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Not a bot just here to reblog smut and occasional fluff 27 y/o she/her MDNI

[delaneycore]

Mutated Desires ― Peter Parker

Pairing: BND!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: After claiming you needed a break, you find yourself back in Peter’s bed less than a week later. Watching you become undone before him, he is unable to tame his twisted desires when the darker parts of his mangled arachnid DNA take control, leaving you caught in the crossfire.

Warnings/Tags: Spider-man: Brand New Day, sensory overload!Peter Parker, explicit smut, masturbation, boyfriend(ish)!Peter Parker, dirty talk, rough sex, dark!Peter Parker, unprotected p in v, top!Peter Parker, monsterfucking undertones (arachnid), dubious consent (dubcon), creampie, overstimulation, multiple orgasms. read responsibly!

Word Count: 2.9k

Author's Note: There’s really no fucking around here, it cuts straight to the smut. 

Inspiration: “Wolf Like Me” by TV On The Radio, “Puppy Dog Eyes” by Suki Waterhouse, and Peter Parker with black eyes (shocker).

Peter liked it best when you were on your knees. The sight of you resting back on your calves, gazing up at him with those big, round puppy dog eyes of yours, revived something inside of him. You were completely helpless, chewing on your swollen, trembling bottom lip with your hands pressed together between your clenched thighs. 

There was something religious about the way he admired you, carving the shape of your curves somewhere in the depths of his mind. 

It had been less than a week since the two of you decided to take what you titled a “break.” Peter called it “fucking stupid.” 

The five days the two of you spent apart was all it took to remind you how much you actually needed him. However, he’d never forgotten where his desires resided.

His gaze traced your entire frame, tongue slipping out to slowly wet his parted lips as he did so. 

Angelic, he suddenly thought to himself. That was what you looked like. An angel in baby pink, frilly little lace panties. Despite how heavenly you looked, he knew that if he really wanted to, he could have taken you right where you sat between his spread legs. He could have sprung up off the bed, wrapped his big arms around your figure and done all of the filthy things he was picturing in his head. But he didn’t—not yet, anyway. 

That wasn’t what he wanted. 

What he wanted was to watch you come undone for him. 

When your hands moved from where they were squeezed between your quivering thighs, he bit back a gasp. The sudden movement was too much for him. 

Your knees slowly spread before him, causing his jaw to nearly splinter from how hard he was clenching. His self-restraint was faltering, just like he knew you wanted it to. 

His sharp gaze was trained on you, watching your every move with careful precision. Moving sluggishly, you placed one hand behind you, on the mess of tangled-up sheets atop the king-size mattress. The other hand was his newest fixation as it moved to your tits, massaging the perky flesh and softly pinching your pebbled nipple. An electric shock-like feeling coursed through your veins, causing the careful gaze you kept on his hardened features to wander, drawing a soft, whimpering sound from your parted lips. 

That was almost enough to undo him entirely, but his muscles tensed with restraint. 

You moved your busy hand down your stomach slowly, eyes trained on his dark irises as they followed your hand with relentless desperation. Reaching the thin hem of your panties, you sat back further on your knees and let your hand wander deeper into the place where you craved his touch the most. 

Feeling your own arousal was enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your head, knowing how desperate you were. 

In the silence of the dark room, the wet sounds of your fingers working slow circles over your needy clit felt like alarm bells ringing in his ears. His chest rose at the sound, sucking in a sharp breath as you amazed him with your seductive motions. 

“Do you hear that?” you spoke into the suffocating silence, voice small and shaky from the satisfaction you were providing yourself. “That’s how much I want you.” 

His nostrils flared, something akin to insatiable hunger came over him. He was absolutely ravished, you becoming his only craving—the only thing able to tame the storm brewing inside him. 

“Thought it was a bad idea,” he forced out, still finding the strength to taunt you despite the shackles on his brain.

You ignored him, only pumping yourself faster.

Growing miserable in his own cage of desire, his hand moved from where he’d had it resting behind his head, creeping slowly down to the waistband of his boxers. Realizing what he was going to do was already enough to send you over the edge, but witnessing it was enough to desert you from all of your senses. 

He knew trying to take his boxers off would interrupt your pleasure and he was far too desperate to waste any more time, so when he slipped his throbbing cock through the slit in the fabric, he loosened a groan of overwhelming pleasure. 

Slipping your trembling fingers deeper into your dripping folds, you bit down on your lip hard enough to cause injury to stifle the scream that threatened to escape you. 

Even in the dim light of the lamp on the bedside table, your sluggish gaze caught the beads of precum oozing from the tip of his unduly lengthy dick. Grazing the pad of his thumb over it, you slowly slid a single finger inside your pulsating entrance. 

Even with your panties obstructing his view, he knew what you were doing. He could hear the sloshing sounds every time you slithered your digit in and out of your needy core. 

Propping himself up on one elbow, his hand shot out towards you. His eyes flashed from his upward facing palm to your face. 

“Spit,” he ordered, his voice gruff and raw from the energy he had exerted from holding himself back. 

You complied effortlessly, gathering your saliva in your mouth and bowing your head to his palm, spitting into his shaking hand. 

His tongue sunk into his jaw, lips parted, as he brought his damp hand to his hardened length, taking himself in a firm grasp and working in slow movements, mimicking the pace of your fingers slipping in and out of your needy cunt. 

A deep grunt spilled out of him as he imagined his wet strokes were your quivering walls, relishing in the memory of what he knew your flesh felt like on his. 

His attention honed in on your wondrous hand while yours watched the way he worked himself with such aggression, stroking himself from the hilt of his sturdy cock to the dribbling tip, the soft light reflecting off the saturated skin. 

He was so hard, it was painful. The veins of his dick pumped blood to his pink tip that your eyes couldn’t get enough of. 

“Another one, baby,” he muttered between heavy pants. “Two fingers.” 

You pulled your finger out, only for a second—only long enough to press two fingers inside yourself, barely giving your sopping walls time to adapt. 

You were breathing so hard, the skin on your exposed chest blotched as sweat beaded on your forehead. That was the proof of pleasure, you thought. 

He continued working himself, groaning at the sight of you taking more. 

“Yeah, baby,” he moaned through gritted teeth. “Just like that. Fuck—you’re so perfect like this.” 

A smile slipped through your slacked jaw, your head rolling back as you grinded your hips on your own hand, your palm massaging your sensitive clit. 

“Uh-uh,” he grunted. “Eyes on me, baby girl.” 

With a great deal of effort, you lulled your forward to face him. 

His breathing suddenly shifted. It wasn’t just ragged, it was nearing hyperventilation. His teeth clenched together, nostril flaring as he tugged on his dick with unrelenting force. His head fell back on the pillow, digging into the material as his back arched off the bed slightly. The veins in his throat thrummed as his chest rose and fell at a frantic rate. 

When he finally seemed to have regained control of himself, his neck craned to look at you. 

Every one of his senses were suddenly heightened. No, they weren’t just heightened, he thought, they were hyperstimulated. He could suddenly make out the rhythm of your racing heart, see the beads of sweat rolling down your temple. He could hear the sounds of your flesh suctioning your fingers and could smell your arousal. 

It was something he’d never felt before. The craving he suddenly had for you was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was an untamable, insatiable desire to have you in all of the worst ways.

He couldn’t think straight.

Once your gaze finally met his, you gasped. 

His eyes were suddenly so dark—dark enough that there was seemingly no light left in them, like the whites had been blown out. 

You sucked in another sharp breath, the air hitching in your tight throat. “Peter, your—your eyes…” you gasped, unable to stop moving yourself over your hand despite the concern swelling in your overworked mind. “They’re black,” you forced out. 

You barely had time to register what happened next, your breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan when he sat up in bed, his arm slipping around your waist, forcing you down on your back. 

“Peter,” you breathed, but he barely regarded it. 

He stood off the side of the bed, working in rushed movements to remove his boxers, causing his achingly hard cock to slap against his toned abdomen. The alleviation drew a groan from him, shoulders sagging in relief now that there was nothing left to constrict him. 

You remained on your back, watching him with a newfound eagerness about you. 

His eyes, the way he spit in his hand and covered his length with his own saliva before climbing back onto the bed—it was all too much. But the only thought clouding your mind was just how badly you wanted it. No, you thought, needed it. You needed him in a way that teetered on the fine line between sanity and a complete desertion of your morals. It was a carnal desire, one that would never be satisfied by touching yourself, fucking yourself with your own fingers. 

Training your attention on him as he centered himself between your legs, an insurmountable flutter occurred in your lower stomach as his calloused hands gripped your thighs. He pulled you towards him with such force, the oxygen in your lungs vanished. It was barely anything for him, though, like he’d just picked up a stray feather. 

Your panties were still clung to your flesh, a wet patch spreading where he needed to be the most. For a fleeting second, you thought about pushing them off, but it was a wasted deliberation because he crooked two fingers through the material between your legs, tearing the fabric in one swift tug. 

“Fuck…” he moaned, eyeing your swollen core. 

The muscle in his jaw flared with nothing but disgraceful ideas coursing through his twisted, mutated brain. 

You bit down on your bottom lip as he gripped his shaft, aligning himself where you needed him the most. Lowering himself over you, he placed one hand down on the mattress next to your head and lifted your leg with the other. 

With just the pulsating tip of him slipping inside you, your chest rose, lips parting due to the overstimulating sensation of him attempting to fit his length inside you. But every grasp you had left of your senses abruptly abandoned you when he slammed himself deep inside you without warning, the flesh around your unprepared cunt slamming against the base of his cock. 

“Oh, God,” you cried out. 

