Bro Santa and his sweet daughter. | cw :: psuedo-incest , daddy kink.
♡. 𝐁𝐑𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 wanted to wait until his girl was at least old enough to get a sip of alcohol in her system, but it seems that plan had faded into obsolescence.
"Bro… daaddy… oh," you moaned softly as his heavy hips collided with loving intensity against yours. How did you end up here again? Oh, right. Boys. Bro observed the leering eyes of men. Men looking at his beautiful daughter, as if you were nothing more than some doll to use and ruin. Worst of all, you were at the height of your puberty. He knew your hormones would take over eventually and he wouldn't have some scummy boy ruin his daughter for a bit of fun.
"Is that good, sweetheart?" Bro rumbled softly as he adjusted his grip on your hips to ensure your comfort. They had gotten so full now, like your other curves. He could remember when he had found you, so sweet, so shy. Now, look at you. A fine young lady with a finer body and tight, delicious little hole. He can't lie, even as he tried to, your snug hole—so keen on milking him dry—was making it difficult for him to go anything beyond this deep yet moderate pace. He doesn't want to hurt you with his strength, but you were making it increasingly difficult and you were aware of it.
You were also aware that Bro wasn't one to deny you or Dear very easily, practically folding at each of your whims without much struggle. With a soft whine—"daddy…"—you arched your back just enough to make him throb, pressing your little ass just barely against him. It was the sight of nothing but pure, sinful begging. And he'd give it to you. With a deep sigh, he slowly quickened the pace. "That feel better, sweetheart?" "Uh-h.. huh… yeah- yeah- uh," he smiled playfully at your breathlessness and overstimulated whines. If it was one thing he loved, it was always keeping you satisfied. If you were satisfied, he was satisfied.
Before long, he felt the familiar constriction and heavy warmth before his ears picked up on your quickened breath. Placing a hand firmly on the side of your waist, gripping you firmly, he drove into you faster, deeper, and hard enough that you—"daddy—! Oh… daddy…! Please— slow down!"—couldn't keep in your your blissed out moans. Though, the idea of silence had long since been thrown out the window after your first climax.
"Quiet now, sugar," he murmured gently against your ear, only making you clench harder. "Don't want Enjin and the others to hear, now do we?" his hand then slid up over your mouth, gently but firmly clasping your jaws shut. You shook your head frantically, muttering out a broken, muffled 'no' against his hand. The stimuli, the assault on your sensitive pearl, the absolute debauchery of it all had you leaking everywhere. Before long, you clenched so impossibly tight, he let out a soft groan, your body tensing as you came—the climax nothing but white-hot bliss. With an exhausted sigh, your body finally goes limp, your legs are shaking uncontrollably, and you—without a doubt—satisfied.
"That's my good girl," Bro rumbled, gently sliding out of you before tucking you in with the same meticulous care he used to help you cum. "Goodnight, sweetheart."
abstract: who would have thought that a sex pollen curse with no ability to get prosecuted, would be the key to solving higuruma's failed marriage with the woman he still loves?
tags: ex-husband! higuruma x non sorcerer! reader, 2.8k wc, smut, intoxication (he gets hit by a curse idk…), reposted + edited from my old blog ! | art by hunnismoker (i still think abt this art) <3 - masterlist
“H-Hiromi..? What the hell are you doing here? And why do you… look like that?”
When you rushed out of your room, shirt hastily put on at the sound of the door of your apartment door being knocked, you didn’t expect for your ex-husband to appear.
Hiromi’s eyes were hooded, tie all fucked up. His jaw was clenched. His skin was pale and his pupils were dilated—as if he was high on adrenaline. It was probably 11 at night; you called off and you lounged all day after an unpleasant encounter with one of the judgemental supervisors. Your plan tonight was to watch some reality TV—potentially get take out, paint your nails and even try out a new toy you bought yourself.
You didn’t expect to open the door to then deal with your ex-husband? (who you potentially…still miss…) But he looked insane, restless.
“Can I… come in by chance?” You knew Hiromi wasn’t one to be a leech. He was far from that—and was the type of person who’d rarely ask for help.
You blinked, swinging the door open and motioning inside. “Yes, get in here.”
It was true, that Hiromi Higuruma would rarely ask for help. Hell, he was the top student at every institution he attended—and even as a Jujutsu sorcerer did he rarely ask for help. He was a damn genius.
A genius in academics and harnessing skill, that is. Not so much when it comes to managing time and communicating within his marriage to you (another lawyer…and the only love of his life).
But when Kusakabe asked him to defeat some sketchy curse by the Shinjuku train station, and got hit by a type of aphrodisiac pollen that radiated from said curse, he just had to ask you for help. You lived near and maybe… just maybe..? You were definitely smarter than him, but for old time’s sake?
He knows he shouldn't expect you to say yes, to help him. Because look at the state of your marriage—or rather former marriage. The two of you led stressful lives as attorneys, with Hiromi being a criminal defense attorney and yourself being legal counsel for a major bank downtown. However, even despite being together for years and being friends with each other for longer, time only made the two of you distant.
And before he knew it, he found himself in court for himself, signing away his marriage and you. Then came the case with Oe, his sudden Jujutsu abilities and the Culling Games, and now?
He didn’t realize how much he missed you—fucking needed you—until he was in the face of one of the—if not, the, most terrifying sorcerer of all time.
But one thing’s for sure: Hiromi was surely out of his goddamn mind the moment his body moved and made a beeline to your apartment. He still loves you. He still wants to wake up to see you every morning… He misses you so much and regrets how much he wasn’t selfish for once and lost you because of it.
Now here he was, utterly intoxicated from the aphrodisiac ability the curse had, and minutes away from rutting into the damn couch.
You held him by the arm of his blazer, and sat him down in your couch. Hiromi’s eyes traveled all over your body; you wore some loungewear, an oversized shirt he’s pretty sure was his, with no bra, and realllll pretty shorts that make your thighs look so good. Your hair and skin were damp, and you smelled fucking divine.
Was that the vanilla he liked? The nice vanilla body oil you’d lather on your perfect smooth skin every night before bed, the same oil he could get drunk off of every time the two of you slept together.
God, and your tits? Your cute breasts bouncing with every step you took and your nipples protruding from the cotton of your shirt. It took everything in him not to pounce on you, despite being a 36-year-old man with a job, responsibilities, and such. But he sure as hell missed laying his head on your chest when he finished a long day of work.
