#tall soft small feral | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fanaticsnail · 4 months

Text

You're Angry at the Tall Men

Masterlist Here

I have two very dear mutual creators on here that are struggling with the flu. Hopefully yelling at the tall men of one-piece will help you both out: @feral-artistry & @sordidmusings

Word Count: 200-400 per gentleman: Buggy, Shanks, Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Corazon, Doflamingo

Warnings: anger, violence, suggestive spice for a few, angst, afab!implied but not overly mentioned, height difference.

First time writing for Cora, Croc and Doffy - mainly going off small clips and overall vibes. Apologies if I didn't do your blorbo justice.

(Apprehensive tag list: @gingernut1314, @writingmysanity)

He knows what he did to earn your wrath; your fury ignited in your eyes and the flames physically tangible and searing the room with your scorn. Your brow was furrowed, your lips curling into a snarl to bare your pearled teeth at him.

Buggy: 6’3

“Sit your tall ass down!” you roared at him. The clown shrieked back, immediately reaching his stuttering hands towards the back of a chair to unceremoniously fall back onto the wooden base. Unfortunately, as his ass barely grazes the base; his weight proceeds to fall from its intended target, plopping down onto the cement ground instead of finding comfort on the chair.

“Ah, fuck!” he cried out alongside his wince, his red nose creased as he felt the pain shoot up his coxic bone and tingle up his spine. This moment of failure breaking a small crack in your iron fury, a giggle attempting to break through your anger. He winces his beautiful teal eyes up at you, cringing through the pain and gritting his teeth in an attempt of a smile.

“You are so pathetic,” you growled at him, extending your hand out and collecting his chin within your thumb and index finger. You were held captive by his sparkling eyes beneath his lengthy blue eyelashes as he looked up at you in awe.

“It’s why you love me, right?” he whimpered at you, his crooked smile drawing you in closer to him. You stooped, pressing a small kiss against his rotund, red nose.

“Yes,” you again growled at him, pouting with your brow falling low in the center of your forehead, “but I’m still angry at you.”

“I know,” he grumbled in response, his eyes upturning and almost pleading, “but I can fix that, right?”

Shanks: 6’6

“Woah, woah, love!” he cried out, backing away from your approach with his wide smile plastered to his cheeks. He was still smiling, even when you backed him against the wall with your forearm horizontally pressing him back into the wooden banister behind him.

“You absolute stupid, ridiculous, drunken-,” one look into his loving eyes rendered you immediately defenseless to his aura. He looked at you with such love, his brown eyes holding only softness and adoration within them. He brings up his arm, choosing to caress your cheek and lace a loose strand of your hair to hook over your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into you, leaning his head down and moving his lips against your forehead to murmur into your skin, “forgive me, I didn’t mean it.” Inhaling a deep breath, you feel the rage falling away from you as he continued murmuring sweet nothings into your ear.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re angry,” he breathed his raspy voice into your ear.

“And you’re so handsome when you’re not the one making me angry,” you growled back at him.

Mihawk 6’6:

“Mihawk!” your rumbled growl echoed in the high ceilings lifting the light in the large dining room. He was stooping, fingertips halting their descent to grasp the back of his dining chair. He huffed out a sigh, rotating his neck and removing his hat from his head. He placed the hat on his dining setting, and prepared himself to receive your wrath.

As soon as you saw him preparing himself to receive the scorn you were about to bear down on him, you decided to switch it up. Something about how smug he was did not satiate your fire from erupting further. You had every intention of taking him by his wrist and leading him to the impressive steps of the foyer and taking a few steps up to bring you to the appropriate height to maintain eye contact as you reprimanded him.

But his ear was right there, no longer shielded by his broad hat to halt your action. Immediately, you pressed your index and middle finger against the overly sensitive shell of his ear and began dragging him towards the archway leading to the foyer.

“Not quite so hard, dear,” he winced as his steps stuttered behind you. You allowed a sinister smirk to rise on your lips, gaining a sickening amount of joy from knowing you were paining him a little to satisfy your wrath. As your feet found the steps, you relinquished your hold on his ear and turned to face him, your eyes first glancing at the raven curls atop his head that you rarely are accustomed to seeing these days. His head was bowed, his hand drawn up to cradle his ear and sooth over the throbbing shell. At this, your anger ceased and you immediately sought out his eyes by cupping his cheeks and elevating his face.

“I’m sorry, my love. Did I hurt you, are you okay?” you hastily spoke, eyes checking over his face for any semblance of hurt or pain.

“Only my pride, dear,” he replied in a soft grumble, continuing to keep his eyes from joining with your own. You sighed in relief before shaking your head to remind yourself why you brought him here in the first place. You furrowed your brow and slunk your hands from his cheeks to fall them against his chest.

“I’m-,” you began, your angry words halted by Mihawk taking a step forward and pressing his forehead against your own.

“-I’m sorry. Forgive me,” he whispered into your face, his eyes half lidded and sorrow falling over his face, “I never meant to hurt you, and I’m willing to spend all the time it takes to make it up to you.”

Sir Crocodile 10’

Clutching his cigar in his index and middle fingers, he flicked the ash into the glass and gold tray on his desk. He could hear the fall of your feet outside the door, his jaw falling slack in bored frustration.

“You devious bastard,” you growled as the door to his office flung open. He inhaled deeply, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out another cigar to clench his teeth onto. As your eyes met, his brow arched while his eyelids hung half-lidded. He sat back against his armchair and uncrossed his legs from their join of the knees. Remaining wordless, he fished around in his pants for his lighter, to find nothing but his golden pocket watch and a few rolls of berry within his leatherbound wallet.

“Be a dear and find me a light,” he dismissed your anger with the wave of his hand as his eyes searched his desk for his capped lighter. This seemed to engage your fury further, making you immediately lunge at him and crawl onto his lap. You drew your claw-shaped grip up to his jaw, snarling into his face as you did so.

“You think I care about your lighter right now, you arrogant lizard,” you spat at him. His eyes widened in surprise, initially being taken off guard by your presence atop his thigh. Immediately after processing the shock, his eyes darkened as he used his large, golden hook to circle around your thigh; trapping it within the metal and drawing it closer into him. Your kneeling position atop his lap was now made ever more dangerous than it had been, not knowing how he would truly respond to your anger. Both of your tempers began to flare as he snarled at you.

“Lighter first,” he growled at you, looking up into your enraged eyes as your hair cascaded down over his face, draped almost intimately over his forehead. You scoffed, flicking the hair over your shoulder and grimaced at him in response.

“And why should I do that after what you did?” you gnashed your teeth, baring your rage in your now untested situation. The tense air now growing thick and dense as your bodies pressed closer together. He gripped your hips with his hand, his golden hook scraping over your thigh and placing your knee over his waist as he drew you closer.

“Lighter first,” he began to snarl at you, “or I will channel your rage in another way.”

“Try me, Reptile,” you snarled at him, clenching your teeth as you stooped lower into his face. He immediately stood, his tall body hoisting you up against his hips and slamming your back atop his desk. He hovered over your body, leaning his face down and snarling into you,

“You should’ve just done what you were told,” He growled into your neck.

“You shouldn't have pissed me off,” you gnashed your teeth once more, your eyes widening as you felt his teeth bite down hard on your clavicle, soothing over the new injury with his tongue.

Corazon 9’7

“Donquixote Rosinante!” you shouted, walking around the halls and tracking the stupor of his step. You immediately heard a thud, followed by several crashing booms reverberating within the hallway. None of these sounds halted your descent, your rage and fury propelling your steps further towards him.

When your eyes fell over his body, he was hoisting himself up from his entanglement with several cleaning products; a mop over his head and a bucket circling over his left foot. He looked ridiculous, his coat hanging limply from his shoulders over his open heart-stitched shirt.

As he rose to his feet, you were taken aback at how truly tall he was; his body towering over your own. You lost your nerve slightly at his stature, but still the edges of your body remained singed with the fires of rage within your soul.

“Cora-!” your words were halted by the man drawing such anger from you wordlessly holding up his palm to silence you. Your brows fell further down your face, your frown deepening as you watched him silently search his surroundings. His eyes widened first, before softening as he stooped down to collect the bucket that was once wrapped around his foot. He blew over the base of the bucket with a small puff of breath, placing the brim on the ground and dusting the base with the back of his hand.

He turned his painted face up to you, a tight smile pulling at his mouth as he extended his hand to you. You sucked in a breath through your nostrils, pouting as you took his hand. Stepping up onto the bucket, you still remained short to his great height. Still holding onto your hand, his smile softened as he bent at the knees to crouch in front of you, looking up into your face with eyes baring great sorrow at how angry you were with him.

Relinquishing the hold against your hand, he gestured for you to bare your soul out to him with a simple swipe of his hands. He was so willing to have you share your emotions with him, it almost made you want to cry with frustration at how truly loving he was to you.

“You’re just going to sit back and take it? Say something, Cora. Anything!” You screamed, the sting of tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. He continued to watch on, never once rising from his crouch, nor bringing his eyes away from searching your face. It was only when a hot, frustrated tear fell from your eye down your cheek that he rose up to his full size once more.

He wordlessly drew his palm up to claim your cheek, his thumb brushing the tear away from its descent down towards your mouth.

“Please,” you whimpered while searching his eyes, “please say something.”

He leant forward, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, circling the other arm around your shoulders and holding your chest flush with his own. His lips found the crown of your head, pressing a soft and careful kiss against the top of your hair.

“Calm,” he uttered, the room circled around him by the spark of his devil-fruit power. You looked at him confused, your nostrils flaring at him while still expressing your anger.

“Why use the devil-fruit powers now?” you asked him, shaking your head at him as all else in the hallway was silenced. No taps of feet, no drips of taps, nor the sounds of breeze through the trees outside the room could be heard within the silent barrier.

“Because I want everyone to know how angry you are with me,” he uttered, his nose lovingly brushing against your own, “And I want to be able to scream how much I love you with no consequence.” He pressed his lips against your forehead, smearing his red face paint against your skin as he trailed a flurry of gentle kisses against your nose, cheek bones and the corner of your lips in an attempt to smother the flames of your anger.

“This doesn’t make up for what you did,” you spat at him, your narrowed eyes looking at him through your eyelashes remaining dark with fury.

“I know,” he admitted, unwrapping his arm from circling your shoulders. He grazed his arm down and collected your hand once more within his, lacing your fingers together as he uttered, “I’m so sorry, my darling. I’ll never do it again.”

Doflamingo 10’

He was immediately expressing joy at how riled up he had managed to make you, his lips curling back into a sinister smile. He darted his tongue out over his mouth to dampen his chapped lip before he allowed a rumbly chuckle to exit from his chest.

“Doflamingo!” You screamed, rage and fury overcasting your usual stoic state with their venom. He rose to his feet and was almost bursting at the seams with how happy getting a rise from you was making him.

“How dare you?! How dare you do that to me?!” You roared, not halting your approach in any way. He towered over you, his lanky build condescendingly casting his feathered silhouette over your body.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he shrugged, speaking quickly with a broad grin continuing to polish his cheeks. His eyes remained hidden by his glasses, your own eyes beginning to prick at the corners with a frustrated rage.

“Wipe that horrible grin off your face before I rip it off,” you spat, your hands demonstrating how truly violent your thoughts were.

“Only if you do it with your teeth, Princess,” he bore his teeth down at you. His smile widened further up his cheeks, your urge to claw out his eyes not satisfied in the slightest. You impulsively swung your hand at his face, your wrist caught within his circled grip. His laughter erupted over his chest at this small demonstration of violence, so easily stifled by his hands.

“Ohh, you’ve got some fire in you today,” he chucked his taunt at you, leaning down further into you; his nose almost brushing against your own with how close he drew himself down to you, “What I’d give to see that demonstrated with your body wrapped around my- AHH.” You halted his words within his mouth by clamping your teeth down against his nose hard enough to draw blood. After tasting the metallic flavor roll over your tongue, you withdrew your teeth from his flesh and bore your red-tinted lips at him.

He reached up to clutch the scruff of your neck, pulling you closer into him and purring a roar of his own into you:

“Mmm, Harder.”

#one piece #one piece live action #x reader #buggy #shanks #mihawk #sir crocodile #donquixote rosinante #donquixote doflamingo #corazon x reader #rosinante x reader #doflamingo x reader #mihawk x reader #shanks x reader #buggy x reader #sir crocodile x reader #One piece drabble #sea-dilf drabble #sea dilfs of one piece

2K notes · View notes

nanamiluvs · 2 months

Text

a gentleman by heart !

pairings : nanami x reader, gepard x reader, artem wing x reader

rating : mature to explicit

wc : 1.4k

tags : reader is afab but no pronouns used, lots of kissing, established relationship, creampie, kinda rough sex, desperation, size difference if you squint, just a quick drabble abt these men

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

sexually reserved men who become feral once they get your consent.

he's a gentleman in every sense of the word. he holds doors for you, buys you flowers, remembers trivial details about you- the perfect man one could ever dream of. it's not a surprise he doesn't touch you often, he would hate to make you uncomfortable. even his touch is gentle, his large hand lingering on the small of your back to guide you through the crowd. tall, handsome, kind and strong- what more could you want from a man?

sexually reserved men who, at first, would never suggest intimacy. it's a gentlemanly act, but a result of his shyness at the same time. it's almost like he's refraining himself.

he brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles as his eyes stare into yours, so soft. you feel how much he loves you by any and every action of his, how can a man be so perfect?

he excuses himself as he thinks you didn't notice the bulge in his pants nor the slight blush on his cheeks. it's frustrating at this point, why won't he just initiate something else instead of adjusting himself and pretending nothing is happening? you feel dared to make him come out of his shell, to finally do something out of his gentlemanly persona. well, it's not exactly a persona, he's really just that perfect. but you're almost sure there's also something else hiding beneath the waters.

his hand brushes against your knee as he drives, a fleeting touch, one hand firmly gripping the steering wheel when the other just shy of touching your leg. so you grab his hand and place it on top of your thigh, expecting him to blush and pull his hand back.

and he gulps and fucking squeezes the flesh. he runs his hand up and down on your thigh, like he was waiting for your sign to do so. no words are exchanged as his hands moves closer and closer to your core and returns to the base of your thigh once again. you clench your thighs together, not the type of touch you were expecting from your gentle boyfriend but one you were very welcoming of.

you should've guessed it was merely a starting point.

his touches only get more and more daring as time goes on. you give him an inch and he takes a mile. you two haven't discussed this subject openly at all, yet you both knew how his hands started reaching lower when they were on you, more free. you wwante even more.

so finally, when you told him that you wanted him to take you, he was not as surprised as you would expect him to be.