Your head shot back, sinking deep into the mattress as he grunted at the feeling of you clenching around him. 

The sudden burning sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure through your quaking body, one hand balled into a fist, clenching around the soft fabric of the bedsheets. Your free hand clung to his muscular back, nails digging into his sweltering skin that felt hot to the touch. 

With agonizingly slow movements, he pulled himself partially out of you, savouring the feeling of your warmth suctioning him back in. A shiver rolled through him, breathing hard through his flared nostrils as he buried his head into the crook of your neck, clenching his jaw shut as he forced his hips forward, slamming into you again. 

The sound you made was enough for the neighbors to concern themselves with, but you didn’t think twice about it. The only thing you could think about was the overwhelming sensation of pleasure pumping through your system, causing your body to vibrate with frequencies that left him shuddering against you. 

He continued thrusting his cock in and out of you, finding a rhythm that drove you closer and closer to the edge each time his tip reached that spot so deep inside of you that no one else had ever successfully attained. 

The deep, bone rattling sounds that drew from his throat only made you want more. 

You didn’t understand what had come over him, what had made his eyes shift to pitch-blankness, or why he had given into his desires so easily, but you couldn’t formulate a single complaint. Your body coursed with tension as your orgasm built up deep in your abdomen. You couldn’t control your movements. Constricted beneath him, you moaned into the heavy air and jolted your hips against him every time he buried himself as deep as he could. 

The feeling of your clit rubbing against his base was all you needed. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, body twitching. His head shot up, feeling your walls clench around him, his hilt becoming saturated with the remnants of your pleasure. 

But he wasn’t done. He could have come—he wanted to. But he wanted more. He wanted to give you more. 

He sat up on his knees, still keeping himself inside you, barely able to register the way you cried out in pleasure when he moved inside of you. You were so sensitive, fidgeting at the slightest touch, and completely deserted of your sanity, becoming nothing but a mess beneath him. 

Sitting back on his flexed calves, his hands gripped your bare hips, fingers digging into the flesh. He forced your hips up, holding you with a firm grasp above his knees so he could rock you up and down his shaft on his own. 

He wanted his way with you and you were more than willing to let him have it all, completely lost in the darkness of his eyes and the way his bicep muscles flared every time he pounded you against him. 

His eyes became trained on where the two of you were connected, enthralled by the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your sloshing pussy. He could watch it for hours, completely lost in it. 

Your arms fell back on the mattress, no longer having the strength to keep them idle. While your toes curled in pleasure, your head lulled with each forceful slam you made against him. 

“Oh, Peter,” you managed to moan, eyes screwed shut as you felt yourself nearing another release. “Fuck—yes. Oh, God, yes. Just like that,” you begged, body tensing and squirming against his hold. 

His cock twitched inside you, alerting you that he, too, was coming close, but you wouldn’t have known it based on the way he was still so tightly bound with aggression. 

His jaw was slack, panting heavily as he continued watching the way he moved inside you. A sudden urge came over you, eyes flashing from his face down to your red, swollen cunt. Somehow, he noticed you looking.

“Yeah. Watch me, baby,” he mumbled, lips quivering. “Watch me fuck you. You like that, huh?” 

That was all it took for you, hearing the deep rattle of his voice. Your legs seized around him, shaking as every muscle in your body clenched. 

“That’s right,” he bit, picking up the pace. “Cum all over my dick, baby.” 

And you did, harder than you ever had before. It wasn’t a simple release. No, it was something much more powerful. It ricocheted through your entire body, emptying your mind and clearing your sinuses. It was something you couldn’t name. and as soon as it slowly came to an end, you already desperately wanted it again. 

His hands dug into the skin of your hips, fingernails piercing the soft skin as his head fell back. 

“Oh, fuck,” he roared, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His sweat-slick skin glistened in the soft lighting and as you were riding out the end of your high, he was reaching his. “I’m gonna—Fuck,” his dark eyes screwed shut and his rhythm became sloppy.

“Cum for me,” you urged, working your hips against him. 

He let out a throaty sound, his body pulsating. The sudden warmth filled your insides, the feeling becoming a close second to whatever otherworldly orgasm he’d given you only seconds ago. 

He moaned incoherently as he thrusted sluggishly in and out of you, his release slowly oozing out with each lazy movement, and you selfishly wished the feeling could go on for an eternity. 

When his head fell forward, shoulders sagging in overwhelming relief, your eyes flicked up to his. Where the devilish darkness had once taken over, the whites of his eyes had returned, the soft brown of his irises immediately finding the result of his mangled DNA. 

His chest caved, immediately looking up at you. “Are you okay?” 

His expression was riddled with worry, absolutely maddened with the fear of what he may have done to you when he wasn’t himself. However, you couldn’t help the pathetic smile that took form on your swollen lips, nor could you stifle the exhausted chuckle that came after it. 

“I’m great,” you confessed. 

Slowly, he pulled himself out of you, eyes trained on the white puddle oozing out of you. His tongue grazed his bottom lip. 

He exhaled raggedly. “That’s great.”

You shook your head when his troubled gaze met yours. “We weren’t supposed to do that, ‘ya know.” 

A smirk appeared on his lips. He cocked a brow, refraining from telling you how infatuated he had suddenly become with the thought of his seed seeping out of you. 

“Shut up.” 

With what sliver of strength you had left, you smirked. “Make me.”

hope you enjoyed it! pls leave a comment/like/reblog. if you have a one shot request, you can send it through my "ask me." ୨ৎ─ delaney!

[delaneycore]

Dean's List, pt. 2 ― Peter Parker part one | playlist | edit

Pairing: College!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: Returning to Empire State University, Peter Parker is ready to pick back up where the two of you left off after spending his summer groveling over the newfound power you have over him. When you make it clear you don’t want anything to do with him, he is determined to make you change your mind, finding new, maddening ways to get under that skin of yours.

Warnings/Tags: cocky! peter parker, frat boy! peter parker, athlete! peter parker, jealous! peter parker, reader can’t stand him, peter’s obsessed with reader, (lowkey) academic rivals, enemies to (something much worse than) lovers, angst, (a smidge of) fluff, smut, oral sex (f receiving), rough oral sex (m receiving), fingering, edging (kinda), multiple orgasms (f), rough sex, choking, unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talk, finger sucking, (a bit of) aftercare. read responsibly! mdni, 18+

Word Count: 10.7k

Author's Note: You guys ate up the first part of this, so you know I had to give you another part. This one is actually my prized possession, and I hope it meets your expectations. Thank you so so so much for the support. Writing is fun because of you.

Inspiration: This request & “My Kink Is Karma” by Chappell Roan

Coming back to Empire State University was like willingly returning to war after barely surviving the first one. 

It was nice to finally have your own single dorm room, though. Now that you were finally a senior, approaching your final year of undergrad, things like that were easier to come by. Move-in day was a few days earlier than the antsy freshman’s, your meal plan was a couple hundred dollars cheaper, and you no longer had to sprint across campus to the science building everyday since your dorm hall was closer to it than your old one. 

The silence, however, was deafening.

Spending the summer at home in the city was fine. You were able to survive off more than Ramen noodles and Pedialyte since your mom cooked you real meals every night, and lifeguarding at the community pool helped you save up some extra cash, helping cover the hefty cost of textbooks. 

But it just wasn’t the same anymore. Being home didn’t feel like it did that first summer after your freshman year. Maybe it was because you were growing up. College changes people, so that would make sense. You’re raised a certain way and then you’re given that taste of freedom—the chance to make your own decisions, forced to figure all the hard things out on your—and it changes you. Resilience builds character, that was what your mom always told you. 

There was nothing character-building about the way you felt the morning of your first day of classes, though. In fact, it felt more like your character was being diminished. 

Your best friend had roped you into going out to the local bar the night before to celebrate finally being seniors, somehow convincing you that taking a round of lemon drop shots wouldn’t impede on your 8:00 a.m. quantum mechanics lecture. But it did, of course. It didn’t just impede on it—it made you fifteen minutes late.

When you pushed through the doors of the science building, your backpack was slipping off your shoulders and your tired body was fighting to keep up with your rushed pace. The only thing you’d managed to accomplish before darting across the courtyard was brush your teeth. You couldn’t even remember checking your reflection, dreading the absolute mess of what you possibly looked like. 

If you had given yourself a second to calm down—accepting your mistake, and thinking a single thought before you barged right into Dr. Banner’s lecture hall, it may have saved you from becoming the center of unwanted attention. But you hadn’t, which was why the door creaked closed behind you, causing the room to instantly become so silent that you could hear the clicking of someone’s pen in the back row. 

“Our first late comer,” Dr. Banner mused, gesturing towards you with a cheeky smile on his wrinkling features. 

Your jaw was trembling with tension when you met his amused expression. 

This wasn’t your first class with Banner. The two of you were quite acquainted, actually. He was your academic advisor, ensuring you attained all the credits needed to graduate with your bachelor’s degree in physics, and he was also the head of the department at ESU. Throughout your time in his classes, nothing ever changed about him. He always showed up in a long-sleeve, button-down, the sleeves rolled up his forearms and paired with khaki slacks. On Fridays, though, he wore jeans. 

Your best friend, despite being a graphic design major, had a wet dream about him once, forcing you to hear all about the filthy things she imagined your prof doing to her. 

You hadn’t really been able to look at him the same since.

He clasped his hands together, smiling softly. “No worries. I was late all the time back in my day.” He held a hand out, urging you to find a seat.

You didn’t waste a second, quickly turning to walk up the aisle between desks, desperate to find an empty seat somewhere far in the back where no one had the chance to gawk at you. 

