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karaeilishh · 13 days ago

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DADDY?

SUMMARY: Your girlfriend is coming home after a music tour and she's mad. Maybe if you get down on your knees and be a good girl, she'll feel better?

pairing: billie eilish x !fem reader

WARNINGS: smut, !daddy dom billie, !sub reader, strap (r receiving), oral (r/billie receiving), daddy kink, pet names (princess, daddys girl, angel ect), orgasm control, begging, shes going crazy

wc: 2.6k

a/n: ik you saw it before but don’t mind. still apologize for the mistakes in the text, english is not my first language, enjoyyy

music: angel – massive attack

You were all alone at home, standing in front of the mirror completely naked. You loved looking at your body after a shower. Droplets of water flowed beautifully over your soft skin, your hair lay on your shoulders, your collarbones bulged slightly. Your body was very beautiful. And it wasn't just you who thought so. That's what the one for whom you spent an hour in the bathroom taking care of your body thought. The one for whom you are currently looking for the most beautiful set of underwear in your closet. A red lace one that barely covered your body’s private parts. Billie adored it. It was his absolute favorite. Just like you. In addition to your underwear, you put on a satin black dressing gown. It was short. It was driving Billy crazy.

As for Billie, she was on her music tour for a few weeks, and you were so proud of her that you just couldn't help but give her a treat after a good job. You both knew who her treat was. You were ready to give yourself to her completely. Do whatever she wants, like you usually do. Like a good girl. You know she misses your perfect body like crazy. It's driving her crazy. Every time she comes home after a tour, she takes you as greedily and dirty as she can. And you will both enjoy this hunger for each other. Every week spent apart felt like sweet torture. Like thoughts of each other's warmth.

You tried not to think about the morning photo she sent you anymore. It was just her hands with the caption “You can't even imagine what pleasure these hands will give you tonight.” It made you weak at the knees, the needy girl you've always been with Billy. You expected her to just come home hungry and playful, as she always was, but...

When your phone started ringing, you smiled. You knew who the call was from. “Hi, my love” Your voice was soft, but playful at the same time. “Are you feeling well?” The voice on the other end of the phone was cold and harsh. You heard the noise of her car. She was on her way home.

“Yes, I'm fine, and you?” You felt a little uneasy when your beloved wasn't as soft as usual. Your voice was quieter, and Billie noticed it, but she didn't care right now. “I'll be home in 20 minutes. Angel, i'm in a terrible mood, so you won't get off with one orgasm. Put on my favorite and no makeup” Her words hit down your stomach, making you sigh softly. She returns from the tour angry for the first time.

“No makeup? Why?” You sounded quieter than usual, but now not out of concern, but out of desire. “Because your face will be buried in the mattress while I fuck you. And I promise that you will cry with pleasure.” She was growling into the phone, imagining this beautiful picture. You were ready to whine. Billie could always say something that would just fold you in half. “Good...” You mumbled softly as you hung up the phone. The knot in your stomach has already started to tighten. You just had to wait for your girlfriend to arrive as soon as possible.

To somehow brighten up the wait, you closed the curtains in your bedroom and turned on the pale red backlight. You applied her favorite perfume to your body and fixed your hair for the last time. And no makeup. You took off your dressing gown when you heard the front door open. She came.

You went downstairs quickly to see your girlfriend. She looked wild, tired, and very sexy. Her hair was slightly disheveled. She wore a “Misfits” shirt and black wide-leg jeans with her favorite belt. You just knew what was underneath them.

“Hi babe.” You walked up to Billie, swinging your hips, your arms wrapped around her neck as her hands gripped your waist. “You know how to please me. Good girl,” Billie changed your position, pressing you against a cold wall, you sighed. You were literally purring, pressing your body against hers. You felt the bulge against her pants and rubbed against it. Desire was written on Billie's face. “Bedroom. Now,” Those words were enough for you to take her by the hand and take her to the second floor. Billie was pleasantly surprised when she saw what your bedroom looked like. She loved it when you were preparing for her arrival.

“I can't take it anymore if you rock your ass like that.” She hugged you to her, putting her hands on your ass, squeezing it. You giggled softly. “I don't want you to be patient. You can take whatever you want.” Your girlfriend was clearly pleased with your answer. “Sit on the bed, let me do something.” Billie was a little worried when you told her to do it, but she obediently sat on the edge of the bed, looking at you.

“That's it...” You smiled as you approached Billie. You knelt between her legs, resting your head on her hip. “Look at me” You whispered as your hands reached for her belt. You bit your lip, slowly getting rid of it. The way Billie trembled under your touch made you wet. You ran your lips over the fabric of her jeans, finding the fly of her jeans. You undid it with your teeth, without taking your eyes off Billy's eyes. She was going crazy. Her hands were crumpling the sheets, and her eyes were running from your mouth to your eyes. You saw her despair.

“Such a dirty girl...” She whispered, running her hand through your hair. “For you, daddy.” That name made her eyes roll back in her head. You felt proud. You pulled her jeans down to her ankles, then her panties, exposing yourself to a big red dick. This strap was your favorite. “Fuck...” You said it in unison when you both felt wild desire. You wanted to touch it with your tongue, but Billy had other plans. “You're driving me crazy, babygirl.” She picked you up, roughly throwing you on the bed. Her body hovered over yours as she devoured you with her eyes. You looked so small underneath.

“Fuck, I'm going to beat the shit out of you,” Billie growled, sinking down to your neck. She ran the tip of her nose over your delicate skin, grinning. “You've prepared for me. How sweet...” But that was the end of the sweet stuff. You let out a loud sigh as her teeth sank into your skin. She sucked it hard until she left a few hickeys. “I've missed making you mine time after time.” She smiled against your skin, kissing her way down. “Billie, fuck...” She stopped abruptly, looking into your eyes. “Wrong”

“Daddy...” You moaned softly as her fingers began to rub your clit through the lace fabric. “Good girl” She smiled, returning to your body. Billie pushed back the fabric of your bra, paying attention to your breasts. You bit your lower lip. Your breasts were too sensitive, and Billie was too hungry, devouring it. She bit and licked, making you growl.

“Fuck...” You looked down when she ran her tongue over the space between your breasts. It was so sexy that you started to choke. Billie liked it. She always enjoyed the moments when she made you feel so desperate. Just for her.

“Baby, do you need more?” This question sounded more like a mockery, but you wanted more so badly that you didn't care. “I need more, daddy, please...” You moaned softly, putting your hand on her head. You didn't know exactly what you wanted, but you did. “Mouth or fingers?” She asked it without any embarrassment, as if it was the most common question. You wanted to answer “Both”, but you want to get everything separately. “Mouth” You answer quickly, hiding your face in your hands. Billie smiles. “Such a daddy’s princess” Those words made you gasp.

“Please, I can't wait any longer...” Billie grinned as she went down. She pulled off your panties with her teeth, throwing them aside. Revenge. Her breath scorched your heat as she spread your legs wide. “Beg” She was serious about getting all the juice out of you tonight.

“Please, daddy, I've needed you so much all this time, it's just...” You don't have time to finish when her tongue slaps against your clit. It was very harsh and you moaned loudly. Your hands immediately flew to her head, pressing her closer to your wet pussy. You missed her tongue so much, it was an inhuman desire. “Yes, right there...” Your eyes fluttered after every movement of her tongue. Your back arched when it was inside you. Billie hadn't pushed her tongue inside you for a long time and these sensations were wild. Her eyes were wild as she looked at your heaving chest.

“Mhm...” She moaned sweetly against your pussy, sending shockwaves through your body. You bit your lip, breaking into a smile. Her hand reached up, grabbing your neck. Her touch was so gentle and rough at the same time, it turned you on even more. You wanted her. Completely for yourself. And you were elated every time you realized that this was the case.

“I'm gonna...” You moaned. The knot in your stomach tightened too much, you couldn't take it anymore. Billie looked at you again. You saw her eyes roll back in pleasure. You tasted divine. Billie patted your thigh, silently letting you cum. The words “Cum on my tongue, sweet girl” rang in your head. Just the thought of her sexy voice instantly brought you to orgasm. You've seen the stars. “Good girl...”Now her voice was real.

"I missed you so much...” you whispered when she got up to kiss you. You moaned into her mouth when you tasted yourself. Delicious. She ran her tongue over your lips, forcing you to close your eyes. Her every touch did inexplicable things to you. But you loved it. “I know, angel.”

You kissed for another minute until you felt her fingers teasing your pussy. “Daddy...” You were whispering into her neck. “Do I have to stretch you, or are you ready to take my dick?” Those words sounded so dirty coming out of her mouth that you were just suffocating. “I'm ready.” You were always ready.

“Daddy's girl” She smiled, looking at your body, hungry for you. Billie's “Roll over on your stomach” sounded rude and you knew what she wanted. You obediently lay down on your stomach. Your ass was in the air, your hands were above your head. “You don't know what you're doing to me.” She slapped your thigh, enjoying the way you squirmed under her. She knew how much you liked it.

“Slutty girl” Your pussy clenched at her words. Billie brought the tip of the strap to your hole, teasing you. “Tell me how much you missed daddy's dick.” Her hand went down your back, leaving goosebumps on your body. You squirmed, looking for friction, but Billy's hands stopped you. “Use your words, angel.”

“Daddy, I felt so empty without you... My fingers weren't enough.” You knew what your words would do to her. You didn't see her face, but you felt her inside you. It was rude. “Fuck!” You bit your hand when her dick was completely inside you. Her hips beat against yours as she rocked into you at an animal speed. “Slow down...”

“Oh, shut up.” She was growling, pressing your head against the mattress. Your hair became a mess and there were tears of pleasure in your eyes when your girlfriend fucked you so well. So fast and rude. And even if you asked her to be slower, you didn't want that. Billy's hand grabbed your thigh, creating additional roughness. Your eyes were blurred because of the tears. And your throat is dry. Your neighbors won't thank you for those beautiful sounds coming out of your mouth.

“You look so beautiful, taking every daddy’s inch” Her voice was trembling with wild excitement. She fucked you so hard and couldn't get enough of you. It was a problem because you wanted to cum again. “Can I-” A rough push cut off your words.

“No. I'm not fucking going to stop fucking you until i get enough.” Her voice was loud and broken. She never sounded like that. You were whining, but you were holding back your growing orgasm. “I'm sorry, baby.” Billie pulled out her dick, leaving you empty and desperate. “No!” You looked at her. Tears were flowing beautifully down your face when you rolled over on your back.

“On your knees,” Billie said it sharply and you obeyed, ignoring the weakness in your body. She sat on the edge of the bed, and you knelt between her legs. “You know what you have to do.” You looked into her eyes, full of despair and desire. “Yes...” You took the tip of the strap in your mouth, feeling your taste again. It made you moan. Your movements were slow and gentle when half of her dick was in your mouth. Billie put her hand on the back of your head, roughly pushing it further into you. You grabbed her hips, trying to control the thrusts, but soon the tip of her strap was hitting the back of your throat. Billie was wild, and you didn't know what was going on with her. You could taste your tears in your mouth. Her other hand rested on your cheek, wiping away your tears. It was sexy.

“Do it better.” She was growling, thrusting her hips into you. All your reflexes had already failed when you took her dick. Her body was starting to shake, and the thrutst were becoming more and more careless. It only took a few seconds for her to moan loudly and lie down on her back. “Damn.” You licked your lips, still trying to move away from what had just happened. Billie lay in silence for a while, but suddenly got up. “Ride me, baby”

Your eyes lit up with desire when you were on top of her. Your pussy was on her hot thigh, moving slowly. She looked up at you, grabbing your ass “Ride daddy's dick like a good girl” You didn't need to be persuaded. You wanted to cum so badly that you just couldn't wait a second longer. You needed her strap inside you. Billie controlled your movements, allowing only the tip to be inserted inside you. “I need more, i beg you...” You looked into her eyes, seeking approval. And you got it when her hands abruptly lowered you. Her strap was all inside you. Every damn inch. “Move yourself, my angel”

You started moving your hips, going up and down. The bedroom was filled with your moans and dirty noises between your bodies. Billie greedily kissed you when her thumb landed on your clit. This stimulation was too much for you. “Please, daddy, can i?” You whispered a question in her ear. Your hands rested on her shoulders.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” Billie smiled, helping you by pushing with her hips. A strong orgasm went through your body when you collapsed on the body of your beloved. You tried to catch your breath for another minute. “It was crazy” You whispered.

“I know. And we both love it.” Billie kissed you on the cheek, brushing the sticky hair off your face. Your face was a mess. “Now let's take a shower, my love.”

requests open <33

#billie eilish #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish fic #billie eilish oneshot #wlw

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little-lynx · 2 years ago

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EVERLARK OUTFITS: THE VICTORY TOUR

This part of “Catching Fire” is done (finally) so I put it all together;) DISTRICT 11, THE SQUARE

I go to my compartment and let the prep team do my hair and makeup. Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta will like the color. <…> As the train is pulling into the District 11 station, Cinna puts the finishing touches on my outfit, switching my orange hairband for one of metallic gold and securing the mockingjay pin I wore in the arena to my dress. <…> I can hear the anthem beginning outside in the square. Someone clips a microphone on me. Peeta takes my left hand. // Catching Fire, ch. 4

I think this dress should be a little semi-official so I choose cape sleeve sheath midi dress. It’s perfect for autumn (and they have early autumn weather there in 11th). The hair is just plain + gold hairband = girlish innocent look like the one after the games (this tactics they choose for the Tour). Plus I wanted to draw Katniss with her natural straight hair because i draw her with her braid usually ;) And again nothing about Peeta’s outfit. You know I feel like Portia 😅 because I have to choose how to dress Peeta. I’m not complaining through. So it is black suit with golden buttons (matching Katniss’s hairband and pin), thin soft orange sweater and black leather shoes.

DISTRICT 11, THE DINNER

A pale pink strapless dress brushes my shoes. My hair is pinned back from my face and falling down my back in a shower of ringlets. Cinna comes up behind me and arranges a shimmering silver wrap around my shoulders. He catches my eye in the mirror. “Like it?” “It's beautiful. As always,” I say. “Let's see how it looks with a smile,” he says gently. // Catching Fire, ch.5

DISTRICT 7

Jackson has devised a game called «Real or Not Real» to help Peeta. He mentions something he thinks happened, and they tell him if it’s true or imagined, usually followed by a brief explanation. <...> But since Peeta’s greatest confusion centers around me—and not everything can be explained simply—our exchanges are painful and loaded, even though we touch on only the most superficial of details. The color of my dress in 7. My preference for cheese buns. The name of our math teacher when we were little. Reconstructing his memory of me is excruciating. Perhaps it isn’t even possible after what Snow did to him. But it does feel right to help him try. // Mockingjay, ch. 19

So we have only one sentence in “Mockingjay” about this outfit. And still I decided to draw it because I have a theory (head canon?) about it. I think Peeta remembers the color of her dress because it was special night for him (a lot of kisses and attempts to sneak away from everyone and maybe it felt very real at times) and also because she had two braids and the dress was red. RED is the color ❤️. / Peeta has dark red + black + a little bit gold which is also sexy color combination.