"i know," he says, his hands on each side of your hips as you were seated on his lap. his eyes stare into yours before giving in and hiding his face in the crook of your neck, "and i want you too. i need you so bad-" his sharp breath hits your skin and you almost feel the inner conflict he has going on.

that's why you cup his cheeks and look into his eyes. "then take me. make me yours."

he wets his lips. "i'm afraid i won't be able to let you go if i do so."

when you respond by simply pressing your lips against his, it's like a switch has flipped. his hand comes up to grab the back of your head as he flips you over on the couch, your body trapped underneath his. his eyes are filed with passion and desperation as his lips claim yours with fervor, taking your breath away and making your hands cling onto the collar of his dress shirt, pulling him closer.

he parts away, breathless as he kisses you once again. you don't know when he takes you into his arms and when he drops you on his bed, too focused on his lips and touch to notice. "you're beautiful," he whispers as he unbuttons his shirt, eyes reveling in the sight of your disheveled hair and flushed state.

you truly were the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

he's on top of you and his lips reunite with yours, shirt discarded on the floor before his hands tug onto your top, silently begging to get it out of the way. you let him do so, and his kisses trail down to your neck when he gets rid of the fabric. your hands grab his soft hair as he sucks on the sensitive skin, low moans escaping his lips from how much he wants to do this with you. the sounds you make goes straight down to his member.

soon, both of your clothes are discarded and his hand continues to fondle your breast, pinching and pulling the hardened bud between his digits while his mouth laches onto the other. he's gentle yet so rough at the same time, not giving you the time of the day to breathe. his mouth so wet and hot against your skin, he pulls away with a pop, panting as he, not even once, breaks eye contact with you.

his dick aches at the sight of your bare pussy, glistening with slick and looking just so pretty in his ehes. he leans in, to your surprise, his tongue licking a wet stripe across your slit. he delves in, he may not be very experienced but he's quite the quick learner, memorizing every single sound you let out to his movements. he soon has you tugging on his hair, pulling his head impossibly closer to your drenched cunt, riding out your orgasm in waves as he licks you through it. he grind his own bulge against the bed, chasing some friction on his needy cock.

sexually reserved men who are just so big and thick that you gasp at the sheer size of him when he takes the final layer off. your hand is not enough to accommodate his girth, and he's so hard since the visions he played in his mind were nothing compared to seeing your naked body. "i love you," you say as your arms wrap around his neck. he smiles against your lips and repeats the phrase before gently kissing you.

but you're not even sure if that thing can fit inside you.

that's why you're panting and moaning against his shoulder, his length sliding inside of you inch by inch. it's too much, you whimper, i can't take it.

sexually reserved men who whisper in your ear after leaving another mark on your neck, "you can. do it for me."

you sigh when you get used to his size filling your walls, every prominent vein you feel grazing against you, and he starts moving. he's so gentle at first.

yet that turns into relentless pounding with you screaming his name and grab onto him for dear life as he fucks you, drunk on the way your walls wrap around his dick and the way you call out to him, all thoughts about manners thrown out the window. he swallows your moans with his mouth against yours, kissing you as rough as he's having you.

sexually reserved men who grunt as he thrusts inside, even deeper than before with his long fingers rubbing your clit, sending you over the edge as you start begging him. you don't even know what you're begging for, it just feels too good and you don't know what else to do besides to take whatever he's giving you.

he whispers in your ear, telling you how much he loves you, how beautiful you are, how well you take him and how good you are for him, his words filled with so much love, how he wanted to do this for so long. it doesn't take long for you to cum again, milking his cock as he speeds up, your added slick making it easier to slide in and out.

he was going to pull out before he hears your words telling him to fucking come inside, eyes snapping up in shock before shutting down as his cock completely disappears inside your cunt and he can't hold back anymore. you feel hot ropes of cum fill you up to the brim, so full and warm that you couldn't think of anything else for a moment.

sexually reserved men who immediately check up on you after the high wears off, asking if you're alright or if he had hurt you. you pant and tell him no, you're just too fucked out to talk.

only when he leans down to kiss you could you feel his still-hard dick press against your thigh.

"...already?!"

"...i-i apologize."

nanami, gepard, artem

inspired by that one nanami twt <3

709 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Text

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORD COUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Fluff, mentions of death, being hunted, vulgar language, price in a tunic (yes this is a warning by itself), awkwardness, nakedness, suggestive (?), implied age gap, etc.

A/N: I'm feral over this AU, ong. A million kisses to the Anon that brought this to my attention-btw this is definitely becoming a mini-series.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your family told you to never go beyond the deep waterways of the cove, never to brave the open sea. Times were changing. The Harpies, when they weren't as shrewd about their feathers getting wet, would fly down from their tall mountain spires and tell stories—ones about the hunting ships.

They’d seen them, they said as your family listened on in horror from the rocks, dragging all manner of Merfolk up from the waters in large nets made of iron and hard steel. Spears that tore scales to take for profit. In other instances, the unlucky individuals were even sold to royalty to become showpieces in displays of high wealth and standing.

But it wasn’t just Merfolk. It was all manner of mystical beast and being. Hunted. Sold. Humans, your parents had told you, were not friends. They were greedy and selfish; more than often cruel.

And so they started to do the same unto them. Your family would lure them with their voices to the ends of the great ships that were brought close to your cove—watch as they hurled themselves from the sides into the grasp of the ruthless waves. They did it for you, they explained. To try and keep you safe.

For years they did this until they were gone too.

Suddenly the cove seemed more like a prison than a safe spot, and the Harpies no longer came to converse or tell news. Killed or taken you had no idea, but it was becoming fairly obvious that even interactions with your own people were impossible. Were you the only mermaid left? It was a good question to ask and one that you could never answer. All that you knew was that you had been alone for a very long time.

That was, before you first laid eyes on the fisherman.

You watch him now, yet again, from behind the sharp jutting body of the rocks; the water delicately bobs you up and down as your vibrant tail hangs limp in its otherworldly throes. Eyes softly wide and mouth parted in wonder.

He’s walking along the deck of a small ship—not the large and intimidating ones of the other men that sail the seas—with a strong form. A hat on top of his head of brown hair and a well-trimmed beard of the same color made him look gruff in appearance.

Your hands shift over the sharp black stone, and the nakedness of your top is covered by the long strands of your wet, uncut, hair. This man wore a plain white tunic and brown pants stuffed into large boots. Even as far as you were, you heard the soft whistled tune dancing in the shell of your ears. Delicate eyes watch, head slowly peeking out more and more.

He was tending to the nets he had on the bow and as you studied him you were mystified.

“Fascinating,” you whisper, unknown emotions swirling in you.

His muscles strain, large and expansive shoulders lead down to a tapered waist; legs that you blink at before glancing at your tail under the rippling water. There’s a large grunt before the fisherman’s net is thrown in a beautiful arc, hitting the water with a slap and a spray of liquid as it begins to sink. Startled, you flinch back, gasping loudly.

With a racing heart, you quietly scold yourself for the childish reaction, flicking your tail in annoyance. Slowly but surely, your head peaks back out with water dripping down the flesh of your shoulders.

But when you shift back into the open, you find a deep set of stormy blue eyes digging into your field of view. You freeze, seeing his lids go back in surprise and shock as your jaw slackens. A cold fear enters your veins at the new attention brought to you but you find yourself unable to look away.

The Fisherman is the picture of utter stillness, just as you are, like twin mountains of ancient stone. Your nervousness only seems to grow as he doesn’t do anything—teachings and lessons about those who walk on two legs and sail in ships poking holes into your mind.

Gawking and spying were one thing…but being seen meant death. You swallow stiffly and go tense, shifting to half-hide behind your rock.

“Oh, no,” your mouth murmurs, self-hatred and fear lining the tone. “Oh, no, no, no.”

And yet the Fisherman had not moved, nor made any attempt to pull his sinking net back into his boat. Fish panic in the rope grave they’ve been ensnared in. His eyes….why are they so curiously locked on you?

You spare one last glance before shoving away from the rock and disappearing under the water with a violent splash; making off for the deep underwater caves that offer salvation.

When you’re down there—in the darkness with only silent ripples of light to guide your eyes—you find it hard to stop thinking about the Fisherman and his strong jaw. His genuine awe at the sight of you.

Had he not heard the stories of the Merfolk of this region? Or…or were you truly the last of your kind?

The thought troubles you, and, riddled with anxiety, you go over to your store of shiny trinkets that you’d collected over the years; grabbing them in your hands and fiddling with them to try to put your mind at ease. The walls of the caves bare down on you and you hope you’d not just signed over your own death warrant.

Maybe he’ll go away, you offer yourself, face tight and tail curled close, maybe he’ll be afraid and won’t come back.

It was a pointless belief. They always come back—driven by greed or a righteous authority. Humans were cruel.

But your brain goes back to stormy blue eyes like pebbles and softly parted lips. Orbs glinting with wonder and shock. No attempt to shout or grab for the large knife you’d seen strapped to his belt.

A fisherman, you told yourself, who hesitated to go after the biggest fish of them all.

You didn’t quite know if that made you more afraid or more intrigued.

—

It was only after you’d spent three weeks in the underwater caves of the cove that you’d finally decided the coast was clear. You’d cautiously gone back through the winding seaweed and schools of marine life to hide in your little rock fort; afraid but brave. From under the waves in the calm of the water you’d scanned the surface for the shadows of a boat, anything to indicate that the man had returned.

Nothing.

Tension leaves your shoulders and you travel upwards, vibrant scales shimmering like jewels. You were quite close to the mainland, you would say, back to the shore to look out over the open entrance to your home. At the first sign of danger, the rocks would be your first point of shelter if you wished to remain hidden but continue to watch.

Ears popping as your head surfaces, you only look out with the water swaying below your eyes; nose and chin hidden. Sand from behind you shifts.

“Knew I’d seen something, then, eh?” Your heart lurches—brain flashing to hooks and nets; you shove yourself back under the water with a garbled gasp.

Fish around your form dash away as you frantically look back at the surface, your scales shining as the light hits them. Fingers tense in the water, you shift your body so that your form has its back to the floor of the cove and breathe quickly in your own mermadian way with shaking fins.

On the very edge of the shore, you see the shadow of a sitting body in the sand. He hadn’t moved, this Fisherman. Was waiting as inanimate as an empty shell.

What had he said? You ask yourself, hair disturbed by the flow of the waves above your head. A gentle back and forth. After a moment of contemplation, the large muscle in your breast slows itself and a nervous curiosity grows.

Yet still, the shadow stays completely motionless beside the occasional itch and brush as facial hair. Waiting.

Waiting to attack, your hand twitches in the water and you flutter your tail to take you closer to the open air, or waiting to see me?

Taking what you can describe as a deep breath, the top of your head once more breaks the top of the water; lashes dripping salty tear-drops as you blink away the sting. Every part of you is ready to disappear once more if things go south.

And then you lock eyes once more.

The Fisherman sits in the sand with his boots pushing up the granules—his right hand rests over his bent knee while the other keeps him up in a relaxed position from behind his back. You stare, the sun reflected in your eyes with a small glinting and hair in your vision. A foreign heat builds in your face when the man’s head tilts; tiny eyes narrowing as if he’d just proven a point to himself.

Why doesn’t he seem surprised?

There’s a moment of a smirk that slashes his hidden lips but it’s gone in a fraction of a second. His mustache moves as he speaks and your face slightly bobs lower instinctually. The Fisherman doesn't seem hostile—he has a kind of stern comfort to him.

Stubborn gruffness. And his accent only amplifies that fact.

“Well, wasn’t expecting to find you here,” his chest rumbles with his words. You find you quite like the sound of it. Shells grinding against each other and pearls that clatter in palms. Your eyes widen with innocence. The Fisherman clears his throat, still watching carefully as the water sloshes over his boots. “Else I would have stayed clear when I still could.”

Your hands tread water around you, tail flickering in small movements.

The man's gaze darts down to stare as well as he could through the ripples.

“Bloody Christ,” he murmurs to himself, returning your eyes once more, “thought you were all mostly extinct. Fuckin’ hell.”

“Extinct?” Your lips flinch, chin caressing the waves as brows pull up. The Fisherman blinks as if surprised to hear you speak. To be honest, you were half afraid you couldn’t either—how long had it been since you’d had a conversation above water? You spent most of your time passing comments to rare traveling Hippocampus and Sea Serpents.

Not that they could respond, of course.

By now your face had entirely left the water, that word startling you. Your chest tightens.

“What do you mean,” you ask the older man, this strange Fisherman who was shifting his weight in the sand, “extinct?”

Dark brows furrow and his back slightly straightens itself.

“You aren't exactly what I’d be calling common, Love. No one’s seen one of your kind in years.” Your face stills.

“Years?” Head angling itself down, you stare at your reflection in growing fear.

The Fisherman makes a move to stand, and you dart back swiftly. A pale hand is held in the air as if to sedate you.

“Easy, now.” It’s said softly, a grunt stuck at the beginning. A small moment passes before the man fully stands up, dressed similarly to when you’d seen him before.

Top, pants, hat. There’s also a flash of metal around his neck, some piece of jewelry hidden on the chain under the layer of his thin, flowy, tunic. Hands go to cross over his chest in a display of muscle gained from a long time of hard work.

You nervously plead for an explanation, “B-but that…that doesn’t make any sense! I’m not the only one left!”

“No,” the Fisherman slowly states, taking off the hat from his head and delicately placing it on the ground. “No, you’re not the last.”

His eyes dart along your visible body, trying to catch a glimpse of that tail that was in all stories about your kind.

“Your name, Ma’am,” he asks, blue returning to your own sights, “what is it.”

“Well, what’s yours?” You counter, getting snappy in your anxiousness. “You come into my home and expect me to answer to you? And where’s your fishing boat anyways—unless a male Selkie has suddenly managed to brave the deep sea?”

Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, but you had sworn the Fisherman had smiled at you; it was a swift slash of something that pulled his mustache back and wrinkled his face. An amused thing it was. A sort of tiny tease, in its own right.

Your heart beats steadily at the sight, eyes watching.

“Well, I suppose you’re right, then.” He scratches at his beard with one hand, still studying you with a tilt of his head. As if weighing what he should tell you. There was an air of intrigue but that did nothing to hide the hesitance. “I docked my boat in the sea cave, thought it would do more harm than good to leave it in the open. If you’d seen it, you wouldn’t have shown, eh?” The Fisherman points and you look to the deep indent in the mountainside, the tiny ship visible as it stays stationary. You blink at it slowly.

“And you can call me whatever it is you like, I don’t bloody care, but I’m not inclined to tell one of the Merfolk my name—I may have come ‘ere, but I’m not fuckin’ daft, now.”