Peter saw you the minute you walked in, just like everyone else in the class had. But while a few of your peers spared a chuckle under their breath at you, gossipping about your grim appearance, Peter’s airflow suddenly felt constricted.

He was sitting in the second row, like he always was. Too cool for the front, too desperate for academic validation to creep in the back. His knuckles whitened around his pen, lips parting as he watched you walk through the desks with such a precise stare that his peripheral vision blurred, only able to make out the shape of you. 

Even as you climbed further up to reach the back row, passing him without even a side-eyed glance, his neck craned to watch you. 

It wasn’t until you settled down in the last free seat along the back row, pulling your laptop out of your backpack and resting it on the desk before you as Dr. Banner continued his monologue about how crucial the syllabus was, that your eyes met his. 

You halted mid-scooching your chair in, every sore and tired muscle in your body tightening the point of cramping when his dark-brown eyes glued to yours. His eyes twitched, unabashedly narrowing on you despite the seven rows that separated the two of you and the sea of your peers that had a penchant for taking things the wrong way and running with it. 

His skin was tanner than you remembered and his chestnut-brown hair had grown out a bit, curling at the root. Summer break must have been kinder to him than it was to you. 

Clenching your teeth, your hands gripped the sides of your chair and you continued scooting yourself up, forcefully prying your eyes away from him. Just seeing him was nauseating. 

It had been nearly four months since Peter last saw you. It had been four long, gruesome, insufferable months since he had you in his bed—since he had himself inside you. 

Following the Kappa Tau Zeta party in late May, it was finals week. Sitting in for exams would have been Peter’s last chance to see you before the two of you parted ways for summer break, but thanks to Dr. Banner’s affinity for assigning remote, online exams, he never got the chance. You had fled his bedroom not even ten minutes after he came inside you, refusing his offer to walk you back to your dorm, and hadn’t talked to him since. 

It was absolutely vile, really. 

He had spent his summer crammed up in his Queens apartment, wasting most of his days off from his posh tech internship laying in bed, thinking about you. 

Sometimes he would think about the soft, high-pitched sounds you made when you came, remembering the way your hips bucked against him and your legs twitched around his waist as he drove himself deeper inside of you. That was his favorite thing to think about. 

At weak points, though, he would scroll through Instagram, find your best friend’s account and scour her posts for you. He never outrightly typed in your username, though, despite knowing that stupid little handle of yours like the back of his hand. It made it easier for him to keep tabs on you because your account wasn’t private. 

Of course it wasn’t, he’d thought one day. 

You probably wanted him to see all the fun you were having back home, hoping he’d catch the one post you made in that skimpy little bikini when you went down to the coast for the Fourth, or that selfie you posted with some guy he didn’t know. 

He had stalked that guy’s account, too, wondering who he was to you—wondering if he had felt you in all the same ways he so desperately wanted to again. 

By mid-July, Peter had changed his account from private to public, refreshing his story views every couple of hours to see if your name would pop up. He was desperate for it—for your attention, that was. 

He posted everything he did. The coffees he’d get on the way to his way to his internship, thirst strap mirror selfies of him flexing just a little too hard, screenshots of song lyrics that he told himself were just songs he liked and that he didn’t replay them over and over again because they made him think of you.

But your name never came. Not even once. Even when he accidentally liked one of your posts from six years ago—nothing. Complete and total fucking nothingness.

His longing and envy slowly warped into frustration, like an itch he just couldn’t scratch. He was frustrated with you, yes, but he was more frustrated with himself. Because he’d had you. He’d had you right there in front of him, choking and squirming on his dick, leaving him completely lost in the satisfaction of finally winning with you, and then you just fucking… vanished. 

The realization didn’t really hit him until he was on the subway, heading to campus with his overly-packed suitcase, ready to move back into his room at the frat house. With his wired headphones tangled up in his ears, The 1975’s “Heart Out” blaring over the noisy chatter around him, it was like a fuse had blown in the back of his mind. 

He didn’t win with you. You had won with him. 

Sure, you had lost your willpower, unable to continue denying how badly you wanted him. You had been the one screaming his name, biting down on his sheets, and sucking his cum off your fingers. But you were able to redeem yourself from it. 

You had been able to confidently walk away from it, categorizing it as some stupid lapse in judgment—a mistake, that was what you’d told him it was before you left his room. You were fucking fine. You couldn’t care less.

It was him who was stuck in the throes of it, harping on filthy memories, and driving himself insane, trying to find ways to get you back where he wanted you.

Glancing over his shoulder at you now, all of those emotions came crashing back into him. 

Part of him thoroughly enjoyed seeing you all disheveled and disorientated, subjected to snickering and the thing you hated most, which was unwanted attention. It made him feel better to see you struggling, too. Made him feel more righteous about his own.

The entire time Banner droned on about wave-particle duality, your eyes were trained on your laptop screen. There was an opened Google doc, your cursor flashing, ready for you to jot down a note, or literally anything, knowing full well that this was the most difficult class to pass. But every word that spilled out of him went in one ear and out the other. 

When class was dismissed a little before 9:15, you slammed your laptop closed and didn’t even bother stuffing it back in your bag. You just grabbed it, standing and slinging your backpack over your shoulder before making a beeline for the exit.

Peter let you rush out. Backpack spilling open, all flustered and annoyed. He sat back in his chair, took his time packing up his belongings and even talked to a buddy about their upcoming lacrosse match.

When he finally walked out of the science building, his ESU Lacrosse sweatshirt clung to his frame despite the end-of-summer heat, he instantly found you. Standing by the fountain in your sweatpants and faded David Bowie graphic tee, you were deep in conversation with some guy who was smiling way too hard at the way you reared your head back in laughter. 

He wasn’t the guy you had posted a picture with over the summer, Peter clocked that immediately. He had seen him maybe once or twice at a party. Didn’t know his name or why he was talking to you. All he knew was the way his blood boiled at the sight. 

The moment you caught the sight of Peter nearing you in your periphery, you debated sprinting away. The sound of the guy’s voice talking to you became muffled background noise and you clenched your fists at your side.

“Hey—Dean’s List!” Peter called out, making determined strides over to you. 

That stupid name rang through the air like emergency sirens, causing your stomach to knot and hives threatening to break out on your skin.

When he reached the two of you, he gripped the strap of his backpack and peered down at you. “Can I talk to you?”

“I’m busy,” you deadpanned, jaw tight enough to splinter as you refused to meet his gaze.

The guy in front of you seemed unphased, having no idea every ounce of your patience was being tested. “What’s up, Parker?” he greeted Peter, but the silently seething brunette didn’t initially respond to him, he was too busy glaring at you. “You good, man?”

The muscle in his chiseled, tanned jaw ticked. He glanced over at the oblivious guy. “Yeah, man. You mind if I talk to her for a sec? You know… TA stuff,” he lied through his pearly-white teeth, grinning. 

Your brows furrowed up at him, reluctantly meeting his gaze. “I’m not a TA this sem—”

“That’s fine,” the guy replied, not hearing your feeble attempt. He glanced down at you. “I’ll catch you later, yeah?”

Nodding, you watched him walk off towards the dining hall and briefly pondered how much of a hindrance it would be to just transfer to a new school—somewhere far away where Peter Parker couldn’t find you.

Alone now, Peter glanced down at you and nudged his head to the side. “Walk with me?”

“Why?”

He narrowed his eyes, giving you that look. 

You shifted in your stance. “We can talk right here just fine.”

“You sure?” His head spun around, glancing at the number of students all around us. “Somebody might hear us.”

You knew that was a dig. You remembered what you said that night before you walked yourself back to your dorm with his cum still dripping out of you, telling him that no one was to ever find out what they did. You could recall him agreeing with you, but still noticing the way his throat tightened. 

“Just get it over with, Peter.”

He squinted down at you, stuffing his hands in his front sweatshirt pocket and trying not to show that the sound of his name rolling off your tongue made him want to melt. “Who was that guy?” he asked with very minimal thought put into it. 

“A friend,” you quickly replied.

He frowned. “Never seen you talk to him before.”

“Well, you don’t know everything about me,” you countered, shrugging. “You don’t know what I do when I’m not around you.”

“You mean I don’t know who you do when you’re not around me?”

A toothy grin spread on your lips. “Oh, you’re, like, actually jealous?” You coughed out a laugh, tucking a strand of hair that’d gotten caught in your lipgloss from the wind behind your ear.

Peter’s tongue sunk into his jaw, shaking his head. “Are you fucking him?”

“No, Peter.” You rolled your eyes, hands going slack at your side. “I’m not fucking him.”

“Then I’m not jealous,” he quipped. 

Your eyes slanted up at him, finding an odd sense of comfort in the fact that he hadn’t changed. He was still the same brash and arrogant Peter you’d unfortunately grown to know so well. Only this new Peter had something else to hold over your head. 

“Still not over it are you?” you teased, frowning and feigning sympathy.

“Over what?”

“Fucking me,” you responded without a thought. 

The corner of his mouth curled. “I don’t know.” He shrugged his broad shoulders lazily. “Depends.”

Your chin tilted up at him, interest slightly piqued. “On?”

“Can you still taste it?” he asked, wetting his bottom lip with that filthy little tongue of his.

“I don’t know… That’s a little too vague for me.” You inched half-a-step towards him, remembering when the same words spilled out of him all those months ago. “Taste what?’

He smirked devilishly. “My cum.” He took another step, leaving a dangerous few inches between the two of you. “Remember when it was dripping out of you, all sticky and wet. You licked it up so good, too.”