Was it the pollen that was making him act this way? Potentially. He’s not one to be that much of a pervert.
But fuck, you looked ravishing… and Hiromi felt like a horny college boy again. It was damn embarrassing but you’re the only person who’d be the most understanding… considering his current circumstance.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine…”
You narrowed your eyes and tapped your foot on the floor. Your apartment was dim—lit by the eco-friendly lamps you got accustomed to using since Hiromi was enthusiastic about eco-conscious appliances. You felt your face go hot—embarrassed and nervous. So much so that you felt your heartbeat fasten.
“How’s work?” You winced, wondering if it was really valid to ask about that considering Hiromi looked absolutely ruined.
“Fine. How’s life? How’s Mochi?” Mochi was the cat you both raised until you gained custody of said cat.
You exhaled sharply. “She’s fine…I’m fine. She's being watched by a friend of mine today.”
It was silent between the both of you before the two of you decided to suddenly speak. To cut the suffocating silence before you could impulsively kick him out for invading your ‘me-time’.
“What’s going on?” “W-Were you doing anything?”
Fuck.
Your eyebrows pinched together and your lips pursed. “What? Hiromi?”
He hummed, breath shaky. “I’m—hahh—just curious. You looked like you were potentially busy lounging around considering—" He eyed your body and nodded, blinking furiously.
It felt awkward; the tension could be cut with a damn chainsaw from how loud the silence between the two of you was, so to speak. It was heavy, and it was killing you.
Before, you’d have conversations for hours stemming from the most mundane things and now you can’t even acknowledge the fact that your ex-husband looks out of his goddamn mind and has an evident tent in his slacks that’s practically arousing your interest (no pun intended).
“Are you saying that ‘cause of my clothes..?” You paused, glancing at him, whose eyes were stuck on your breasts. “Or something else?”
You weren’t one to have your eyes linger but Jesus—Hiromi’s fucking bulge couldn’t be more damn obvious. His hands were fidgety and he was biting his lower lip. Not to mention, his presence felt stronger than when you last saw him a few months ago for your alimony court hearing.
“Look…I—”
You grimaced. “Hiro, I’m worried. You come into my apartment at random; you look fucking insane right now, and not to mention… You seem to have a bit of a problem. What the hell is going on with you? Is everything okay?”
His breathing was labored and he looked pathetic. Like he was injured... or rather, aroused.
"Be honest with me!"
Hiromi blinked rapidly. He couldn’t lie to you…not now. He’s already in deep enough shit with you considering you’re divorced in the first place.
“I—I’m fine…” He mentally smacked himself…Why—How could he lie to you?
“You’re full of shit, Hiromi.”
So he decided to pivot. Hiromi remembers how in the early years of your relationship, you poked fun at your superstitious grandmother’s tales of ‘Jujutsu sorcerers’… unaware that he’d become one over 15 years later.
“S-So you k-know how…that urban legend? Jujutsu?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “Yeah, my grandmother would talk about it all the time… What about it?”
Hiromi leaned against the couch and sighed. “I—uh… Long story short, some Jujutsu curse affected me. I—"
"You're...sure?" He looked up at your expression, all serious. You believed him..? You seriously did?
“Can’t you—uh—reverse curse it? Or something—I forgot what the old lady said…”
He shook his head—voice all shaky, which practically sent you over the edge to see your stern, enigmatic ex-husband of several years on the point of breaking down over a simple little curse. “No…trust me, I’ve tried…”
Hiromi suddenly leaned towards you, with what appeared to be tears in his eyes on the borderline of slipping down his eyes. "Please...Y/N. I have no one else to fucking t-tell...Please... I—"
He looked away as if he was embarrassed.
You stared at him blankly, lips pressed to a fine line and crossed your legs. "What type of curse do you think it was?"
"An aphrodisiac one of sorts...F-Fuck...please, I need your help, Y/N. I know we're on not so good terms.”
Hiromi felt fucking pathetic—his voice just cracked in front of you and he felt like a hot, horny, stupid mess… So much for wanting to win you back. “I can’t do it if it’s not with you…”
You stayed quiet for a moment and looked away, like you were contemplating.
“Okay.”
"I'll help you," you said, standing up. You held his clammy hand as he stood up from the couch, walking with you to your bedroom where you suddenly pushed him on the mattress and stood facing the wall.
"Now strip."
Hiromi’s known you since the two of you were in high school. He knows how you bite your lip when you’re embarrassed and twiddle your fingers when you’re shy…and you were doing just that.
"Really? You're really h-helping me?"
You exhaled, sighing deeply. "They do say time makes the heart grow fonder..."
"Rea-"
"Hiro, just do what I asked you to do, yeah? Don't push it."
Hiromi took off his shirt, unbuckled his pants and slid them down. His eyes followed you as you crawled onto the bed, eyeing his rock-hard cock that laid above his tummy, already leaking pre-cum.
“Jesus Christ… You weren’t kidding.” You hummed, looking a bit too amused at your husband’s current state. You planted your knees on each side of his thighs and stroked his cock, all stiff and twitching in your hand.
You glanced at his upper torso and your eyes widened; he no longer had that soft body you liked—slightly plush tummy and firm arms with a little extra fat, no… Hiromi was lean now, like he was actively working out. Your chest tightened; was he trying to look good for another bitch?
You began licking the sides of his cock, tracing his veins with your tongue as you licked it like a lolly if the lolly was running out of flavor.
"Ohhh—hahhh…Fuckkkkkk…” He breathed out, composure all disheveled.
You had forgotten how much you missed your husband’s pretty cock; all nice and large, veiny, and certainly girthy. So much so, you could feel your panties getting wet at the memory of how well he stretched you out every time you two had sex (which before your divorce and rough patch, was very frequent).
Your tongue swirled around his weeping shaft while your hand worked at the base of his cock, stroking it. The taste of his salty-sweet cum in your mouth made you feel almost needy for more as you took him whole. Your thighs tightened around his legs, and you could feel your cunt practically throb in anticipation.
Tears began brimming at your eyes as you looked up at him, eyes closed and lips parted as he kept letting out quiet groans at the feeling of you suctioning around his cock. Hiromi’s breathing became more jagged and his forehead gleamed with sweat already, a string of curses leaving his lips.
“Mmm…shit…” He squeezed his eyes shut as your tongue teased his cock slightly, giving him butterfly kisses until you took him whole again.