It was true, what he spoke of. Names to your people have a stark and violent purpose. To know one's name is to own a piece of that person’s soul. Songs gain more power, words grow into orders followed without thought. Not that it was your intention.

You glower, brows pulling in.

“A simple fisherman does well to know that it’s rude to speak ill like such in another’s home.” The man smirks, cheeks rising.

“Simple, am I?” The already expansive build of his shoulders widens as he leans back on his heels, water sloshing at his boots. His eyes glimmer like lighting with humor. The look makes your cheeks burn with warmth, throat swallowing saliva.

“Why are you here?” You avoid the question, treading water and letting your tail drift. Willing the water to cool your senses. It was obvious that this man wasn’t a hunter—foolish, perhaps, but no hunter.

Or maybe just confidently brave.

The Fisherman hums under his breath, grunting in the way you’d already come to associate with him. Rugged fellow, really. Weathered like a pile of old rope but still handsome, the sinews under the stain of dirt pure of color. You found yourself, however apprehensive, enjoying the squareness of his face; how the brunette’s hair would sweep in the warm breeze.

He was attractive.

“Fishing, Ma’am.” A broad sweep of one of his hands, “You have a proper cove. Plenty of places to cast.”

Your tight arms somewhat loosen.

“Just fishing?” Your voice darkens. “Then why is it you’re here on shore and not doing just that.” Tail flickering, it lightly brings you back from him, eyes always darting away to stare into the background of his form—at the dark shadows of trees behind the dark rocks. At the open mouth of the cove in case of extra ships.

If what he told you earlier was true, you were in danger just by living.

Extinct? Not seen in years? No, that can’t be right. A deep knot forms in your stomach.

“I may be human, Ma’am, but I believe myself to be above intrusion.” The Fisherman splays his hands by his waist and shifts his thighs. He seems serious again, like a wave going forward and back he seemed to always revert to a crafted visage of firm resolve. “This is your home, and I’m asking to ferry my boat here when able. Nothing else.”

You blink in surprise, brows pulling back.

He was…asking you?

“I…own the cove no more than the Manticore owns the desert,” your voice stutters, oddly touched by his sincerity. You pause and push yourself farther above a wave. This large man didn’t seem cruel to you. “I have no claim on the waters—they have been here longer than I. Do as you wish.”

While that should have been the end of it, you found his blue eyes continuing to watch you, head tilted like a shaggy dog. Thinking deeply with a slight parting of his lips and rising to his lids.

At the intensity of his silent wonder, your head goes light. Had you said something strange? No, it was just the truth. Then…why was this man’s face going to a modest pink shade? Why were his eyes darting away from yours and his feet shifting?

You narrow at him before he speaks, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.

“Alright,” the Fisherman mutters, chest rumbling.

A silence falls where your ears twitch to the lapping of the sea-foam and the feeling of blood in your veins which mirrors such movements. As you saw him do to you, your vision falls to the man’s body; looking across the tapering of his waist and the rolled sleeves of his tunic—showing off years of muscle

“I don’t suppose…” Your tail flinches from the sudden noise from the brunette, expecting him to swim over to his boat and get to his business. You stare and listen, and for the first time, you believe a mermaid has been entranced by another's voice. “That I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again?”

The Fisherman speaks slowly, hands shifting on his biceps; thighs tense and settle. You allow the waves to connect and slide around your body and a feeling reminiscent of warm rocks in the sun grows in your heart.

Strange, this man. This serious-faced Fisherman who asks one of the Merfolk for permission over the waters we don’t control. You tilt your head to teasingly mirror the brunettes. He humphs in his throat at your action. I enjoy him.

At the first sign of danger you’d leave—but for now…talking felt good.

“Perhaps,” you say, lips twitching into a smile. “Would this nameless Fisherman enjoy the company of a mermaid? Not many would say yes.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not like those many, then, yeah?” He smiles, a small twitch of his lips. You begin backing up, getting to deeper water while maintaining eye contact. “I don’t care what you are, just that we have an agreement.”

“Very well,” your neck dips under the waves, tail momentarily peaking above the surface. Blue flickers to it, shoulders lowering in hidden awe. The Fisherman’s lungs still.

He hears your giggle before you dive under, disappearing swiftly down to your caves with a splash.

It’s a long while before the brunette picks up his hat and begins walking the length of the shore—strong steps taking him back to his ship with a tiny smile brightening his ruggedly handsome face.

He runs a hand over his chin and chuckles.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

—

You perch on the side of the Fisherman’s boat, golden comb in your grip as you run it over and over through your locks. Tangles and knots are rendered useless to the fine and beautiful make of the object, the handle covered in small barnacles and seaweed. A nice breeze wafts in the air, and behind you, the padding of feet goes across the deck. With the sliding of nets and a small whistling from the Fisherman, you feel your tail gently sway from side to side; the bottom under the water whose waves rise and lower the vessel.

It had been a week since your first meeting and you had become more relaxed about this man’s presence. He had been truthful—every day he would come and fish.

At first, you’d watch from the black rocks, sitting atop them and studying. More than once you’d see the brunette raise a hand in greeting when his boat had entered the cove; an acknowledgment that you were there and nothing more. No expectation for you to come over or speak to him.

Day after day you’d see the net being thrown from the side only to be reeled back by large arms, legs apart and firm to the deck.

On day four, you swam over and grappled onto the side of the ship, curious. Before you could even realize he instantly knew you were there—despite his back being to you—the Fisherman spoke in a cheeky tone.

“Come up, then, if you’re that interested. No use watching from the water.” So you had, with a bit more fire to your cheeks than you thought mermaids could handle.

Now it was routine. The human man would pull into the cove and you would sit on the side of his fishing boat, doing whatever you wished as he worked.

You pull your comb through the ends of your hair, placing it down after and closing your eyes before your hands grab the shiny strands, twisting them. Under your breath, you hum in tune with the Fisherman’s whistled song; the notes like a growing symphony in your head.

Song to Merfolk is sacred and revered—everything sings, in its own right, and deserves careful crafting to fully understand.

“You seem to enjoy that,” you startle to a stop, eyes popping open. Sharply looking over your shoulder, you pause your hands. Staring, the man has completely stopped his work; nets at his feet with slapping fish of all colors stuck in the rope’s limp weavings.

He squints at your confused face.

“Rhythm.”

“Oh,” you offer a smile and watch him look away only to kneel down and begin separating his quarry. “If you’re worried I’ll sing around you, think nothing of it—I know what that could cause.”

The Fisherman hums, amused at you, “I’m not. I was complimenting you,” the knife at his belt glints in the light. “You have a pretty voice, Love.”

You shyly watch him, hair partly covering your visage, and catch a glimpse once more at the necklace he seems to always wear. Silver and shiny but still hidden.

“If you knew about my species, you wouldn’t be saying that.” Explaining lowly, the man grunts, sending a look your way as he tosses a Cod farther up the deck—you watch it flop around for a moment.

“Well,” the Fisherman explains, hands pausing and body leaning closer as one of his knees connects to the wood. It’s a teasing whisper that slides into your drum, and you find yourself nearly shivering from it. Blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “I did. No worries, I’ll never tell.”

A deep chuckle joins a lighter one, and your tail shimmers in the open light; scales vibrant and rich-looking. From what the brunette can see on the deck—the smaller plates that extend all the way up your navel to stop at your belly button—you know he stares at them.

Not a greedy, evil, stare…just one of hidden admiration. It was of no surprise to you that he found it beautifully uncanny.

You have no idea how to read this Fisherman; have no idea what he wants. You think he doesn’t want anything. On your face, a strange calm settles.

“Tell me, Fisherman,” his gaze snaps from your scales to your face, momentarily stopping at the dip of your neck as you turn as fully to him as you’re able from your perch. Your hand rests at your side; spine twisted halfway. “Who are you? No, I don’t mean your name. I want your person. You don’t act afraid of me—of what I am.” He stays kneeling and lets the net rest for now, his heart beating steadily in his breast. “There is more to you than a human at sea, surely.”

Your words are not accusatory, they lacked any sort of confrontation. Curiosity, though, like enclosed treasure, was stuck behind your tongue. He surprises you by standing and beginning to walk over, boots thumping.

As he nears, he sits down with a huff on the edge, right next to you.

There’s a moment when you both stare into each other's eyes as you feel the world shift. Blinking up at him, at the closer range you take into account the ancientness of his eyes and how it seemed, for such an alone man, it was making him look far older than he was. Still older than you, yes, but the sentiment still stands.

With his hat having been retired not five minutes earlier onto one of the many ship’s barren tops, you saw the streaks of sun-bleached strands in his brown hair. You unconsciously reach for your comb but stay your fingers as they flinch over the gold.

Storm-blue carefully glances away before coming back to you.

“Not much to know, Love,” the Fisherman’s brow raises, “you understand?”

“No,” you say, honestly, head tilting at him. He looks surprised, breath hitching.

“It’s just…there’s not much to tell, Sweetheart.”

Humans are strange creatures.

Not knowing this word game, you take your hand away from the comb and bring it to his chest, slipping under the neck of his tunic to grasp at the necklace he always wears. A hand snaps to your wrist almost immediately—a startling speed that makes you flinch.

Above your heads, seagulls squawk at you, but all you can gaze into are those pure blue orbs. They trap you, drag you down far faster than a whirlpool into the briny depths of hypnotic appeasement.

Perhaps you were naive to the magical whims of males that walk on two feet.

The Fisherman’s jaw clenches, eyes tightly narrowed at you in hesitance and veiled threat. You blink at him softly, not doing anything besides twitching your fingers and widening your sight. Before long, his hold loosens but doesn’t leave, allowing you on whatever it was you were doing yet still touching your damp flesh.

Lips parting, you don’t make a fuss. Instead, you hum under your breath and allow his calluses to scrape you. The toughness becomes a stark contrast to your own make-up.

Feels nice.

Your digits peel out the article of jewelry and you shift closer to look; bare chest brushing against his. You can feel his pulse through the brunette’s tunic, the way his throat shifts in a tense swallow of nothing.

The necklace held two pieces of small, round, silver and said the following.

“Jonathan Price, Captain, 141st company under the King.”

As you read, your tail gradually begins brushing his leg in its swaying. Through it all, the large Fisherman only slants his chin down and watches, breathing half through his mouth and half through his nose. You hear his throat clear; feel his grip squeeze your wrist.

It is a small and taken-aback kind of noise. He doesn’t move his hand.

You are happy he doesn’t.

“You’re a…Captain?” Asking, you look up shocked and aren’t taken aback by how close your face was to his. Even if your cheeks begin to burn at the beard bristles itching your nose.

“...Yes,” breathe puffs over the lower half of your face. Your fingers detangle from the Fisherman’s necklace and let it thump to his chest. “I was. Left.”

Blinking, you whisper, steadily, “What’s a…Captain…?”

A small sound is made in the back of his throat and he releases your wrist and pulls back before a loud bark of a laugh jerks his chest. You stare in innocent confusion, hair falling over your shoulders.

“What?” Gripping his mouth, Jonathan Price grounds himself by gripping his thigh as he chuckles.

“No, no,” he takes a deep breath and releases his face, smoothing down his beard quickly with amusement stuck in his smile. “Bloody hell, it’s nothing. Nothing at all, Love.”

He sends you a warm side glance and you huff, moving back and picking up your comb, getting back to brushing your locks again. You are acutely aware that you now know the Fisherman’s name, but refrain from saying anything until he does. Now you know why he reacted in such a way.

Your tail twitches in the water as fish brush past it and the brunette begins with a soft look.

“I was in charge of a small group of men—we had a ship. Far larger than this old girl,” he pats the deck, and you slow your motion to show that you are listening, intrigued. “We did what was needed of us, but there was a thin line that needed to be drawn to keep every bastard sane.”

Blue meets your eyes and the man’s expression darkens. Your fingers twitch as the breeze ravages his hair, chest tightening.

“And yours?” You ask softly, entranced and open, “What was your line, Captain Price?”

He hums after a small silence, sighing deeply. Along the hull of the boat, the waves rock the vessel gently side to side, and your mythical attention seems to entrap him far better than your voice could. His face loses that dark edge, well-trimmed beard relaxes as his jaw does.

The past it seems, looms over him like a tsunami.

Reaching up a slow hand, his fingers brush the tendrils of hair that had slipped out of your hold and were dangling in front of your face; the Fisherman blinks and pushes them back behind your ear. By now your brush had long stopped and your breath was held in your chest. For the first time in your life, you think you feel yourself shiver at the delicate scrape of his skin on yours.

“John,” he mutters, and you suck down a shallow breath as he watches you like you were an idol of the Gods, “Just John.”

Your smile leaves his fingers pressing deeper into your scalp and, perhaps a bit naively, you welcome him to you like a bird to the sky. You liked his gruffness—his beard and his face. The lines on his forehead that you could imagine tracing as if they belonged on a map instead of the squareness of this Fisherman’s profile. Tiny sockets that hold sapphire stones.

“Maybe I left because I couldn’t stand seeing such beautiful creatures being put to the hook, eh?” Your eyes widen, tiny gasp leaving your lips.

Merfolk swooned with flattery, truth be told. They enjoy being doted on and praised; given gifts of both words and objects. You were no different.

Oh…did he call me beautiful?

John smirks at your reaction, taking his hand off of you and standing with a low chuckle. Your tail flutters at the sudden absence, head following after him as he walks back to his net with a sway in his step. You blink in astonishment.

“You’re a strange human, John,” calling to him, you grimace at the blatant disappointment in your bones at the lack of his skin on yours. At his humored hum, you sense your growing attraction to the grind of his vocal cords. His voice. “I don’t know what to think of you.”

“Then think nothing of me,” he explains easily, casually, re-gathering his nets in his toned arms. You try not to let your jaw slacken at the bulge under his tunic when he carries them. “I’m not offended by it, Love.” A sly look, “Do as you wish.”

Your tail twitches so violently you’re afraid you might break the side of the ship.

And so this strange dance between the two of you continued well into the longer months—John would come in his ship nearly every day and you would join him on the side of the deck. Sometimes you would hum for him and he would whistle a tune back, others there were long bouts of conversation about the ways of humans and beasts. John told you that the King had ordered the total extinction of all manner of ‘strange and unordinary’ creatures to secure his line safely to the throne.

When he had explained it, the mad had gone red with anger.

“Fuckin’ muppet,” he’d spit, fiddling with his knife as you watched a small distance away, playing with his silver necklace in your hands. You twiddled it around and liked how it shimmered like your scales did in the light. “Bloody thought I would just go along with the deaths of innocent beings. He had no facts—no proof to back up his claim. I’ve done things. Horrible things,” John explained to you, sending you a stiff look, “but I’ve not forsaken my damn mind to reality. Takin’ the piss.”