A rugged scoff tore from your throat, it was all you could do to combat the heat rushing to your face. “Yeah, I remember. Had to brush my teeth three times to get rid of that taste,” you countered. “Fucking gross.”

“You’re so hot when you’re mean,” he drawled, stifling a laugh with a groan.

“And you’re so pathetic when you’re desperate.”

He laughed. “You think I’m desperate?”

Shrugging, you squinted up at him under the bright sun. “You’re the one pining over a one night stand.”

“Baby, I’m not pining.” He shook his head, pretending the way you called his night with you a one night stand didn’t bother him. “This is just foreplay.”

“Foreplay,” you mumbled, coughing out a laugh when your gaze dropped to the pavement. When you glanced back up at him, you sighed. “You’re funny.”

“You want me.”

“I want you to leave me alone.”

He tilted his head, squinting. “I don’t have class until noon. We could get a quickie in.”

“Not happening.” Your heart hammered violently against your ribcage. “Ever again.”

“Right.” He smirked. “We’ll see about that.”

You rolled your eyes, gripping your backpack over your shoulder before taking a swift step past him. “Bye, Peter.”

It surprised you that he didn’t stop you. No, it bothered you.

Peter’s eyes trained on the way your ass shook as you walked away, yearning to have it back in his grasp. “See you around, Dean’s List.”

It wasn’t until Halloween weekend that you ran into Peter again. 

He had seen you nearly everyday in class, of course, but he never got as close to you as he had on the first day of classes. You wouldn’t let him. The seat on the back row that you had laid claim to on day one had become your permanent one, knowing Peter wouldn’t dare jeopardize his ass-kissing relationship with Dr. Banner by joining you. 

However, every time he saw you walking across campus, he would go in the opposite direction. When Banner assigned a partner project, he didn’t even try to weasel his way over to you. He partnered with the redheaded girl he sat next to, making sure when they gave their final presentation, he stared directly at you the whole time. 

Leaving class one day, you had overheard that same redhead gushing to a friend about all the ways Peter was able to help her pass one of their quizzes, stating he had come to her dorm to help her study, giggling when she added, “amongst other things.”

That wasn’t the first time you’d heard girls on campus gossiping and giggling about sleeping with Peter, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. But, for some inexplicable reason, you slowed your steps behind them, remaining in earshot to listen to what the girl was saying about him.

Did he tie her up, too?

Did he fuck her raw?

Did she let him cum in her?

It was disgusting. That was what it felt like, hanging onto the edge of everything she was saying while an unfamiliar knot tangled in your stomach, only finding a semblance relief when she said they only did “mouth stuff.”

What that girl failed to mention, though, was that while Peter had his hands knotted up in her hair, guiding her mouth up and down his dick, it was your name that slipped through his moans.

It was an accident, one that he found himself making not just once, but twice. 

When he’d taken off his belt, he had made a joke to the girl, asking if she wanted to be tied up. She had said no, of course, so he didn’t. But the entire time she was sucking him, his eyes were on that brown leather belt. He forced himself to picture your wrists bound up by it, which was when your name came out the first time. 

The redhead had immediately stopped working him, cocking her head up at him with a ferocious glare. He played it off, got real sweet with her so he could finish. But when he did finally finish, with your face clouding his thoughts, your name came out then, too, which was exactly why he hadn’t heard from her since and why she moved seats to the opposite side of the lecture hall.

His walk back home that night to the KTZ house was brutal. He passed your dorm hall in the dark, peering up at the various illuminated windows, wondering which one was yours and resisting the urge to go and beat on each and every door to find out on his own. 

He physically wanted to slap himself. He could not cope with the way his brain warped around you. It sickened him.

At his lacrosse game the following weekend, he purposefully taunted the opposing team’s X-attackman just so he’d garner a few illegal checks. After the game, he sported a brutal black eye for a few days and a seriously bruised rib, but he had never felt better. 

But nothing was more brutal than watching you waltz into the bar on Halloween night, dressed up as an angel in the shortest pair of white shorts he’d ever seen, fit with a fuzzy, party-store halo headband and wings to match. For a moment, Peter thought he may have actually gone to heaven. That was how devastatingly gorgeous you looked under the dim bar lights.

It turned out he had actually found himself deep in the darkest pits of hell, though. Because the moment you walked in, he realized soon after raking his gaze over your body that you were not alone. 

That asshole you had told Peter was just a friend was wearing light-up, red devil horns, tight on your trail as you floated through your groups of friends with a careless smile on your face.

Peter was leaning up against the bar, no longer listening to his friend droning on about some girl’s costume that Peter just needed to see. His eyes stuck to you immediately, head moving with you as you moved further and further into the swarm of people all dressed in revealing costumes and buzzing off half-priced drinks. 

Tame Impala’s “Dracula” was blaring from the bar’s surround-sound speaker system that had only been playing Halloween-esque music since Peter walked in half an hour ago. The menacing rhythm of the song matched the harsh, quaking beats of his heart. He couldn’t tell if it was the sight of you in that outfit, with that bent halo on top of your head, or if it was because there was a guy with you that wasn’t him. 

He just understood that he felt fucking miserable and it was because of you. So, in his buzzing, dark mind, the only thing he wanted to do was to make you just as miserable. 

His hand wrapped tighter around his plastic cup as he propped his elbows on the bartop, staring down the long, sleek, wood counter to where you had approached the other end. 

“Can I get a vodka cran?” you asked the bartender with a smile, already pulling your ID out of your phone case wallet. 

There was something freeing about finally being able to use your real ID for a change after three years of scamming every poor waitress, bouncer, and bartender with your fake one. The woman working behind the counter peered down at it and nodded.

You tapped your fingers on the shilaque countertop to the beat of the music as you waited. You didn’t mean to turn your head to the right. You didn’t mean to lock eyes with Peter Parker at the other end of the bar top. But you could sense the fire on the side of your face from his prying gaze. It was a subconscious move, one that you regretted the minute he smirked over at you.

Even though you immediately looked away, training your eyes on the LED light fixture behind the bar, the purple and orange streamers slung across the overhead ceiling beams, the group of girls posing in front of the wall for a picture—literally anything other than him—he was already making his way over.

“This costume’s a little deceptive, don’t you think, Dean’s List?” he probed, flicking the tip of your faux-feathered angel wings before he came up right beside you, leaning his weight against the counter. 

You slid to the side, ensuring to keep a safe distance between the two of you. “Isn’t that the point of the holiday? Pretending to be something you’re not?” You eyed his costume, which was nothing but black jeans, a white T-shirt, and some F1 jacket. “‘Cause you’re definitely not Charles Leclerc.”

“So you agree?” He sipped his drink, dodging your dig. “You agree there’s nothing angelic about you?”

You turned your head to the side, eyes falling to his black Converse, trailing all the way up to that stupid little smirk on his rose-tinted lips. “I don’t know, Peter. You tell me.” You sighed boredly. “Do you think I’m angelic?”

He glanced at your halo for a moment before shaking his head. “No, not at all. I think you should swap costumes with your little boyfriend.”

Laughter echoed out of you. “Boyfriend?”

“Is that not what he is?” Peter asked, gaze trailing over to the guy you’d brought with you, the same one he briefly imagined with a broken nose from his fist. 

“No—” the bartender slid your drink over to you “—he’s not.”

The tension in his shoulders loosened slightly. His eyes watched your plump, glossed lips latch around the straw in your drink and nothing but filth ran through his mind. 

“You look good, though,” he said, watching the way your cleavage nearly spilled out of your white corset top when you straightened your posture.

“Don’t compliment me,” you quipped between sips. “Makes it sadder.”

His eyes slanted down at you. “Sadder?”

“Mm-hmm.” You shifted in your stance. “The whole jealousy thing.”

“Baby, there’s no jealousy.”

You squinted up at him, frowning. “You sure about that?”

Peter’s eyes once again wandered over to the guy that had been roped into coming out with you. He was standing by the bathrooms, chatting up a few of your close friends that Peter was sure were quizzing him on things all about you. Probably asking him how you two met, what he was studying, what he thought about you, what his intentions were. You had really protective friends like that. Peter knew he was probably spewing bullshit back to them because there was no possible way anyone knew you like Peter did.

When Peter finally glanced back down at you, he nodded stiffly. “He can’t please you like I can.”

“How would you know?”

He shrugged. “Just do.”

You gave him an impressed frown. “Well…” you trailed, “he kind of does.” Peter’s features hardened, just like you wanted them to. “I showed him the whole belt thing the other night. God, he loved that.” You snickered. “He’s been begging to do it again. Wants to do it raw the next time, too.”

A wave of nausea coursed through Peter’s system as he tried his absolute hardest to tell whether or not you were bullshiting him. God, he hoped so. “You’re lying.”

You just shrugged, pushing yourself off the bar. “Maybe,” you took a few steps back. “Still pisses you off to think about, though, doesn’t it, baby?”

Peter remained frozen at the bar as you disappeared further into the crowd. Seething. That was the only word he could find to describe how was feeling.

Maybe that was why he went up to the blonde girl dressed as Lara Croft, fitted with the thigh straps and all, and asked her to dance with him. Perhaps that was also why he chugged his drink in four long gulps and then ordered another, requesting a double shot. 

He just wanted something to clear his mind. But it was like an addiction. He was addicted to you in the most tragically intoxicating way. Even with the curvaceous blonde grinding her ass against his semi, the only thing clogging his mind was the thought of you fucking someone else. The thought of you letting someone else do things to you that only he had done before. 

Of course, he couldn’t be certain any of that was a first for you, like some of it was for him. Anything that happened before he felt you, though, he didn’t care about. It was the after—the long, grueling months after—that he cared about. It felt like a betrayal. It felt like you betrayed him.