DISTRICT 5 I volunteer to take Annie back to my house in 12, where Cinna left a variety of evening clothes in a big storage closet downstairs. All of the wedding gowns he designed for me went back to the Capitol, but there are some dresses I wore on the Victory Tour. <…> Annie wears a green silk dress I wore in 5, Finnick one of Peeta’s suits that they altered— the clothes are striking. <…> As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie’s gown were done by Cinna’s hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta’s. // Mockingjay, ch. 16

Katniss: green silk dress + wavy sleeves + sea waves embroidery / Peeta: ivory dress shirt + knitted green waistcoat with sea waves embroidery + tweed suit

DISTRICT 2

Girl talk. That thing I've always been so bad at. Opinions on clothes, hair, makeup. So I lie. “Yeah, he's been helping me design my own clothing line. You should see what he can do with velvet.” Velvet. The only fabric. I could think of off the top of my head. “I have. On your tour. That strapless number you wore in District Two? The deep blue one with the diamonds? So gorgeous I wanted to reach through the screen and tear it right off your back,” says Johanna. // Catching Fire, Chapter 15

This description gave me strong “Anastasia” feels 😅. So I loosely based Katniss dress on Anastasia’s ballet evening gown. For Peeta I chose tuxedo jacket similar to Salvatore Ferragamo design for FF 12/13. Neo classic, purple velvet, shiny shoes. Also I decided to include a cane, both to help Peeta to have some rest during all this Tour activities and as an accessory.

DISTRICT 12

When we reach the mayor's house, I only have time to give Madge a quick hug before Effie hustles me off to the third floor to get ready. After I'm prepped and dressed in a full-length silver gown, I've still got an hour to kill before the dinner, so I slip off to find her. <…> She [Madge] saw my reflection behind her and smiled. “Look at you. Like you came right off the streets of the Capitol.” // Catching Fire, ch.6

When I started drawing this one I just felt that I need to make it look very “Capitol”. So I added some feathers. A LOT of sparkling feathers, haha. Also there are some “moon and stars” accessories in Katniss’ hair because this silver gown gives me moonlight vibes. For Peeta I came up with classic suit but made him wear it casually.

#yes I redraw some of them #old ones looked bad #ugh #the hunger games #hunger games fanart #everlark #everlark fanart #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #katniss and peeta #thg fanart #lynx hunger games #lynx thg outfits #victory tour #catching fire #catching fire fanart

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the-fiction-witch · 4 months ago

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Missed You

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Jacaerys Velaryon Couple - Jacaerys X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - Sexy / Flirty Word Count - 784

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon lay in bed. His chamber in dragonstone fitting of his station, high in one of the castle's towers carved from deep black stone, with grand dragons, red and black fabrics everywhere. The fire burning low almost out, the sun yet to fully peak over the horizon but the sky was light enough to see, the heat of the volcanic island being pumped into each room making it all warm and comfortable Jacaerys laid in his bed his nude body cradled but black silk, his dark curls laid loose around the pillows, his high valerian book on the bedside table.

The door of his chamber opens causing him to stir still half asleep, he slowly sits up from his peaceful slumber and slowly blinks at the sight of his future wife in her skimpy red nightgown. “Y/n…?” he whispers groggily, still partially asleep and with his vision still blurred from his deep sleep.

Y/n cooed sweetly sitting on his bed and running her hand though his dark locks "sh sh sh,"

Jace still halfasleep smiled at her soothing touch, and in return began running his calloused fingers underneath her red silk nightgown and up Y/n’s thigh to her hip. “Why are you here so early?” he groaned, his eyes closed with his cheeks softly blushing.

Y/n shrugged "I woke early, I thought I would come and gently wake you, see how you slept,"

Jace sighed gently, smiling at the feeling of her smooth fingers playing with his hair. “I slept wonderfully, my love,” he replies, his fingers dancing across the smooth skin of her hip and up her body, caressing her stomach. He sits up more and takes a deep breath, inhaling the musky and soothing scent of her perfume a mixture of rosemary and lavender that filled his nostrils. “How can you smell so good, even at this hour?” he chuckles, slowly sitting up on the bed and planting a soft kiss on her shoulder.

"I knew I was coming to see you so I made sure to wear your favourite perfume," she cooed stroking the tip of her nose against his batting at him much how a dragon would bat at its mate

Jace smiled at her, a soft chuckle of contentment escaping his lips while his fingers slipped out of her red silk gown, slowly pulling her onto his lap. “Did you now, my love? How thoughtful.” he smirked a little, “You’re in a playful mood, aren’t you?” Jacaerys continued, his hands roaming under her nightgown once again.

"I have meerly missed you while you've been away..." She pouts

Jace gently took her chin with his calloused fingers, gently tilting the soft skin of her face so their noses were touch and he could kiss her lips soft and sweetly. “Have you missed my company? My body against yours?” he asked, the words slipping out of his mouth like velvet lace.

She nodded stroking her soft hands against his bare chest "I always miss you, all that has kept me sane all this time has been thinking of your return... And our... Upcoming ceremony"

Jace’s fingers slowly slipped up her nightgown, feeling her soft and pale skin as his thumb traced over her ribs. “You can’t wait until our wedding day, my love?” he said, his mouth softly pressing kisses into her shoulders while his fingertips danced along her skin. “I assure you that it’s all I daydream about, either. You’re my future queen, my future wife.”

"it is only a few more weeks and then we shall be married, and we will get to cosy up every night and wake each other with kisses each morning"

Jace’s hands slowly move up from her ribs to her chest, his calloused fingers tracing along her collarbone while his tongue softly kisses her neck. “Mhmm, I can’t wait to wake up next to you every morning… and hold you every night, my love…” he whispered against her throat, his calloused thumb slowly tracing her chest.

she giggled as his fingers tickled her "it shall be heavenly jacaerys" she cooed tipping his chin up so their eyes met and she wasted no time making their lips met too

He softly closes his eyes and loses himself in her kiss, his arms wrapped around her thin frame as he slowly lays her on her back against the soft silk of his sheets. The kiss was slow yet passionate, deep yet soft just how he liked to kiss her. He pulled away after a few moments, his mouth parted for a second before speaking against her own. “Gods, how I’ve missed your kisses, my love...”

“I have missed far more then just your kisses Jacaerys,” She cooed pulling him down to kiss her once more,

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eternalsa2z · 7 months ago

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Her Name Is Mandi

She received the necklace as a gift. 'MANDI' it said in bold, flashy, gaudy jewelry. At first it didn't make sense...that wasn't quite her name? But as she started to wear it, she began to understand how well it fit her.

M - MADEUP

She started wearing the necklace while applying her makeup. She couldn't miss the name flashing in the mirror as she applied elegant makeup every day. It made sense - she was a high-end aesthetician after all! For some reason she recalled working towards a different goal, like medicine or something. But a little glimpse of her glam necklace and the thought would be covered up like how her makeup painted her face.

A - ALLURING

After a while, her aesthetic changed. She needed something refined and showy to match her necklace at all times. So altered gowns with low necklines and slits up the side filled her wardrobe as her head filled with thoughts of wearing feminine finery. It fit in well with her side-hustle as a hostess at a high-end club. A perfect match to how her necklace nestled between her buxom bosom, which felt bigger and better squeezed by her splendid attire.

N - NEEDY

By now the necklace never left her. Neither did the increasing sense of lust, arousal, and desire. Her head felt emptier with the necklace or a glitzy choker squeezing her neck; instead it was increasingly filled with an obsession with physical beauty, sexy wardrobes, and self-indulgent pleasure. She looked hot; so she felt hot.

Her urges grew until she gave in. She dressed in a scandalous, searing-hot red lingerie set. Constantly licked her plump, inflated, pleasurable lips. Desperately dreaming of satisfying her desires.

D - DOLL-LIKE

Her old sense was hanging by a thread, the opposite of how securely the necklace fit around her plastic form. Desperately she tried to recall who she was, her true self, until an important decision came into her empty head. It didn't matter who she used to be...now she was just a plastic trophy. Built for pleasure, designed to be paraded about, meant to be played with.

The thought broke her brain and cemented her new personality. She was a buxom Barbie. A bratty Bratz. A dumb bimbo doll. Mindlessly she stood frozen, mouth agape, posing in a sexy manner. It was her destiny all along.

I - ICON

The necklace had overwritten her identity completely. She embraced her new self, strutting down red carpets and showing off her enhanced assets. Heads would turn, faces flush, and cameras snap in an attempt to capture her perfect image in their minds forever. She was an bimbo icon yet she kept working to become even feminine, amazingly lovely, and worry-free. In other words - her own ideal!

It turns out the necklace really was a match for her all along. She was a madeup, alluring, needy, doll-like icon. Her name was Mandi. It fit her perfectly.

#bimboification #mental transformation #f2f transformation #bitchification #trophy wives #magical transformation

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rivetingrosie4 · 1 month ago

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Duet

(Part 2/2)

Summary: Arthur takes you out for a much-needed fancy date. Though you both thoroughly enjoy the whole evening, you’re both eager to get home and make love. When you finally arrive home, Arthur invites you to take a steamy shower with him.

Tags: romantic smut, established relationship, hot date, shower sex, cunnilingus, romantic angst, comfort, loving marriage, parenthood, modern au, post gang

Chapter word count: 7,412

Not sure to whom the credit should go for the Arthur edit above.

𑁦𐂂𑁦

This work is partially inspired by the following song lyrics. It’s been my sincere goal to capture both the spirit of the lyrics and the feel of the song’s music in this work. Please consider giving this beautiful song a listen at the link below.

- Penny and Sparrow, “Duet”

As Arthur lifts a large, roughened hand and barely touches it to your smooth shoulder, he wonders to himself what you might be wearing underneath. Maybe he’ll see a lacy thong, its scrap of fabric tucked neatly between your round ass cheeks and framing them perfectly.

With a glance into your eyes, he thinks on how unspeakably sexy you are to him. Mere thoughts of your body, and he’s nearly slid from a ramp up into the night’s dark and starless sky.

He brings his other hand to your opposite shoulder, and the moment he’s longed for is here. With hardly any movement, his thumbs slip both straps away, and your lovely, tiny silken gown slides to the floor like ripples of lake water from a waterfall.

There you are, wearing no panties.

A powerful flush of desire overtakes and courses through him, quick and hot and merciless. He smothers the involuntary groan that wants to pour from him. All the air is sucked from his lungs anyway, as if he’s withstood a kick to the belly. He’s forced to gulp past the dryness in his throat.

His heavily lidded gaze glides up your form, from your bared sex, over the strapless bra cups that lift your breasts, until he meets your eyes.

The flint-spark look undoes you. He always seems to do just exactly what it takes. So you refocus your gaze to his white shirt and reach up to his chest to release the topmost button. You work downwards, releasing them, one button at a time, their slow undoing a ceremony to mirror his unspooling of all your painful anxieties and insecurities.

At the same time, he reaches around to peel away the strapless cups as you’re tugging his button down from his trousers. It’s hardly fair that you have so little clothing to compare with his journey of undressing. Because he’s thoughtlessly tossing the undergarment away, and now, there you are, completely bare, with him scarcely half-dressed.

Arthur watches you, eyes never leaving the way your breaths come to you deep and slow, gradually lifting and lowering your chest. His gaze rakes over the flecks of life in the forms of scars, stretch marks, and sun-kissed freckles here and there across your skin. He admires your breasts, heavy with milk. The dusty rose blossoms of your areolae, their slightly uneven positions something he’s always loved despite your own chagrin. At the thought, he's nearly brought to an inward laugh, because it seems you never allow yourself the slightest break.

You slowly lift your head and meet his eyes. Before you can think, his lips are just below the corner of your mouth. Their cushion gently recedes as he pulls away.

Without hurrying, you set yourself again to the task of undressing him. You can already feel it—the viscosity of sweet syrup you’re both ensnared by. The perfervid, voracious need to prick oneself to the needle’s sharp tip while at the same time whetting it mercilessly with a nurtured apprehension to press too deeply too quickly, that the red bloom of pleasure may not spread and dissipate and be gone too soon. You both want to savor this. Its every moment.

You unlatch his belt and listen to the jingle of its buckle, letting yourself saturate and shiver with the heady lustiness of the sound. After unsnaking it from the loops of his trousers, it falls to the floor with a clatter. You crumple his crisp shirt as you push it up his body, then pull his white undershirt up from his slacks and over his head, allowing him to slip it from his shoulders himself. It musses his pomaded hair, and he jostles it from one wrist onto the floor, though his attention is on you. He reaches for your jaw and kisses you again, this time landing squarely on the corner of your lips.

When he pulls away, you meet his eyes with a soft smile.

You push his trousers and black boxer briefs together down his trunk and legs in one motion. You hear the unsteady breath he can’t prevent and know that the fabric has necessarily brushed his half-hardened sex. He steps from the heap of his clothing and is now as bare as you are.

Though you’re mere inches apart, the two of you gaze at each other for a few moments, taking in the sights of your bodies. The personage of the only one you know like this. The only one you love like this. And what you can’t know is in the union of your minds, you’re both esteeming the other:

This body that has obeyed him to the uttermost;

this body that has carried her through every day of her life;

that has borne it all;

that has fought so hard.

These bodies that are of the two of you.

There is no Arthur without his body. There is no you without yours. What illimitable comfort to know that you both love all of the other. Not in spite of, but including your bodies. And that all of that love is right here.

The mere nearness of Arthur is enough to send a powerful, heady wave of pleasurable desire through you.

You let your gaze peruse his form. The faint moles on his torso, beneath the bold hair that fans and spreads over his sturdy chest, their whorls of wayward coils unimaginably sexy to you. The wide bulge of his back that veers out from under his arms and narrows towards his waist. Even now, you can see his back in your mind’s eye: the softly rippling dimples of muscle under his pale skin, speckled with dustings of hair.

With lifted palms, you draw closer, until you can rest a hand on each pectoral. One arm slithers over his shoulder, and your softly curled fingers come to rest and drape there now, upon that back you know so well. As your chests are pressed together, your areolae are brushed by his hair, and the meeting of the twain sends deliciously tingling bolts of pleasure through you.

With the other hand, you slide your fingers up his profile and along his temple, letting your fingertips brush lightly into his golden-chestnut hairline.

He is so beautiful, you think almost audibly as you watch his face, just as his eyes shutter at your soft and loving touch.

You’re transported to the first time you ever touched each other as lovers. How thoroughly struck with fright you had been, standing before him, trembling, and quietly heaving to catch your breath. You’d tried to tell him you’d never, ever been touched, did not know how to receive touch, how to be touched.

How did it happen, how did it ever happen to anyone, you had spilled, that they could trust another person to love them enough to touch them in places no one ever had? To meet body to body and trust the other person to go right on loving them, and not throw them away? How could you let his hand be where no other hand had been, let his very body be inside your own, and not fall apart with joy and terror and fulfilled longing and passion and fear? You had been alone so very long, so very, very long, you had sputtered—had always been, and you simply didn’t know how to not be.

And when he saw you, you had groaned your plea through a jaw clenched in near panic, could he please, please not hate you, please?

He’d simply sat on the edge of the bed and had drawn you to him with soulful, cerulean eyes filled with empathy and not a speck of pity, annoyance, or rancor.

You had gasped as you’d let yourself be pulled close, because was it already happening?

You didn’t know anything about what to do for him, you’d explained. You didn’t know anything about this—well—of course, you knew what happens. But you didn’t know anything for yourself. What to do for him, or what it feels like.

In that moment, you’d envisioned his bare chest and belly, both dusted with a fine coat of coarse hair, as you had seen bared many times during outdoor activities. But what could it feel like to touch him there, to feel the warmth of him, to rustle the hair with your fingers, or rest your cheek upon his breathing belly? You could not imagine the feel of any of it. Could only guess or envision it. Because you had never in your life been wanted or welcomed graciously into another’s bared and intimate nearness.