Muttering the last sentence to himself, you had felt your lips curve into a smile. “You have a proper conscience, John, done bad or not.”

“Yeah, well, Sweetheart, I’ll be done in soon enough.” You only stared with care-drowned eyes and caressed his necklace. When he had seen this, his body had deflated with an exasperated grunt.

You shared a chuckle and he got back to work; feeling his melting gaze drawn back to you every so often.

Later, yet again, you found your form on his boat, this time with his hands across the small of your back as you studied the blade of his knife.

“Careful, now. Don’t run your finger along the edge.” His free grip points to the sharp side—breath fanning your ear. You feel your throat tighten and nod, caressing a thumb on the leather handle.

John’s hand is hard on your bare skin and you sense his heat drilling past your veins into the very marrow of your bones. You unconsciously sigh when his fingers slide slightly higher, traveling the length of your spine; his scars catching on every knob of bone. Your exploration stills and your pupils widen.

His breath is on your neck, nose tilting as his jaw does just above the meat of your shoulder.

“Why’d you stop?” You stare off into the metal, lashes fluttering when his fingers finally curve at the swell of your neck. Lips drag on your flesh before a deep grumble of affection stems from John’s chest as he kisses your rapid pulse. “Distracted? Hm.”

“It’s,” you breathe out, scales reflecting light as your lower body shifts on the wood. His opposite hand circles your waist, drawing your back to his chest. Skin burns and thoughts go to liquid as you feel his roving muscle. “It’s g-good. Pretty—”

Words fail you as his lips continue to slowly travel.

“Could say the same,” John grunts; beard scraping down your flesh.

Your eyes flutter, head tilting to give more room at the same time you whisper out, violently shivering at the compliment, “John…”

“What is it?” The grip moves to run over your scales, right where your upper hips would be; the sensation of him caressing you with gentle, deep, rubs of his thumb was all it took for you to give in completely to him. “Go on, Love, speak.”

You take a breath and feel his heart beating steady along your back—the texture of his tunic. “What…are you doing?”

John moves your hair and places open-mouthed kisses on the back of your neck. He breathes in your scent and you turn your light head to stare unabashedly at his flushed face. Your tail sways, limp, over the side of the boat.

Blown pupils hide that sea-storm blue like a lock and key to dangerous thoughts and attraction.

In answer, his eyes flicker down to your lips hungrily and your gaze widens; a small sound in the base of your throat.

“You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” He says and you let him lean in closer to your face, eyes threatening to close when you take in the musk of human flesh and sweat. Rope and wood oil. John’s words make you shiver again, hairs standing on end—responding to that deep growl with a roaring in your ears.

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. Shouldn’t be enjoying his lips or his tight grip; his…his rough, large, hands that encapsulate your body and drown you. It terrifies you, this heart-stopping magnetism. You can’t get enough of him.

John presses his firm lips to yours, groaning into the connection as you sigh and part your mouth. Fingers shaking, you twist and place your hands on his chest, gasping mutely as his teeth nip into your lower lip and pull back before pushing back forward. Sparks of subdued pain mix with pleasurable agony at the scrape of his beard hair.

“Every inch of you…” John’s grip captures you closer, hands ensnaring you against his chest like deeply intertwined strands of fabric, squeezing as he licks his upper lip. He catches his breath shallowly. Blue eyes burn through you. “...is fucking perfection.”

You grab at his necklace and drag him back in, feeling him not waste a single moment to grip the back of your head and keep you trapped to him, tongues slipping out of mouths to tangle together like seaweed. Perhaps it was foolish, but a part of you knew that this Captain, this strange Fisherman—this Johnathan Price—was the only man or being on this planet, land or sea, who could make you feel like you could walk and fly all at once.

When he lifts you in his arms and drops you in his lap as if your body weighed as much as a pebble, you knew you’d brave the open ocean for this man in an instant. His arm drips with water as it slips under the joint of your tail; where your knees would be if you had them, and you whine into his mouth at the slip of his fingers.

Intoxicated, drunk off of his scent and his pressure.

A dangerous mix of two different lives.

It couldn’t last.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

3K notes · View notes

f4nrir · 10 months

Note

Request: [Mig + Tall!M!Reader], comfort or smut its your pick

Miguel suffers from uncomfortable side-effects of the DNA alterations (think werewolf where its a full moon-y occurance) that makes him more feral and bitey, Reader comforts him.

relieve me

— pairing; miguel o’hara x male reader

cw: sub!miguel, dom!reader, comfort / soft in the beginning, hand job (reader giving), praise, lil bit of degradation.

word count: 1.1k

miguel seemed more agitated than usual as he bounced his leg up and down in anticipation, unable to keep still in his position. you reached for his head, wanting to brush a few strands of hair off his face but he grabbed your hand before you could do so. his talons dug into your skin causing you to yank your hand away, hissing in pain as you glanced down at your palm. they didn’t pierce your skin but it hurt enough and miguel noticed it, turning his head away in shame.

“what’s this about?” you questioned as you approached him once again, careful with your movements so you didn’t set him off. miguel let out a small huff, still unable to sit still until you put a hand on his shoulder. it seemed to ground him as he began to loosen up, noticing how his body softened at your touch.

he turned to look up at you with sad eyes, slightly intimidated by how you towered over him. you noticed his deep crimson hues as he spoke, “the serum– it’s not working that well right now, it’s suffocating to deal with the alterations,” he murmured, a slight whine becoming apparent in his voice towards the end. you swiftly moved your other hand to run your fingers through his hair, pulling his head toward your body and he obliged by burying his face into your abdomen. soon after, you gently rubbed his back and he hummed in pleasure.

you urged him up from his seat, causing him to groan. “c’mon baby, let me help you” he perked up at your words and stood up from his seat then followed you into your shared bedroom. you sat on the bed and patted the space between your legs as you leaned against your bed frame, finding a comfortable position to stay in. miguel tilted his head before scurrying to find his spot, his back facing you as he laid down between your legs. you massaged his scalp and trailed your hands to his broad shoulders, squeezing at his muscles. a small grunt escaped his mouth as you continued, now focusing on his arms. he leaned into your body and looked up at you, a small pout forming on his face. you chuckled and placed a soft kiss on his forehead, then scattered it all throughout his face.

“you feeling better?” you asked as you held his face in between your hands, your thumbs gently caressing his cheeks. he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, “much better. thank you.. but” he shifted a bit, not paying too much attention to his movements. he gently grabbed your hand and placed it on his crotch, grinding against your palm as he kept your hand in place. “i think this is much better, no?

you let out a sigh as you slowly palmed him through his pants, giving in to his desire. miguel’s breath hitched at the touch and bit down on his lip to prevent himself from moaning. your other hand made its way up his shoulder and then to his neck, wrapping your hand thoroughly around it. miguel whined at your touch as he bucked his hips into your hand, desperately searching for friction to use.

your fingers squeezed in the area right below his jaw and you leaned your face down, only an inch away from his ear. you closed up the space and nipped at the curve of his ear, your hot breath fanning against him which caused a shiver to go down his spine. deciding he couldn’t take it anymore, he put your hand in his pants and forcibly touched himself to feel some sort of relief. you slightly struggled to get your hand out of his grip but once you were able to, you roughly grabbed his face.

“look at you, acting like a pathetic dog in heat” you paused, before tightening your grip further, “how about you be a good boy and listen to me, yeah?” he whimpered at your assertiveness, finding it attractive with how easily you were able to gain control of him. you pressed pressure on the tips of your fingers, reminding him to answer you. he quickly nodded his head, fully surrendering himself.

you chuckled as you pressed your lips to his forehead, before trailing your hand down to his neglected cock. he whined into your touch, lifting his hips just enough to get more friction. “please, please more sir” he begged whilst muttering it under his breath, giving into his wants and pulled his pants down just enough for his cock to be let loose. miguel looked down at your hands, memorizing each movement as you worked on him and soft moans would leave his lips as you progressed.

“mi querido.. look at how pretty you look while i’m touching you, hm?” you coo in his ear, placing a soft kiss to his temple as you stroked his cock and teased his slit with your fingers. miguel moaned at the contact and attempted to move his hips away, but was stopped when you easily trapped him in between your legs. “you’re doing good baby, i know you want this. you want some relief, don’t you?”

miguel couldn’t speak, as moans spewed from his lips and whispers of your name left his tongue. you couldn’t help yourself either at the sight of him like this and began grinding on him, taking whatever friction was there to be offered. he leaned into your body to give you some relief, causing a slight groan to escape from your mouth. “sir, please… i’m so close please let me cum.. please!” he pleaded as he looked up at you, searching for approval.

“how could i say no to you? come on guapo, show me how good you feel,” miguel began to buck his hips up into the air with your words of encouragement, his desperation only growing further.

“please..” he muttered under his breath as he began to shake underneath you, fastening your pace on his cock while your other hand soothed his shoulders. “c’mon baby, come for me” and just with those words, miguel threw his head back into your chest as he coated your hand and his stomach with his cum. a guttural mewl mixed with his desperate moans emitted from him as he came and his chest heaved, attempting to catch his breath.

“you did so well.. good job love,” you placed a kiss on his forehead once again before placing another on his lips, his sharp fangs lightly grazing your lip. he pulled you in for a deeper and more passionate kiss, causing you to moan into his mouth. “more,” he whispered as he began to move against you, purposefully grinding on your bulge. you grip at his waist, holding him in place as he continued.

“can’t get enough of me, can you?”

tag: @anglhrts

#— zeppelin’s files 📁#miguel o'hara x male reader #male reader #miguel o'hara x reader #top male reader #dom male reader #miguel o'hara x you #spiderman 2099 #x you #x reader #sub character #mlm smut #spiderman 2099 x you

1K notes · View notes

arafilez · 10 days

Text

੭୧ ⼂ LOWKEY ﹗

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ cs x fem!reader ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤmature, mdni , smut, fwb, college au 𓏧 wine, sex and your friend choi san- the aftermaths of a party and the dealings of your heart ㅤ warnings vanilla sex, praise kink, alcohol ㅤ﹢ㅤ3.7k wc ㅤ𓏧ㅤ req

You sip lightly on the wine glass while sitting on the couch as a couple makes out beside you. You can’t care less as your eyes scan the party for the person who is supposed to be present at the party. A whiff of smoke comes in your sight and you whip your head at the familiar deodorant.

“Searching for him again?” your brother Mingi speaks beside you blowing another smoke before pressing his lips to a girl clutching onto him. You make a disgusted face and look away saying, “I am.” He looks down at you raising an eyebrow and you shrug finishing the wine that matches the dark red colour of your dress.

“Maybe you should just confess,” he replies over the squeals of a drunk Wooyoung who has suddenly come over to replace the girl and is now trying to smooch him. “Accept his kiss,” you laugh getting up and dodging his question as you walk towards the counter.

He sighs loudly and then walks towards you as Wooyoung’s girlfriend gets a hold of him. “Don’t ignore my question y/n,” he whines and you shush his deep and loud voice looking around in suspicion.

“Maybe not yell that in a party full of gossiping college students,” you hiss at him and he rolls his eyes and is about to retort when a smooth voice cuts him off saying, “The party is wild, Mingi-ya.”

Your ears perk up and you look behind your tall brother to see San’s smiling. Mingi grins doing their personal handshake and replies, “You are going to help me clean in the morning.” You groan at your brother being an ass while San looks at him bewildered and Mingi casually leaves, walking towards Hongjoong who is now trying to enter the waste bin.

“He is really straightforward,” San laughs and you shake your head, cursing your brother internally. San and you make small take before you take your leave, going to meet your friends.

Your back hits the soft mattress as a whine builds up in your throat. You grasp San’s hair with fervour and tug on it deepening the kiss and San groans in your mouth, feeling himself getting hard with each passing second. The light hint of smoke on his lips paired with the alcohol could only do so much as make you go absolutely feral.

You gasp as he parts for air and takes in your form- hair messy from his fingers running through them, lipstick smudged and breathless, lustful eyes watching him in hazy delight. People talk about the seven wonders but he will pay millions just to see you like this, beautiful and raw- just for him.

You drag your nails along his collarbone and look at him whining, “Do whatever you want with me Sannie.” You are ready to be fucked senseless by him, to spill his name until you feel your mind-numbing so his next action surprises you.

San presses his lips to yours in a soft kiss that makes your insides melt and you feel his hand kneading through your hair softly. A foreign feeling rises in your chest and you push it down as you run your hand along his shirt sleeves clutching on it. A light whimper accentuates the air as you part as the kiss deepens and you feel him breaking all rules of your arrangement non-verbally.

Because San isn’t kissing you like he wants to ruin you.

San is kissing you like you are his only source of warmth on a cold winter night.

“What are you doing?” you whisper to him as soon as you part and he breaks into a smile answering, “You told me to do whatever I wanted to. I want to take my time.” Your protest dies in your throat as you feel him press a kiss on the corner of your mouth and trail it down your throat.

Your body tenses at his actions and his fingers run along your sides resting on your waist and tracing light patterns on it. You relax instantly and you feel his smile against the base of your throat as he kisses it. Slightly sucking on the area he earns a light gasp from you as he applies more pressure and pulls out.

He presses light kisses along your arm and you squirm, a giggle threatening to spill from your throat as he reaches your wrist and presses his lips and then presses feathery kisses on each one of your fingers. You feel the sensation tug your heartstrings and his actions surface your deep-rooted feelings for him.

Feelings you aren’t supposed to explore at all. Feeling that grew each time you had hooked up with him. Feelings that you deny every time.

You pressurise your mind to focus on the pleasure but the more San kisses your body the more you lose it. This was not part of the deal, fuck and leave was the deal. You’re still technically doing that, you think and you push back the reason on your conscience far back in your mind.

“You are so beautiful,” his deep voice sends vibrations along your body as he kisses down your chest and attaches his mouth to your perked-up nipples. You arch your back, San’s name rolling off your tongue as he licks over it and bites lightly. His tongue feels so good that you barely notice San’s fingers hooking your panties and pulling them down in a swift motion.

A shiver goes down your spine as the air hits your clit and San moves down kissing along your stomach. He goes painfully slow, pressing his lips on every stretch mark and your heart does somersaults. San has never ‘taken his time’ before and the way he is treating you almost makes you believe you are a domestic couple.

San kisses along your waistline before he hovers over your clit, his breath hitting your sensitive region and you scream in pleasure when he collects your arousal and pushes it in you.

“So wet baby, only for me,” he says and you gasp as his mouth attaches to your clit. He sucks on hit and your thighs close in instinct but he holds them down as his tongue rapidly laps in your clit. He licks and stripes and his tongue hits the right spots.