You slurped on his cock further, as Hiromi’s hands gripped on your hair as you did so, his voice cracking with every whine, and you’ve never felt more aroused. His cock twitched, with his creamy load splurting in your mouth.
You wiped the corners of your lips and swallowed.
“Please—Y/N, fuck me...”
Your widened doe eyes looked up at him, still on your knees. Hiromi blinked, lips pursed, and face all flushed. He was clearly embarrassed at his sheer state of depravity and desperation, and lack of composure and decorum. You lifted yourself up, where you were chest to chest with him, and grabbed his cock from the small space between the two of you.
You stroked him slowly, giving it a few pumps given the fact he got hard as soon as he came in your mouth. Your hips bucked up as you aligned the tip of his cock to your puffy, wet slit, your cunt gleaming from your arousal, and with your panties to the side.
“Just a moment, sweetheart,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck as you slowly adjusted yourself.
You moved your hips to side to side and shifted your weight on your knees as you went up and down his cock.
"Hahhhh, fuckkkk..." You could feel every pulsating vein and how lengthy yet filling his cock was in your pussy. You missed him...you missed his dick.
“Move. Fuck me. Please.” You said it in such a manner that your voice cracks and whiny tone almost unlocked something in him. His slow touches on your ass became rougher, with more weight and force.
Hiromi's hips went at a damn near animalistic pace, rutting into you with vigor as his hands maneuvered your ass up and down on his dick. The pitter-patter sound of your soaked thighs meeting his echoed through the bedroom loudly, and that alone made you whine, feeling the sticky and hot skin with every move of the hips.
It felt almost nostalgic that you could cry—sheer memory or the fact you're taking him now, take your pick.
"God...You're so fucking tight, my beautiful girl..." He breathed out, slapping your ass and holding the plush fat in his palm.
“Nghhh—Oh my Godddd—Fuckkkk-!” You whined, scratching at his tan-toned biceps; they were so defined, strong. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck as you felt him pant against your warm skin.
Hiromi had pressed your body closer to his, your perky breasts against his toned chest while he fucked you with such vigor, it made your head spin.
“Don’t stop, please. Please, baby,” he groaned, the raspy sound of his voice leaving you with butterflies in your stomach and your pussy fluttering around his cock.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck—Y/N…” He closed his eyes and held you tighter, the sensation of him emptying his load only had you squeezing your eyes shut and knees bucking against his sides.
“I missed you… so damn much.”
That tight feeling in your lower tummy felt as if it released, a warm buzzing feeling washing over your body.
“Hahhh—nghhh—H-Hiro—! Mmmmm…” You threw your head back, your hips moving in a figure-8 motion before gasping.
Hiromi lifted you from your waist, wrapping his surprisingly strong arms around your waist and turning you around so that your back met his chest (his also surprisingly lean chest…).
“Look at yourself, all beautiful…” He sounded like he was damn intoxicated, a stupid smile on his face while he looked at your appearance in the mirror before the two of you, facing the bed.
You looked a mess; your hair was a mess and a sleek sheen of sweat covered your body. Your lips were swollen and your cunt was glazed with your mixed arousals.
"Oh my fucking—!" You cried out, with Hiromi slamming you on his cock over and over torturously fast.
“Unghh—Fuuuckk…” Hiromi rolled his hips, the sound of his load sloshing inside your cunt becoming noticeable. You threw your head back into his shoulder and winced at the pace he took.
“Why the hell did we even divorce…?” He huffed, lifting your hips further. His gaze was glued onto the mirror—observing the faces of pleasure you were making and the way your eyes rolled every time his tip kissed your cute little cervix so nicely.
You choked, hips rolling and maw slack. He really hit all those deliciously pleasurable spots that made you cry. You chanted Hiromi’s name as if it was a prayer, feeling your cunt twitch against his cock and your skin becoming feverish and slippery the more you moved yourself on him. His wet thrusts became sloppier—more erotic. A scream escaping your lips as your arousal gushed out around his cock as ropes of his cum filled you after, again.
“Hnghh—I—hic!—don’t fucking know!” Your brain was fucking scrambled from how deep his thick cock was pistoning in you, still.
Hiromi panted against your skin, slowly lifting you. “I think the pollen effect wore off so—"
And before he could even pull back, you squeezed his arm and attempted to get closer to him.
You turned your head, catching your own breath and making eye contact with his own crazed look.
“How—hahhh—about 1 more time? Yeah? Old times' sake."
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a/n: still in the middle of reposting my fics !! i’m trying some feedback i got from my blog previously of formatting longer fics with proper capitalization so that is what i’ll be doing from now on (will update ao3 ver soon too!) but very excited to post new longer fics i’m writing (both blue lock and jjk)
I love that you added that you don’t write ‘insecure’ readers. I feel like fics are more fun when the reader has more self worth (esp w/dominant men like Croc or Doffy)
They honestly are and—this is js personal preference—I HATE insecure reader fics like buddy… not all of us hate that we're chubby. I love that I'm on the bigger side of things u could hardly call me bigger honestly and my biggest nightmare is becoming skinny.
Besides, like you said, it's fun to see those same dominant men eat shit from their ladies. It adds to the flavour of their misery (^3^
big brother kuna telling you it doesn’t count if he puts it in your ass :/ who are u to argue with that logic i guess
so he spends half an hour eating your ass and stretching you out on his fingers, laughing at you and calling you a ‘fucking baby’ when you squirm at the stretch
you’re just too eager to prove yourself to him as something more than his fragile little sister!! so you tell him you’re squirming bc he’s boring you already & he just smiles at that because you have no idea how much you’ll wish you didn’t say that.
now he’s prone on top of you, his chest pressed heavily against your back as he thrusts in and out of your ass real fast and mean, letting your sniffles and apologies get muffled by the blankets you’re pressed into :((
biting at ur ear, growling praise and degradation about how you feel so fucking good, it’s a shame you’re enough of a whore to be willing to give your ass up to your brother. maybe if you weren’t such a fucking brat all the time, he’d wedge a hand between you and the bed and rub at your sore clit. but you can take him like this if you insist on being so mouthy :/
♡. SIR CROCODILE eats it like he's fine dining. He takes his sweet, sweet time to savour the taste, never rushing into his next bite which can be both infuriatingly torturous or mind-numbingly good.