In this way, your rash mouth had gone ahead of you, before your mind could chide it: Didn’t he want someone who knew what to do for him? Who knew what to do because she had been wanted before?

With the last, you had dipped into a whisper to try to hide your breaking voice. But the new runoff upon your cheeks had damned you and could not be hidden.

No, he’d replied, he wanted you.

And your stupid mouth had blurted: Well, you wanted that for him.

No sooner had you said it than you required a shaky breath.

“You— I—” You had struggled to dive into black waters for words to convey to him that you were not interesting, not beautiful, young or fresh or smooth in body, not talented, confident, redeemable, not worth anything. With your trembling chin dimpled in pain, your voice broken and with eyes pleading for understanding, you had come up for air with only a few words in your hands: “I’m just a person.”

His soft, growing smirk had somehow been gentle and kind, and he’d reached up to stroke your jaw with the pad of his thumb. “You’re right,” he’d said. “You’re a person.” His smirk had faded just a little, to something more thoughtful. “Person I love.”

He’d taken your pinked face in his hands and had quietly spoken as he’d kissed your lips, your jaw, and eventually your neck. He’d poured into your heart the words you needed to believe in order to trust, to love, and to find yourself no longer alone: that good love was a choice, and that he would always make it. That your soul overlapped with his. And that if he was right, he knew you could find it in yourself to trust that he’d care for you well, and let him show you his love in each touch, and stay in your life forever after.

And he was right. To this day, you can’t remember removing your clothing. If it had been possible, they’d simply slipped off, as they’ve just done now. Together, you’d proceeded to experience breathtaking intimacy—every moment uncomfortable and new and wonderfully rapturous in its visceral potency. And after your union, he had not left you; and he had not loved you less, but even more, somehow.

Years later, you’re still unable to express all that the meeting of his skin to yours means to you—even something as beguilingly simple as his kiss. What an unfathomable gift, his every touch, after having lived so much life without knowing any at all, without believing you ever, ever would.

Your thoughts return to the present when Arthur brings a hand gently to your profile and cradles your face in his loving fingertips.

Feeling the moment slow, Arthur looks into your eyes. He takes in their shape and shade, the chaff and flagstone flashes in your irises. He even notices that you didn’t don mascara this evening, yet your lashes remain fluffy and feathery, if not fanned and curled. He notes the naturally round glisten to your eyes, blazing with quiet passion and empathy as they are, while returning his gaze.

You feel Arthur’s arms slink around your bare waist, tickling you. His large hands fan out over your back, and the two of you meet in a kiss. It gradually deepens to pulsating, until you’re both on the verge of reeling, both pressing the other closer by the back.

Arthur finally breaks the kiss only to tuck himself into the crook of your neck, enfolding you in a hug.

Your cheek skids against his as you listen to your breathed name from his lips. And, with your eyes faintly ruddled and breathing through an open mouth, you float amidst the hazy, whelming concoction of bliss and arduously tested love in his embrace.

After several moments of holding you, he retreats until his mouth is near your cheek. With a soft smile that you can’t see until after his invitation is quietly spoken, he asks,

“Take a shower with me?”

When you catch a glimpse of that soft grin on his down-tipped face, your mouths hovering near each other, you look up into his eyes. At the thought, you wear your own grin, and it grows as you simply nod.

The next minute’s passage sees him standing inside the stone-tiled, walk-in shower while the hot water streams, holding out a hand to you. He watches with a smile as you take it and step over the shower’s threshold into its balmy warmth. You couldn’t have avoided your own smile at the sweetness of the gesture if you’d tried.

Once inside, he closes the door behind you, and you both wet your hair, hands sluicing back to smooth it. The steamy air is aglow with minuscule orbs of silver, their collected effect coating your nostrils with the same fine sheen that crowns your skin. Their bigger cousins are already congregating on the spangled glass door, shaking and catching the light as though lined with silver foil, until they accumulate and fall one by one like a tear, leaving an empty trail through the veiled layer of mist. A feathery fog rises and envelops you both, until you’re tucked away somewhere celestial, just you two. You smile with lust as your gaze ambles over the shape of Arthur’s body—perfectly plump ass, bold shoulders, strong thighs, and carved hip bones framing his thick manhood—all outlined with slick, glistening light.

Your first impulse is to swing your arms up around his neck and kiss him. As you do, his arms slip into place around your waist, hands resting on your lower back, beneath your wet, darkened tresses. You tip your head to the side and kiss him deeply, pushing your fingers into his wet hair. But you’re quick to briefly tilt your head to the other side, continuing to kiss him.

Arthur can taste the distant remnants of tawny port on your tongue. You notice the day’s-end stubble on his cheeks and dimpled chin as you dip your head back to where you’d started, never breaking the kiss.

You feel him moan a quiet, “Mm,” before the kiss comes to a natural end, and he pulls his lips away from yours.

Your head remains in the position you’d kissed him, stuck in bliss. There is nowhere you would rather be than here, in the shower, wrapped in your love’s arms, your own hooked up around his neck.

He begins to grin as he glances into your eyes and presses another short kiss to your lips. You feel his hands lift from your back and hear them gently turn the bottles and things on the soap ledge behind you.

“Gonna let me bathe you?” he asks.

Your tone is bleary and quiet rather than insolent. “Bathe me?”

“Mm.”

“What about you?” you ask, brushing back a stray clump of wet strands from his forehead.

The first syllable of his answer is a drawled, softly grunted mix of well and yeah. “You can bathe me too.”

You lift your head at the thought, and after a moment, offer, “I get to bathe you first.”

He pauses perusing the items on the ledge and looks into your face with an incredulously annoyed smirk. “You stole my idea.”

“You’ll never get bathed if I don’t bathe you first.”

With a large, open grin, he lifts his head back and chuffs a stuttered laugh. “Ah. I see.” You purse your lips against a burgeoning grin as he gives his head a tip, conceding. “I see.”

His hands return to their home base at your lower back.

Lowering your arms and reaching them past either side of his waist towards the soap ledge behind him in the opposite far corner, you ask, “Which soap?”

Watching your face and fighting the flicker of a smirk, he answers, “River birch.”

Of the two bars on the ledge, you take the one swirled with white and dark green. You pull it under his arm and hold it below his nose.

“Mm-hm,” he mumbles, never taking his eyes from your face, the gravel of his voice warm in his throat.

Gratified, your eyes flit down to the soap, and you take it in a swirling motion through his chest hair. “Have to get a lather.”

His smirk widens to a bright grin, and when he laughs, you smile with him. He’s mesmerized by your beautifully dark, clumped, wet lashes radiating from both your eyes as you begin your work.

You take the bubbly bar up over his shoulder, admiring its striated bulk. You swirl the bar across his large back and pass it to your other hand, then bring it forward over his opposite shoulder.

After passing the bar through the hair under both his arms, you slowly bring it down his gently scored abdomen. You lower yourself to a squat in time with your hands, letting yourself savor the beautiful sight and sensation of his belly—the form of its strong, firm plane, while the skin itself is simultaneously plump and healthy; the smattering of dark hair half-hiding the small mole below his ribs; the soft buoyancy beneath your fingers that bespeaks the natural lack of bone beneath the surface; and the dulcet rim of his perfect navel.

Without thinking, you lean forward forward and kiss that navel—initially a chaste, clicked kiss, then you open your mouth and dip your tongue to sweep the water droplets from its crater.

An airy, broken moan escapes him, and you smile to yourself.

Drawing back, you gaze at the long, taut span of his lower abdomen, just above his pubic bone, that stretches from his navel to his sex. It’s a portion of him that often lowers itself to meet the same portion of you in all your soulful lovemaking, each brushing the other with every lithe undulation of your torsos.

With alternating hands, you let your featherlight fingers dance upwards through his trail of hair there. You lean forward and kiss a path down his lower abdomen, savoring the taut, sloping incline of his pubis.

Giving him a moment to gather himself, you spare him any touch of the soap bar to his erection, swiping it instead through his pubic hair. But you make sure to pass it beneath his testes before finally taking the suds in your palm and gently cupping the base of his erection, its surface like a wooden staff in your hand.

He stiffens and grinds out a windy huff, trying hard to avoid sounding as though he’s been beaten senseless.

“Got frisky hands there,” he says.

“Gotta get you clean,” you almost sing.

“Just remember, your time will come,” he says, smirking at you. “Just remember.”

Your smile flashes wider. “I’m counting on it.”

You stand and draw your body closer to his as you return the bar to his back and reach to swipe it down over his firm ass cheeks. You dip your fingertips into his cleft and swirl the bar in a circle down and around each cheek. You avoid his intent eyes as you let your fingers linger there, clearly taking your time to savor the smoothness of his skin and the gloriously, perfectly round shape of each cheek.

You swipe the bar around both his thighs and squat again to begin gently scrubbing his hairy calves. With your face again so near his tightly erect sex, you can’t help but place a kiss sweetly to the side of its tip.

He hisses and catches himself upon the tile wall. “Baby, don’t, you’ll fell me.”

“I won’t,” you respond, continuing to bathe his calf. “You got plans, huh?”

He nods, his clenched expression still recovering. “I got plans.”

“I think I’ll like ‘em.”

“You will,” he assures. And after another few moments, decides to add in quiet tones, “Ain’t only about me. Not tonight.”

Though you continue to swipe the soap over his leg, the spoken words have you inwardly considering them.

You stand and return the soap to the far ledge as he steps under the water to rinse.

“There,” you sigh as you resume your place before him, slip your arms around his neck again, and kiss him. You feel his hands return to your back and hold you. “Did I do a good job?”

“A very good job,” he says between kisses. When you slip your mouth up his jaw and nibble his slick earlobe, his eyes roll back into his head, and he chuffs an open-mouthed laugh. After taking a moment to recover, he reaches for the items on the ledge behind you, mumbling quietly near your ear, “Come an’ pick one a’ these,”

You turn between his outstretched arms, suddenly feeling as nude and as cherished as a babe when your slick breasts brush against him. Facing forward with him, you smile and nibble your lip, relishing the warmth of his cheek tucked beside yours.

“The almond.”

He mumbles satisfactorily, “Good choice,” and kisses you pertly on the cheek as he reaches for your bottle of almond wash, an oil that turns to a fine, milky lather when met with water.

You watch him pop the back of the cap and pour the amber oil into his wet palm. He sets the bottle back and rubs his hands together, creating the fine white suds.

“Here we are,” he says, his low voice laced with grit.

Arthur wastes no time, flattening his hand against your sternum and slowly taking it straight down, between your breasts, over your belly, and further to the triangle of hair between your legs.

“Gotta get you clean,” he says as he runs his sudsy fingers through the coarse hair between your legs, and the blatant cheekiness is not lost on you.

You sigh, lean slightly back into him, and hook one arm up around his neck, giving him a full, unhindered view to the front of your body.

Bringing his hands to your chest, he cups and kneads your breasts, savoring their silken texture and making sure to flick his thumbs across your beaded nipples. You take a half-step forward, letting the water rinse the suds he’s placed down the front of you.

He leans down and kisses the point where your neck and shoulder meet. You lower your arm from around his neck, though you continue to keep your arm back and grasp the side of his thigh. He swipes the lather over your shoulder and down the length of your arm.

With the residual suds left in his palm, he stretches his hand out across your side, fitting you snugly into the web between his finger and thumb. He slowly brings it down your form, past your waist and over the curve of your hip and sumptuous body. As he does, he watches your shimmering, plump flesh continuously squeeze out from under the web of his hand.

“Goddamn,” he breathes.

After several moments, you feel the rim of his open mouth along the curve of your shoulder. You glance back to find him practically slumped to you with cupidity, his drowsy eyes glazed with longing, upper lip curling as it skids across your skin, ready to mouth any point on you he can get to.

And he does. He abandons the bathing, as you thought he would. With a moan, he takes the round corner of your shoulder into his mouth. His tongue is eager to rake over you, and you watch as he begins to suckle your skin as though it were the sweetest of honey to him, and all he needs.

The far gone look in his eyes does something more to you than merely tell you he’s been given into the arms of desire. At once, it both feeds a previously frail flicker in your chest and melts you entirely.

Without warning, you turn to him and take his jaw in your hand, promptly kissing him deeply. He pours a moan into your mouth. Your tongues meld as he brings a hand to the back of your neck, propping your jaw up with his thumb.

While maintaining the kiss, he backs you to the cold tile wall, gently pinning you there with his body. At the chill, you briefly gasp and break the kiss, but you’re quick with penance, hurriedly seeking his mouth again. You feel the lovely cage of his forearms on either side of you where he braces himself against the wall.

He braces the other side of your throat with his hand and thumb as his mouth traverses your jaw and downward, where he kisses your neck. Such a simple act of loving-kindness as this has you smiling dazedly with a sigh, has your eyes rolling back at the sensation of his sweetly sucking kisses, at the perfect fit of the plane of his cheek tucked flush to the underside of your jaw.

He pecks a trail along your collarbone and licks the soft space between your breasts. He trails further towards the curved swell of one breast and its pursed bead. There he takes you in his mouth and laves you, feeling your slipknot leak warmth, tasting your droplets of sweet milk.

Each drag of his tongue over the face of your nipple sends tiny sparks of pleasure through you, some reaching your belly and causing it to lurch and flip inside you. Letting your head loll back against the shower wall, you sigh and caress the back of Arthur’s head, weaving your fingers through his wet hair.

When he releases your breast and ventures lower as his hair slips from your fingers, your eyes flutter open, and you lift your head from the wall.

“A-Arthur,” you sigh. “What about… I thought you said—”

“Shh-shhh…” he mutters between kisses to your skin as his hands slide down your hips.

Surely he must know you mean to refer to his sentiment, that tonight was supposed to not be about one or the other, but both of you.

“Does this fit into your plan?” you ask.

In the middle of kissing your lower belly, he pulls back. With lifted brows and a flat affect, he answers, “Perfectly,” before hungrily returning his lips and tongue to your skin.

Smiling dazedly, you take liberty to reach both hands back into his hair as he goes on kissing you.

Arthur pauses above your pubic bone, beneath which he knows rests the central, womanly parts of you that will respond to all his loving touch, will coil with the heat of your climaxes, and will be relied upon to radiate pleasure to the rest of you. And he blesses it with a kiss.

As the shower’s stream falls steadily at his back, he stoops ever lower. He peppers your mons and vulva with kisses and parts you with his fingers.

At the first hot flick of his tongue, your breath catches. As you shut your eyes, your lashes saturate amidst the shower’s dew collecting atop your cheeks. He licks up your labia, and you keen, nearly sobbing when you rest your head back against the tile wall and whine, “Oh my God.”

You narrowly avoid squirming when you feel the heated slip of his tongue running against you, delving between your pillowy folds, feel his breath in a sigh of his own pleasure.

Arthur lifts your left thigh until your foot comes to rest on the stone shower seat and hears a growly moan seep from your chest as he dips his chin forward to take you with his tongue, entering you slowly, diligently. He sips at your abundant arousal, then slides his tongue up towards the apex of your sex. He finds your sweet, tender bud beautifully swollen and nearly thrumming with need for him. He swirls his tongue there and relishes in the outcry it elicits from you. It’s better than any music to him, and he can’t restrain his groan against your sex.

He brings the tips of his fingers to your margin, eager to feel each new rush of wetness—one of the best signs from your body that he’s pleasuring you well. He’s further aroused by your canal’s every flicker, by the tightening of your fingers in his hair, and your whimpered gasps. They nearly send him over, and he hurriedly pulls away and stands to his feet.