And elicit moans leave your throat and you feel like seeing stars as San’s tongue works wonders. Soon you feel the familiar coil in your stomach and it snaps. A string of his name leaves your mouth and San sucks in every one of your juice like it is his last meal. His eyes glisten as he looks at your panting state and kisses you right away.

You groan at your taste in his mouth and he pulls away angling himself over you. He rolls off a condom and pressing his lips to you again pushes himself in. A half-gasp, half-moan rips along your throat as he inches deeper and deeper and his feather-like kisses all over your face accentuate your feelings for him more and more.

“You taste so damn sweet love,” his late admission makes your throat constrict and he takes his sweet time exploring you with his cock. He hits the right spots and you moan into his neck, your nails digging into his skin with his every thrust.

“So beautiful and perfect, just for me,” he whispers in your ears, pressing a trail of kisses down to your throat and his words haze your mind, tipping you over the edge.

His thrusts become harder and faster as he realises you are close before his hips shake in pleasure. You feel your arousal approaching and whisper it out and you hear him say, “Let go, darling.” His voice and his loving gaze make you come undone and San follows soon after with a groan of your name.

His lips find yours and press on them, encasing them in sweet pleasure. It isn’t rushed or high from energy, instead, it is slow and sensual and it tugs your heartstrings more as you take relief from the post-coital bliss. San smiles as he leaves your lips and pulls himself out falling on the bed beside you.

His sentences from before roam around in your head as you feel him get up probably to leave like you guys had planned some months ago. Of course, he will do that.

You are so beautiful.

So beautiful and perfect, just for me.

The deal- fuck with no strings attached. You two had simply decided on it after you two couldn’t find suitable partners and good sex. So five drinks, an accidental hook-up with each other and a pounding head the morning after you two decided on it. Have good sex, never stay the night for aftercare and the universal rule- never fall for each other.

You have been actively breaking rule three for some weeks now. You have fallen for him, like him so much that it physically hurts you when he is with any other girl. It makes your heart clench when he flirts with others, lingers his touches more than usual and laughs in that beautiful voice of his at a stupid joke a girl makes to impress him.

But you guys had decided on this, you two can date whoever you want, this arrangement is only for pleasure purposes. And the sex you just had was nothing but one of his experiments you had consented him to. But the way he touched you, kissed you, whispered to you didn’t feel like fucking.

It was like love.

And you hated yourself for it. San’s hands on your knees jerk you back to reality as he makes a motion that he is leaving and you nod lightly. All the rules in the deal were settled by you, and San had simply agreed to them. So breaking them when the person who got roped into this is following it isn’t the ideal scenario.

And thus you have to get rid of these feelings.

You wake up the next morning and go to the living room to see Mingi already starting the cleaning. An empty glass of hangover juice is sitting alone on the countertop and piles of other utensils and cutlery are in the sink. Your brother has already mopped the floor and you admire him for his tenacity. At least something happened under the influence of Seonghwa.

“Where’s San?” you roll your eyes at the rhetorical question and don’t bother to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Mingi watches you as you pick up the lint roller and start cleaning the other half of the room he hasn’t touched.

“It’s so frankly annoying and stupid that you two try to deny everything between you two,” he sighs loudly and it works as your head whips in his direction. “How much delusional are you? We have nothing within us,” you reply nonchalantly but the tinge of sadness in your tone betrays you.

“Sure, that is exactly why he was so pissed yesterday and about to break a guy’s nose for calling you a ‘slut’,” he deadpans and you look at him in shock before quickly blinking and composing yourself, “Well at least they person’s nose is okay.”

“Nope, I broke it,” he states as if he did something as simple as eat cereal in the morning and your eyes widen as he shrugs. “But this is not about me, this is about San, do you know how many girls he has tipped off with the excuse of your ‘arrangement’? As far as I am aware you guys can date anyone despite the fucking.”

You look away from your brother’s penetrative eyes and try to focus on the cleaning. But your mind is anywhere but cleaning as Mingi’s words play over in your head. Your twin kicks your shin and you jerk in surprise. “When did you-“You get interrupted by him saying, “Stop pretending like you can’t hear me and do something about these unresolved feelings. They are so obvious that even the boy I tutor is catching up.”

“Right, of course, the boy you tutor, Hyunwoo, who comes to our house just one day every week. Do you not know eighth-graders are full of shit and hormones? He is obviously tripping,” you fake scoff three times before stopping as you feel his judgemental eyes boring into yours.

“Whatever sails your ship, y/n,” he says in a sing-song tone earning another eye-roll from you before you both get back to work.

You stare in distaste at your closet as most of your party outfits are in the laundry. You curse Wooyoung in your head for throwing a third party in the same week right after you send your outfits in the wash you pick up your phone. Your hand hovers over your call list and rational thinking is never an option before you are dialling San.

He is still a friend!

San picks up in a heartbeat, something Wooyoung calls “desperate” but you call “efficiency” and you hear his smooth tone over the line, “Hey y/n.”

“Hey San, I was wondering if you want to catch up for coffee?” you ask casually and you hear him chuckle over the line, “After or before we buy you a dress?”

“How did you know?” you ask and he snorts, his light laugh sending your heart in a frenzy. The warm sound over the line feels like a rush over your muddled brain as you smile looking at your feet.

“I always know, when it comes to you,” he replies and you bite your lips. The small, rational part of your brain telling you to stop is pushed far behind and you reply, “Being a bit too obsessed with me, are we now, Choi?”

“I can be obsessed with you any day,” he smoothly adds over and a half-snort half-giggle leaves your mouth which would be embarrassing if you already didn’t have heart-eyes in a voice call. The familiar day-dreaming returns as you imagine San kissing you, not for merely sex, but for the shy giggles, or him hugging you with his face into the crook of your neck or him tracing down-

“So I will pick you up?” he asks breaking you out of your love-sick trance and your ears feel warm as you reply with a ‘yes’ praying it wasn’t as shaky as it sounded in your head. “Great, see you in fifteen,” he replies and you hum before the call disconnects.

Your brain racks for the casual outfit you should wear now, should you go with the white flowery jumpsuit? Or maybe the yellow dress till your knees? Or just simply go for jeans and a cute top? Or a light cardigan? Stop it. It is not a date. Your mind kicks back in place as you blink lightly from your trance before getting ready.

A car’s honk resounds after a few minutes and you go to the door only to see San holding a bouquet of flowers and smiling at you. His eyes form a crescent moon shape under his hair, a few bangs touching his forehead lightly and you gasp.

“The florist shop was on the way, and I picked some up,” he says adding a casual shrug and then adding, “Figured you can just keep them in the apartment.”

Friends give each other flowers, right? Right!

“Oh, uh, thanks,” your voice becomes smaller with every word as you take the bouquet from his hand and keep it inside. You contemplate whether you should arrange them now but decide later since it won’t be too long.

“You look pretty,” San comments as you go out making you even more flustered and you stutter out a “Thanks.” He hums as you get in his car and drives over to the store he knows you usually buy from. He notices your look of confusion and asks, “Do you want to buy from somewhere else?”

“No, but how?” you ask gesturing him lightly, too much at a loss for words. “I am your friend, of course, I know it,” he smiles, his dimples popping out and you have to physically restrain yourself from leaning over and kissing his dimples. A tinge of red appears on his cheekbones and spreads lightly to his neck as he notices you staring at him and he tries to play it off by mildly coughing.

Choosing some dresses is a smooth process, occasionally San pitches in his choices, which you take for a few, and you get inside the trial room to finalize one.

After trying some and discarding them you pick up one San has recommended before putting it on. The zipper is in the back, unlike the others which had it in the side and you need help because god forbid you aren’t that flexible.

You don’t even hesitate and call for San since you know the boy will basically help anyone with anything without any malicious intent. Your mind slightly turns over the fact that your friends-with-benefits relationship is also because of his willingness to help, and you push it back further down. You do not need it in your mind right now.

“Yes?” San peeks through the door and you smile sorrowfully saying, “Can you please help me pull the zipper?” He nods, throwing in his dimpled smile and you sigh to yourself. If a smile can turn your insides to mush, hell you don’t know what you will do with his wordless rejection.

San's hands on your back make a stark contrast to your skin, and you feel heated up at his menacingly slow pace of pulling the chain up. You blame the confines of the trial room for feeling hot and bothered as his fingertips dance on your skin. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the chain is up and you look in front.

You look stunning and you have to give it to him to know your exact tastes. The lines between reality and dreams blur as you feel his head dip down, lips lightly encasing on your shoulder pads as he whispers, “You look absolutely gorgeous.”

You may have stopped breathing altogether and your heart feels like bursting at any moment as you lock eyes on him, and feel like you have seen a different emotion, other than pure lust and desire. You see love, like last night.

Your stomach churns in an unfamiliar manner and you abruptly push off him and murmur, “No, fuck we can’t do this.” Your skin feels cold with the loss of his touch and your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and searching your eyes for something. Anything, to lead him on.

“San, we can’t,” your breath falters as you look at his perfectly sculpted face and reply, “We can’t continue this, our arrangement, our every single thing, just no!”

“Why?” he asks and you stare at him incredulously and scream lightly, “Why? San why? Because I broke our third rule okay? Because I fell in love, and that is just me. You are exactly where you were some months ago, my friend, that is how you see me, so to save us from my idiotic feelings, we need to stop.”

“Friends give each other flowers?” San asks and you shut up looking at him, gasping from being slightly breathless. You watch his face contort into something undecipherable as he continues, “Just friends don’t offer to pick each other up, in every possible situation, just so they can look at each other. Just friends don’t give two shits about remembering every small detail about each other, just friends don’t look at each other like we do. Just friends don’t feel like ripping someone’s heads off when anyone else flirts with each of them, and just friends for fuck’s sake, do not have sex as if they want to make love.”

You look at him, eyes wide at his face as he runs an impatient hand through his hair, and in one short stride, he is hovering over you. He looks at you, locking your eyes and a beat passes before you whisper, “Then what are we?” “Whatever you want us to be, love,” he replies, his eyes flickering with every emotion, because it is all so damn confusing when it comes to you.

When it comes to you, his mind clams and he has no idea what should be done.

“Then let’s be the corny boyfriend and girlfriend,” you giggle but it dies as his lips fall on yours in a second. His hand traces along your waist and his kiss is just like you imagined it to be. Only better! The gentleman touches with a hint of craziness as you two lock your lips like the perfect puzzle piece. You run your hands through his hair lightly making him smile into the sweet kiss.

He pulls away, taking a second for your appreciation before his lips are on you again. This time, it is hot and heavy, full of passion, and you tug on his shirt, a soft whine leaving your mouth as he holds your cheeks and manoeuvres his mouth into yours. The kiss is messy and full of tongue and when you break for air he whispers, “Let’s get out of here.”

Mingi enters your apartment and immediately halts as he sees you and San cuddled up on the sofa, watching something on the television that neither of you is paying attention to. In fact, you are both too busy giggling and pecking each other to even notice Mingi. He smiles at you two, glad that you both came to your senses before clearing his throat.

“What?” you ask, the sound coming out muffled since your mouth is full of chips and San laughs pecking the side of your lips. Your attention returns to San and you giggle looking at him making Mingi gag. He is already so tired of this.

“Well, I am home, thanks for asking, sister,” he comments, his voice edging on the ‘sister’ making you scoff at him. He continues, “Glad you two are together now, saves every one of us from your blind misery.”

“Shut up,” you stick a middle finger in his direction and he doesn’t even bother to look before asking, “Hey what dress did you buy anyway for Woo’s party tomorrow?”

“Shit!”

“Fuck!”

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤwanted it to be so perfect because it's my friend requesting, deleted drafts and re-wrote so many times TT hope you like it ㅤ𓏧ㅤ libraryㅤ atz shelfㅤ navi

੭ 𝅄ㅤ ꒰ TAGLIST ꒱ ㅤ⏤ㅤ @haneagerr ㅤ𓏧ㅤ fill this or comment or ask to be added

ㅤㅤ(ㅤㅤ© arafilez on tumblrㅤㅤ)

370 notes · View notes

mystra-midnight · 5 months

Text

Dark Paradise

summary: geralt was all-consuming, invading every one of your senses; somehow, he'd snaked his way beneath your skin and between your ribs before burrowing into your heart. he lived there now, and you couldn't breathe without him.

warnings: 18+ only. breeding kink. overstimulation. mentions of multiple orgasm. name calling; slut. dom!geralt.

words: 1k.

notes: no one will ever convince me that geralt is a soft man. he is all strength, and arrogance, and hard muscles. and he will dominate his woman. admittedly this is shorter then i wanted it to be, and maybe not my best work, but i do hope you enjoy.

If ever there was something to be grateful for, it was this: being able to fuck his woman raw without the fear of an unwanted pregnancy. Having you naked beneath him was everything Geralt wanted—to watch your velvet walls stretch around his cock's girth, to feel your body tremble as he rocked his hips against your ass, to watch your cum mixed with his be forced from your tight hole with each brutal thrust.

You knew, completely and irrevocably, that there was no chance of falling pregnant with Geralt of Rivia. The trials had made him sterile, though you boiled fennel and drank it regularly to be certain. Your mother taught you from the eve of your first bleed to protect yourself against others, to trust no one but yourself, and that having a child with the wrong man could lead your life to ruin.

But tonight he had come to your cottage on the outskirts of the village in a foul and angry mood, with snarling tongue and gnashing fangs. He refused to tell you what had happened as he forced you down to your knees. All he'd wanted was your naked body beneath him.

"Geralt." Your voice quivered and rose to a crescendo when he speared through the satin clutch of your cunt and hit the sweet spot that sent your eyes spinning. Geralt of Rivia was not a small man—not in any sense of the word. He was tall and impossibly strong. His eyes were intense, and his hair was the colour of starlight. With broad shoulders and a myriad of scars along his body, he was every woman's fantasy.

And he refused to treat you with fragility. To him, you were not a damsel in distress. So he fucked like he fought, with teeth and tongue, and in every position. "I-I can't. S'too much."

Your thighs trembled under the lingering force of the three orgasms Geralt had pulled from the depths of your soul—on his fingers, tongue, and cock. Another one would surely kill you; you would float away from your body and away from him, never to return. But the idea of him filling you again was heavenly and impossible to deny—not when he dominated you so beautifully.

"You can," he grunted, his voice a rough growl. Geralt followed a bead of sweat that dripped down your spine with the tip of his tongue, leaving your sweat-slick skin goosepimpled. His hand followed the same path until he gripped the nape of your neck and pressed you into the mattress, keeping you cemented in place as he filled into you again. “You can, because I’m not stopping.”

Geralt knew that you wouldn't reply—at least not verbally. The impact of his hips against your ass was brutal, forcing the air from your mouth in pretty moans. The clutch of your cunt was more than enough of an answer. He smeared his lips along your shoulder as he shadowed over you like a terrible, haunting visage. The angle made it seem as though he was in your guts, rearranging your organs.