And all it did was fucking turn him on. He only wanted you more.

You didn’t let the guy you brought with you do any of those things to you, though. In fact, he hadn’t done anything but finger you in the backseat of his Honda Civic. You’d faked an orgasm three minutes into it—squeezing your thighs together and moaning just for the theatrics of it all—before letting him drive you home. 

Honestly, you didn’t even know why you invited him out to the bar tonight. Two nights ago, when he’d asked to take you out to dinner, you told him you were busy with friends even though you spent the entire night alone in your dorm, watching movies on your laptop and eating microwavable popcorn. 

But the way it drove Peter absolutely mad was more than enough reason to keep him around. 

Peter always had the power, the ammunition, and the all-out boldness. He was always in the lead when it came to the twisted game the two of you played. He got under your skin with such ease that it almost made you hate yourself more than you hated him.

This newfound reversal, watching him spiral, self-destruct, and settle for whatever—or whoever—would take him, just because he couldn’t get you, was like a high. It was so intoxicating and addictive that you found it hard to focus on anything else.

Your neck craned up to the guy in devil horns next to you. “Do you wanna dance with me?” 

“Sure, yeah,” he smiled, taking a few quick sips of his drink before letting you lead him to where people were dancing near the center of the bar. 

A reverbed, bass-boosted remix of t.A.T.u.’s “All the Things She Said” was vibrating the sticky, wood floor as you twirled around to face him, draping your arms over his shoulders and bringing his head down to yours, moving your bodies to the rhythm.

Peter was only a few feet away, his hands on the waist of some blonde who had her back flush with his front, grinding her hips against him. 

That was the whole reason you were out on the make-shift dance floor to begin with. That was the whole reason you dragged the guy who wasn’t your boyfriend as close to Peter as possible. 

So he could watch.

“Kiss me,” you breathed, sucking in a sharp gasp when the guy’s lips crashed into yours. 

Lips moving in sync with his, you waited for him to slip his tongue out and trace it against your lips like Peter did. But he never did. 

Peter’s eyes were glued on your profile, watching the way your eyes fluttered closed, kissing the guy with heavy momentum. He wondered if it felt the same as when you kissed him, if it made your body shudder, craving that insatiable hunger. His heart was working so fast in his chest, his head dizzying. He thought he was going to be sick.

“Come here,” he said gruffly to the blonde.

He used his hands to twist her around, pulling her flush against him. She let out a soft gasp when his hand rushed to cup her cheek, bowing his head to collide his sloppy, tipsy lips with hers, but it didn’t sound like yours. Her lips didn’t feel like yours either. They weren’t sticky from your lip gloss and full like yours. They didn’t fit with his like yours did.

He pulled away for a second, long enough to see you peering over at him. 

“Kiss my neck,” he coached the blonde, jaw slack as his eyes stayed on yours.

The blonde complied without a thought, planting sloppy, wet kisses down the toned skin of his neck. It felt good, of course. The hair on his arms stood up at the feeling of the girl’s warm breath on the crook of his neck. 

His hand reached around the girl, palm planting on the round of her ass, fingers squeezing. 

You watched him. You saw the devious look in his eye as he touched her, which was why you brought the guy’s hand down to the curve of your ass, letting him fondle you in the center of a bar. It was all a performance, though. The way you bit your lip, pretending to enjoy the way you were being touched and kissed. 

Peter thought for a moment about going up to you and just pulling you away from that stupid prick with his hands all over you. He thought about taking you into one of the bathroom stalls and giving in to you completely. 

But this chase—this… game—was so much better.

When the song ended, the blonde girl peered up at Peter with a smirk on her face. “Do you wanna go back to my apartment?”

He thought about it, he really did. He thought about the potential look on your face if he left with her. He thought about how pissed off you may or may not have been, and he wanted to agree. 

But then he thought about what you would do—who you would go home with—if he left, and so it all went out the window. Because if you were leaving with someone tonight, it was going to be him.

“Not tonight,” Peter said, loosening the grip he had around his waist.

She frowned, brows furrowed. “Why not?”

He shrugged, eyes flicking to you without thinking. “Not in the mood.”

The blonde followed his gaze, landing on you with a scoff and a look of pure disgust. “Are you serious?” she snarled, yanking his hands off her. “God, you’re such a fucking dick,” she added before stomping away from him.

Maybe he was. Maybe that was a little cruel, using her to get back at you like that. But he would be lying if he said he cared. 

Deserted on the dance floor, Peter idled, watching you grind yourself on the absolutely oblivious guy. You watched him, too. For the longest moment, the two of you just stared at each other, waiting to see who was going to break first, both of you honing an unhealthy relationship with competition. 

Devastatingly slow, Peter tilted his head to the side, studying you in a way that made you feel like he could see something inside of you—something you didn’t want him to see. His eyes trailed down your body, analyzing every square inch of your frame, before slowly working their way back up to your face. 

The stance he had, the sight of his rigid muscles under his white T-shirt, the way he completely garnered all of your attention, even with your supposed date’s lips sucking on the skin under your ear, made something spark to life inside of you. It was a dangerous spark. A hungry spark. 

You suddenly couldn’t breathe.

“I’ve gotta pee,” you blurted out before you could think, pulling away from the arms that were holding you. You smiled up at him, forfeiting your staring game with Peter as your chest heaved. “I’ll, uh—I’ll be back in a minute.”

His lips were swollen, eyes glossy from the tension you’d allowed him to feel and the alcohol pumping through his system. “Okay.”

You didn’t go to the bathroom, though, and you didn’t really care if he noticed it. 

You paced through the sweaty bodies littering the dance floor, not slowing down until you pushed through the bar’s entrance door. Swinging it open with a great deal of force, your chest rose as you sucked in a sharp inhale, finding a sense of relief in the cold, mid-autumn night air.

Walking down the sidewalk a bit, you roughly tore off your halo headband and raked a hand through your hair, pulling at the root to stabilize your overall mental wellbeing. 

The bar’s door flew open a few feet away from you, but your back was turned to it. 

“That was quite the show,” the deep voice rattled your bones. 

You didn’t need to turn around to see who it was. A small part of you knew that you would know that unsettling voice anywhere. You could probably pick it out of a line up of hundreds. 

Exhaling heavily, you crossed your arms over your chest and turned to face him. “Go away, Peter.”

“I don’t think you want me to,” Peter countered, moving closer to you with lazy strides, stuffing his hands in the front of his jeans. “I think this is exactly where you want me.”

You just shook your head. “That was wrong,” you said, voice suddenly hoarse, “what you did to that girl. Using her like that.”

“True,” he mused, taking a final step closer, mere inches from you. “Nothing different than what you were doing with that asshole, though.”

“I wasn’t using him,” you countered, face contorting. 

Peter coughed out a laugh. “Oh, yeah? What the hell was it, then? ‘Cause you didn’t look too interested, keeping your eyes on me the whole time.”

You shrugged defensively. “I was—” you sucked in a sharp breath. “I was dancing.”

“So was I.”

“No, you were trying to piss me off. Making her kiss you and grabbing her ass like that,” you argued, voice sharp. “You were using her to get me all—all pissed off.”

The calmness of him was maddening. You were stammering over your words, dizzied, and flustered, while he just stood still—completely immovable.

“Well, are you?”

Your brows knitted together. “What?”

“Are you pissed off?” he clarified, studying you again with those dark eyes. “Are you mad about me touching her like that?”

You shook your head back and forth quickly, taking half a step back from him. “No.”

He closed the space you created. “Well, I am.” Your eyes flicked up at his. “I’m really fucking pissed off that he was touching you like that. Grabbing your ass, kissing you.”

There wasn’t a single coherent thought pulsing though your mind. You were trembling from head-to-toe and you couldn’t tell if it was because you were freezing or if you were losing your mind. Based on the way your lower stomach fluttered when Peter’s hand gripped your waist, you became more confident in the latter.

“Stop,” you whispered, barely audible, as he pulled you closer to him.

“Look at me,” he bit. 

You refused, forcing him to move both hands to your hip, squeezing tight. You didn’t fight him off, though. Why weren’t you fighting him off?

“Look at me,” Peter repeated, tone sharp enough to slice. 

Defeat and shame washed over you as you peered up at him, teeth chattering. 

“That’s the last time someone touches you like that,” he snarled, eyes tracing yours, unsure which one to stay on.

“What? You think you have control over who touches me, now?” you managed to mumble. “Just because I let you fuck me once.”

He shook his head. It was a slow, calculated movement. “No,” he stated confidently, pulling you flush against him. The action caused the bulge forming in his pants to press up against your stomach. “I’m just gonna make it to where no one else’s touch will ever be good enough.”

It already wasn’t, you heard yourself think.

“No,” you heard yourself say, shaking your head. “I’m not letting you—”

“Win?” he interjected, causing your stomach to twist. 

“That’s all this is to you,” you bit, arms moving to his biceps. You wanted to use the grip to push out of his grip, but you got too distracted by the feel of the muscle in your hands. “Just… some game.”

“It was,” he admitted, tone deep. “Now I’m just fucking miserable.”

God, he was still messing with you. 

“You’re insufferable, you know that? You can’t treat people like this and think it’s fine, Peter. It’s wrong.”

“I’m being serious.” His grip softened. 

You just shook your head, refusing to look at him.

“I’m fucking wrecked, okay? Is that what you want to hear? You want me to tell you how fucking mental you’ve made me? Ever since I had you—” he exhaled roughly, jaw muscle trembling “—I can’t get you out of my fucking head,” he roared. “And seeing you with someone else—with him… I can’t fucking take it.”