In a state of desperation and honed purpose, the two of you clamber for each other, hands scrambling and ragged breaths running away like stallions at a gallop. You come off the wall for him, and he turns you to stand before him, facing the shower head. You feel his chest at your back between your shoulder blades, feel the insistent stiffness of his length near your soft rear.

Taking a blessed moment for tenderness, you force yourself to slow and lean back into his solid form amidst the shower’s steam. You rest your head all the way back onto his shoulder, hoping for his mouth to meet yours. You swallow and gasp, your tongue clicking dryly as you hook an arm up around his neck.

“Arthur,” you whine, trying to press all your love and need for him into the simultaneously feeble and glorious shapes of words. “Oh, God, Arthur!”

Before you can say any more, his mouth fully covers yours. “I’m here, baby,” he says between kisses, though his lips never completely draw away from yours. “I’m right here with you.”

A cascade of moaned devotednesses falls from your mouths, each syllable overlied by the return of the other.

“Won’t ever leave me?”

“Never.”

“So good to me.”

“Mother of my child.”

“You’re my home.”

“My soul. ‘Ve told you that before.”

As your kisses halt, you simply nod, gazing into his eyes.

His head dips down again, and he begins to suckle your neck. When you next catch a glimpse of his mountain melt eyes, there’s a shimmer of wry, smiling light to them.

“You my baby?” he hums into your neck, a new playfulness in his tone.

“Yes,” you breath.

He trails his fingers to your side and digs them into a spot he knows very well is ticklish. A grin widens his mouth when your brief, squealed giggle doesn’t fail him.

“You were a downright woman tonight,” he says, his large hand beginning to slide more slowly than a stubborn, clinging water droplet down your chest, over the heavy swell of your breast, and down the front of your body.

“Proper vixen,” he says, his voice husky in your ear. “Had to dig my nails into my palms to keep from gettin’ hard all through dinner.”

You release a low, unctuous moan at the revelation, feeling all inhibitions leaving you completely and the pool of slick between your thighs warming deeply.

“Somethin’…ain’t quite fair about that… Doin’ that to a man,” he says, his ambling voice growing gruff and laden thickly with lust. “‘Specially one who loves you.”

Ever conscious of the torturously-paced lowering of his hand, you struggle to heed his words. You gulp as his hand finally, finally begins to reach your pubis.

“You know I need you, hm?”

You nod.

“Gonna let me show you?” As Arthur takes your mons into the pocket of his palm, he watches you from over your shoulder—watches the way your lips quiver when enraptured. And he is stricken by the gentle sincerity of your trust him, by the mere thought of having your body, sweetly warm and swollen with need, in his hands. He lowers his mouth closer to your ear and nearly growls, “Gonna let me take you?”

You nod hurriedly, chest heaving. Your hissed breath hitches at the sensation of his other hand reaching beneath your buttocks and lower, to the folds of your femininity, heated and tender and swollen, slick with arousal, and more than ready—famished with need for him.

“I just—” you huff and swallow, trying to collect your thoughts amidst the haze of passionate desire just enough to voice your concern for him as you begin to straighten. “Just want to make sure to take care of you too.”

You hear him chuckle with affection behind you. “You are, darlin’.”

Exhaling a soft, bleary whimper, you lower your head and shift your feet to stand with parted legs.

With one hand below your ass, he spreads your labia and dips his fingers into you, and with his other hand, he begins to stroke your clit in loving, syrupy circles. For a moment, the fingers of both hands brush each other between your legs. You shiver and mewl at his masterful handling.

His chest presses snugly against your back, and you feel him languidly enter you. A loud, feral groan escapes you both. You lean forward and reach one hand to the tile wall before you to brace yourself.

He clutches you to him, outstretched fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your lower belly. You both begin to slowly rock and jut, taking your time to delight in devouring every part of each other. Arthur’s hand that isn’t stroking your clit comes up to knead your breast. He kisses your shoulder, now covered with beads of dew. Before long, you’re both moaning and shouting in a sultry duet.

He fills you and reaches deeper with each undulating thrust. Together, one. In that reaching press of a joining, a voice. One without words, inarticulate and formless and spectral, yet communicating to your soul. Yes, I love you here, it says. In the depths of you. And, with each slaking heave: Yes, you mean something to me. Everything.

The overwhelming, intoxicating pleasure begins to reach your brain in a misty stupor. You lift your eyes and notice your hand upon the tile wall, splayed fingers squished tightly against the diamond-shaped inlay of smaller, transparent glass tiles, a shade of dark maple. Their shine winks at you mischievously from under your hand. On any other day, you would have hardly noticed them as you went about your mundane hygiene routine. But today they have become a naughty, scandalized witness to your steamy lovemaking.

With a glance to the glass door, you find scattered swipes through the tiny beads of mist clinging there—another evidence of your heated, rapacious coupling.

You moan and squeal in impassioned delight, each new outcry more desperate than the last. Shutting your eyes, you lift your face to feel the stray flecks of water on your skin. You listen to Arthur’s breathy moans, disbelieving expletives, and unconstrained mumbles of pleasure.

The thought briefly flutters through your mind—what you must sound like together, hidden in such an innocent place as the master bath shower, moans and cries slightly muffled amidst the soft sound of a steadily running stream—and your arousal heightens further. You mewl unintelligible endearments and encouragements to him, calling his name.

“Nah,” you suddenly hear him grind out in a breathy whisper. “Cm’ere.”

In one swift move, he indelicately turns you to stand with your back against the wall, facing him. There’s hardly any time lost as you gasp for breath and he wedges himself between your thighs, quickly sliding forward to bury himself inside you again.

Shuddering, you desperately reach for him, gripping the hair at the back of his head by the root and searching his mouth feverishly, keen to breath his every breath and hold him and feel his smothering love, his nearness bound tightly all around you. It’s in the midst of this fever that you come to realize he’d needed the very same.

With your mouth dropped open and chest heaving wildly, you let your eyes close and feel the warmth of his skin between your thighs, feel his flesh inside you. With roaming hands, you chart a course over the dips of muscle in his back, smooth a path down the dimples above his rear, savor the slick sheen over the pronounced curves of his plump, firm ass—the same ass that flexes and contracts with each sweet, rolling thrust into you.

Somehow, even in this moment, something inside your heart and mind, some niggling frailty, seems to still wish you could be all to him that he is to you—set apart, miraculous in your world, adored. Love of your life.

But maybe there are no such things in the real world.

“I love you,” he breathes with a moan, face hidden in your neck. The bulk of his chest expands, and he exhales it again.

Your face nearly crumples with the sheer force of emotions that crash over you like a surging whitecap. With a strangled, stuttered laugh, you confess it in return to him.

He lifts his face and cradles the top of your wet head in his large hand. “Love of my life,” he whispers before covering your mouth with his own.

The next minutes are a sweltering fit of rolling, jutting hips and clasped fists as you both enter a near frenzy to bring the other to climax. Who will be filled with a leaden plume of delight, will die first, and be revived to shepherd the other?

Your heart thrums a fiery, spasmodic beat. The sounds of your ragged gasps and Arthur’s moans fill the shower. It’s not long and your whole body is clutching tightly to his, clenching with the immediate demand of ecstasy, gripped by the throes of some violently inversive vacuum, desperate to house a proffered portion of his soul within yours. Two vessels pouring back and forth into each other, the smoky incense of life breathed from mouth to nostrils.

Arthur jerks and convulses, and there it is: starlight. That splintered smear of luminosity he’d missed in the murky penumbra of the city tonight, he’s found here with you.

You’re reeling with the massive flood of pleasure that overtakes and saturates you, contracting and groaning with it, and Arthur is almost hiccupping and whining at the tail end of each gasped breath as he releases himself inside you.

Cemented together, you hold him secure as he quivers and trembles against you. Panting hard, bodies a mirror to the other as parts of you both unfurl, one piece at a time, like petals. You stroke his back and feel the rush of his breath against your collarbone. With open hands, you press the pads at the base of your fingers to his cheekbones and gently lift his face from its hiding place. As he emerges, you pull your chin back to look at him and find that his eyelids are lowered. But his eyes are clear and bright, a sated glimmer resting in the irises as a smile—small, but confident and strong—begins to tug at the corners of his mouth. You feel your chest effervesce with quiet rejoicing at the sight, and you press several kisses to his cheeks and the corners of his lips.

When he receives your mouth to his, the grinning kiss is messy and shining with saliva, lips and tongues knitted by a soft, rested laziness.

After a few minutes, Arthur twists the shower’s nozzle. He admires the darkened tendrils of hair stuck to the curve of your neck in beautifully slender waves as the water sluices down the curves of your form in hastened rivulets. As the stream dissipates, you remain clasped together, arms around each other and body to body. When Arthur steps from the shower, you step with him, one leg at a time. You’re held fast to him, letting no space come between you. The thought occurs to him then that the way you cling to each other is both very childlike, and very adult, somehow.

Taking a towel from the rack, Arthur makes measly efforts to dry you both while you remain in each other’s tight embrace. Still holding onto each other, you clunkily walk together to the bed and flop down.

For a long time, you remain quiet, feeling the dew of leftover water droplets gradually cool atop your skin and dry against the sheets. He’s on his back, and you’re lying belly down, halfway overtop of him, chin perched on his chest, one arm curled up with its hand resting on his pectoral, one leg woven between his. One of his arms cradles you, pressed between you and the mattress, hand limp at the small of your back, fingers thoughtlessly tracing patterns into your velvety skin.

A moment of perfect slowness, peace. Love.

Arthur reaches up to brush the hair away from your forehead, closing his eyes and opening them to simply look at you.

He folds his free arm up behind his head, and you watch as his eyes venture away for a few moments, up at the ceiling. A few minutes pass, and you listen to his breathing, his swallowing.

“I wonder…” he suddenly begins, his voice quiet.

“What Grace is doing,” you say together, and you both chuckle when you glance into each other’s knowing eyes.

Your head bobs where your chin rests on his chest as you speak. “Think she’s sleeping?”

“Yeah,” he responds softly, tenderly. “Yeah, I do.”

At once, you’re seized by a depth of something raw and incalculable, even fearsome in its size, and you gulp it enough to scoot up just a bit, until you can gaze down into his face. He shifts and looks back into your squinting eyes. You reach up and run your fingertips over his crows’ feet, down his cheek bone, over the outermost borders of his mouth, and across his plump bottom lip.

“I love you,” you breathe, and your voice around the confession is small and hoarse.

A clearness, a staidness, filters over his features. “I love you more than life,” he says, addressing you by name. There is no duplicity or hesitation in his firm voice, and his arresting gaze is sure.

You lean down for his waiting mouth, and he reaches to brush a thumb across your cheek during the gently lissome kiss.

You nestle back down into the sure cleft of his embrace, resting your cheek on his chest. He strokes his big fingers over your temple, attempting to swipe your hair behind your ear, or otherwise dually caress and assure you in his funnily insouciant and sweetly masculine way.

After a few more minutes of quiet, a wry smirk begins to creep onto your mouth at the return of a certain thought, and you venture it aloud. “That was really good, by the way.”

Your smirk blooms into a shimmering grin at the rumble of the chest beneath you in response.

“That was damn good, is what that was,” chortles your lecherous lothario, his deep voice lined thickly with gratified gravel.

Still beaming, you glance up at him as he laughs, because you’re more than thrilled to be debauched by your debonair husband, who clearly still loves you and still wants you every day.

When you return your cheek to his chest, you add mischievously in an intentionally sultry and groggy tone, “My new favorite place.”

The laugh in his chest rattles you again.

“Shower,” he hisses with a snicker.

After a few minutes of stillness, he begins to shift underneath you.

“Well then,” he mumbles saucily, producing the beginnings of a low giggle in you as he tumbles and rotates the two of you until you’re beneath him and he’s splayed over you, kissing your lips and neck. “I’ll just have to remind you how good a place the bed can be.”

His spirit is more exultant than those of the richest of kings at the way your giggle trills, loud and sweeter than any honey, at his quipped tease and at the love that flows through all his sugared, caressing touches.

a/n: Comments are genuinely always welcome, and re-blogs are very, very much appreciated. A sincere thank-you for taking the time to read and for your gracious support.

Taglist: @shootybangbang @photo1030 @appalachiancowboy99 @clevergirl74 @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @subpopizzy @cassietrn

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cottonlemonade · 19 days ago

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Dracula And His Damsel

word count: 1135 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Kyotani x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff with a pinch of spice

warnings: mdni, suggestive

request: watching Nightmare Before Christmas with pumpkin-spice, dressed as a tomato with Kyotani || fluffy-spicy, Halloween costume shopping with boyfriend Kyotani

Only through the power of undying love was Kyotani able to cross the threshold of the costume parlor. After weeks of hints decreasing in subtlety by the day, had he agreed to a couple’s costume for this year’s Halloween party under the condition that it would be nothing too out there or embarrassing. Even though, in all honesty, you could have asked him to wear a dress and he would have, just to see you smile.

“How about this one?”, you asked, holding up a picture of the Barbie movie on your phone, “You’re halfway there already. You’re hot, blond and your name is Kentaro.”

You giggled at your own joke and it turned into a full laugh when you saw his unimpressed expression.

“Let’s make this quick, alright?”

“Ah ah ah, good things take time, babe. Now, what are you in the mood for? Something dangerous? Creepy? Funny? Sexy?” With each new word, you pulled a different costume from the rack.

Your boyfriend raised a brow at the last piece. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“The Phantom of the Opera. A classic…”, you sighed dreamily, “And pretty simple. I just need a fancy ball gown for my part. Wanna try it on?”

“I’m good.”, he replied, disinterested, “Let’s get that one and leave.”

You hit him with the big doe eyes - a trick that had yet to fail its effect.

“But I wanna see how it looks beforehand. Please~?”

Today was no different.

“Fine…” Snatching the cloak and mask from you, he let you usher him to the spacious changing rooms - no wonder they were so big, considering some costumes were made to be worn by two people.

Five minutes later you brushed the curtain to the side to inspect. Kyotani flinched, needlessly trying to cover himself even though he was fully dressed.

“Ya can’t just come in here, ya know?”

“Says who?”, you replied and began brushing along the cloak and fixing his collar, “You look so handsome… even more so than usual.”

It was no use pretending that he didn’t love your praise. Years of pathetically crushing on you, followed now by months of clumsily being a boyfriend for the very first time had taught him that when it came to you, anything was his weakness. And your warm hands running over his chest, combined with sweet talk ensured he would stay in this dressing room until closing time if you told him to.

Reaching out of the curtain for a moment, you produced another hanger with a - to him - absolutely identical costume you found.

“If the phantom isn’t it, how about we go with another classic? Draculaaaa~”

“And who would you be?”

“Well…”, you said, tapping your finger thoughtfully on your chin, “I could either be some woman you seduce ooor maybe a vampire huntress?”

He hated how that idea made him blush and he was even more embarrassed when you noticed.

“Oh? You like the idea? Well, say no more! Imma grab a dress.” And with that, you wooshed out of the changing room.

A little while later, while he was tying the black and red cape, you slipped back through his curtain.

“Could you please help me with the corset, baby?”

“The c-…”

You would 100% be the death of him. It was only a matter of time.

Part of the reason he fell for you in the first place was that you were the exact opposite of him, bright and friendly, definitely something people would call approachable. And where he was considered lean and lanky, you were soft and rounded. This had led to many many afternoons of him bringing you home after a date and not being able to stop when you kissed him Goodnight because the feeling of your warm chub between his cold fingers was more addictive than anything he’d ever experienced.