♡. SIR CROCODILE will have you lay down on his desk, completely bare, legs spread wide before dipping his head. He takes a few seconds to breathe in your scent, letting your natural musk fill his senses. It's like taking in the smell of a good meal, which is what you are to him. A good meal waiting to be devoured, savoured.
♡. SIR CROCODILE drags his tongue in slow, almost taunting stripes, lingering just against your pearl before giving a brief suck, he suction coupled with his skilled tongue making you see stars and more. When your thighs threaten to close around his head, he simply, oh-so gently forces them back open with his hand and hook—the chill of the steel sending a jolt through you—purring out, "Patience, dearest. You must never rush a good meal," his gravelly voice sending vibrations straight to your core and pearl. You can't stop yourself from keening at the rush of sensation. The warmth of his breath, the proximity if his face and your mound, the vibration of his voice—it was all too much. And he knew it. He loved it.
♡. SIR CROCODILE never once looks up while he's busy eating you out. He claims to want to enjoy his meal uninterrupted. The only time he does is to take a drag of his cigar which you hold for him. However, that doesn't make him oblivious to your reactions. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Did you twitch at the way his nose nuzzled your nub just a little too good? Don't worry, he'll do it again. Your hand going down to pull at his hair? Now, he won't let you, but he now knows that you want his tongue deep in you.
When you cum—hard and unexpected—he doesn't let a single drop go to waste. His tongue laps up every little bit of your sweet taste, tongue dragging across your inner thighs, your lips, all the way to your mound if he must. When he's finished, he delivers one final suck to your clit and kiss to your mound before pulling back, handkerchief in hand to wipe his face. His expression? Pure smug satisfaction.
uncle kuna fingering u in the passenger seat as he drives you to a party u had begged him to let you attend… he has one hand on the wheel and the other is plunging two fingers deep inside of u so quick and fast ur worried you’ll make a mess of his car :(
“no boys,” he tells you. “no sex. i’m checking you when you get home, and if i see so much as a fuckin’ hickey on you i’ll—“
“please don’t say it…” you whine, squirming in the sticky seat.
“i’ll ditch the condom, knock you up.”
you’d complain about him being so lewd if u weren’t busy cumming so hard u suddenly feel too sick to go and party… you’d rather stay in with your uncle :3
In order to get the best accuracy for overstimulation, I, too, must rub a few ones out. It would help if I had an extra hand not instinctively stopping.
In order to get the best accuracy for overstimulation, I, too, must rub a few ones out. It would help if I had an extra hand not instinctively stopping.
ᡣ𐭩 𝐒ir 𝐂rocodile had known defeat. Defeat at the hands of Whitebeard, resulting in his infamous scar and hook. Defeat at the hands of Straw Hat Luffy, resulting in the failure of the Coup d'etat in Alabasta and his incarceration at Impel Down. However, none came close to the loss of his wife. His partner in crime, his only partner for life. No. He had long placed aside his pride to face the depth of the damage the divorce had caused his heart. Yet, every once in a while, they both find themselves lingering in the ruins of their love.
☆ CONTENT .ᐟ jealous/hate sex , dubious consent elements , toxic love , "divorced but still in love" , hurt no comfort , possibly ooc Sir Crocodile , post-ts/Crossguild Sir Crocodile , mentions of substance abuse (alcohol) , strong (derogatory) language, you guys need to talk ur issues out...
—SIR CROCODILE is a divorced man. Or rather, a miserable divorced man. There is no more to that other than the fact that he misses her deeply and only through losing her did he realise her true worth.
Countless nights has he isolated himself in his office, seated behind his desk puffing out plumes of his misery and drowning in the burn of his scotch.
Too many times has he seen the arms of unworthy dogs curled around her waist—none was he able to prevent. What right had he? He was the one who drove her away. He had no-one to blame but himself.
He has endured her barbs—“still chasing fairytale weapons?”—tolerated her endless provocations—“what would the Marines make of this?”—and endured the painful sight of her with other men. Yet, each time he faces her, he still finds himself weak in the knees. He finds himself bending to her will. He doesn’t care enough to stop.
Not when the scent of her perfume overrode each sense. Not when her lips still tasted so sweet, printing the traces of her wine on his tongue, and the curvature of her body still fit in his hands like a puzzle.
“You’ve been drinking,” the purr of her voice still made his body jolt with need.
He huffed softly, arms wrapping tighter around her waist, choosing not to respond with words but with need. She chuckled, “Did I not tell you to practice restraint?”, gloved palm trailing his jaw and cheek. He leaned in instinctively. She only smirked. “The workload has been... suffocating,” a weak lie. She knew well-enough that Crocodile did not struggle with workload whilst choosing to exit his office, much less move away from his desk. He still grieved their marriage. She knew. She did too. Part of her—the bitter and scorned wife—felt a twisted form of amusement at her ex-husband’s sorrow as much as she felt anger.
His betrayal of their love has not yet soothed over. Countless nights has she found herself eyeing his bounty posters with scorn, throwing knives at the centre of his face, ripping it to pieces or—most insultingly—drenching it with water. Neither action ever appeased her anger or hurt.
She was well-aware that Crocodile would not remarry after her. He was far too mistrusting and reserved for that. However, the first time she saw another woman in his arms, the cracks in her heart spread further. It was hypocritical of her, that she was aware of. However, the sight of a cheap harlot draped over him like some new rug felt like an insult to the silk she once embodied. Only she knew how he liked to be covered. Was he truly so pathetic that he chose polyester as a substitute?
“Oh? Has it? Or are you just too occupied wallowing in the hole you dug yourself in?” she holds his gaze with hers, smirking and unblinking before slinking out of his grasp. Her lips curled in amusement when his arms attempted to hold her tighter, but the familiar glide of her hand against his arm—the reminder of the promise that used to come with it—slackened his grip.
His eyes watched as she moved around him, observing her dress trail behind her as if she were walking on water. Her hands then found his shoulders, gently nudging him towards the chaise. “You cannot lie to me, Sandman,” she cooed into his ear. He could not.
He grunted faintly in response, “hn,” but followed her implicit demand, offering no resistance as he seated himself on the chaise, eyes immediately trailing up her body and once again finding hers. She was so infuriatingly beauteous that he could not find in him to open his mouth and spit back a biting barb of his own. Instead, he sat there, deep-set eyes never straying from hers and lips shut firmly whilst she stared down at him, bitterness hidden behind her eyes.