"That's a good girl," he cooed against your skin, his tone positively mocking. "Now, you stay right there while I fuck a baby into you. That's what my slut wants, isn't it? To be swollen with my child?"

He turned feral and ferocious in a flash, ruthlessly rutting into you. He drove you to the brink of yet another orgasm as you clawed at the sheets. Between whoreish moans, your walls tightened around him, leaving you gasping for air. A familiar warmth moved through your aching limbs and raced through your blood while a thunderstorm roared behind your ears.

"Geralt. Geralt, please, I can't. I can't—oh, fuck. There, r-right there." You babbled mindlessly. You felt lost in the sensation of his hands grabbing here, there, and everywhere. You felt lost in the sting of his teeth and tongue and how he tasted your skin. You felt lost in the pressure of his fingers and how he left bruise-shaped prints everywhere he touched.

"Right here?" He demanded. His fingers dug into the curve of your hips as he pulled you back to meet his pelvis, the sound of wet skin connecting echoing loudly in the small cottage. You squirmed and keened when he hit that sweet spot. "Is this what my slut needed—to feel me this deep?"

You didn’t hear him over the thunderstorm, which had grown into a deafening roar that blocked out the world. And as your vision went white, the pressure snapped, and a bolt of lightning sparked a wildfire in your blood. You felt like you were burning alive; the air in your lungs was superheated, and nothing could cool it. You came hard, screaming his name as he held you in place.

Geralt held you tightly, fingerprint bruises decorating your skin while galaxies burst to life inside your veins. The warmth of your cunt was divine, a heavenly caress as he rutted into you, chasing his own release as he threw his head back. "There you go," he grunted. He slapped your ass just hard enough to get your attention. "You're such a good slut. Does it feel good cumming for me while I breed you?"

You still couldn't answer him; each thrust knocked the air from your lungs, leaving your mouth open as you gasped, squealed, and wriggled in his grasp. Geralt didn't seem to mind. With a final thrust, he buried himself. His hand in your hair held you in place and tinged your scalp with a pleasurable sort of pain as the last of your orgasm ebbed away, leaving your clit throbbing in time with your heartbeats.

It was a welcomed feeling when his release painted your walls—a feeling that made your brain foggy. And despite the haze clouding your thoughts, you knew in that moment you would give yourself to this man. Not only your heart, but your body as well. You knew that if there was a way, you would give him what he wanted, and you would let him breed you.

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia fanfiction #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt x you #the witcher #geralt x reader #geralt #geralt fanfiction #geralt smut

541 notes · View notes

reverseexorcist · 2 months

Text

♡ 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ♡

You couldn't not give me Carmilla fucking Carmine and expect me not to go feral over her-

➲ 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 Carmine + !F!Reader

➲ Romantic ☒, Platonic ☐

➲ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 Count; 1,479 Words

➲ Warnings/notes; Female reader, these are kind've all over the place, Carmilla might be a tad OOC since this is my first time writing her

➲ There are so many different ways this relationship could possibly start. The mind boggles trying to think of all of them. Just think of all the potential shenanigans that could occur and have fun with that

➲ But lemme just say before anything - This woman is fiercely protective over you. Not in the cutesy, clingy kind've obsessive way, but the silently scary scary-dog privilege kind've partner. The epitome of 'excuse me sir, they asked for no pickles', and, because I love this trope, you are the only person (besides her daughters) that she will ever fully be soft for.

➲ Insert 🥺 right here

➲ Just, get you a woman who looks at you the way Carmilla looks at her wife. That's all I can say

➲ The soft moments in the morning when you can just lay in bed and watch her get ready. Pulling her hair up into her signature, gravity defying buns(?) and delicately slip on and twine her angelic steel shoes. The minutes of her fingers expertly working away in a comfortable silence as you just lay under the comfort of your warm blankets? Those are the moments right there 👌

➲ Probably not one for physical affection, at least not in public. Definitely not in public. Her reputation alone would probably put you in danger, which is, y'know, not good, so no hand-holding in public

➲ (Honestly, one part of her probably prefers not to be seen with you in public for that exact reason. The other part wants to keep you in her line of sight at all times because at least then she can personally keep you safe)

➲ All of that being said, can't deny she'd probably give top tier hugs. Proper bear hugs because this woman is tall and strong and would undeniably make you feel safe whenever you're in her arms. Depending on how tall or short you are, she could also probably pick you up if you really wanted 👉👈

➲ (She could 100% pick you up, and probably with one hand as well)

➲ Gives the most tender of little kisses. Small pecks on the cheeks and forehead whenever she's tired from work, her larger fingers gently grazing the sides of your head as her fluffy hair tickles your face

➲ And the adorable little pet names she whispers to you! Maybe you're just passing by each other in an almost empty street or just relaxing at home together, but she'll always try and take the chance to whisper something like 'mi Vida', 'mi Corazón' or 'mi Reina' just loud enough for the two of you to hear

➲ Let's be real, this woman is really goddamn tall, so you're probably shorter than her and she absolutely loves it and would absolutely tell this to your face just to fluster you. What she loves even more is the way you'd have to reach up on your tippy toes with her leaning down to meet you halfway just to have you playfully kiss her on the tip of her nose or her chin

➲ Maybe, very rarely, if she's feeling extra sentimental, she'd love it if you sat on her lap while she works in her home office, just so she can have your comfort and warmth nearby. More often than not this scenario would end up with you falling asleep in her lap and her carrying you back to bed with the smallest of smiles on her face

➲ If she could really help it, she'd prefer to keep you as far away from her work as possible. As much as she would love to have you in the office, maybe helping her with paperwork or something similar so she could have you at within her reach at all times of the day, arms dealing is a dangerous job. At least her daughter's have each other's backs' when they're out doing business, but you'd probably have to make it on your own or with one of her other employees and that's a big no no in her eyes

➲ Also, speaking of her daughters, your relationship with them would vary wildly depending on when you met them

➲ If you started dating Carmilla when Clara and Odette were rather young, they'd probably cling on to you like a second mother figure. In some cases, they might've even preferred you over Carmilla for the sole fact that their toddler puppy eyes work on you better than their biological mother

➲ Your dynamic would probably just be the three of you racing to see who could give Carmilla a hug first after she gets home from work

➲ (Though, this only works if Carmilla is hell-born seeing as sinner's can't have children)

➲ If you started dating Carmilla when they were older though, there might be a bit of a tense air when you first meet. Carmilla's protectiveness isn't just one way - Her daughters absolutely adore her, and although they definitely couldn't protect her physically, they'd do their damn best to protect her emotionally

➲ They'd warm up to you after some time though, seeing you do truly love their mother with your whole heart. You'd never be a parent to them, barely even a step-parent, but they'd respect you and care for you like family nonetheless because you make their mother happy

➲ Either way, her heart melts seeing the three of you getting alone, and she 100% has a family picture she keeps on her desk for her eyes only

➲ Sometimes she just waits until you fall asleep so she can cradle your head in her heads oh so carefully. She just sort've stares at you, her eyes glowing in the dark with her wild mane of hair spilling out behind her, and she just traces all the intricate details of your face with her eyes

➲ And then she just sort've hugs you closer to her, tugging the blankets a little tighter around the two of you as she presses the littlest of kisses to your forehead before relaxing into the pillows

➲ But just imagine Carmilla with a wife who died so much later after her. Just this tall, scary and proper woman that strikes fear into the hearts of millions with her little gremlin wife who keep talking about shit like reddit that the other sinners just don't understand (not even Carmilla herself, but she finds your antics somewhat entertaining, at least when she doesn't have to act as your self preservation instincts and keep you safe)

➲ Extermination is your least favourite day for multiple reasons

➲ The first being, well, the exorcists descending form heaven to brutally murder sinners left and right, but also because Carmilla changes around this time

➲ It's understandable, especially with what happened in one of the previous exterminations when she and her daughters got caught, but it still scares you to see you usually cool, calm and loving wife turn into a robot who's only goal is to get you and her daughters to a safehouse to wait out the terror outside

➲ Doesn't mean you're not grateful, though. You can look past all of that because you know she's just doing it to keep you safe, and in the end you'd rather be safe and living with your family rather than dead on the end of an exorcist's spear

➲ You probably also have a good relationship with the other overlords, despite never having gone to a meeting

➲ (It's because of this you've never met Velvette or the other Vee's, and if Carmilla has a say, you never will)

➲ Rosie, being the social butterfly she is, loves to talk gossip with you every chance she gets. Zestial likes to join in on your little sessions, not saying anything but bringing tea for everyone to drink and enjoy. Clara also likes to join in sometimes, but her sister would much rather sit with her mother and just watch the chaos unfold in front of them

➲ Almost certainly has caught you trying on her shoes when she's not looking. A part of her is annoyed because she'd rather not have you involved in anything to do with her work, but the innocent look you give her makes her rethink her annoyance in the moment

➲ She'd later found out Clara helped you because you also wanted to try and walk around on pointe like the rest of the family. No idea why you skipped straight to trying the angelic weapon shoes, but Carmilla does offer to help you later

➲ Overall, great wife and I'd give her a 9/10. One point deducted probably because she'd be a tad too overprotective, but everything else about her is great; From her bear hugs to those little moments the two of you share

Rules + Info,

Masterlist,

#carmilla carmine x reader #carmilla x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel carmilla carmine #carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel headcanons #wlw #hazbin hotel x you #carmilla carmine x fem reader

325 notes · View notes

megamindsecretlair · 7 months

Text

What's Your Favorite Scary Movie?

Pairing: Ghostface x Black!Fem!Shy!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, PWP, cursing, protected PIV, oral (male receiving), size kink, degradation kink, toxic smut, stranger smut (but implied relationship), praise kink, mocking, minor knife play, use of pet names, all consensual. Mention of drinking and tipsy sex. Implied relationship.

Summary: At a Halloween party, you lure a sexy Ghostface down to the basement for a little bit of naughty fun.

Word Count: 2,231k

A/N: I am feral. I've been feening for Ghostface smut, so I wrote some for a little Friday the 13th fun. Wish I got this out sooner, but well. Listen, a time was had writing this! I hope you enjoy. Because I definitely did! Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

You couldn’t take your eyes off of the tall man wearing a black tank, black jeans, and a Ghostface mask. The party raged on all around you, but you were only concerned with getting next to him.

He wore the mask so you weren’t sure what he looked like. He could be ugly. But there was no way that he had a body like that, tattoos covering his muscled arms, and he was ugly. But that wasn’t the point. He exuded a type of indifference that made you want to flock to him.

You weren’t that thirsty though. You adjusted the suspenders on your school girl outfit. The skirt was completely inappropriate. It stopped mid thigh and if you coughed too hard, you’d flash anyone behind you. The sweater was a size too big so that it hung down past the skirt. Your dress shirt was a size too small and half buttoned up anyway. You wore a sexy bra underneath but the sides of the shirt were just long enough to cover it. All anyone saw was your exposed chest.

It was meant to be lewd. Filthy. To conjure up all those thoughts of first crushes in high school. The type of crush that you still think about to this day, even when you’re kissing your significant other. The type of crush that burned from the inside out.

Ghostface stood still in the living room, surrounded by gyrating bodies to music. Everyone was dressed in costumes for the Friday the 13th party. There were a few Jason’s and Freddy Krueger’s walking around.

You crooked your finger. If he was looking at you behind that mask, he’d follow you. You turned and went through the exact replica of Stu’s house from the movie. You went down the stairs that led to the basement.

You looked around the dingy garage. A moment later, the door opened. Ghostface walked down the steps slowly, his heavy boots echoing off of the wooden steps. His dark skin blended with the shadows in the garage and it only turned you on more.

You were dripping already. The aura this man had was intoxicating all on its own. The mask was a stark contrast, showing the fake sympathetic visage of a ghost. You squeezed your thick thighs together, trying to get some kind of attention between your legs.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” He asked, with a voicebox from the movie. If you were dripping before, you were a sopping mess. The movie voice always strangely turned you on. He always sounded so condescending and mocking. Smug.

“Too obvious to say Scream?”

“Maybe. Why do you like that fucked up movie?” He asked. He walked closer. No, he stalked closer. His body was fluid, with a little hood lean that made you lick your lips.

Had you died and gone to heaven? If so, you definitely didn’t want to go back to Earth.

“It’s more psychological horror. The killer could be anybody,” you said.

Ghostface flexed and unflexed his gloved fingers. The leather stretched tight over big, grown man’s hands.

“Even you?” He asked.

“Even you,” you said and grinned. You backed away from him, but then his hand shot out and wrapped around your neck. You gasped at the pressure. It was just right. Not too hard and not too soft.

“You shouldn’t follow strange men down in the basement. That’s a certified way to get killed.”

Ghostface produced a knife. It was long and slightly curved. He ran it over your skin. The coldness of the knife made you gasp. It was real. You knew it was. The thought made your heart speed up. You looked up into expressionless eyes.

“You followed me. Maybe you’re the one in danger,” you said.

“I really hope so. Why don’t you pull down those panties and let me see what we got,” he said.

You followed his command. Your eyes never left the mask as you wiggled out of your panties. They were damp anyway. He pushed you backwards. Your legs connected with something solid behind you, a little too tall for you to hop onto.

He forced you down anyway, hiking your butt onto the edge of whatever it was. It felt solid and cold. The coldness seeped onto your ass, chilling you further from the frigid garage.

Ghostface dropped the knife on the object you were leaning on. He removed his hand from your throat so he could take his time removing his gloves. He ran one hand down the middle of your chest. His warm, big hands played with the edges of your bra. His other hand coasted down your outfit until he reached the end of the skirt.

“I like easy little sluts,” he said.

He lifted your skirt and ran his hands around your wet curls. “The easiest one,” you said.

“You want to be fucked, Princess?” He asked.

You nodded and bit your lip. Fuck yes, you want to be fucked. “Yes, right now,” you said. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you. You hadn’t taken anything and you weren’t drunk off your ass for once. You were a little tipsy though, the alcohol you consumed gave you a pleasant tingle. You wanted him so badly you were aching with it.

“I can’t hear you, Princess,” he said. He tilted his head, maintaining that calm and cool demeanor.

You felt like you were ready to burst at any minute. Your clit started throbbing in tune with your heartbeat. It paced at a steady tempo, building higher the longer your stood there.

“Yes, I want to be fucked. So badly,” you begged.

Ghostface laughed at you. It was cruel. It was hot as hell. “Turn around,” he said. His laughter died. The raspy sound was like its own caress over your sensitive brown skin.

You turned around and faced some type of freezer that lay horizontally. You placed your hands on the fridge and giggled at the cold top.