“Babe?”, you asked when he could only stare.

“Hm?”

“The corset?”

“Right.”

You smiled and turned your back to him expectantly.

He examined the laces.

“Uhm… what… what do I do?”

“It’s kinda like putting on shoes, just tighten it a little. Not too much though, I like to breathe.”

The knowledge that he could hurt you in this situation if he did something wrong, made him hesitate but with a bit more encouragement (praise) he finished the job in no time.

“What do you think?”

You tilted your head a little, meeting his eyes in the large mirror.

“Pretty.”, he said, clearing his throat. His eyes had dropped down and landed on your breasts, plump and on display with the corset.

Obviously, you caught him looking. “Yeah?”, you teased, “Let’s take a picture. I wanna try something.”

You turned to the side, leaning your back against the wall, and pulled out your phone.

He stood there, waiting for instructions.

“Come here and pretend to bite my neck.”

And there was that stupid blush again. He stepped closer and opened his mouth as wide as he could, hovering over that sensitive bit of skin that usually made you so… noisy when you were alone. The camera clicked and he straightened, waiting for your verdict.

“Hm.”, you said, “It doesn’t look quite right.” You turned the screen so he could see. He looked very very stiff but that was his default in any pictures to be fair. He only had two modes. Stiff or glaring - already a huge upgrade from his high school days.

“Maybe this time try putting your hand here - yes, like that, the other there - perfect - and when you lean in, maybe just kiss my neck but with a bit more teeth.”

A truly terrible idea as he came to realize soon enough. The smell of your perfume and feeling of your warmth had him entranced and he could only vaguely hear you taking one picture after another.

You didn’t tell him to stop.

Only a small eternity later did he hear you gasp his name.

He moved in even closer, pressing his body against you, and automatically slotted his leg between yours.

His sharp incisors raked over your skin, making you shudder in his arms.

You brought your hands up to rest on his shoulders, steadying yourself as he continued to kiss, touch, and grind.

A large calloused hand came up to your breasts but with the corset, it was impossible to grab. He focused on his thigh pushing up to your core, groaning with frustration at that piece of impenetrable fabric keeping him from feeling heaven.

“Excuse me? Sir? Miss? What are you doing?”, the voice of the store clerk rang through the curtain and burst the hot bubble you were in.

“We’re almost out.”, you replied, decidedly croaky sounding.

Suddenly glad for the robes hiding his otherwise very prominent problem, Kyotani panted quietly, “We should get these ones.”

art: @_geolatte on Twitter

a/n: request for @rosetakemi

Thank you very much for your request! Ngl I thought I would struggle a whole lot more writing for him but it was actually really fun! I hope you enjoyed it 🌟

That concludes the Halloween event. Thank you so so much to everyone who participated, liked, commented, and reblogged. While the event was going on I surpassed 1000 followers and I can’t wrap my head around that. That’s so many of you!!! The next event will be a much simpler one that I had planned since… like May, but always kept pushing back because I thought of other things xD

#sunnys movie night #kyotani x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x curvy reader #hq fluff #kentaro kyotani #haikyuu kyotani #kyotani x reader #kyotani smut

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cy-cyborg · 1 year ago

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Please stop giving your leg amputees weird robot toes. I don't know why this is as much if a pet peeve to me as it is, but there's a reason why even the most advanced prosthetics irl don't have them and its not because the tech isnt there yet (kind of).

Making that many joints so close together is very difficult and will make the foot increadibly heavy for function that can mostly be replicated by a sheet of bendy carbon fibre (what irl prosthetic feet are usually made of). That many articulated joints are hard to control (even on hands, it's a challenge, and your hands dont have to weight bare), they will add a lot of weight, and will mean more power will be needed. Not to mention the joints would be points of weakness in an area that will be, at some stages in the walk cycle, bearing the majority of user's weight. Unless your character is going to be using their prosthetic feet as hands to grab things like that villain from Kim Possible, they are more trouble than they're worth, and your character doesn't need them.

And look, if the reason you want to give them robot toes is because you have a thing for feet... why did you make them a foot amputee, of all disabilities lol? Odd choices aside, if that's the reason, just be honest about it, because why else is it always "sexy cyborg" type characters that have them?

Joking aside, the goal of a prosthetic is not (usually) to look as similar to "the real thing" as possible, it's to improve mobility. As such, sometimes the best solution will not be what looks the most "normal with a robot aesthetic twist". In the event looking like the real thing is the main goal, we already have the tech for that. Many prosthetics have silicone covers that look so realistic you wouldn't be able to tell unless you can see the top of the socket (where the artificial limb meets the real thing) and you don't have to give up much mobility or functionality to use them, since that carbon fibre sheet I mention just gets hidden inside the cover.

Signed an amputee who finds your pudgy little foot fingers unsettling and wishes people would stop giving robot ones to characters unnecessarily for the sake of making something that looks "normal".

[ID: an animated gif of a character from Kim Possible in a red dressing gown, using his hand-like feet to pour himself some tea. he places the tea pot down and it focuses on his hands, in a close up. the caption reads "and risk damaging these hands?" /end ID]

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somanyratsinthewalls · 1 year ago

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A Little Funny Business (+18)

Pairing: Buggy x Afab!Reader

WC: 3760

Summary: As a Warlord, you’re always being invited to prestigious Marine Events. With your insatiable sexual appetite, you use these events as a hunting ground for your next prey, and tonight you’re feeling a bit… silly.

Warnings: Bisexual cunty BFF Mihawk, Alcohol consumption, Face Sitting (HONK), Oral Sex (m and f receiving), Inappropriate use of Devil Fruit Powers, nervous Bugs, Missionary, unprotected sex (bad idea!), cream pie (worse idea!), spitting, multiple orgasms, porn with a lot of plot for no reason.

*authors note* I saw someone ask a few weeks ago for more fics about Buggy being a huge loser and I was a little inspired by that LOL he's such a dork wow

MINORS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

——

“And why do I need to come to this again? I have much better things to be doing than rubbing elbows with those fools.” Dracule ‘Hawkeye’ Mihawk was lounging in your parlor chair with his boots kicked up on the glass coffee table, the large glass of red wine you had offered him swirling in his hand. He was your best… friend? As a fearsome pirate, no one had friends, per se, but he was probably the closest thing you had other than your own crew.

“Because…” You emphasize while you throw on one of your dresses from behind your changing curtain. “I’m in the mood for a romp and if I can’t find someone I think can satisfy me tonight, I might as well bring along ole reliable.” You peek over the top of the curtain and shoot him a wink. Over the years you’ve known each other, you and Mihawk realized that you have incredible sexual compatibility but the thought of being in a committed relationship repulsed you both.

Mihawk rolls his eyes at you.

“For future reference, it’s not sexy to tell a man that he’s your second choice.” He smirked as he sipped his wine. He was indifferent, he just liked to poke fun at you. “So who do you have your eyes on, then? Another Admiral?” He teased.

You scoff as you exit the curtain in a red plunging, halter, backless gown with a slit up nearly to your hip. “After Aokiji? No way. His hands were so cold I felt like I was the the doctor’s office.” You give Mihawk a twirl, gesticulating at your dress. “Thoughts?”

Mihawk takes another sip of his wine.

“You look like a whore.” He smiles slightly and quirks up an eyebrow at your body. You turn around to face yourself in the mirror. You grin.

“Perfect.”

— —

Upon docking your ship at the upper-class Marine town where the ball was being held, you slipped on your jacket and heels and made your way to the banquet hall. You made sure to arrive fashionably late, to make your presence known once most of the attendees have already gotten comfortable in their cups.

“Miss Y/n, I can take your coat, please allow me.” A dinky little pink-haired Marine Cadet gently shuffled your coat off your now bare shoulders.

“Aren’t you cute, thank you dear. Keep it warm for me, hey?” With a wink you slipped a one-thousand berry note into his uniform pocket.

“Y-y-y-yes! Of course, Miss! M-m-my pleasure!” The young cadet sputters out while hurrying off to hang your coat.

You square your shoulders as you saunter into the extravagant banquet hall filled with important men and women. The hall had vaulted ceilings with beautiful skylights and the walls were adorned with gold appliqué and candelabras. You feel the eyes of many on you as you stroll towards the bar.

“A gin martini please, up, extra dirty.” The bartender nods at you and begins mixing your cocktail. You reach into your purse for your pocket mirror and lipstick and reapply the gorgeous shade of red that matches your dress. After stowing your cosmetics, your drink was ready so you reach out and touch the martini glass.

“Really? The Marines can’t even spring for chilled glasses?” You furrow your brow at how cheap the government organization had gotten lately. You hear a low chuckle from the man next to you.

“Allow me.” You hear him say. Suddenly, as if by magic, a frost of ice begins to form from the bottom of your glass to the very top. Realizing who was standing beside you at the bar, you smile.

“I wondered where you’d made off to. You never called me back, you know.” Admiral Aokiji looks down at you.

“I do know. It’s nothing personal, Admiral, but keep frosting these glasses for me and I might just change my mind.” You wink and stroll back to the rest of the party with your drink.

After scanning the crowd you see Mihawk seated at a table with a few others. He was hard to miss… he just had to bring that eyesore of a weapon everywhere. You take the seat next to him and put your drink on the table.

“I miss anything good yet? Did the fishmen get here? They always make it weird.” You question Mihawk.

“No, painfully boring as expected.” Mihawk swigs from his drink. “At least it’s an open bar. Have you found your ‘soup of the day’ yet?” He inquires about your hunt for your next sexual conquest. You laugh out loud at his phrasing.

“Hah! Not yet. Old man Garp looks kind of nice lately though…” You say looking over your left shoulder at the vice-admiral who was paying attention only to the roving stewards with trays of meat-heavy appetizers. Mihawk crinkles up his nose slightly.

“He looks like he bites. Not in a good way.” The two of you make eye contact then snort into your drinks trying to hold in your laughter.

“Ah, my friends! What a pleasure to see you both!” A booming voice caused both you and Mihawk to turn around in your chairs. A massively tall, blonde, sunglasses-clad man was sidling your way.

“Oh gods, why him? I thought for sure he wouldn’t make it…” Mihawk whispers as he takes a huge gulp of his drink.

“Ugh.” You turn back towards the table, hoping he would just go away.

“Is that any way to greet an old pal?” DonQuixote Doflamingo laughs as he muscles his way in-between the two of you.

“Doflamingo.” You beam up at him with the fakest smile you could muster. You extend a limp hand which he takes in his much larger one. He licks his lips before he kisses it. “Couldn’t be bothered leaving that gaudy thing at the coat check?” You nod your chin towards his ridiculous hot pink jacket. Doflamingo chortles.

“Always such a charmer, y/n. What does a King have to do for you to join them in his bedchambers tonight?” He licks his lips again. Still smiling at him widely, you respond.

“When I say that I would rather cover a sea cucumber in sandpaper and-“

Doflamingo leans over you, trying to intimidate you.

“You’re rejecting me? You must think I won’t kill every single one in here and then-“

Mihawk rises and pushes a hand against Doflamingo’s massive chest.

“Wait until she has a few more martinis. She’s much more… adventurous. Speaking from experience… friend.” Mihawk dispels the situation with ease. Doflamingo huffs and heads off to converse with some Marine Higher-Ups.

“He’s going to actually kill you one day, you know.”

“I’d rather fight him than fuck him. He’s insufferable and you know it. Fucking bird brain.” You snap at Mihawk as you take the last sip of your drink. You notice Mihawk’s drink is empty as well. “Get me another drink, will you love?” You smile sweetly at the swordsman.

“You’re lucky I can’t say no to you.” Mihawk grabs your empty glasses and leaves for the bar. You take this opportunity to scan the ballroom for potential lovers or anyone interesting enough to even have a conversation with. You were starting to regret even coming… when you overhear two marine captains chatting near you.

“Who invited that guy?”

“Bro he’s a warlord now, can you believe that?”

“No way… he’s so… lame?”

This piqued your interest. You looked in the direction they were gesturing in. There was a man who had just arrived at the event, one you had yet to meet in person. This gentleman was wearing a slightly dirty orange fur jacket with a matching giant, orange pirate hat adorned with blue and green. What you noticed immediately, though, was his large, round, red nose.

“Buggy the clown, nice to meet ya. It’s me, Buggy, the clown. The Genius Jester, Buggy the Clown, yes that’s me. Captain Buggy, pleasure to meet ya.” The silly looking man was shaking hands like he was running for office. It was corny and he was clearly out of place. You found yourself smiling at his awkward behavior. After pandering to the crowd, the clown eventually seated himself at a table across the room with a glass of whiskey.

“Your martini, my lady, just the way you like it.” Mihawk returns with a new martini for you, unfortunately not chilled.

“Thanks. Say, what do you know about the circus guy?” You nod in Buggy’s direction.

“Oh him? We have an old mutual friend. He’s an idiot. Everything good that’s ever happened to him he’s stumbled ass-backwards into it. I give it a week or two as a warlord before someone’s killed him for his spot.” Mihawk explains.

“Interesting. I’ll be back.” You stride towards Buggy’s table at the opposite end of the ballroom. Without asking or saying anything, you take a seat right beside the clown.

“Hi.” You lean on your elbow on the table with your head tilted to the side.

“O-oh, Hi! You’re uh- um- y/n!” The clown stutters out, startled by your sudden appearance next to him.

“Mhmm…. And you’re Buggy… Captain Buggy.” You look into his sea-glass colored eyes.

“Y-yes! I am Captain Buggy the Clown. A powerful warlord of the sea!” He nervously chokes out at you. You giggle.

“Yeah, me too. So…” You draw circles on the table with your finger. “What brings you to some stuffy Marine function like this one? Doesn’t really seem like your speed.”

“Uh… The free food and booze, honestly.”

You laugh. Buggy’s posture becomes less stiff and uncomfortable.

“I’m glad we’re here for similar reasons, Mr. Clown.” You raise your martini glass in his direction. Buggy raises his whiskey and clinks his glass to yours.

“Please, y/n, call me Buggy. Mr. Clown was my father.”

Maybe it was the gin talking, but you found yourself laughing out loud at his stupid joke. You both finish your drinks after your toast.

“Hey, y/n… wanna see a card trick?” Buggy pulls a crusty old deck of cards out of his coat pocket and starts shuffling them. Your eyes widen, not expecting this man to be fully committed to the clown bit.

“Fuck it, show me.”

Several minutes of shuffling and slight-of-hand go by before the clown pulls a Queen of Hearts out the deck.

“Is this your card?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“No fucking shit!” You slam your hands on the table, genuinely impressed that he had picked your card.

“Hah Hah! Told ya!” Buggy laughs as he finishes his drink. You notice his empty glass.

“Let me get you another drink. Don’t go anywhere.” You wink as you grab your glasses and turn towards the bar. After ordering and receiving your two drinks, you spy Mihawk at the end of the bar facing outward.

“So, how’s the plight of the huntress going? Anyone that you-“ He starts as he brings his drink to his lips, but you cut him off.

“I’m going to fuck the clown.” You say with a deadpan expression.

“Gods, y/n, what?” Mihawk chokes out after he spits out his drink.

“Yep. See you!” You don’t give Mihawk a chance to criticize your choice before you walk off. You bring the drinks back to the blue-haired clown and sit down, pulling your chair close to his as you sit.

“Thanks!” Buggy takes a big gulp of his drink, noticing that your knees are now touching his. “So… uh… y/n? I gotta ask… with all these big wigs here… why are ya talking to me all night?”

You sense his insecurities. Cute, you thought.