“Cat got your tongue?” yes, it did and she needed no verbal confirmation for that. As much as he wished to, Crocodile couldn't find his voice. He was too disarmed by her to do so. It irritated her. Now he chooses to fawn? “Speak, you dunce,” her voice dropped and so did she. Her arms settled on both sides of the chaise, face lowering to his level. Her smirk was gone which revealed the depth of her anger. He almost flinched.
The air in his office intensified. The gentle caress of her feigned composure had helped with the intensity of her hidden scorn. With it now gone, Crocodile was forced to face his worst mistake—his ex-wife. The very woman who resided in his worst dreams.
“What do you want me to say?” he finally spoke, though it sounded more like a pathetic grumble. “Anything that proves I am not speaking to a corpse,” she sighed, eyebrows furrowing to create the expression he still loved dearly. “Of all the times, now you choose to fawn?” Crocodile's response was breathy—a heavy sigh that gave away his ‘yes’.
How he longed for her touch. The kiss she has graced him with—if out of sadistic amusement—has briefly forced him back to life, but now he aches for more. “You initiated,” he has stopped trying to resist his rising need. Seeing his beloved again in any way, especially so bitter but alive, heats up his blood in a way it hasn't since the papers were signed.
His gaze intensified and she sensed it immediately. Pathetic man. In spite of the caliginous lighting, her eyes—attuned to his every shift in posture—caught the intensity of his gaze and what was building beneath his stoic expression. “You sad, sad man,” her voice was a cutting whisper and her gaze held nothing but venom. Neither of that stopped her from reducing the space between their lips. “If that's what it takes to have you longer…” he murmurs.
Their breaths mingled for a second longer, eyes searching for regrets. They had too many and few words.
He tasted her and she tasted him. The taste of wine and scotch mingling with the aftertaste of his cigar. It worked like a drug to her senses, erasing every bit of her reason from her mind. The kiss deepened, hands—no longer covered by her gloves—cupping his face as she lowered herself even further to straddle him. His hand and hook found her hips and thighs, digging into her skin and moving like second nature as he let her take.
The air became suffocating. Not with the intensity of the resentment—though it had its role—no. With the intensity of his need... and hers. Every time she pulled back he pulled her right back in, tongue latching onto hers to taste her. Her teeth found his lip, nipping it gently before she dove back in.
The kiss intensified, desperation began to leak through, and very quickly did her lips stain his with a deep maroon. She felt the smooth cool of his hook dig into her dress-covered thigh faintly and felt his hand slide up to cup the side of her neck. She didn't understand the gentleness behind his action whilst she was trying to print her very taste onto him. She didn't care.
Crocodile's own need was briefly tempered. The vague, dry taste of salt on her lips had slowed down his train of thought. She wept. That realisation had seeped in like poison. He knew very well the reason for her tears and it didn't hurt any less. So he kissed deeper, his tongue gently took the lead as if it were a slow dance. His lips latched onto hers, gently tugging to coax her deeper yet slower, and tasting the salt little by little.
His hook dug deeper—slowly tearing the delicate fabric of the dress—and his grasp became firm. The kiss, his grasp and hook, they were all attempts to erase the memory of her tears even when he knew that when she leaves, she'll cry all over again. The sound of the soft tear made her pull back briefly. “That dress is expensive,” she murmured against his lips before connecting them once more. “I'll buy a new one,” he murmured in return, quickly pulling her back in. He always did buy her things even after they divorced and even when she rejected them. He never stopped. Never for her.
As they began to lose themselves in their shared kiss, Crocodile's hand began to roam and so did hers. His hand found the curve of her bottom and squeezed firmly, her hands found his tucked scarf and tugged it away. Their lips parted only for air. His hand then slid further until he found the lace of her panties, whilst hers slid down until she found his belt.
With a sudden heat-driven rush, she undid his belt and pants, and he shifted her panties aside. Neither of them wasted words. She sunk down on him, breath hitching as she adjusted to his girth while his hand rested on her hip—a comforting pressure. Only when their lips parted, were they able to look each other in the eye and see how ruined they were for anyone else to enjoy. Only then was Crocodile able to see the faint, dried streaks of her tears. Only then was she able to see how her make up had already marked his mouth.
The familiar intoxicating heat of their union spread throughout her body—like a warm blanket—instantly evoking memories she has sought to bury. Her breath hitched—exactly in the manner he enjoyed in their marriage long ago—vulnerable and filled with need. Her eyes, already lidded, slowly glazed with the heat of her desire and searched his gold ones as she had so many times before. Crocodile, in turn, pounced. Gently, slowly taking her lips and using the comforting pressure of his hand to sink her down further until she was buried to the hilt—like a missing puzzle piece snapping back into its rightful place.
And then, he moved. He moved gently and deeply with the rhythm of a man who knew how to make her fall apart with the right caress and hushed purr. She responded with weary acceptance, a soft “nh…”, willingly drowning in the feel of his touch with the pleasure of a woman who hasn't been properly satisfied since the day their vows of forever expired.
Their rhythm slowly commenced, unhurried but with a building hunger that numbed the pain of their love if only for a moment. Breaths mingled, “hah…” “mhh…”, her hands roamed—unbuttoning his suit and gliding over the skin of his neck and clavicle. His hook tore through her dress further—the soft ripping riiip a lewd, whispering promise to the desolate space of his office and to him. He took her lips deeper and she sunk further with each lift of her hips. Slowly but surely, their wet connection became the only sound with a consistent rhythm, the shifting of their clothes and the wet snapping of lips serving as the backing notes of their toxic and sombre ballad.
“Crocodile,” she sighed, her head tipping back as the tingles of the gentle and consistent grazing within her velvet walls broke down each of her defenses with tender ease. Crocodile did not hesitate. The slope of her neck, her exposed skin—it called to him. It called to his mouth and tongue. He latched on to the smooth skin, tongue dragging across it as if he were a predator marking his territory. He is. With the consistent, gentle bucking of his hips and the stimulation of his mouth, he felt her unravel bit by agonising bit. He felt the soft clench of her vulva and the brief intensity of her silken warmth, the feeling sending a jolt of reanimating pleasure throughout his entire body. It was as if he were being brought back from the dead.
And then there was her voice.
“Crocodile…” a call to him. A call to his dour soul and cold heart. And he answered it with building fervescence.
