make up for you though.

You were somehow more and more insufferable every time Joy saw you. A cocky smirk, a passing snide comment, and on the rare occasion, flirtatious actions that made the singer question her own morals. You were an absolute pain in the ass, but she couldn't get enough of you.

"Are you actually going to do it this time or are you going to chicken out like you did last week?" Irene chastised over the phone as Joy pushed her way into her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend's apartment. She scoffs at her leader's sarcasm, "After last nights 'date' I don't think I can stand another minute dating him, unnie. It has to end today."

The conversation doesn't last for too long after that given Joy needed to ride the elevator up. Her mind raced at what she was going to say to him, what he would feel. Another pang of guilt rings in her chest as the rickety steel doors open for her. Walking in, she presses the floor number and leans back on the metal frame before pulling out her phone again to feed her boredom.

As the doors begin to close a hand thrusts itself through the metal, making Joy squeal in terror. Only for the doors to slide open to reveal you, grinning proudly at the chaos you'd ensued. "Hey there, pretty girl." You pause, taking an almost playful step into the elevator with her, "I like you screaming like that, you should do it more often in front of me." You tease, the shit-eating smile still very present on your face.

It pissed Joy off to no end. She had no idea why though.

She crossed her arms and forces herself not to look at you. From the corner of her eye though she sees you looking at her shamelessly, grin still prominent on your face. Joy looks over at you, eyes dripping with frustration. "Are you just going to stare at me the entire time?"

You laugh and push yourself from the metal railing of the elevator, "I could do much more if that's what you're asking me, Joy." You tease, her name slipping from your lips in the most irritatingly attractive way she could imagine.

"Please, like you could." The singer snaps, only goating you on. You laugh heartily before leaning uncomfortably close to her. She remembers how you did something similar the night you first met her and her heart rushes as the smell of your earthy perfume reaches her nose. Your smile falls, a sense of seriousness looming over your expression.

The foreign expression on your face makes her nervous. You press your lips firmly together. She watches as your eyes fall from hers to look down at her lips. "I've told you before, Joy." You pause, your voice firm, "Don't test me. I might not be able to control myself."

You inch closer, testing the waters. Joy was conflicted, you were so annoying to her but she couldn't help but wonder how your lips would feel against hers.

A sort of magnitism she figures.

"You're trouble." Joy whispers before a small smile etches on her lips. You mirror her expression, leaning in closer. "So I've been told."

You hesitate as her breathe hitches. Your eyes find hers, desperately looking for an answer to the questions you had from the moment you first laid eyes on her.

Slowly, but with conviction, she nods, giving you the go ahead. Before your lips can meet though, the elevator dings pleasantly as the doors slide open. Your brother standing on the other end of the steel frame, eyes down on his phone as Joy squeaks and you jump away quickly.

Your brother looks up and smiles, "Joy! Y/n! You two just get here?"

Joy sputters as you simply stare at him, ashamed of yourself. Guilt reeks from you as you laugh awkwardly. "Yeah, I saw Joy a couple blocks down and decided to drive her here. Make sure she's safe." You rush out before stepping out of the suddenly hot metal box.

Your brother quirks a curious brow before you usher him to his unit, "Give me a second, I left something in the car, I'll be right back, oppa."

Not thinking much of it, he shrugs and walks to his unit, leaving you and Joy alone again. You breathe a sigh of relief as Joy laughs nervously. "I guess that was a close call, huh?"

You don't speak. Only brushing past her gently. You hold the elevator doors open as Joy turns to speak flustered. "I uh...look I didn't mean for things to get too far and I hope you don't think badly of me-"

You cut her off, all brightness in your voice instantly evaporated. "It was just as much my fault. Don't worry about it." You pause before looking her sternly in the eye. "If you don't want to be with my brother. I suggest you make that obvious to him."

"I-"

"And until you've figured that out...I think it's best I don't show my face." Joy hesitates at your words but she hears a slight tremble in your voice. "I would have never done this to my brother but you...you have some sort of pull on me, Joy. And I can't stop myself around you."