You could only rely on your other senses. You smelled the spiciness of his scent. His cologne passed through your nose and you inhaled deeply, committing it to memory. You heard him rustling, pulling down his jeans. His methods were concise and controlled. There was a sound of a package ripping and then more rustling.

Finally, he scooted up behind you and pushed on your lower back. Your chest hit the top of the freezer. He lifted up your skirt and slammed inside.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. You were so wet that he went in easily, slipping nearly out already. But his was thick and long and as he really started hitting it, your eyes were already rolling into the back of your head.

He leaned forward and placed one hand on top of the freeze next to yours. The other gripped your waist, slamming you up and down on his dick.

“Fuck, this pussy feel so good,” he rasped right next to your ear. You moaned loudly, letting him know that you were thoroughly enjoying this. The feel of him. The anonymous nature of it.

You started to slam back on him on his own steam. You matched his tempo so that he was hitting you harder and harder. You felt him so deep inside of you that the tip of him hit your G spot and you cried out.

Your orgasm rocked through you and you shook from the sheer force of it. Ghostface didn’t give you a moment of reprieve. He kept up his punishing strokes, shoving you into the fridge.

The wet slap of your thighs bounced off of the walls. Ghostface slapped your ass and you tensed up, breaking your concentration. “Relax Princess,” he cooed. The tinny voicebox was just hotter this up close and personal.

You took quick, shallow breaths trying to calm down from your orgasm and still take his brutal thrusts.

You slumped against the fridge and took the delicious pleasure. You were riding a unique high and it was bliss. Ecstasy. Your cheek touched the cool metal and it was just what you needed to cool your overheated skin. Sweat clung to you. You probably looked like a proper mess but you didn’t care. That was easily one of the best orgasms you ever had.

Ghostface slowed his thrusts and tapped your cheek a few times, enough to hurt.

“Aw, is my Princess tapping out?” He asked.

He slid out slowly, so slowly to make you feel every inch of him. His mushroom head stretched your pussy and you whined, ready to jump out of your skin. He pushed back in with as much carefulness as the way out.

“Fuck you,” you groaned out. You panted, needing more. Ghostface dropped his head to your shoulder and chuckled.

“Already got that part covered,” he said. To emphasize his point, he shoved in with a quick thrust and you cried out. Banging your fists on top of the fridge.

“I want to be fucked. If you can’t handle that, maybe I’ll find someone who will,” you said.

Ghostface dug his fingers into your hair and yanked, pulling you backwards with a painful tug.

“I’ll kill anyone who touches you,” he said.

You were almost tempted to test that theory. You wiggled, trying to gauge how much room you had. Ghostface had an iron grip on you. There was no room to wiggle. If you wanted to move, it was only if he let you.

You clenched around his dick and he chuckled. “What ya thinkin’ about Princess? Me murdering someone for you turn you on?”

You tried to shake your head. It wasn’t that. But your pussy betrayed you, clenching around him again.

He chuckled again and began moving. His strokes were deep and slow. “Don’t lie to me, Princess. I don’t like it,” he whispered. He moved his hand from your waist down to you pussy. His fingers moved between your folds, searching out your throbbing clit.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you said. You stood on tiptoes, leaning away from him. He kept going, rolling your dripping arousal all around your swollen nub.

“I said I’m sorry!” You cried and stomped your foot. This was too much sensation. Too much stimulation. Between him working inside of you, trying to imprint there, and his expert fingers on your pussy, you were nearing another orgasm.

“Oh, please, I’m sorry,” you said. Your orgasm crested anyway. Your legs turned to jelly as your orgasm rushed over you like an avalanche. Covering you in a blanket of bliss. He picked up his pace, bringing your hips down faster and faster.

“Act like a brat, this is what fuckin’ sluts get,” he said. He slapped your ass and each consecutive one hurt worse than the last.

He finally slammed in one final time and released a string of curses. There were a mix of platitudes and you were almost certain that he asked you to marry him. You felt him twitch and flex inside of you and you were only sorry that you couldn’t feel him leak out after.

He groaned and slapped your ass one more time for good measure. He slipped from inside you and groaned as he took off the condom.

“Come lick this shit up,” he demanded. You turned and dropped to your knees. You couldn’t support your own weight anyway.

Cum dripped slowly from this tip of his dick. He stroked himself and moved closer, slapping it against your lips. “Open up,” he said.

You opened your mouth and looked into his ghost mask. His dick slipped in and he moaned. He threw his head back and released a deep sigh.

“Need this,” he said. He began to fuck your mouth. He grabbed the sides of your head and thrust in as far as he could. You slobbered and coated his dick in saliva. He leaked into your mouth, the salty flavor of him turning you on.

His head was still thrown back. His hips stuttered every so often as if your mouth felt too good on him. It was a heady feeling. Knowing that you affected him just as much. That you turned him on this much.

That the sweet curves of your body and the sweet nectar of your body was enough to make him crazy. Possessive. Feral. Fresh arousal gushed from you and you moaned around his dick.

“Like the way I taste, Princess?” He asked. His fingers petted your cheek. You smelled your arousal on him faintly.

Spit dribbled down your chin and down his dick. You nodded and moaned again. You would never get sick of this. Of being his little toy that he constantly fucked with.

He moaned and kept pumping into your mouth. “Sweet fuck,” he moaned and released himself inside your mouth. Hot splashes of cum danced on your tongue and then you swallowed him all down.

“Such a good little slut for me, Princess,” he said.

You whimpered. You popped his dick out with a loud pop and grinned at him. He nodded for you to get up. He watched you struggle to your feet, your legs feeling like noodles.

“Don’t test me again, Princess,” he said. He pulled his pants up and zipped himself back up.

“Yes, Sir,” you said with a grin. Knowing damn well that you were on your way to do just that.

Psst. There's more! The Secret Ghostface Files

#megaminds secret files #The Secret Ghostface Files #Ghostface x Black!reader #Ghostface x Black reader #Ghostface x Fem!reader #Ghostface x Fem reader #Ghostface x reader #Ghostface x you #Ghostface smut #Ghostface fan fic #Ghostface fanfic #Ghostface fan fiction #Ghostface fanfiction

413 notes · View notes

wzrd-wheezes · 9 months

Note

Saw this pic and had to ask you to write something for Remus based on it? PLEASE (could be Sirius idk, pick whoever) mwah

AN - AAAAA THIS HAS MADE ME FERAL. ENJOY!!

contain: friends with benefits relationship, cocky remus - he’s kind of a dick but i love it. unprotected sex, spanking if you squint, choking, just the usual smutty stuff. Also i haven’t proofread this so sorry about that.

Y/N was pottering about the kitchen in her flat, in the midst of making herself her morning cup of coffee when her phone rang out. She smiled to herself, expecting to be a message from her best friend about God knows what she’d been up to the night before.

She glanced down at her phone which was laid on the countertop, tapping the screen to wake it up. The screen lit up and she laughed as she read the message.

“Woke up horny. Kinda want to fuck the shit out of you.”

a few moments later another message flashed up.

“Also, good morning.”

This had been ongoing for about six months. Remus and Y/N would run into eachother at a party and one thing would lead to another and a few hours later Y/N would find herself tangled up in his bedsheets. They were strictly casual, they’d barely speak outside of fucking, the only contact she really had with him was the occasional “you up?” text that would ping on her phone at 2am.

She rolled her eyes at the last message, a small smile forming on her lips. She had a slurp of her coffee and crossed into the living room, curling up on the sofa. Her fingers tapped across the screen, typing out her reply.

“This must be a new record for the earliest you’ve asked me to hook up with you.”

His reply was almost instant.

“Shut up. Are you coming over or not?”

Y/N chuckled to herself over how desperate he was sounding and decided to let him stew for a while before she would reply. She threw her phone down next to her on the sofa, her fingers wrapping around her mug of coffee as she brought it up to her lips. She’d barely finished it when her phone buzzed again with another message from Remus.

“Don’t ignore me.”

Her phone buzzed once more.

“Fuck it. I’m coming over. See you in 10.”

Rushing around to make herself look somewhat more presentable, she’d barely finished brushing her teeth when there was a knock at the door.

Remus stood tall, a light wash of stubble over his jaw and his hair messy. He leaned against the door frame as he waited for her to let him in.

“God. Do I really make you that desperate?” Y/N joked as she opened the door.

“Shut up.”

Remus didn’t even give her time to respond before he’d stepped into her flat, swiftly pinning her against the wall and kicking the front door shut behind him. His teeth grazed against her neck as he pressed up against her, one of his large hands bracing himself against the wall, caging her in with body.

“Want you so bad. Couldn’t wait any longer.” He said gruffly, kissing up her neck. Y/N let out a soft gasp as she rested her head against the wall, her hands finding their way into Remus’s hair.

His skilled fingers ran over the zip of her jeans, dragging them down so they pooled at her feet. Y/N removed her shirt as she stepped out of her jeans, throwing it on the floor. Remus’s hands traveled down to the backs of her thighs, cupping under her arse, strong arms tensing as her lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist.

“My bedroom is just-”

“I don’t care. I’m taking you here.”

Y/N’s back was pushed up against the wall, Remus holding her up with one hand as his other fumbled with his trousers, shoving them down so they sat low on his hips. Y/N tugged at the bottom of his t-shirt, shoving it up so she could run her hands up his toned stomach. Remus’s fingers latched onto the neck of his tshirt, pulling it over his head.

His hands greedily roamed over her chest, nimble fingers unhooking her bra before tipping his head down to catch one of her nipples between his lips. A groan escaped Y/N’s lips as his tongue darted around the sensitive flesh.

“That feel good, yeah?” Remus smiled smugly. He reached down to take his cock out of his boxers, pulling Y/N’s underwear to the side and rubbing it along her folds.

“Soaked f’me already?” he asked, a smirk still plastered on his face.

“Stop being cocky and just fuck me already.” Y/N said, breathlessly.

“You’re such a brat sometimes.” Remus chuckled, pumping his dick a few times before lining up with her entrance. He slipped just the head inside of her before halting, his eyes roaming over her face searching for a reaction. Y/N let out an inpatient whine, trying to shimmy her hips down to meet his.

“You’re awfully needy for someone who didn’t want me to come round and fuck you.”

“I didn’t say tha-”

Y/N couldn’t finish her sentence as a loud moan ripped through her from Remus plunging inside of her all of a sudden. She wrapped her legs tighter around him and his fingers dug deeper into the flesh of her arse as he held her in place. Using the wall as leverage, he braced her against it so he could pound into her, his hips snapping against hers.

Eventually, his hands left her legs, dropping her to the floor. Y/N’s legs felt like jelly as her feet hit the ground, she grabbed onto Remus’s bicep trying to steady herself. A strong hand wrapped around her throat, pushing her back up against the wall before spinning her around so her face was pressed against the hard surface.

“You’re so pretty when you’re desperate.” Remus muttered into her ear, nipping lighting on her lobe.

“Says you.” Y/N retorted, “You practically begged me to come over here.”

Remus laughed and landed a harsh slap on her arse before entering again.

“And you’ll be begging me to let you cum if you carry on.”

A small laughed tumbled from her lips and she rolled her eyes at him. Remus reached around and grabbed her throat, squeezing slightly as he pounded into her. He sunk his teeth into the skin where her neck and shoulders met, earning a groan from Y/N as she pushed her body back into him. Remus grunted as he thrust into her, one hand wrapped around her throat and the other reaching down to rub circles on her clit.

Y/N’s moans grew louder as she reached her peak, rocking her hips back to meet Remus’s as if she couldn’t bare the thought of him sliding out of her.

“Y’getting close?”

She nodded frantically in response.

“Beg for it then.” Remus whispered.

“Fuck off.”

“Fine. I’ll stop then.” he moved as if he was going to pull out of her and she quickly grabbed at his arm.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Beg me to let you come then, pretty girl.”

Y/N groaned, not wanting to give in to him. Remus was slowly sliding his cock out of her, the tip barely just inside her.

“Please.” her words came out barely above a whisper. Remus chuckled.

“You can do better than that.” he smirked, his hands kneading at the flesh of her arse.

“Please, Remus.” she squeezed her eyes shut, her pussy pulsing around what was left of him inside her, “Please let me cum.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he murmured condescendingly, slipping fully back inside her. He picked up his pace again, quickly bringing her back to the edge. He moaned lowly as he felt her squeeze around him, bringing him closer to his own release.

“That’s it. Cum for me.” His fingers found her clit again, using it to bring her closer and closer to the edge.

Y/N threw her head back against Remus’s chest as she came, her pussy gripping around him tipping him over the edge. She panted, a string of moans coming out as Remus’s thrusts got sloppier. He pulled out of her and she panted trying to regain her breath.

Remus leaned lazily against the wall, running a hand through his already messy hair, cocky smile still plastered on his face.

“Until next time,” he said, doing up his trousers, long fingers skimming over his belt as he fastened it back up.

“See you tomorrow,” Y/N grinned cheekily at him, getting dressed as she watched Remus walk out the door.

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin smut #remus lupin x y/n #marauders #marauders era

792 notes · View notes

celestialwhoree · 2 months

Note

✨blurb/imagine request✨

i hardly ever see any plus sized reader x 141 men (specifically simon / könig / price) fics, blurbs, or even imagines. If you’re interested i’d love to see what you’d do with it! 💕

(nsfw is more than okay🤭)

Of course I can! I def think Simon looves having a girl w/ some curves! Smt about the softness and femininity of it all drives him feral.

Warnings: afab reader, nsfw (was feeling slutty today 😃)

Simon loves the way you look when you're baking. Loves the way you bop about the kitchen to the quiet sound of your playlist, swaying your hips to the beat of every song. You get in the zone, and he gets a show that has his dick getting hard in his pants.

He'd no idea what you were concocting today. Something French by the sound of it. Admittedly, he cared more about the way the plush flesh of your ass jiggled as you leant over the counter to roll out the pastry than whatever fancy dessert you'd come up with today. The sight of you vaguely reminds him of a painting he'd seen in secondary school once. Something about Venus. To him you're so much more though - you're Venus and Saturn, Mars and Jupiter. You are his entire universe.

There's something about the softness and warmth of you that drives him insane. Of course, he thinks that lots of women are beautiful, muscular, slim, tall or small. There's something about you, though, something about every soft dip and curve of your body. You're the picture of health, soft with every hearty, home cooked meal and sweet dessert made and perfected with hours of practise, concentration and love.