Riiip again his hook tore further, this time digging into her skin faintly. The hand on her hip squeezed gently and his lips worked on her skin reverently while he basked in her encompassing warmth. She was already lost in the ocean of their shared pleasure. Everywhere was met with a gentle stimulation. Between her legs and on her hips and on her neck—she felt it all. Felt the tingle in her slit, the warmth of his palm, and the moist of his mouth. Her capacity to think reduced with each tick of the clock and she didn't want it to stop. Not when the pain had numbed so good.
She would regret her actions tomorrow anyways.
But then, Crocodile began losing his patience. His hips bucked slightly but enough to graze her just right and enough to out drag the sound he has craved to hear from her for a long time. “Ngh..!” she moaned into his mouth, hands instantly latching onto his unbuttoned dress shirt. The sound was like a siren's call for a man as deprived from his ex-wife as Crocodile. Exhilarating. She pulled back, “You…”, she whispered in disbelief yet almost… pleadingly. “Let me…” Crocodile did not bother to hide the plea and need in his voice, the ache for her too powerful to resist and the high of their union, if only temporary, too strong a drug for his broken heart.
She held his gaze for but a moment, lips parted with an unspoken need she tired of hiding. His hand slid up hastily, fingers latching onto the zipper of her dress and pulling it down with barely restrained ferocity. Then again, he no longer had a reason to. Not when she looked at him with those devastating eyes.
Crocodile stood up, pulling out of her in the process, “Ngh—what are you—?”, the loss of warmth and fullness working on both of them. He grumbled lowly, as if not returning to her snug warmth would kill him. She hissed, irritated at the sudden emptiness within her. The hollow between her legs was a brutal reminder of the reality she lived and of the feelings that were numbed. It's as if someone had thrown cold water on her whilst in her blissed-out state.
Crocodile stood up hastily from the chaise, moving with her in his arms towards his desk and swiping everything off the table before sitting her down and settling between her legs. However, her sudden disillusionment, the reality of their relationship, had returned her stubborn streak. As he reached out his hand to lower the strap of her dress, her hand struck his with a loud clap—
“Don't touch me.”
He blinked in surprise. Her voice—why—she sounds angry… furious even. The look in her eyes. The bitterness he had grown accustomed to over the years has returned where her pleasure was mere moments ago and with a new, uncomfortable intensity. Her face, the mouth that called out to him, was now curled in disgust. It was as if he had hurled the worst insult at her. He might as well have.
He felt his own irritation flicker to life at the sight.
“What.”
He asked (though, it was less of a question and more of a demand), voice low, having regained its Warlord intensity. Why was she acting like this? Why now? Was she not the one moaning his name moments ago like she needed him?
“Why the change of heart?” he inquired lowly, arms settling on each side of her hips, caging her like she had caged him before. “We're divorced. Get off me,” she hissed as her hand shot up to push him at the shoulder. No. He wouldn't let her. Not this time. His hand caught her wrist as quickly as it shot out, taking her by surprise. “No,” now she blinked in surprise. He knew she hadn't expected that. He always remained pliable for her almost every time they came face-to-face. Rarely did he ever fight back and if he did, it would only be in his consequence. But now? Oh no, not this time. They were having a moment and she was enjoying it. He was not about to lose this with her, simply because her pride demanded it. He gave up on his long ago after he lost her. Why should he let her hide behind it now?
“No?—”
“No.”
With a harsh tug, he pulled against his chest while his hook stayed firm on her hip. “Stop lying to yourself, amata. Ti è piaciuto tanto quanto è piaciuto me,” even as she tried to pull away from his hand, he didn't let her. “You lost the right to touch me after we signed those papers!” she spat bitterly as she tried to free her wrist without success. “Yet here we are, hm?” Crocodile's tone suddenly quieted down, a warning to many who have ever heard this switch in octave and now, her too.
Her eyes, surprised and now confused, found his hard and angry ones. But he was right and she knew it. She claims to hate him more than the World Government itself and yet, every once in a while, she finds herself in his arms, in his office, and worse. “You will swallow your damn pride, woman,” Crocodile began, his behaviour suddenly shifting. His hand let go of her wrist and slid to the back of her head—“and you will take what I have to give you”—taking advantage of her stunned state to force her down, and to force himself between her legs.
That snapped her out of it. “Get off me!” her voice was loud, sharp, angry. Her legs immediately shot up and kicked, the heels of her stilettos serving as dangerous blades in an attempt to ward Crocodile off. But the ex-Warlord did not budge. His hand caught her leg by the calf, grip bruising as his hook pushed her skirt up to her hips. “No, beloved,” he snapped, now pulling her to his aching need. “Not anymore,” she yelped in surprise, eyes widening further as she realised what he was about to do.
“No!—”
“Now, lay there and take everything,”
“Get off!—”
“I have to give you and tell me if those dogs even hold a candle to me.”
And then, like a predator dragging its prey into the depths of its demise, he entered her, the sticky sound of their union plap shattering the noise of their anger and lapping over their tension like a warm towel. “Ah-h!” she moaned in surprise, unable to stop the sound from leaving her as the full feeling once again took over. Crocodile, for his part, sighed deeply in relief at the return of her warmth, the sensation working on him like a soothing coo.
Finally, it surged. His need, the pain, the longing—everything surged out like an erupting volcano. His hips collided with hers, now ruthless in intensity, quickly dissolving her stubbornness to pleasured submission. His eyes locked onto hers, watching the furious intensity melt away through her building tears as pleasure and reluctant lust filled in its stead. Then, her lips parted with the intensity of the feeling she's slowly starting to accept, her voice, “haah…”, finally taking the leading role in their toxic ballad, “ah..!”, and singing the song that sent him into a state of pure, “Ah-h—!” unadulterated, “Crocodile…” bliss.
The gentle burn of each deep stroke and the kiss of his blunt head against her deepest part sent sparks all over from her head to the soles of her feet. The flush of her pleasure rose swiftly and her cheeks gained a beautiful red tint—the natural red an infinitely more gorgeous tint than the artificial rouge of her make-up. Finally, her hands, once so avoidant of the rest of Crocodile, found their way up desperately and Crocodile reached out. He let go of her calf, opting to wrap it around his waist as his hand then reached out to hold hers, fingers intertwining and squeezing as he continued.
And Crocodile enjoyed all of this. However, his ego remained bruised.