Your eyes locked on his, twitching at the eerily unfamiliar desperate tone and look on his face. 

“Just stop,” you forced out, pushing against his arms, prying yourself out of his grip.

“Come back to the house with me,” he asked, chest heaving. “Let me show you how serious I am.”

“Are you messing with me?” You successfully fought out of his grasp.

“No,” he sighed, letting you go, “I’m really fucking not.”

You stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to crack. But he didn’t. Still, your trust was feeble. “Say it.”

His lips parted to respond, then they snapped shut again. He dragged a hand down his face. 

Peter Parker didn’t like to lose. But if getting you again—feeling you, touching you, having you all to himself—was the loss, he no longer had the strength to want to win. 

His eyes locked on yours. “I need you.”

There it was. The white flag waving. 

He took a careful step towards you, returning his big hands to the curve of your waist. You stood still, letting him move you closer to him again until you felt the throbbing pulse of his erection pushing against your stomach.

“Come home with me,” he coaxed, bowing his head and using his nose to nudge at his jaw, smelling the scent of your perfume and causing a chill to creep down your spine when his soft lips grazed the delicate skin. “You know I can make you feel good,” he whispered into the crook of your neck.

“This…” your voice trailed, taking in a sharp breath when his teeth pinched the skin with such gentleness, “is the last time.”

“Fine,” he mumbled, kissing the skin.

“I’m serious,” you managed to say despite the pleasure ricocheting from where his lips concentrated. “Never again after this, okay?”

He nodded into your shoulder. “That’s fine, baby.”

“What about the guy that came out with me?” you asked, wishing you felt worse.

Peter chuckled. “What about him?”

The ten minute walk back to the Kappa Tau Zeta house was the fastest you had ever walked anywhere in your life, and it was also the quietest. Neither one of you were able to make a single sound, so utterly lost in what you were doing—what you were going to do. 

Peter had taken off his F1 jacket as soon as the walk started, draping the oversized material over your shoulders, and by the time the two of you made it into the eerily quiet frat house you were thrumming with so much adrenaline, you nearly tripped up the staircase to his bedroom.

“Careful,” Peter chuckled, watching you stumble, barely catching yourself. “Too excited, hm?”

“Shut up,” you groaned, stabilizing yourself and hurrying up the rest of the creaking wood steps.

Trailing behind you, he followed you into his bedroom, closing the door and locking it in one swift movement. 

His bedroom looked the same as it did in May, if anything it was just messier.

“Turn that on,” he said, pointing to the portable speaker resting on top of his dresser that had clothes spilling out of the drawers. 

You arched a brow. “Music?”

“I don’t want anyone to hear you,” he said plainly, fumbling in his pants pocket for his phone to connect it to the speaker as you went to turn it on. “Those sounds are for me only,” he added, smirking.

You rolled your eyes, moving over to the bed and crouching down to sit on the edge. Every move felt oddly familiar and comfortable. Still, every inch of your body was shaking frantically with anxious nerves. 

“Bluetooth device is connected,” the speaker blared, while Peter scrolled through his Spotify. 

“Please don’t tell me you have a sex playlist,” you jested from across the room, propping yourself back with your hands on the unmade bed.

He chuckled. “Nah.” 

Although, he wished he had a sex playlist all of a sudden. All he had were a bunch of pointless, disorganized “vibes” playlists. But he had one that he hadn’t listened to since he returned to ESU, titled “Dean’s List.” 

He had honestly forgotten he’d made it. It was over the summer when he was drowning in his own self-pity. It was full of all the song lyrics he’d post, thinking about you, hoping it would somehow translate.

Ironic, he thought.

He pressed shuffle and tossed the phone down on his dresser, peeling off his T-shirt before moving to you.

“Come here, baby,” he urged, gesturing for you to stand up off the bed. 

The first few hammering notes of Miguel’s “damned” began blaring from the speaker, filling the silence in the room as you complied, standing before him. Your eyes immediately hung on the way his tanned, muscular chest looked beneath the dim lighting of his bedroom. It was just wrong and cruel really, how devastatingly attractive he was.

“This sounds like a sex playlist,” you noted, listening to the lyrics as a way to distract yourself.

“It’s not.”

He took off the jacket he’d draped over you, which had bent your costume wings, stifling a laugh at the sight. 

“I take back what I said. You are kind of angelic,” he admitted, barely audible over the volume of the music.

You worked with him, shrugging off the angel wings, tearing the halo off again with it. “Don’t ever say that again.”

Peter just shook his head, suppressing a smirk as he twisted you around, working to unlace your corset top that you’d bought off Amazon. “This shit right here is ridiculously hot, by the way.”

“I know,” you quipped, your body jolting every time he tugged at the strings. “Why do you think I wore it?”

“I kinda want to leave it on,” he mumbled, hooking his fingers in the lace strings and yanking you towards him, causing your ass to crash into his bricked bulge. 

You shrugged with your back turned to him, purposefully pushing you ass out. “That’s fine.”

He thought about it for a second before saying, “Nah, your tits are way too nice for that.” He then finished removing it, letting it fall to the floor before twisting you around to face him again.

“Fuck me…” he breathed, biting down on his bottom lip as he took a step back to stare at you, taking in the curve of your waist and the perkiness of your exposed tits. His hand moved instinctively to his erection, palming it at the sight of you.

Your glossed lips curled as you fell back on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows. “That’s the plan… baby.”

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head, wasting no time to crawl on top of you, planting his hands on either side of your head to hold himself up. “That’s what I call you.”

You moaned quietly when his mouth immediately moved to your tits, his tongue trailing over your pebbled nipple before he suctioned his lips around it, gently nibbling at the sensitive bud. 

“What do I call you, then?”

He forced himself between your legs, grinding his hips against your core with an achingly slow thrust. A muffled moan vibrated your nipple as he massaged the other with his hand. He shrugged, breaking free only long enough to say, “I just want to hear you say my name.”

He ground himself against you again, his hardened length rubbing right where you needed him the most. His tongue stuck back out, trailing over your nipple once more before working his way all the way down to the hem of your white shorts, leaving a path of his wet spit as he went, sliding off the bed. 

His teeth toyed with the thin waistband as he held himself up with one hand, using the other to slide your shorts off. 

The sight itself, combined with the electrifying feeling of his touch so close to where your arousal was puddling, caused a soft moan to slip from your throat.

Growing desperate, you fell flat on your back and reached down to help him, needing to feel him. His hand quickly stopped you, though, his bleary-eyed gaze flashing up. 

“You’re so needy, aren’t you, baby?” he teased, standing up off the bed and gripping your thighs. “Not going fast enough for you?” 

His fingers dug into the soft skin as he yanked you towards the edge of the bed, gripping the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down in one swift movement. 

“Mm. No panties, too?” He smirked up at you. “Goddamn, baby.” 

“Peter,” you groaned, back arching up off the bed as shockwaves fluttered in your desperate core. “Please… stop fucking talking.”

His tongue slid out of his mouth, wetting his lips as he smirked down at you before he slowly knelt down on the floor just off the side of the bed, sitting up on his knees. 

“What—What are you—”

“Shh,” he sounded, using his grip on your thighs to drape your legs over his shoulders. “I wanna taste you.”

His lips moved to your inner thigh, planting soft kisses every few seconds as he trailed further and further down to your dripping, quivering center. Eager to see what he looked like going down on you, knowing it would be utterly tragic, you propped yourself back up on your elbows and peered down.

He stuck his tongue out, pressing it directly on your dripping entrance before slowly trailing up to your swollen clit. A shuddering breath escaped you, your jaw going slack when his eyes fluttered up to you. 

He pulled away momentarily, licking your arousal off his lips. “Fucking delicious, baby,” he muttered before going back to repeat the motion over and over again, spreading your sticky arousal with such teasing ease, your legs started quivering around his head. 

His lips moved to work your clit, tongue lapping over the tender flesh once before sucking it. He spread your legs further with one hand, using the other to insert two fingers into your dripping entrance. The sensation caused your head to fall back, lips parted as a sultry moan slipped out.

You fell back flush with the mattress, losing the strength it took to keep yourself propped up. Your now free hands unwittingly reached down to his head, fingers lacing into his thick curls as he continued pumping his fingers in a synchronous rhythm with the licking and sucking he was inflicting on your clit. 

His fingers hooked slightly inside you, drawing a sharp gasp from your throat and leading you to pull at his hair. The subtle stinging sensation on his scalp caused him to moan against you, sending a vibrating shudder through your body. 

“Fuck,” you hissed, chest heaving with frantic pants as he continued working his tongue, mouth, and fingers. “You’re s—so good at… this.”

He smirked against your sopping clit, pulling away slightly. “Don’t be sweet now, baby.”

You peered down at him, watching him gaze at the way he was pumping his two fingers in you. “You’re still so tight,” he muttered, feeling your walls clenching around his digits. He glanced up at you, slowly standing so he was towering over you, his jaw slack and brows furrowed. “Gotta spread you out a little more, don’t you think?”

He didn’t wait for your response. You watched him bow his head, spitting on your entrance before inserting a third finger.

Your head fell back, digging into his ruffled bed sheets as a loud, throaty moan tore from your lips just as the song playing faded. As he pumped three fingers in you, he brought his other hand to your mouth, clamping his big palm over your parted lips to muffle the echoing sounds coming out of you. 

Panting into his hand, your eyes screwed shut as your hips bucked wildly, your release coming powerfully quick when he brought the pad of his thumb to your throbbing, swollen clit.