“Well, Buggy,” You emphasize his name. “Unlike you, I am not new to this game. And since I am not new to this game, frankly, I am bored. All these stuck up, no-fun, corporate dickheads make for a very boring party.” You grab his hand that’s clutching his drink on the table. “You however…” You stroke your thumb along the back of his glove. You could see a drop of sweat slide down his temple. “You are fun. I like fun.”

Buggy giggles nervously.

“Heh, well, uh, t-thank you. You’re… you’re f-fun too…” He uses his free gloved hand to rub the back of his neck.

“Do you wanna see how much fun I can be, Captain Buggy?” You cock your head to the side and place your other hand on his knee. Buggy’s eyes blow so wide you thought he had seen a ghost.

“I-… I- Um… Ah!” He jolts as you slide your hand up his thigh, further trying to get your point across.

“Want to come back to my ship with me, Buggy?” You lean and whisper in his ear.

“Yes! Of course I do! Now? Can we go now?” He stands up. You laugh.

“Follow me, funny guy.”

— —

Buggy follows you all the way back to your ship like a lovesick puppy. Trailing behind you and asking you all kinds of questions and oversharing about himself. You board your ship and lead him into your luxurious captain’s quarters and close the door behind you both.

“Wow it’s really nice in here, y/n! Who does your…-mmph!” Buggy is cut off by your lips smashing against his as you push him against the closed door.

You wrap your arms around the back of his neck and kiss him deeper. You feel smooth gloved hands wrap around your waist as he finally kisses you back once the shock wore off. Your lips move slowly together at first. Buggy is awkwardly trying to find a rhythm, but after a few moments he feels confident enough to walk you backwards and push you both onto your plush pink comforter. Now laying down, you wrap your legs around his hips, effectively hiking your dress up and exposing your panties to him. Buggy pulls back breathlessly and looks down at you.

“Uh, so, uh… I-I don’t do this a lot… A-Are you sure you want to-?” His brows are furrowed and his eyes are full of uncertainty.

You bring your hands up and remove his hat and tossing it to the floor, smoothing his long blue hair off to one side.

“Buggy. I want you. Please.” With your last plead, you bucked your hips upward to grind into his hardened bulge. Buggy’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“Fuck! Okay, okay, okay- let’s get this thing off you, hey?” Hurriedly, Buggy lifts your already hiked up dress over your head leaving you fully exposed except for a red lace thong with a little wet patch right over your hole. His eyes dart from your naked breasts to your long legs to your clothed sex, before you snapped him out of it.

“I think you have too many clothes on.” You jump up and slide his jacket off of his shoulders and then lift his shirt off his head as he takes off his trousers and boots. Not wearing underwear (you smirk at this realization) he was now naked in front of you. You grab his face with both hands and pull him into a passionate kiss. He falls on top of you again. But during your heated make out, you roll him over so that you’re on top, grinding your lace covered cunt against his hard cock.

“Y-y/n! Ah!” Buggy moans out lewdly, and he isn’t even inside of you yet. Perhaps knowing he wouldn’t last long once he feels your warm insides sucking him in, he pleads with you.

“Let me taste you, please, y/n. Wanna make you feel good on me…” He was so desperate, it was so cute. You giggle.

“Aww, you’re so cute, Buggy. Of course I’ll let you have a taste. Now open wide baby…” You shuffle your way up to his face and straddle it with your body facing the headboard. You grip your panties and push them forcefully to the side, exposing your slick pussy mere millimeters above Buggy’s waiting mouth. You fully seat yourself down on his face, knowing he could take it. He was a warlord now, after all.

“Mmmpph!” Buggy swirls his tongue experimentally around your slit, groaning at the sinful taste. He laps and sucks up and down your cunt until he eventually finds your clit, eliciting a loud moan from you when he slurps it between his lips.

“Fuck, there!” You throw your head back in pleasure as the man below you learns what turns you on and how to bring you to that edge. “Just like that, fuck! Keep going!” He enthusiastically licks at your clit harder with your praise. He moves to slip his tongue into your hole, you sigh out and wind your hands in his hair below you. Instinctively, you push your cunt onto his face, trying to force his tongue deeper into you when you hear-

HONK!

You gasp as all motions on your sex stop and you look down. Nervous, anxious eyes look back up at you from between your legs.

“Buggy… baby…”

“Y/n I-“

“Baby that’s so hot.” You were panting down at him. His expression became one of even more confusion. “I want more. Do it again.”

Buggy was in shock. There’s no way you were really saying his nose was… sexy? It was turning you on? You had to be joking. There’s no way that you-

Buggy’s thoughts were cut off by you pushing your pussy down onto his mouth again, whining and begging for more of his tongue.

HONK!

“Please baby? Make me cum on that handsome face of yours.” You gasp out as he resumes his ministrations on your swollen clit. You close your eyes and moan loudly. You feel two hands massaging at your breasts, and you snap your eyes open to see two disembodied hands at your chest.

“Shit, yes! I’m gonna- ah!”

With a final pinch of your nipples and a harsh suck to your clit, your orgasm rips through your body and you shriek out and grab the headboard in front of you for balance. Shudders of pleasure still radiate through your body as you hear Buggy’s hands reattach to his body and he pulls you down onto the bed with him. He cradles your face and kisses you deeply. You moan at the taste of your release on his lips.

Buggy pulls back from the kiss.

“D-Do ya still want to-?” Buggy asked, hesitantly, like he didn’t just let you ride his face.

“Gods, yes. Fuck me.” You sighed as you slipped your panties all the way off and laid back on the bed with your legs spread. You were wiped from your orgasm, but your hole was still aching to be filled by the clown. He climbs on top of you and smiles a wicked smile.

“Get it nice and wet for me first, kay?”

Suddenly you feel something velvety and hard tap against the side of your mouth. You glance down and see Buggy’s detached cock prodding at your kiss-bitten lips. You mindlessly obey and open your mouth and allow Buggy to slide it onto your tongue hands (and body) free. You wrap your lips around his shaft and try to suck it in as far as it will go down your throat.

“W-wow doll, you really are somethin’!” Feeling himself already losing it at your cock-hungry expression, he pulls himself from your lips and attaches his spit-soaked cock back to his body, positioned at your dripping hole.

“Just fuck me already, Buggy!” You grab his ass and push his hips into yours. He gets the message and swiftly bottoms out inside of you, the sloppy wetness of your saliva and arousal making it easy to slip right in. His long blue locks are splayed over his bare shoulders that stutter as he tries to compose himself now that he’s fully buried in your hot sex. You groan out, finally feeling him fill you.

“FUCK, y/n!” Buggy leans forward and bites deeply into your neck, still trying to steel himself. Thinking this would keep him from cumming immediately, it had the opposite effect. When you felt his teeth in your neck, your cunt clenched on him so tight that it triggered his orgasm. Buggy’s eyes roll back and he muffles his moan. He can’t let you know that he came so early.

Fighting overstimulation, he shallowly starts thrusting his hips into yours. Buggy whimpers at the feeling of his oversensitive cock gliding through your slippery, now cum-coated walls.

“Harder, fuck me harder, PLEASE!” You were begging him to rail you, and he knew he had to give it to you. Hearing you plead made him fully hard again immeasurably quickly. Buggy places one hand on your hip and angles himself to thrust upwards inside your cunt.

“That’s so good baby, please, right there just like that, you’re doing so good for me.” You slid your left hand down and rubbed your clit in tight circles.

“Fuck, let me…” Buggy slaps your hand away to replace it with one of his now detached hands. He slows down his thrusts enough to drop a glob of spit down onto your clit and start rubbing it himself.

“Bugs, fuck! Gonna cum! Ah, shit… yes!” You jolt upwards and waves of pleasure start overtaking your body. Buggy fucks you through your orgasm and picks up his pace. He attaches his hand and now places both hands on your hips to slam you onto his cock at a breakneck speed.

“Gonna fucking make you mine…. All mine…”

“Ah- yes- yours- fuck-“ You sputter out incoherently as you bounce back and forth against the bed on Buggy’s cock.

“There it is baby… yes-!… ” Buggy slams his hips into yours deeply and empties himself for a second time inside of you tonight. After catching his breath in the crook of your neck, Buggy rolls off of you and lays his head on the pillow next to yours. You both make eye contact and start laughing.

Buggy eventually rolls his body into a sitting position and rises from the bed. He begins picking up his belongings and tries pulling his shirt over his head. You sit up and look at him, while pulling the blankets over your body.

“You’re not staying?” You inquire of your clown lover.

“I-I wasn’t… I mean I wasn’t invited to sleep- sleep over? You know? I didn’t want to-“ He stutters out, his shirt on, dick still out in front of you. You giggle and flop back on the bed.

“Get in here. I may be tired now, but I might want to see what else those chop-chop powers can do in the morning.”

Buggy strips his shirt again and hops under the covers with you.

“Doll, you haven’t even seen the half of it.”

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanart #one piece fandom #one piece netflix #one piece live action #one piece smut #one piece anime #zoro x reader #law x reader #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #captain buggy #op buggy #buggy x reader #buggy d clown #one piece fanfic

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roosterforme · 1 year ago

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Earning His Rank | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley knew you wanted to make his promotion night special for him as he got his new pin. He could tell by the teasing way you asked "What are you going to do to me when we get home, Lieutenant Commander?" He had something in mind.

Warnings: Smut, fluff and swearing

Length: 2100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Written for a request! Check out my masterlist for more!

"Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw," you murmured against his lips for probably the hundredth time tonight. "I'm so proud of you."

There was no doubt in his mind that you were teasing him. Bradley responded by wrapping his arms around your waist, his hands meeting your bare skin. You were wearing a backless red gown with a high slit up your leg, but he still managed to only touch you in the most loving and respectful ways. Which was surely something you found annoying at the moment. His fingers stayed on your elbows, waist and hands only. And he kept his eyes above your tits as much as he could.

You, on the other hand, were getting a little grabby as the evening's banquet wore on. An extra brush of your fingers here and there turned into Bradley noticing he had a few buttons open on his uniform jacket that shouldn't have been. When you sat down next to him, your hand was higher on his thigh than it ought to have been. Your red lips were grazing his neck with a lot more frequency, and you kept touching his hat.

You were needy for him in his dress whites, and he fucking loved it.

As you sat and sipped some champagne, you eased your hand higher and higher on his thigh with the most innocent expression on your face. He was a little afraid your behavior would further deteriorate as the night wore on, and it was barely time for dessert.

"You almost ready to head home?" he asked softly, and your head snapped to face him.

Bradley tried not to laugh as your red lips parted in delight. "You already have your sexy, new pin. Let's go now." You popped up out of your seat and started saying goodbye to everyone else at the table. Bradley paused to shake hands and accept hugs, knowing you were just inches away from him with peaked nipples and an expression of unfulfilled lust on your pretty face. So he took his time, made his farewells linger, just to tease you back a bit.

"Lieutenant Commander," you whined softly, and the sound of your voice bathed in desire went right to his cock. "I'm getting really tired. Let's have dessert at home."

You weren't getting tired. Bradley was certain you'd have him up all night. You were just trying to get him to move faster so he'd take you to bed. And as Admiral Simpson glanced at you while you pouted your red lips up at Bradley and jutted your tits out in the most desirable way, he knew you had won.

"Let's go," Bradley growled, and your face instantly changed to a giddy smile. He ushered you away from the admirals with his big hand planted on the middle of your back. "You're really getting to be a handful, aren't you."

You scoffed at his words. "You knew exactly what you signed up for."

"Yeah," Bradley agreed. "A needy, cock drunk little angel." He let his hand drift down to cup your perfect ass once he had you out in the deserted lobby. Your unholy moan had him opening the Uber app while he guided you outside into the humid night air.

"How long until it arrives?" you asked, tipping his white uniform hat back on his head a little bit.

"Two minutes," he replied, and you had his pants unzipped and your hand inside his underwear right away. "Oh, fuck!"

You and he were next to the venue building, tucked back in the shadows, but there were still a number of pedestrians out tonight. When your smaller hand cupped his balls softly while you looked up at him and said, "I love you," he let you keep going.

"I love you, too," he replied, kissing your forehead gently as you dragged your manicured nails back behind his balls until he was groaning.

"What are you going to do to me when we get home, Lieutenant Commander?"

Bradley could come up with dozens of ideas for how he'd like to celebrate in bed with you tonight. But you were being so naughty right now, and he knew exactly what he wanted from you.

"Ride's here," he grunted a moment later, and you ran your fingers along the underside of his hard cock one last time before turning and strolling toward the car. He was left to struggle with the zipper before sliding onto the seat next to you with his very obvious erection.

As the car pulled away, you leaned closer so you could whisper in Bradley's ear. "Tell me. What do you want?"

He took your hand in his, pressing soft kisses to your palm and knuckles. "I'm going to put my mouth all over your pussy."

"Tell me more," you whispered, pushing his hand down until it was tucked neatly inside the slit of your dress and between your warm thighs.

Bradley cleared his throat and spoke at a normal volume, making sure you knew he didn't care if the driver heard. "I won't stop. I'll keep going, even after you're done. Even if you beg. I will not stop until I want to. How does that sound?" He squeezed your thigh and slid his index finger along your slit, feeling that you were already wet.

"Sounds perfect," you gasped as the car stopped in front of the house. He took your hand, helping you out of the car as you started grabbing for him again. "Please, please, please keep your uniform on? I want to feel the fabric and the metallic pins against my skin."

Bradley groaned softly as he scooped you up and carried you inside. You knocked his hat askew but then straightened it out as he took you to bed. When he flipped on the bedside lamp, there you were, and everything was red as you lounged on your back. Your red lips were parted, your red heels were up in the air, and your red dress was bunched up around your thighs.

When you spread your legs, keeping your feet up in the air, Bradley was delighted to see your wet pussy bare for his use. He was going to make you cry if he could. He wanted to smell you. He wanted to smell like you.

When you started to reach for the tiny strap on your shoulder, he shook his head. "You're keeping that on," he grunted. "You look too perfect." He watched you squirm, your eyes wide and your breath already short as he settled himself between your legs. He circled his hands around your ankles and kissed along the pretty, dainty bones, tasting your skin as you spread your thighs open further for him.

"Lieutenant Commander," you whispered, and he knew you were going to be a handful forever. He let both hands slide to the backs on your knees as he kissed along one leg and then the other, teasing your pristine skin with his mustache. "Sir?" you gasped.

He met your eyes and grinned as you reached for the front of his white pants, but instead he settled down with his face just inches from your core. He inhaled your scent and leaned on his elbows, hands up your dress and caressing your hips. "This is how I wanted to touch you all night while you were teasing me."

You bit down on your plush, red lip with your teeth and watched as he lowered his mouth to your slit, placing the softest kiss there. You smelled heavenly, and he knew you were going to taste even better when you were dripping from his face. He licked gently along your slit with just a little bit of pressure, not quite spreading you open yet. You already sounded desperate for him, and his cock swelled along with his ego.

"Lieutenant Commanders are such teases," you whined, trying to thrust your pussy up against his face, but he held you tight.

"You always tease me," he replied, running his nose through your sparse hair and kissing the apex of your thigh. "Now it's my turn."

Then he pressed his tongue against your opening before sucking kisses all the way up to your clit. He pushed your thighs back, and your legs bent until he felt your high heels come to rest on his shoulders. He pushed your dress up and kissed along your belly, taking time to rub his smooth pins and rough uniform against your spread open pussy until your hands were scrambling in the bedding.