With a gentle yet surprising force, he pinned her hand next to her face, his own lowering to meet hers as his hips continued their relentless pace with lewd plap plap plaps. “Tell me. Did they hold you like this, hm?” he demanded an answer out of her, emphasising his superiority with the gentle yet rough grasp he knew she loved. She didn't want to answer, choosing to swallow and choke on her moans instead. The sound, beautiful as it was, did not sway the ex-Warlord. His hook moved from her hip and found itself beneath her chin—the cool metal sending a jolt through her—tilting her head so she could meet his gaze. “Answer me,” his voice was low, rough—breath warm and heavy against her ear. “No..! No!” she managed to choke out.
Thrust!
Plap!
“Ngh- ah!” he thrusts hard once, poking that spot in her just right. She clenched around him instantly, the warmth sucking him deeper and warming him immensely, “hrn…” he almost lost himself. almost. Again he thrusts hard plap watching her jolt and arch off his desk, hand sliding up to his shoulder to ground herself. He let her. She'd need it anyway. His hook then lowered, sliding past her hip and resting in the crevice of her knee before pulling up the leg and resting it on his shoulder, exposing her body more for his eyes to ogle hungrily. The sight had blood rushing south all over again, not only making him hypersensitive to her delicious, velvety, moist warmth, but slowly (or not) making him act like the man who got drunk on his scotch. This time, he didn't have any pain to numb, just a need to relieve.
His hips stayed consistent in their pace, the depth became more punishing, aiming to reduce her to the same drunken state he was plummeting to, “Crocodile!”, just so he could see that blissed-out look again. “I know. I will,” just so he could see that he was the only man as much as this.
His hand moved to grab her waist, squeezing it once, twice to remember what it felt like to take her like this in their marriage bed. Oh, how he wished these clothes weren't blocking him from her beautiful skin. But he could not complain now. Not when his office was finally occupied with any other sound than the maddening tick tock of the clock—especially since the sounds themselves, “there! Oh!—”, were of him and his beloved once again in the throes of their passion.
“They didn't hold you like this,” his grip tightened gently on her waist. “Didn't make you feel as good as I did,” his hips slammed harder, touched deeper—better. “Didn't look at you as if you're the very reason to breathe,” his eyes were intense, vaguely glazed with pleasure, but soft in a way only she would be able to see how weak he was beneath his miserable façade.
Oh, but he wasn't in control for long.
“Then why did you look away?” his ears perked at the question, eyes twitching by a fraction as he watched hers—tears spilling from each corner from pleasure, shame, and hurt combined—harden. “What made that weapon better than me?” she managed to force out, even if it came out as a pathetic whimper—something she'll hate herself for later—it had the exact bite she needed. That's the worst of it. Nothing ever made it better than her. And he noticed that too late. He let his ambitions and ego get the better of him and in the end, it resulted in him losing his greatest treasure of all time—his wife.
She didn't let him look away, forcing him to hold her gaze with the leg that rested on her shoulder. He wouldn't run from it either.
“You have some nerve to look at me this way when you had cheap sluts draped over you like they belonged there!” she snapped back, her voice regaining some of its ferocity.
In spite of the moment and her pleasure and him, she bit back, nails digging in as painfully as her words and by God he both loved and hated it. The love outweighed the bad by an impressive margin. That she was here alone, even as she was cursing him while taking his impressive length, was enough for him to hear every hurtful thing she had to say. He knew she was right, and he'd rather have this than the silence. “And none of them ever compared to you…” he breathed lowly before diving his head into her neck. She accepted him without protest, opting to enjoy the assault on her senses and the feel of his experienced tongue instead.
“Mmm— aghh.. Take me…”
“I will… Better than those poor stand-ins ever did.”
Time faded quickly for him when she had her nails digging deep into his clothed shoulder—biting in its intensity in spite of his clothing—her legs in his arms, voice singing his name as if his name was meant to be on her tongue. And for her—his tongue dragging across her skin and mouth marking it, the barrage on her sensitive inner walls and cervix, and the feel of his large, warm hand had made her forget everything in existence save for this moment.
The eventual climax, “CROCODILE!”, had left them both sated, exhausted, and had again restarted the cycle of their relapsing affection.
…............
She woke up to the comforting weight of an arm draped over her stomach and the soft, warm breath against her ear. She did not need to open her eyes to know where she was, the familiar sweet smell of a cigar and warm spice of cologne had given that away. With a deep, exhausted sigh, she opened her eyes—adjusting to the warm, tame lighting. She lay there for a few, quiet moments, the memories replaying in her mind like a broken tape, before her arms slowly found the arm draped over her. It was his maimed limb. For a moment, her heart throbbed painfully. He still trusted her enough to sleep that way. But she couldn't stay here.
Gently and slowly, she removed his arm and slipped out of the bed. Given the fact that he's a light sleeper, he felt the immediate shift and the lack of the cushioning presence beneath his arm. His eyes snapped open and immediately flicked to the side where she stood nude in all her glory but no doubt in a state of self-loathing. No words were exchanged. None would help and they both knew it. Instead, Crocodile got out of bed, silent as a mouse, and reached for his robe.
Meanwhile, she was already halfway done with dressing. All that was left was to zip up her dress. Before she could reach behind her, a heavy hand found its way on the small of her back, fingers grabbing the zipper. He zipped it up, the soft ziiiip the only noise in the room before his hand settled on her upper back. For a moment, they stood there together, the sound of their breathing being the only true noise now. Neither wanted to move and that gave Crocodile an opportunity. He knew he shouldn't but he couldn't help himself. He lowered his face to hers, resting gently on the side, before placing a soft kiss on her neck, her cheek, and her temple. She turned away her gaze.
With a final slide of her straps, she put on her shoes and walked out, knowing that when she arrived home, she'd drown in the sweetness of her wine the same way Crocodile would drown in the burn of his scotch. They both knew it. Neither had to say it.
They were miserable together.
a/n 彡 that was my first smut after a long time. Hope it wasn't too awkward .ᐟ
Bro Santa and his sweet daughter. | cw :: psuedo-incest , daddy kink.
♡. 𝐁𝐑𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 wanted to wait until his girl was at least old enough to get a sip of alcohol in her system, but it seems that plan had faded into obsolescence.
"Bro… daaddy… oh," you moaned softly as his heavy hips collided with loving intensity against yours. How did you end up here again? Oh, right. Boys. Bro observed the leering eyes of men. Men looking at his beautiful daughter, as if you were nothing more than some doll to use and ruin. Worst of all, you were at the height of your puberty. He knew your hormones would take over eventually and he wouldn't have some scummy boy ruin his daughter for a bit of fun.