“I know it feels good, baby,” he cooed, gazing down at the squirming mess you’d become. “Just gotta be quiet for a sec.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head and he quickened his pace just as Arctic Monkeys’ “R U Mine?” began blasting from the speaker. When the volume of the music picked back up, he removed his hand from your mouth, but you reached out to catch it before he moved it too far away.

Gripping his wrist, his eyes snapped down to watch what you were trying to do. You brought your bottom lip between your teeth, resisting your sudden urge to scream when you brought his hand to your throat, pressing it down. 

A devious-looking smirk spread on his face. “Oh, I know what you want,” he muttered, wrapping his hand firmly around your throat. “My dirty girl,” he grunted, admiring the way you let him choke you. It wasn’t hard enough to block your airways, but tight enough for you to reach your release.

Your entire body shook beneath him, watching him stand between your spread legs, pumping his drenched fingers into your quivering pussy, massaging your clit as he kept a firm handle on your throat.

“Yeah, cum on my fingers, baby,” he grunted, not changing his pace, letting you ride out your orgasm with pathetically eager pants, convulsing against his bed. “God, I can’t wait to be in you again.”

Your body went slack beneath him, your pants slowing as you came down from your high. “Holy shit,” you breathed when he let go of your throat, slowly sliding his fingers out of you.

He didn’t even blink. As soon as his fingers came out of you, he immediately brought them to his mouth, licking and sucking up your release with a smug expression on his face.

Watching him do that was almost enough to make you cum again. 

“Now… we’re even,” he mused, licking the remnants off his lips with a smooth swipe before unclasping his belt buckle, tearing it off. 

Your eyes rolled, managing to sit up on the edge of the bed, folding your legs underneath you to sit back on your calves. “Shut up and come here.”

He took a slow stride towards you. “I love it when you tell me to shut up.” He smirked down at you, watching you work to undo the button and zipper on his jeans. “Makes me want to talk more.”

You dug your fingers into his waistband at his hips, pushing his jeans down with a tug, happy that his tight boxers went down with them. The second his pants hit the floor, his pulsating cock slapped his lower stomach, pre-cum beading out of the tip. 

Even though you had seen it before, the size still shocked you. Made you wonder if his cocky attitude was validated.

Your hands moved to his length, working him in rough strokes as he stepped out of his jeans, kicking them to the side. When he steadied himself before you, you brought your tongue underneath him, making sure to glare up at him as you trailed your tongue from the hilt of his sturdy cock all the way up to his delicate, pink tip, lapping up his pre-cum and swallowing.

His hands moved instinctively to your hair, beyond grateful it was finally you with your sticky, glossy, swollen lips around his cock as you bobbed your head forward, taking him as deep as possible.

When your throat tightened around his tip, a soft gag echoing, he sucked in a sharp breath, followed by a deep, vibrating moan. “You suck my dick so good, it’s fucking insane—you’re fucking insane.”

You moaned into your sucking, bobbing your head back and forth, tongue working in circles. The sudden desire to give him your all came over you, leading you to use your free hand to massage his balls.

The touch sent his head falling back, a menacing grunt slipping from his throat. “Oh… Sh—shit—Fuck, yes, baby. Keep… doing that.”

Your confidence and eagerness to show him just how good you were had you moving at a pace and rhythm you didn’t know you were capable of.

He tightened his grip on your hair, forcing you to halt as he peered down at you, meeting your seductive, glossed-over gaze. “Hands off,” he forced out, eyes heavy from the pleasure thrumming through his veins. The sight caused you to unintentionally ignore his demand. 

“Hands off,” he repeated, tone sharper. You finally complied, tucking your hands under your legs. “Good girl. Let me fuck that pretty throat.”

He gathered all of your hair up in his fists before thrusting his hips. Your lips suctioned around him, welcoming the way he fucked himself into your mouth. Every time you gagged, moaning incoherently against his cock, he just thrusted faster. 

“Mm,” he grunted through his gritted teeth. “Yeah, take this dick, baby. Fuck you’re doing… so good,” he continued on, praising you through deep-toned pants.

He could feel his release quickly rushing down to his length, forcing his thrusts to become sloppy and untimed. His hands started working your head up and down his shaft, controlling your pace until he just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Shhh…. Shit,” he hissed, pulling out of your mouth with an abrupt motion, leaving you drooling and dripping with your own spit. He bit down on his bottom lip, every muscle in his body seizing as he held back his threatening urge to bust all over you. 

You giggled. “Edging yourself is another kind of kinky, baby,” you taunted.

He rolled his eyes, taking careful breaths until the urge deflated. It wasn’t until he saw you bring your hand up to try and wipe the mess on your mouth and chin that he came rushing back over to you. 

“Uh-uh,” he grunted, swatting your hand away and leaning over to crash his lips on your, his tongue entering your mouth without warning. He slowly pushed you back down on the bed, his lips moving in sync with yours, the mess he’d caused spreading between the two of you. 

Hovering on top of you, he nudged your legs open with his knee. Shouldering his weight on one hand perched next to your head on the mattress, he used the other to align his dick with your pulsing entrance. 

He broke from the kiss as the tip slid in, both of you gasping at the same time as he slowly entered into you entirely. “Oh, F—Fuck,” you moaned, tensing under the sudden fullness. 

Peter grunted when the movement caused you to clench around him, suctioning him in as deep as possible. He pressed his forehead to yours, peering down as he slowly slid out, only to thrust harder into you. 

When you cried out a moan, his head snapped up to you, admiring the way your eyes screwed shut and your lips pursed at the pleasure.

“Open… your eyes, baby,” he mumbled, quickening his pace between your quivering legs. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

Your eyes fluttered open, jaw going slack as you gazed up at him, watching the way he bit down on his lip, stifling his rugged groans.

“D—Don’t do that,” you croaked, reaching up to pull his lip out from between his teeth. “I wanna… hear you.”

“Oh, fuck…” he groaned, head falling into the crook of your neck as he got rougher with his thrusts, “you’re so hot.”

The wet sounds of your arousal oozing out between thrusts, coating his balls as he hammered himself deeper and deeper inside you echoed throughout the room, muffled slightly by the music blaring. 

Your legs shook around him, alerting him you were going to reach another orgasm soon. He loved knowing that—knowing how your body reacted to him. It made fucking you even better.

“Peter,” you cried out, head digging back into the mattress. “I’m gonna—”

He sat up, gripping your hips as he sat back on his calves, bringing you with him. “I know, baby.”

The movement caused your ass to lift off the bed, leaving him to hold you up, pounding deep into you with loud smacks. The angle was something you’d never felt before. He was so deep inside you, it felt like there would be internal damage. But it felt so good. 

You couldn’t control the way your back arched, hands flying to grip his hands, desperate to hold onto something as your orgasm came crashing down on you.

“Cum for me,” he grunted, breathing raggedly.

Your jaw went slack, eyes rolling to the back of your head as everything tightened in his grasp. Your vision spotted as you came so hard, it stole the air from your lungs.

“Mm,” Peter moaned. “That’s right, baby. Good… fucking… girl,” he drawled, not slowing down even a little.

His head reared back, his fingers tightening around your hips hard enough to bruise as he pummeled his dick inside you.

“Fill me up,” you moaned, watching the way his abs flexed and feeling the way his cock twitched deep inside your overly sensitive pussy. “Cum inside me, please,” you said, voice high-pitched and illicitly seductive.

“I am, baby,” he panted, biceps twitching as he gripped even harder, moving your body against his. “I… am.”

He fell forward, holding himself up on top of you as he curled his hips up into you a few more times. His body shuddered as his release washed over him, a wince tearing through his gritted teeth. 

The both of you moaned softly as his warmth shot inside you. Your hips bucked against him as he worked through his high. When there was nothing else for him to give you, he stilled, his head drooping into the crook of your neck just for a second, long enough for him to tame his breathing.

When he regained a sliver of his strength back, he slowly sat up, inching out of you, ensuring he kept his eyes on the way his seed poured out of you as he did so. 

“I will never… get over that shit,” he mumbled between pants. His chest heaved. “You are so fucking perfect like this.”

Tauntingly, your hand crept down to your entrance. He smirked at the sight, watching as you smeared his cum all over your fingers before bringing them between your lips, maintaining eye contact with him as you swallowed his salty sweetness.

He shook his head, grinning. “Thought it was gross.”

You shrugged, licking the remnants off your lips. “I lied.”

“I know,” he quipped, going to grab the towel draped over the back of his desk chair.

When he came back over, wiping up his mess with gentle pats and chuckling when you winced at the sensitivity, you smirked up at him. “I didn’t let that guy do all that stuff, by the way. I didn’t even let him fuck me.”

His eyes flicked over to yours. “You didn’t?”

You shook your head. “Nah, that’s our thing.”

Giving you a toothy grin, he tossed the towel to his hamper. “We didn’t use the belt this time, though. Guess we’ll have to do that next time.”

“There’s no next time,” you reminded him.

He shrugged.

hope you enjoyed it! pls leave a comment/like/reblog. if you have a one shot request, you can send it through my “ask me.” ୨ৎ─ delaney!

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[sleepiestkentokisser]

SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X FEM!READER | roommates to lovers, smut, SOMNO, fingering, piv, DUBCON, size kink. 2k words. for my sweet @kentwos

He hears your little whimpers through the thin walls of your shared apartment, and they keep him awake at night.

You're a good roommate. You keep the place clean, and you don't ask him why he leaves for weeks and months at a time. You often "accidentally" make too much food when he's home, tentatively knocking on his door and asking him if he's hungry.