"So good, so good," you whispered, rubbing yourself along his uniform buttons. Bradley nipped at your tits through the thin fabric that was covering them while your head tipped to the side in pleasure. And then he pulled back abruptly, loving the outraged gasp you made.

But as soon as he buried his face in your pussy, your gasps turned satisfied once more. He loved this, so he took his time, licking leisurely stripes up and back down. When you started to grind softly against his nose on your clit, Bradley encouraged you with his big hands on your hips. "I think they should promote you again," you whined. "Is there a champion pussy eater rank? Isn't that the next one?"

Bradley chucked before he took your clit between his lips. Yeah, that was enough to keep you quiet. Or at least change your sassy words to incoherent moans. He worked his tongue in rapid movements while he sucked on you, and your back started to arch off the bed as you grabbed at his hat.

He released you, and you keened loudly with need while his hat rolled to rest on your belly. "Please?" The syllable was long and drawn out, and Bradley nodded, knowing you were dying to cum. He licked you from one pretty hole to the other and all the way up to your clit over and over again until everything was soaked from you. "Please."

He took your clit between his lips again, prickling your soft skin with his mustache while he sucked and licked until your hands were tight in his hair and you were riding his face. With a loud whine, you came, and Bradley kept licking you everywhere.

"You're soaking," he whispered, your fingers limp in his hair. "Just for me." And then he went rougher, getting his moustache wet and sucking on you everywhere. "You taste so good."

"Bradley." Your voice was tiny now as you covered your face with your hands. He could feel your right leg shaking as he pulled your still swollen clit between his lips, sucking until he let you pop free. Over and over again. He moved his right hand down to ease two fingers inside you, hooking them forward to prop you up a bit, making you groan loudly. Then he worked on your clit until you were hiccupping and begging him to stop. But the light roll of your hips as you fucked his fingers deeper told him there was still some pleasure there for you.

"Not yet," he scolded softly, finger fucking you and grinding his cock against the bed. He was getting closer as your leg drifted down his arm and came to rest on the bed. He was still moving his tongue in quick, purposeful strokes, getting everything he wanted out of you right now. All the little sounds you were making and the way you were going limp had him grinning. You looked so pretty like this as a tear slipped from the corner of your eye. "God, I love you."

He fucked you hard with his fingers, watching your tits bounce in your dress until his whole hand was covered in you. Then he knelt and worked his zipper down quickly, using his hand with your silky wetness to jerk himself off. You watched with the softest smile on your lips and tears in your eyes as he grunted and came all over your pussy, belly and red dress. His cum looked like a pretty adornment on the fabric as you eased your leg back up to his shoulder and teased the back of his neck with your heel.

As you wiped the tears from your eyes, you guided him closer with your legs. He kissed your cheeks and your lips, and you started running your tongue through his mustache with a soft whimper.

"Congratulations, sir," you finally whispered after cleaning up his facial hair. You kissed his nose as he eased himself back to see that your dress and his uniform were a mess.

Bradley grunted as he started to unbutton his uniform jacket, and you tucked his oversized hat on your own head. "What exactly are you congratulating me for now, Mrs. Bradshaw?"

You smiled so sweetly. "For being awarded Champion Pussy Eater rank by your wife. I'll get you another pin for your uniform."

He ran his fingers along your slit until you were whining for him again. "I'll wear it with pride."

---------------------------

He earned two promotions! What a man! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls for putting up with me.

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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@chassy21

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster x you #rooster x reader #rooster x female reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshawx #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction

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gabrielsbubblegumbitch · 6 months ago

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✨Staticmoth wedding headcanons✨

Because I have a lot of thoughts but can't come up with the plot to turn it into fic

✨ Vox absolutely loses his shit. You would think that Valentino would be a groomzilla material but oh no no, Val just wants sexy dress and enough coke to last three days of partying. Vox needs everything perfect. He has his grand vision and is ready to tear with bare hands everyone who does not deliver. During the preparation time, he murders as many people as Val usually does. Velvette bails on being the wedding planner after just two weeks because it was seriously straining their friendship. But after a month, she's back in the game. Why? Because Vox strangled three other wedding planners in frustration, and things weren't moving forward, so Val was starting to freak out.

✨ The event is held at the Vees' Tower. I reckon they've got a venue suitable for hosting conferences and porn award shows.

✨ It's a grand event. I'm talking Grand™, like the Kim K and Kanye West of Hell kind of grand. But it's also elite, so the guest list isn't that long, around 200 invited people plus 50 ticketed spots for anyone willing to drop 100k hellish bucks to attend. Everything is dripping with gold and diamonds because "quiet luxury" isn't in the Vees' vocabulary. The whole affair reflects Val's aesthetic more, as it's Vox's love letter to him. Vox already had his wedding, and now it's time to fulfill his husband's dreams. So Val makes about 90% of the decisions without shouldering any real responsibilities. Which is fine by everyone because he's annoying as hell when it comes to picking roses, flamingo feathers, and starters. Nobody wants to put him in high-stress situations. Expect lots of red, pink, and gold, with heavy, decadent fabrics and neon lights; it's like an exclusive brothel meets the Las Vegas strip.

✨ When it comes to flowers, they settled on roses because they're Vox's favorites, which naturally made them Val's favorite too, given the sheer number of bouquets he's received. Vox, being the freak he is, counts every single bouquet he's ever given to Val. So, for their wedding, he ensures there are twice as many roses. Yes, he's a pathological overachiever.

✨ As for attractions, there’s a plethora of erotic dancers in cages and mesmerizing drone light shows. Karaoke, slot machines, live cooking stations, and all the drugs you can imagine. And let's not forget a fountain flowing with tequila. It's a true adult wonderland.

✨ Valentino skips the whole white dress thing and rocks a fierce red latex gown that's very Mugler but with a fetishcore twist. Vox keeps it sleek in a sharp black three-piece suit. His shirt's a bold blue, and his tie matches Val's dress. His shoulder pads are pointy, his waist is slutty, his ass looks divine. Oh yeah, about slutty waist - underneath the shirt he is hiding a leather corset, as a treat for the wedding night.

✨ Also none of them really have friends other than Velvette, just associates so there are no groomsmen/maids.

✨ Since there aren't any traditional churches or government officials in Hell (if there's even a government at all), Velvette takes on the role of officiating the wedding. Vox isn't entirely thrilled with this choice because there's always the risk she might crack a joke or publicly rib him, but hey, there's really no one else who could pull it off. I imagine that a wedding in Hell is also some form of magical contract but more about partnership than ownership. They do not exchange rings but blood sksksk also I don’t think that Vox can really wear rings with his claws? And they couldn't quite agree on a design that satisfied both of them. In the end, Val ends up wearing his illegally imported engagement ring from Earth, featuring four pink diamonds shaped like a moth's wings.

✨ Val's vow is, well, atrocious. It's the kind of thing that would definitely land him in one of those TikTok compilations of terrible grooms ruining their weddings. He mentions cream pieing Vox at least once. Vox at first freaks out but seconds later realizes Wow that's the man I'm marrying. I wouldn't want him any other way On the flip side, Vox's vow is immaculate. Crafted with the assistance of Voxtek's CMO and practiced to perfection, it leaves everyone in awe. He has out-of-body experience playing this role of prince charming.

✨ For their first dance, they opt for a steamy tango. Picture this: swirling red smoke on the floor, making it seem like they're dancing on the sky of the pride ring when the sun is setting down. Little do the guests know, the smoke is laced with drugs, sending most of them on a wild trip. The party quickly goes off the rails, but in the best way possible (according to the Vees’ standards).

✨ The cake is a five-tier monstrosity with five different flavors: tres leches and chocolate-cherry chosen by Val, confetti cake and strawberry cheesecake chosen by Vox and Red Velvet for Velvette because she couldn't shut up about it To top it all off, there's a big chocolate figure of Vox and Valentino dancing. Val is later caught drunk, eating it with his bare hands like the filthy animal he is.

✨ Velvette’s wedding gift is a pair of customized matching guns with small engravings that read "Partners in Crime."

✨ Valentino pulls off a surprise special pole dance performance as a wedding gift for his husband. Let's just say it's scorching hot and leaves at least 50 guests with, uh, visible excitement. Later on, things almost escalate to a full-on table bang, but...

✨ Velvette spends the entire evening reminding them that they can't just vanish to consummate their marriage because this whole party took months of preparations, and they need to be present. After all, people paid good money to be around them. The threat of cock cages hangs over their heads, but they promise to behave. However, Val being the horny beast he is, ends up taking Vox to the bathroom for a quickie anyway. Velvette decides to let it slide this time.

✨ At least 20 casualties mark the night. Vox ends up zapping one of the guests who gets a bit too clingy with Val during the dance. Meanwhile, Val gets into a brawl and, well, let's just say it doesn't end well for the other guy. Surprisingly, everyone seems to be having a great time, but hey, these are the Vees' colleagues we're talking about—they thrive on violence and sex.

✨ Yeah, there's no shortage of sex at this party. With a guest list mainly consisting of businesspeople, adult performers, and mobsters, tensions escalate rapidly. By around 3 A.M., half of the party is busy getting down and dirty in every corner imaginable.

✨ When Vox reaches the perfect level of drunkenness, he seizes control of the DJ station. Surprisingly, he's a natural, dropping beats like a pro and having an absolute blast. Val, meanwhile, goes absolutely wild watching him, thrilled to see Vox letting loose and embracing his creative side.

✨ Derek, Vox's assistant, is the odd one out, the only low-status person to snag an invite because Vox felt kinda generous. But truth be told, Derek hates the idea and wasn't keen on attending. However, when Melissa caught wind of his invitation, she practically dragged him there to be his plus one, desperate to get closer to Velvette. Derek's terrified of most of the guests, but Melissa's over the moon. She later fucks him as a reward for being a very brave boy. Angel is not invited because he would ruin mood of both grooms.

✨ Valentino had prepared the filthiest, kinkiest, most elaborate wedding night, but it doesn't go as planned. Surprisingly, things turn out very vanilla for their standards, with a lot of missionary, eye contact, and hand-holding. After 16 hours of non-stop action, they're both too exhausted to even think about getting creative.

Thank you @purrpleowl @watcherofeternalflame @canadianlucifer @aroromantic @malu897 @staticmothed @chaggieslovechild @gumm1defloor @mayflowersfly for your thoughts!

#hazbin hotel #vox #valentino #vox hazbin hotel #valentino hazbin hotel #velvette #velvette hazbin hotel #the vees #staticmoth #voxval #fluff #headcanon #self indulgence at its finest #melissa hazbin hotel #vox's assistant

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taylorswiftstyle · 1 year ago

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MTV Video Music Awards | September 12, 2023

Versace custom gown (pictured similar)

As is her way, Taylor can only be consistently expected to do one thing: subvert expectations. Swiftly (some might say) bypassing an opportunity to plug any of the three albums she’s either released, or is on the precipice of releasing, she went straight to a very reputation-coded Versace gown. The likes of famed supermodel lore or legendary Liz Hurley status. It’s sexy, it’s slinky, it’s very distinctively signature Versace - using Medusa-embossed buttons in a pseudo snap closure style instead of the more overt safety pin (this detail continues on the strappy open criss-cross back all the way down the back to the end of her train, which is worth a look on its own).

I personally love a classic Versace look such as these. They’ve been done, and done a lot. But I can’t fight a classic sexy siren gown like this. The decision to forego Taylor’s signature red lip, I think, is a smart one that prevents the look from going too overboard. In my opinion, the styling choices were either pile on the jewels or pile on the crimson lip. And Taylor/her team went for the former - something that’s atypical of her style. The mussed hair with the trailing pieces left out of their updo feel “roll out of bed” intimate and sensual and feels akin to the curly bangs from the reputation photoshoot. But I can’t help but think an uber sleek blowout could have been great here.

If indeed a nod to reputation, I’ve always seen that album as one of two diametrically opposed forces: the external perceptions of who you are vs the internal realizations of the life you’re quietly building. To use a dress with so many asymmetrical details (the bodice, the straps, and even in the movement of the button detailing literally splicing her in half) as an embodiment of that would be quite appropriate. It’s also a smart use of a brand’s signature design details to (possibly) use for your own means.

Not to mention this is precisely the kind of dress at least I would envision buying so someone else could take it off.

Worn with: Anita Ko + Maria Tash + VCA + David Webb + Ita + vintage jewelry, Foundrae + Jacquie Aiche + vintage bracelets, and Jimmy Choo sandals

#taylor swift #award #dress #versace #september 2023 #mtv vma

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lawsvalentine · 2 years ago

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How They React To You Wearing Lingerie on Valentine’s Day

• OP Men HC • (18+)

Fem!reader

Characters: Monster trio, Usopp, Law, Ace

CW: Lingerie visuals included, smut( sexual content, oral sex(fem recieving), penetrative sex, dry humping, roleplaying, use of handcuffs, riding)

Cee’s Note: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY 💓💓 Here is my gift to you guys. Enjoy my lovelies ☺️

Luffy

Luffy usually doesn’t care what you have on in the bedroom

However, you noticed he was particularly fond of your red colored panties

So you decided to wear this red lingerie for Valentine’s day and surprise him

“L-Luffy..”

Luffy sucked harshly on the top part of your cleavage leaving a faint mark atop one of your fleshy mounds. He thought you looked so pretty in that bra, even more so littered with the hickeys he just gave you.

You sigh as he started dragging his tongue down from your breasts down to your navel till he reached your panties. You gasped as he licked and sucked through the fabric, tasting your arousal that had leaked through. He hums, already hungry to taste more of you.

“Mm… your so wet already, Y/N”

Zoro

Zoro is a simple man, he doesn’t mind what you wear, hell, even a big t shirt you usually wear will do it for him

You thought you would spice things up for Valentine’s day and wear this cute night gown

“Fuck….you look so good like this”

Your eyes rolled back as Zoro was currently jackhammering into you. Your fingers clutching the bed sheets, moans spilling out your mouth at his deep strokes. His hands were gripping your thighs, pressing them against your pretty little night gown.

When Zoro had first seen you in it, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to rip the pretty clothing off you or fuck you with it on. He ended up choosing the ladder and he was glad he did. It turned him on so much seeing your tits jiggle above the dainty fabric as he fucked into you.

Sanji

Sanji loves absolutely ANYTHING you wear. You could wear a paper bag and he would still think you’re beautiful

When you asked him what kind of lingerie he liked on women, he said he likes the color pink prefers the lingerie be more dainty and girly

You were excited to give Sanji exactly what he wanted for Valentine’s Day with this lingerie

“That’s it, princess…cum for me”

Your back arches as you spill all over Sanji’s mouth, your arousal dripping down his beard. Sanji moans as he laps up as much of you as he can, relishing in your taste. He currently had his face buried in your sex as his fingers held your panties to the side.

He couldn’t bring himself to rid the pretty fabric from your body. The pink color and the laced skirt made you look just like a princess to him, a sexy princess. You were making his head spin and nose bleed with how stunning you looked.

Usopp

Usopp is not picky about what you wear in the bedroom but you two have dabbled in a bit of role playing during sex

So you thought it would be fun to make this lingerie into a sexy cupid costume for Valentine’s day night

Usopp’s wrists struggled against the handcuffs restraining him to the bed frame as you grinded against the bulge of his clothed cock. He let out a small whine as he desperately wanted to touch your body. You hum in pleasure as you continued moving your hips against him, loving the control you had.

For tonight’s role-play, you were the greek goddess Cupid, sent to punish this handsome mortal.