"Is that good, sweetheart?" Bro rumbled softly as he adjusted his grip on your hips to ensure your comfort. They had gotten so full now, like your other curves. He could remember when he had found you, so sweet, so shy. Now, look at you. A fine young lady with a finer body and tight, delicious little hole. He can't lie, even as he tried to, your snug hole—so keen on milking him dry—was making it difficult for him to go anything beyond this deep yet moderate pace. He doesn't want to hurt you with his strength, but you were making it increasingly difficult and you were aware of it.
You were also aware that Bro wasn't one to deny you or Dear very easily, practically folding at each of your whims without much struggle. With a soft whine—"daddy…"—you arched your back just enough to make him throb, pressing your little ass just barely against him. It was the sight of nothing but pure, sinful begging. And he'd give it to you. With a deep sigh, he slowly quickened the pace. "That feel better, sweetheart?" "Uh-h.. huh… yeah- yeah- uh," he smiled playfully at your breathlessness and overstimulated whines. If it was one thing he loved, it was always keeping you satisfied. If you were satisfied, he was satisfied.
Before long, he felt the familiar constriction and heavy warmth before his ears picked up on your quickened breath. Placing a hand firmly on the side of your waist, gripping you firmly, he drove into you faster, deeper, and hard enough that you—"daddy—! Oh… daddy…! Please— slow down!"—couldn't keep in your your blissed out moans. Though, the idea of silence had long since been thrown out the window after your first climax.
"Quiet now, sugar," he murmured gently against your ear, only making you clench harder. "Don't want Enjin and the others to hear, now do we?" his hand then slid up over your mouth, gently but firmly clasping your jaws shut. You shook your head frantically, muttering out a broken, muffled 'no' against his hand. The stimuli, the assault on your sensitive pearl, the absolute debauchery of it all had you leaking everywhere. Before long, you clenched so impossibly tight, he let out a soft groan, your body tensing as you came—the climax nothing but white-hot bliss. With an exhausted sigh, your body finally goes limp, your legs are shaking uncontrollably, and you—without a doubt—satisfied.
"That's my good girl," Bro rumbled, gently sliding out of you before tucking you in with the same meticulous care he used to help you cum. "Goodnight, sweetheart."
Bro Santa and his sweet daughter. | cw :: psuedo-incest , daddy kink.
♡. 𝐁𝐑𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 wanted to wait until his girl was at least old enough to get a sip of alcohol in her system, but it seems that plan had faded into obsolescence.
"Bro… daaddy… oh," you moaned softly as his heavy hips collided with loving intensity against yours. How did you end up here again? Oh, right. Boys. Bro observed the leering eyes of men. Men looking at his beautiful daughter, as if you were nothing more than some doll to use and ruin. Worst of all, you were at the height of your puberty. He knew your hormones would take over eventually and he wouldn't have some scummy boy ruin his daughter for a bit of fun.
"Is that good, sweetheart?" Bro rumbled softly as he adjusted his grip on your hips to ensure your comfort. They had gotten so full now, like your other curves. He could remember when he had found you, so sweet, so shy. Now, look at you. A fine young lady with a finer body and tight, delicious little hole. He can't lie, even as he tried to, your snug hole—so keen on milking him dry—was making it difficult for him to go anything beyond this deep yet moderate pace. He doesn't want to hurt you with his strength, but you were making it increasingly difficult and you were aware of it.
You were also aware that Bro wasn't one to deny you or Dear very easily, practically folding at each of your whims without much struggle. With a soft whine—"daddy…"—you arched your back just enough to make him throb, pressing your little ass just barely against him. It was the sight of nothing but pure, sinful begging. And he'd give it to you. With a deep sigh, he slowly quickened the pace. "That feel better, sweetheart?" "Uh-h.. huh… yeah- yeah- uh," he smiled playfully at your breathlessness and overstimulated whines. If it was one thing he loved, it was always keeping you satisfied. If you were satisfied, he was satisfied.
Before long, he felt the familiar constriction and heavy warmth before his ears picked up on your quickened breath. Placing a hand firmly on the side of your waist, gripping you firmly, he drove into you faster, deeper, and hard enough that you—"daddy—! Oh… daddy…! Please— slow down!"—couldn't keep in your your blissed out moans. Though, the idea of silence had long since been thrown out the window after your first climax.
"Quiet now, sugar," he murmured gently against your ear, only making you clench harder. "Don't want Enjin and the others to hear, now do we?" his hand then slid up over your mouth, gently but firmly clasping your jaws shut. You shook your head frantically, muttering out a broken, muffled 'no' against his hand. The stimuli, the assault on your sensitive pearl, the absolute debauchery of it all had you leaking everywhere. Before long, you clenched so impossibly tight, he let out a soft groan, your body tensing as you came—the climax nothing but white-hot bliss. With an exhausted sigh, your body finally goes limp, your legs are shaking uncontrollably, and you—without a doubt—satisfied.
"That's my good girl," Bro rumbled, gently sliding out of you before tucking you in with the same meticulous care he used to help you cum. "Goodnight, sweetheart."
♡. 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐑 and his slight breeding kink. He's been working some time on the Uroboros and as he does so, he remembers how he came to be. Then, he looks at you—you who he has deemed the only thing worth keeping in this pathetic world, the one he deemed worthy to stand next to a god—and wonders if his genetic superiority and yours could make the perfect child. The perfect human. The pinnacle of humanity.
Perhaps that is why you find yourself bent over his desk more often than usual. "Oh- Albert…" you certainly weren't complaining with the way he drove his powerful hips against yours or the way his grip behind your neck was firm, but comfortable enough for you to focus on him and only him. Albert, on the other hand, revelled in your dishevelled appearance, the sight spurring on his pace and stroking his ego. "Take it, darling. Every little bit I have to give," he murmured too gently for a man like him.
When he felt the familiar sensation of euphoria, the hand on your neck tightened its grip. "Ah—!" he listened to the way you choked on your moans, "Al- uh!" before he felt the your warmth tighten and pull him in. Your body wracked with pure ecstasy, back arching slightly as you reached your climax. Seconds later, Wesker followed in suit with a heavy, deep thrust, and a strained grunt of pure exhilaration.
"Marvellous, my sweet. Be a dear and swell with my child, won't you?" he murmured, all too smug before pressing a final kiss against your damp temple.