When the already short material of your skirt rides up? He's a goner. Thick arms looping around your waist have you giggling, leaning your head back into the crook of Simon's neck, inhaling the residual scent of yesterday's cologne and that deliciously clean, post shower smell. "What y'making?" Soft muscle and warm skin reverberate against your back as he speaks low in your ear, peppering kisses down the column of your neck whilst his hands find their way up your shirt. The way your back arches against him, pressing your ass into his crotch as he grabs a handful of your tits and squeezes softly, he's convinced there's no better feeling in the world. "Mille Feuille." You mumble breathily back as Simon nudges your lower back so that you're leaning a little further over the counter, leaving prints of your boobs in the flour you'd sprinkled on the counter so your dough didn't get sticky. "Mille Feuille." He rumbles back, lips brushing your ear as his free hand travels down your stomach, between the soft warmth of your thighs, thumb brushing teasingly over your panties.

You inadvertently clench your thighs around Simon's hand, body stuck between whether or not it likes the intrusion, and from the wet lace of your panties, you're pretty sure it's trying to keep him there. The audible squelch of your panties when Simon pushes his middle and ring finger up against your folds has you blushing, trying to escape where he's got you pinned at the hips over the counter, only receiving a tsk from Simon as he ruts his cock against your ass. "Bend over proper for me baby, yeah?" He coos, gently pushing you down by the back of your neck so that your cheek presses against the cool marble of the countertop. "Tha's it. So, so pretty f'me. So good, yeah?" Is what accompanies the back of your skirt being flipped up, your ruined underwear pushed dismissively to the side.

A whimper gets lost amongst the sound of Simon's belt being unbuckled, with one hand at that, seeing as the other is running his fingers through your folds, collecting the glossy slick that's already leaking from your hole. The way your pussy flutters around nothing just from the thought of his actions behind you is shameful, but Simon likes it. When Simon's cock juts carefully between your thighs, his hips bumping against your ass, you go completely blank, a fucked out look on your face without him even having gone inside yet. "You like that baby? Yeah?" His tone has you nodding dumbly, your hand not supporting your head coming to rub impatiently at your clit, mewling softly as you buck your hips up against him. "So needy f'me already." Accompanies the sound of a breathless moan, like you've had all the air punched out of you when Simon notches the weeping head of his cock up into you. The angle has you gasping, hands gripping at the unyielding counter as you attempt to steady yourself against his gradually roughening thrusts. "Fuck, Si." You cry out as his dick pushes against your cervix, his dark gaze probing, fiercely intense as you pant and whine. "Thaaaats it." Is groaned gently into your ear as you take the entirety of his length with a weak cry.

Simon's pace is punishing, more so that he can watch the way your ass jiggles with every hard snap of his hips than because he means anything by it. The way you whine and mewl is only an added extra. He knows when you're about to cum, by the way you grow breathless, eyes rolling back and pussy practically sucking his cock up, greedy thing. With a few last thrusts, and a slap of your butt for good measure, you keen out, Simon's own eyes rolling back when he feels the warm wash of your cum around his cock. It doest take long for him to ride out his own orgasm, pressing his chest down against your back, his head into the crook of your neck as he spurts thick, hot cum right up into the plug of your womb.

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Not proof read at all !! Trying to get a lil better at writing smut 🫠 N e ways!! Enjoy!!

265 notes · View notes

blakeswritingimagines · 11 months

Text

Your relationship trope

Joker:

Enemies/Lovers on sight.

God X Follower

Gremlin X Sunshine.

Rowdy delinquent X Sweet dork.

Harley Quinn:

Chaotic badass X Sweet badass.

Quiet listener X Lord always talking.

Aggressively supportive.

Ultimate mom friend X Feral gremlin.

Catwoman:

Each other's impulse control.

Loves talking X Loves listening

Crazy moron X Intelligent moronsexual.

Parents without kids.

Riddler:

Tall angry bastard X Short actual sunshine.

Partner in crimes that are polar opposites.

Dumbass X That's my dumbass.

Dense X Dense.

Penguin:

Angry and protective X Soft and concerned.

Asshole X Tired of it

Please stop X Too much energy.

Chaotic with a soft spot X Normal but Chaos enabler.

Scarecrow:

Sweet baby X Litteral demon.

Overthinker X Touchy drama queen.

Grumpy X Sunshine.

They probably hate me X In love just terrible at showing it.

Deathstroke:

Stoic and serious X Chill.

Feral dumbass X Voice of reason.

Ray of sunshine X Touch them and die.

Evil X Reason they haven't destroyed the world yet.

Bane:

Low maintenance X High energy.

Big evil bastard X Smitten idiot.

Tall X Small.

Pessimist X Optimist.

Mr. Freeze:

Morticia and Gomez.

Pure-heated bean X Cynical goblin.

Super hyper and loud X Loves them anyway.

Has a crush X Doesn't notice.

Two-Face:

Edgy baby X Soft bastard.

Idiot X Loves their Idiots.

Flirty X Flustered.

Quiet X Bubbly.

Poison Ivy:

Mutual pining idiots.

Confident flirt X Expert at not taking the hint.

Sun X Moon.

Cinnabun X Hot-head.

Killer Croc:

Monster X Monster fucker

Cinnamon roll X Guard dog.

Hand warm X Hand cold.

Cluess as fuck X Bad at expressing emotions.

#joker x reader #harley quinn x reader #catwoman x reader #riddler x reader #penguin x reader #scarecrow x reader #deathstroke x reader #bane x reader #mr freeze x reader #two face x reader #poison ivy x reader #killer croc x reader #dc hcs #dc headcanon #dc comics #dc #dc villains

695 notes · View notes

bradshawsbitch · 1 year

Text

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞

pairing: nick goose bradshaw x reader

nick has been away from home for a while, and receives a very warm welcome home from you.

warnings; smut 18+ only, afab!reader, dry sex, cum play, silly goose (i love him), tit worship

word count; 1.8K

disclaimer; I heard the sentence 'I'd be happy to find a girl and talk dirty to her' and went (absolutely feral) with it!

tagging for funsies; @fandomxpreferences @jupitercomet @roosterforme @roleycoleyreccenter

Soft, warm sunlight flitted in through opened windows. The rustic kitchen was bathed in an orange glow, as you moved across wooden floors. The long day had finally started to fade to evening, and the cooler air felt welcome on your skin.

It had been an unusually hot day, and your body was only covered by a plain black, ribbed leotard. You knew it was your boyfriend's favorite, in part because ‘it shows off the girls, honey!’ and in part because ‘your hips and thighs in those high cuts makes a man want to do sinful things’. Goose’s words, verbatim.

Sighing sadly, the longing seemed to be reverberating deep within your bones. Nick had only been away for a couple of days for some stint with Mav, but God you missed him already. You knew he wouldn’t have access to a phone, and he’d been unsure of when he’d been able to come home to you.

So you spent the days trying to keep occupied, helping the sweet old lady next door with her gardening and keeping her company for a cup of coffee as she told you scandalously about the other old woman down the street. Her son had been caught for tax fraud, apparently.

After assuring her Nick paid all his taxes, and promising to spread the gossip along to your boyfriend (he had unfortunately become old Mrs. Baxter’s favorite gossip partner after he had whole-heartedly engaged in a 30 minute conversation, being just the right amount of outraged, according to Mrs. Baxter), you had headed home with a smile on your face. Which was how you found yourself getting some chores done, washing up the dishes you’d left since yesterday, de-cluttering and vacuuming (which was when you rid yourself of your jean shorts).

A glass of water in hand, you heaved a deep sigh as you glanced through the open window, the curtains fluttering slightly with the breeze. Distantly, you could hear a car approaching, not thinking much of it until you heard it come to a stop, and the distinct sound of a door slamming shut. You barely had time to put your glass down before you heard Nick’s tell-tale happy-noise, something that had bewildered you at first, but now only warmed your heart and put a big grin on your face.

“Goose!” you’d run towards the front door, and sure enough, the vision of your tall, hawaiian shirt clad man stood before you.

“Aw, fuck, honey!” Nick’s beautiful brown eyes looked almost pained as they roamed over your body. “You know what this does to a man,” a giggle fell from your lips as Goose unceremoniously dropped his duffle bag to his feet before moving over to you - that small mischievous smirk you loved so much adorning his lips. His knuckles trailed down your bare arm as you tilted your head up to look at him.

“Mm, what does it do, Nicky?” another weakness of his. He’d told you in his sternest voice that this weakness was strictly classified Honey knowledge only. A soft groan left Goose at your soft tone, eyes playful as you leaned into his touch.

“Honeyy,” there was definitely a whine in there somewhere “it drives a man insane!” he grinned as he drew another soft giggle from you, the hand that was not trailing up and down your arm now coming to grab at your waist, large palm splayed over the fabric. Leaning up, you couldn’t resist claiming his lips with yours, having longed to feel them pressed against yours for too long.

“Missed you, Nicky,” your breathless whine had Goose tightening his hold on you, arms winding around your midsection to keep you pressed to his chest as his lips strayed from your lips to your jawline, leaving a trail down to your clavicle.

“Hi, girls,” the relieved tone as Nick palmed at your tits had you balking before you swiftly landed a soft slap to his shoulder “Goose!” he chuckled but didn’t stop his ministrations, kneading the soft flesh and sporadically pinching your nipples through the thin fabric. Letting your head tip back, a soft moan flew past parted lips.

“I could tell they missed me, honey… had to check up on ‘em,” Nick murmured teasingly against your neck. For a moment, you thought a scoff might make its appearance from you, but Goose chose that moment to latch on to the soft and sensitive flesh below your ear, right as he rolled your nipple between skilled fingers - which turned the scoff into a loud and needy moan instead.

“Atta honey.. so good for me,” hushed voice, husky in your ear had your eyelids fluttering shut as Goose started leading you towards the sofa. He stalled for a moment, letting brown eyes search yours, a thoughtful look upon his features before he decided “Honey, I’m gonna disconnect the phone.” laughter rang out in the glowing red light of your living room, and Goose smirked as he made his way towards your phone.

The swiftness with which your boyfriend lost his jeans and button-up on his way back to you was astounding, only leaving your touch for a moment or two before his arms embraced you again. Turning the two of you, he nudged a knee in between your thighs to spread them before he sat down, bringing you with him to straddle his lap.

Goose was now only clad in a loose fitting pair of boxers, which you noticed were already tenting. As he slowly grabbed your hips and fully lowered you onto his lap, you gasped softly at the feel of his hard length against your core - arousal flooding your very being from the way he held you. Rolling your hips experimentally resulted in a low groan from your boyfriend, his fingers tightening their hold on you.

Labored and shallow breathing echoed through the otherwise silent house, Goose’s hands now guiding and grinding you down on his now rock hard cock. Your hands gripped at broad shoulders, forehead falling down to rest against Nicks, lips chasing his as they met in an open mouthed frenzy.

“Nicky!” you whimpered out as the head of his cock strained against his boxers, hard against the opening of your clothed core, where he ground hard trying to seek the pleasure of your welcoming heat.

“S’okay honey, Nicky’s got you babe, I’m here,” his voice was strained from the way your cunt tried in vain to clench around him, his tip just reaching deep enough to feel your attempts at getting him deeper despite the barrier of your clothes. Bringing his arms around your back, he guided your head to his shoulder, his lips pressing into your hot skin as his palm splayed over your lower back and ass. Rutting up into you, he pressed you down at the same time as his grip on your hip guided you against his length.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, darlin’” his moan caressed your skin, the thickness of his length now adding delicious pressure to your clit. Glancing between your bodies, you saw the bulge of his tip in his boxers, and the wet patch that had spread across it. A loud, needy moan fell from you, and you were grasping at Goose’s neck now, desperately needing to feel him closer.

“Need you, Goose– please, need you,” whimpering, you ground more desperately into him now, hips rolling down hard to feel more of him.

“Shh, honey, we ain’t in a rush,” strong hands stilled your hips, gently detaching you from where you sat leaned on his chest. Soft lips pressed against yours, and you needily tried to deepen it, nipping at his lower lip, desperate to feel his tongue on you.

“Baby…” his tone was warning, but his touch soft as he splayed one hand on your sternum, the other guiding your arms away from his neck. He guided your hands so they were grasping behind you at his knees, his palm pressing your chest away from him.

“Fuck, honey…” Goose groaned low in his throat, the sound emitting a whimper from you, brows knitted together as you hesitantly tried canting your hips in your new position. “That’s it honey, fuck yourself on my cock, needy little thing,” you knew Nick liked talking dirty, but this had your mouth falling open, head falling backwards as you kept your pace - again and again dragging your cunt along Goose’s length.

Reaching down, Nick grabbed at his clothed cock, guiding it to put pressure on your clit before slipping it towards your entrance, bucking slightly as he found it. The knuckle of his thumb dragged against your clit as he rubbed his straining head as far as it could go into you, desperate and high pitched moans leaving you as he started moving his thumb slightly.

“Please, Nicky!” Goose only groaned, using his forefinger to slip the wet material of your body to the side, fucking his cock just a little deeper into your sensitive hole. Brown eyes had been transfixed on your cunt, but now roamed your body on display for him, landing on your heaving chest, eliciting another deep moan from your lover.

Reaching up, he swiftly yanked the straps down to free your breasts, hands and mouth latching on to them as you continued rocking against him. Warm tongue and rough mustache created an overwhelming sensation as Nick suckled at your nipple, palming roughly at your other breast.

“O-oh, Nick - I’m–” your orgasm built fast, and had snuck up on you as Goose loved your body.

“Give it to me, baby, let me have it,” Goose grunted against your tits, and it was all the encouragement you needed as you cried out, hips rutting faster to get you there.

“Oh, I’m gonna cum so hard on your cock, Nicky” you knew your boyfriend liked it when you talked dirty back to him, and the moan he released at your words was enough to send you hurtling over the edge, a blinding orgasm having you mindlessly moaning, thighs quivering on either side of your boyfriends’, only vaguely aware of Nick’s hands palming hard at your tits.

Harsh breaths and grunts met your ears as you came down slightly from your high, and looking down between your bodies, Nick’s straining cock appeared and disappeared between your folds as Goose fucked into you. Moaning softly at the sight, you let your hands leave their place to tangle into the short hair at the nape of your boyfriend's neck as you whimpered “Coat me with your cum, Goose,”. Whilst you weren’t as well versed in dirty talk as your boyfriend it seemed to work as Goose came hard with a long moan, his white spend spreading and leaking out of his boxers and on to your swollen clit.

Lazily, he rutted his hips, spreading his cum over your pussy, drawing soft moans from you as his lips found yours in soft kisses. Chests heaving, you let your fingers card through his blonde hair, as warmth filled your chest.

“Welcome home, stud,” Goose smiled against your lips as he held you close to his chest again.

“And what a welcome it was, honey!”

#nick bradshaw x reader #nick goose bradshaw x reader #nick bradshaw smut #nick bradshaw x you #nick bradshaw imagine #my writing #smut

609 notes · View notes