“Uh uh, no touching unless I permit you, mortal”

“Y-yes my goddess”

Ace

Ace really likes whenever you wear lace bras and panties. He loves the way the fabric looks and feels on you. He’s also a sucker for bows on your panties or bras.

You saw this lingerie and knew Ace would love it for Valentine’s day

“Fuck babe…you look so fucking hot riding me with that on”

You threw your head back in pleasure as you fucked yourself on his dick, moaning how big he felt. He groaned at your words, eyes glued to your body.

As much as he loved it on, he needed to feel you. Ace grazed his fingertips up your body leading to the thin stringy bow holding your laced top together. With a quick pull of the string, it came undone revealing your bare breast to him. His hand squeezed the round flesh as he watched you bounce on his hard cock.

Law

Law loves whenever you wear his clothing to bed. He loves how the loose material hugs your curves and how sexy your thighs and legs look while wearing it

You knew that your legs was his biggest weakness with you so you decided to wear these stockings for Valentine’s day.

Law couldn’t get over how sexy the stockings looked on you. He had ordered you to strip off everything but the stockings. Once you did what he said, he couldn’t keep his hands off your legs.

“You look like such a pretty little whore, and I intend to fuck you like one”

Law placed a kiss against the laced stocking covering your ankle. You legs were around his neck, causing Law to fuck deeper into you. Whimpers escaped your lips each time his cock hit that spot deep inside you.

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jolalibrary · 11 months ago

Text

stockings and stars

javier peña x f!reader

summary: Still need the star putting on the top of the tree. ive got other plans for you Because I’m the star? yeah you're my star and youre not going anywhere but on your back

from the late night texts world - but can still be enjoyed on its own. chapter warnings: allusion to/mentions of smut. no actual smut. javi undresses you, though. flirting. fluff. reader wears red lingerie and a dressing gown. javi flirting. sexy talk, romcom vibes ofc ✨ wordcount: 3k

an: to @goodwithcheese merry christmas from me, to you. thank you for everything, for the tuesday fun we have - i wanted nothing more than to have this out sooner, but life, you know? but, i adore you. and I'm so glad we found one another. ahuge thanks to @thetriumphantpanda who cheerleaded for me throughout.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

Will I be seeing Santa Javi today? I want to decorate my tree.

one time I come to yours in a red shirt

You also had the tree under your arm and a bag of baubles, I’d class those as gifts.

keep talking baby and you can decorate your tree alone

Think I’m gonna wear that shirt you left here while I do it. Make sure I have to get up on my tip toes. Hope it doesn't rise up...

you don’t play fair

I think I’ll be in stockings too…

youre killing me

Maybe they’re white and red, and…

baby if i wasn’t putting this thing up for Pop, i’d be driving over right now

Hope you hurry up, I need someone tall to put the star on top of the tree.

how am I gonna eat you out when youre perched on the tree baby

The last thing on his to-do list from his Pop is to hang the front porch garland.

He had learnt there had been a huge difference in the front and the back porch garlands. A fifteen-minute-long difference when he'd timed the response given to his sarcastic answer.

Javi learnt there was not only one for the back porch and the front, but one which sat across the fireplace and one on the staircase.

He learnt that after he'd made a joke about mixing them up—earning himself a very pointed glare, and the task of the front porch.

Now, it’s a battle he’s losing.

Tremendously so.

While he’d never want his Pop to do the more challenging tasks, he did rather hate he hadn’t thought to trade this one in for the back porch at the very least—because that had looked fucking easy.

Holding the garland in hand, he’s suddenly hit with a second wave of nostalgia, the first having arrived when he'd pulled down the box and peered into it.

It did the same thing as it had done then, all but rushed over him, layering itself on his shoulders, sitting, nothing short of a comfortable weight on him. Letting his gaze fall out over it, he smiles at the tuffs of fabric, all the bows tied by hand, all in an array of sizes and shades.

Over time, he can see how they've become sun-dyed, remembering the first year they'd been sewn into the faux greenery by his mamá, memories of her all hunched over, humming carols.

Smiling, he rolls his lips, letting out a heavier sigh than he intended as he drags it to the post he’d begin at.

But, all he wonders is whether in the years he wasn’t here, whether it was occasionally hung—or if this year is just that special.

The mere hint that he was going to ask if you wished to spend Christmas at the ranch had sent his Pop into overdrive. Practically yanked him out of his chair like he’d been electrified, a bunch of orders being flung from under his white, wiry moustache that they needed to get ready.

He wasn't sure he'd get the image of his Pop suddenly scrambling around like a man half his age, to drag the decorations out from the cupboard, would ever be erased from his mind. Least of all the sound you'd made aww'ing down the phone when he'd given you a condensed version of the story.

Because he hasn't asked you yet, not properly.

Even though he's spent the last two days at the back of barns and spending a ridiculous amount of time at the hardware store—because we need to make sure the lights stay up, Jav.

He just hasn't found the right time to ask you. A promise each time he goes to see you left in the air. Not that his Pop remembers that, instead he's just busy thinking up ways to make it special: one of which includes decorating the trees at the entrance to the ranch.

An idea having sprouted with the newest ranch hand—one which, if Javi overheard correctly, involves rope acting like tinsel and a cowboy hat being the star on the top of the trees.

Feeling his phone vibrate, he temporarily ignores it as he begins to weave the beginning of the garland around the wood—already knowing, before he tries to move it around the spindles, that it isn’t going to be easy.

Because nothing ever fucking is.

Least of all when you’re waiting for him.

His mind begins to concoct images of you in bows and sheer material, lips painted, sat waiting, smelling nothing short of heavenly as you call out for—

“Fuck,” he shouts, dropping the garland to the ground.

It had pricked him, stabbed him right in the skin—hand shaking the pain out, face likely all scrunched. And, if it didn't have sentimental value, he's sure he'd have kicked its protesting ass with everything he had. Instead, he just narrows his eyes more than he had done moments ago as he begins again.

He feels his nostrils flare when it begins to undo itself. The sound of faux bristles on wood grates him before it will even attempt to do what he needs it to.

And it makes him want to quit, to throw it back into the box and tell his Pop it isn’t worth it. But he knows it is. Knows that his mama didn’t spend hours bent over under flickering light for it not to be seen.

Javi also strongly suspects you’d love it. Likely run your fingers over several bows asking who made it. He can even imagine the look of joy on your face when he tells you.

It’s why, if he didn’t already suspect it anyway, he’s pretty sure his Pop loves you more than him. Because even the first Christmas he was back, there weren’t this many decorations; not nearly as much need to have them all out, either.

Not that Javi really minds—or blames him.

There’s a notable shift in energy when you stay over. Even more so in him. He can see there’s a cheer and a glow to the place—one Javi hates watching vanish when he takes you back to your place.

It's why, when—and where—he can, he fights for you to be here. Practically finds convincing ways to do so, including, crossword puzzles, dinner, and two-person showers. But, at some stage, your clothing dwindles, underwear runs low, and he has to make the painful drive into town to return you to your place.

Your fingers in his hair, practically clambered into his lap as you whisper that you’ll be back before he knows it. His fingers on your chin, thumb stroking out the words he says right back—that he’ll miss you all the same.

Javier Peña. Texan softie—what will the world think?

He only thinks one thing when he drives back—a response which had been there on his lips. Guess they’ll see just how much I love you. A thing you know, comment on, say back to him first thing in the morning and last thing at night. An array of promises there, sometimes spoken at a normal level and sometimes whispered.

You always keep them, just like the one that you are always back before he knows it.

He likes it when you are. Enjoys it when you’re nestled beside him, arm across his chest, hand close to his ribs—strumming them, tracing lines and words he tries to understand before sleep takes him.

He still always sleeps better when you’re beside him. When his breathing can mirror yours, when he can feel for you in the night when he’s awoken with nightmares and things he knows won’t ever come true.

Now, he’s fighting a different battle. One to get to you.

Halted in his path to freedom by the garland which refused to be hung, and could be labelled as giving him more grief than the horses which had banded together. A phrase he never thought he’d admit out loud, never mind think.

You still fighting with the garland?

baby its torturing me on purpose

Do you want me to come and help?

will you come in the stockings

No!! Your dad is there.

then stay there actually lie down, but do not begin without me

Still need the star putting on the top of the tree.

ive got other plans for you

Because I’m the star?

yeah you're my star and youre not going anywhere but on your back

Hurry then.

i’m hurrying

He does hurry—practically scratched up by the time he’s parking his truck outside your place.

As he takes the step up to your door, Javi realises how much he misses it here when he doesn’t visit. A place less frequent and often spent time in, even under your insistence of renting it.

It is always usually a stopping point, him parking up, letting you go in and grab what you need before you're back in his truck, heading back to his.

He does like your place though, likes how small it is, how cosy. Plus, it has all the things which make you, you. A thing his place is currently missing.

Although, as he steps through the door, and calls your name, he does have to admit it currently looks fucking ridiculous.

On a good day, he’d describe your place as crowded, but right now, it’s claustrophobic.

The tree you’d forced him to get is shoved into a corner, branches fluffed out, surrounded by the piles of unpacked boxes you’ve tried to discreetly hide. Your remaining floorspace is overtaken by a bit of rug, several piles of books (you have no room for, but continue to buy) and odd bits of furniture you find and attempt to restore.

For the most part, you’ve decorated. A thing you did inform him of.

You’ll be pleased to know when you get here your only job is the star. managed it all yourself, did you I’m a very competent woman, Javi. oh i know baby ive seen you with a crossword Does that do it for you? Me finishing a crossword. does something to me Get over here. im leaving now

There’s a warm, comforting glow spread out across the place from the fairy lights you’ve hung and the array of mismatched decorations—both bought and handmade—hanging from branches.

He breathes in the scent of orange which hangs in the air, his eyes finding the culprit on your fireplace, a garland—one not dissimilar to the one he’d been battled with—places there, mocking him due to the ease of which had been laid, with oranges and little beads all entwined within it.

Snorting, he glances back at your tree, spotting the things he's been with you when you've bought. And, as promised—and informed him through text—there’s nothing at the top of your tree.

“You finally made it!”

Spinning on his heel, he comes face to face with you, and fuck if the sight of you doesn’t make it all worth it.

Dressed in a red, silky dressing gown, all tied in the middle, you're a vision. Then, there's the fact your lips are painted a shade he’d now famously dub Christmas red, a colour he wants nothing more than to be stained with. A path of it from his mouth down to the space where his jeans meet his hips. A thought which seems to only make how tight his jeans are even more uncomfortable.

“Cariño, you’re…”

You sway a little, letting the fabric move—allowing his gaze to land on the stockings. The ones he’s been thinking about all afternoon. The ones he can’t wait to feel under his palm and know whether they’ll create friction when wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck me.”

“I’m kinda banking on it,” you say, biting your red-painted lip. “But first…”

His hand crawls around your waist, feeling the smooth, soft texture under his hand—swallowing, dragging his eyes up and down you, unsure how he could ever be so lucky—how something so good could ever be here for him to unwrap.

“I need you to hang the star,” you continue.

“Right now?”

Nodding, you ghost your lips over his. “I’ve been so good waiting for you.”

“You're never good. You, baby, are a menace.”

“I’m your menace.”

Snorting, he presses a kiss to your lips. “Damn right, you are.”

Moving from you, reluctantly, only to pick up the gold star he assumes you want to hang, getting a nod from you that he’s right.

“Need to ask you something too.”

And even though he’s only taken a mere short step from you, he’s floored all over again about what a picture you look like when he glances back. That you’re standing all for him, dressed in nothing but cheer and ribbons all for him.

“Go on.”

Turning to your tree, he flattens his hand to the wall for stability. “I wanted…”

His concentration slides in—suddenly aware he doesn’t want to knock anything from the branches. Doesn’t want to force things to be misplaced from where they were expertly hung.

He’s also sure he’s wanting to swallow the question. A part of him, all the way deep inside of him, having been bracing—and waiting—to hear you’d be apart for the holidays. A thing the two of you have rarely been since you moved here, not a day going by he hasn’t seen you for at least an hour.

“Wanted to know if you—shit—” the star almost sitting atop, before at the last minute protesting. “I wanted to know if you wanted to spend Christmas with me—with us, me and Pop. At the ranch.”

The star slides into place, sitting more comfortably with another shove, more branch supporting it.

But he doesn’t turn, not immediately. Not as the question hums around him, swirls in the silence of you not immediately saying yes. So much so, that it takes him a second to move on his heels, to face you—to read the answer before it’s delivered.

What he sees is something his heart couldn’t have ever prepared for.

You, grinning—a silly, almost goofy, smile spreading out as you bite down on your lip, forehead slightly crinkled.

“You… you want me to spend the holidays with you?”

“Of course—cariño, I want nothing more than for you to be with me.”

It all quick to leave his mouth, mirroring the movement to be back in front of you, fingers under your chin, lifting your eyes—those beautiful, fucking eyes—to his.

“Do… do you—wanna spend it with me?”

You pull a different face before you’re nodding. One more excited, one which begins to expel out over a smile and a bunch of escaping phrases such as I can’t believe you want me with you and of course.

“Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?”

Shrugging, you scrunch your nose—an act he finds just as cute as the first time he saw it. “Guess it’s a big deal. It’s… a thing people do with families.”

Pulling you close by your hips, your hand lands flat on his chest. “You are my family.”

“Javi,” you whisper, making each letter feel so individual the way you say it, that it makes his heart double.

“It’s true. You’re it for me, cariño. All I’ve wished for.”

Eyes widening, your eyes shimmer under the lights—more so than normal. Taking a deep breath, you lift your chin before pressing a kiss to his mouth. One which turns hungry, desperate—your mouth searing, a thing he’s craved since he woke up before the sun even rose.

“Baby,” you whisper.

And he hums.

It vibrates out, able to feel it from the way his fingers cup your cheek.

“Undo me.”

Releasing your lips with a pop, he opens his eyes, studying your eyes, moving from one to the other.

“Go on,” you urge in a whisper, more breathless, more tinged with something that makes his skin hot.

Sliding his fingers over the knot, he barely has to tug before it comes undone—unveiling you, like a curtain which wishes to part. If he’d thought you’d looked good before, he’s sure every bit of you is a sin now—a Christmas sin.

Red and lace. It’s all he sees. It sitting there, against you, hugging your breasts—sitting on your hips. His mouth is suddenly dry at the thought of running his tongue over the place it meets your skin before pulling it down.

Your fingers follow his eyes, sliding between the valley to land on the bow in the centre, twisting the edge of the tie around your index finger—palm skating over your stomach, allowing him more chance to take in how you’re stood before him in see-through fabric and promises.

“How’d I get so lucky?” he asks, more to no one, than to you.

His fingers teasing the fabric sat on your hip—marvelling, unsure how to think straight until you clear your throat, forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Hey,” you whisper, tightening your hold on his hands, bringing his arms more around your waist, pressing your front to him, feeling the heat from your skin through your clothes. “You’re all I wished for too.”

Smiling, he looks at your tree, before landing back on you. “You look so good.”

“I know. Could look better though?” His brow arches as you slowly begin to smile, the tip of your tongue sliding over your upper lip. “Everything is held in place by bows.”

Groaning, he closes his eyes, letting his hand slide down your lower back, over sheer material before his fingers find the ribbon on your hip.

“All for you.”

“Mine,” he answers, slotting his mouth over yours—staining the four letters to your lips.

His fingers slide around, brushing over soft skin, until he finds the first bow. Undoing it with ease, licking into your mouth, only to grunt against you when you whimper as the fabric falls to your feet.

“Yours,” you say back, your own hands beginning to undo him.

an: merry christmas, love you

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