In attempts to lighten the mood, Joy whispers, "Bad girl has a heart?"

You laugh bitterly before reaching out to caress Joy's face, bringing her an odd sense of comfort. One she'd never felt with her boyfriend. You bite your lower lip and look down, "Go back to your boyfriend, Joy." Pulling your hand back, and locking eyes with her as the doors shut.

"Bye Joy."

The door closes and Joy takes a moment to recollect herself as she finds herself in front of her boyfriend...your brother. He looks over his shoulder with a warm and kind smile. Upon seeing her confused face, he approaches her and places his hand on her cheek.

It was cold and foreign to her. Her mind races, wondering why she ever got together with him in the first place when you were there, just waiting for her. You could be everything she'd ever needed.

"Are you alright, sweetie?" His voice breaks her focus, and she sees his warm smile...the innocence in his eyes. She smiles up and shakes her head. "Just a little tired."

All the while you sit in your car for a couple minutes, hoping she'd walk out of the elevator and come looking for you. You close your eyes and breathe out your disappointment.

"That's karma for you, N/n..." You whisper to yourself as you start your car and drive off.

Kim Yerim / Yeri

You felt her eyes on you the entire evening, at first it was rather flattering. But then as the night wore on, you began being worried and a little insecure about yourself.

Finally having enough of it, you look over to your girlfriend with a exasperated expression. Yeri's taken aback and begins to flush as you look at her. You chuckle at her expression before reaching for the TV remote, pausing the movie on screen.

Adjusting yourself to face her better, you lean on your shoulder as you smile at her sheepishly. "Everything alright on that side of the world?" You ask jokingly, making her giggle and shuffle towards you.

You can tell she's thinking hard and it's bugging her. "Hey..." You pause, placing your hand on hers, weaving your fingers into hers, squeezing and offering her a bit of comfort. "What's wrong?"

Yeri hesitates, jolting forward but pulling back. Her member's words reverberating in her head.

Earlier in the week, her members and her were enjoying a break from their rehearsals. While they drank water and picked up some light snacks, the youngest member immediately pulled her phone out and giggled to herself. Her member's stare at her curiously before she waves them off, "Y/n just sent me a funny picture of her when she was younger."

Wendy and Irene share a look as Joy and Seulgi giggle to themselves, playfully kissing the air to tease the young woman. She simply rolls her eyes and continues to type away at her phone and smiles so brightly. It makes her groupmate's hearts melt.

"So just how serious are you and Y/n?" Irene asks, motherly instincts kicking in. Yeri flushes a deep red before putting her phone away, playing with the case. "I don't know exactly...I like her though." Unable to repress her smile, she shyly turns on her own axis, "I really like her."

Before any of them could tease her though, she began, "But..." The girls watch her intently. Wordlessly, she lifts her hand up to her lips. A chorus of gasps pull from the girls's lips before a barrage of questions flow between the five women.

Suddenly feeling the pressure to show you her affection, Yeri decides to text you asking if you want to sleep over soon.

Back in the moment, she hesitates and practically rocks back and forth. You watch her eyes, gazing down at your lips. You smile and raise her hand to your mouth, placing a delicate kiss over her soft knuckles. One on each finger before you stare up at her with a warm smile.

"There's no rush Yerim...It can wait." You pull her closer, wrapping your arms around her shoulders, leaving feather light kisses over her shoulder, the corner of her jaw, "I can wait, alright? I like you a lot, and I want our firsts to be special...not out of compliance."

Yeri pulls away and smiles at you, shifting to leave a lingering kiss on your ever redenning cheek. "You're a gem, N/n..."

The smile on your face brightens before she curls up into your lap, grabbing the remote from you to play the movie from the beginning. In spite of your complaints, you settle down quickly and pull her impossibly closer, savoring the feeling of the young woman in your arms.

why did joy's come out the longest ? HAHAHAHA i hope you all enjoyed!! i love you all and see you all vv soon!! byeeee 💖 oh and if there are any filo fans here who are going to the itzy or mamamoo or blackpink concerts in the Philippines, let me know and we can meet up maybe. - r

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