You rarely have guests over during the few weeks he's home a year, and you don't seem to mind that he spends most days at home, smoking like a chimney on the balcony and lounging on the couch watching mindless TV.

But the walls are thin.

You must not have realised he's just returned from a deployment tonight, because he hears you stumble through the living room, giggling. He hears a male voice, and he hears the way your giggles turn into moans when the mystery man kisses you.

Now he's listening to the bed creaking and your muffled whimpers.

The bloke barely lasts 10 minutes.

Simon can't sleep for the rest of the night. His back is acting up, and a migraine is definitely on its way, and his tinnitus seems worse than usual.

He listens to your quiet voices in the morning, listens to the front door open and close again.

Your feet padding across the floor.

Three knocks.

"Si?"

You peek your head in, and he looks at you.

"Hi," you say, a smile growing on your lips. "I didn't realise you were home."

"I figured," he replies, and you instantly become flustered, your eyes widening.

"Oh my god," you say, your mind catching up. He can tell the way embarrassment washes over you as you groan, putting your hand over your eyes. "Please tell me you didn't hear anything."

When he doesn't reply, you sigh loudly before stepping into his room and plopping onto his bed. Years of living together has made you overly familiar with him. He doesn't have the heart to correct it.

He doesn't want to.

"Please pretend it didn't happen," you ask, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

Simon looks back at you. There's a hickey on your neck, one that makes his molars hurt. He doesn't like that someone got to have you like that, in the way he so desperately wants. Got to sink their teeth in what's rightfully his.

"You're a grown woman," he states. "You can do whatever you want."

"Yeah, but I didn't mean for you to hear it!"

You push off the bed, but Simon is quick to grab your arm, pulling you back down. You land nearly on top of him with an "oomf", blinking at him, eyes filled with confusion.

"Was it good?"

"What?"

Your mind seems to struggle to catch up with what's happening, and you open your mouth before closing it again. Simon motions to the hickey on your neck. He wraps his hands around your throat, his thumb digging into the purple mark. Your mouth falls open.

"Was he at least a good shag?"

You flush, but you don't pull away this time.

"Did you even come?" he asks, and the way you pout tells him everything he needs to know.

"No," you say hesitantly.

"Why not?"

"I don't know," you say, hiding your face in his duvet. He lets go of your throat, patting your head instead. "His dick was big, but he didn't really know what to do with it."

Your voice is slightly muffled from the duvet, and your grip is tight around the fabric. You're clearly embarrassed. If anyone should be embarrassed, it's the bloke who failed to make you finish.

Simon feels lightheaded with the way his blood rushes south. He feels himself chub, and he imagines how you'd work to take his cock, how you'd struggle to adjust. How he'd target your sweet spot till you're crying.

"I bet," he says, grabbing you again so he can pull you on top of him. He knows you're feeling his erection, but he can't bring himself to care. "Most guys barely know what to do with pretty things like you."

"What, as if you know better?"

You're teasing him, but to Simon it's all the invitation he needs. He slips his hand underneath the waistband of your shorts, grinning when he finds you wet already. He doesn't waste time, gathering your slick before bullying two fingers into your soft pussy.

He groans at the way your walls give for him, adjusting with ease. Your pretty doe eyes go wide when he curls his fingers and finds your gspot, reaching deeper than you could ever hope to with your own fingers.

"Si," you whimper, clinging to him. He hums as he thrusts his fingers into you, revelling in the sound of your wet cunt filling the room.

You come embarrassingly quick, warmth curling in your stomach as you finish with a drawn-out moan. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you grind your hips erratically into his hands, drawing out your high. Pleasure curls through you from your core all the way to your toes.

"Good girl," Simon drawls, watching the way you twitch. He pulls his fingers out of your warm pussy, licking his fingers clean before patting your arse.

You blink sleepily at him. Post orgasm glow makes your brain foggy, especially with the way your roommate is looking at you, licking his lips hungrily.

"That was a way better shag than him," you say, giggling, but your eyes are droopy. You don't hear his response as you rest your head on his chest, drifting away.

You start to avoid him.

Something Simon finds incredibly annoying.

You're fussing. Definitely ruminating. Possibly spiralling.

He should've kept his cool, and not immediately finger fucked you into oblivion the second he got home. But the fact that you were with another man, just behind that thin wall between your rooms, made him lose his cool.

And now he's paying for it.

It's fair for you to hook up with others. He's barely home. He's not your boyfriend, he's your roommate. He's a soldier.

He's starting to realise he can't keep a clear head when he's with you. He doesn't want to wait. The long game isn't worth much when it comes to pretty girls like you. He'd rather just get it over with and make you realise you're stuck with him. That you're done with quick disappointing fucks once he gets to sink his teeth into you.

He goes to the pub with Soap and Gaz. It's rare for all three of them to be home at the same time, and Soap and Gaz are taking advantage, downing pints and talking away. Simon mostly listens, until his mind wanders to you.

His pretty bird, all alone at home.

He gets up without saying anything, adjusting his crotch that's already chubbing. Soap hollers after him, but he dismisses him with a wave.

He doesn't quite want to share you. Not even with Soap.

Wearing his T-shirt to bed is a particularly cruel move on your end. Simon has to bite back a groan as he climbs over your sleeping body, straddling you from behind. He grinds his dick against your panty-clad arse while he leans over you.

You're sleeping, blissfully unaware. It makes him harder, as he takes out his dick, rubbing it between your arse cheeks. You quietly moan, subconsciously pushing back against him.

He slips his cock into your panties, using your thighs to stroke him. His cockhead pokes at your clit, and he feels you start to grow wetter with each push and pull of his hips.

You let out a tiny moan in your sleep, and Simon grunts as he leans over you, trapping you underneath his weight. He licks and bites at your throat, right where the hickey is starting to fade. He wants to erase it, make you forget there's ever been anyone other than him.

You wake with a jolt when he bites down particularly hard, and he feels you tense up beneath him as your mind catches up to what's happening. You scramble, but he's pressed up so close behind you that you're immobile.

"Jus' me, love," he murmurs, and you whine, attempting to look over your shoulder. He feels you relax, but then he starts to fuck your thighs again, and you tense again, gasping at the feeling of his cock nudging your clit.

"Si?" you ask, confusion and fogginess from your sleep making you struggle to realise what's happening.

"You were wearin' my shirt, doe," he says, kissing behind your ear. He slips one of his big hands underneath your shirt, cupping your tit and squeezing till you moan. "Couldn't help myself."

"Why didn't you, ah, wake me?" you whine, arching up into him so desperately it makes him dizzy.

In a quick motion, he flips you so he can see your face. Your pretty face is puffy, your lips all pouty as you sleepily blink up at him. He slips his cock into your knickers again, watching the light fabric darken with his precum.

"Didn't wanna interrupt your beauty sleep."

That makes you scoff, and he slaps your tit in response, making you gasp in surprise. Before you can tell him off, his cock catches your entrance, head popping inside your tight cunt, and you let out a strangled moan as you squeeze down on him.

"It's too big, Si," you whine, starting to back up, but he grabs your hip tightly, pulling you back onto his cock. He presses another inch inside you, brows furrowing at just how damn snug you are. He presses soothing circles into your clit with his thumb.

"You can take it," he says, nodding at you while you shake your head. "You're a big girl."

A pitiful whimper leaves you when he presses in yet another inch, and his eyes roll back at how warm you are inside.

You're rendered speechless as he slowly pulls in and out, making you take inch after inch. It stings, but pain mixes deliciously with pleasure as he thumbs your clit and licks and kisses your throat.

"How much more?" you ask, staring at your ceiling with knitted brows. The man on top of you rumbles as he kisses your lips, licking into your mouth.

"Halfway," he replies, and your eyes widen, because he's already splitting you in two. You look down to where you're connected, and a rush of arousal hits youwhen you see how his fat cock is practically bullying your poor pussy.

Simon must feel you clench, because he laughs.

"You're doing good, baby," he says, and your concerned eyes find his, looking for reassurance.

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh," he replies. Taking pity on you, he starts to fuck you like that, with only half of his cock. "My pretty baby,"

It's almost an art form. That he can fuck with half his inches and still have you writhing underneath him, whimpering each time his cock hits your sweet spot. Your cunt drools around his length, allowing him to slowly push further and further in, till you're taking him to the hilt without even realising. Too busy with your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your orgasm creeps in on you, sweeping you underneath the waves of pleasure as you choke on air. Your cunt nearly squeezes the life out of him, and he leans over you, reminding you to breathe through it as you choke on a sob. You cling to him, digging your nails into his biceps, as he slowly fucks you through it till you're boneless beneath him.

Your eyes slip closed as sleep overtakes you again. It makes him groan, getting impossibly harder as he thrusts into you the last few times before spilling into your welcoming cunt.

He flips you around so you're on top of him, your poor pussy still stuffed with his cock and cum. Content, he gets the best sleep he has in years, despite the flare-up in his hip.

He doesn't know how long he's out for, but he wakes to the sweet sound of your moans. You're straddling him, bouncing on his cock with all your might. It must be hard on you, sweet thing. You're doing so well, though, despite your pinched brows. He traces his hand over your stomach, trying to feel himself in there.

You jolt when you realise he's awake, and a giggle escapes you.

"Good mornin', love," he rasps, and you lean down to kiss him. He grabs your hips, helping you ride him.

"Hi, Si," you say, pressing your lips to his. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, licking into your mouth. "Don't mind being woken like this, though," he adds.

Your cunt clenches around his length, and he grunts.

"You're gonna make me come like that," he says, and you moan into his mouth.

"Want it," you gasp, raking your nails over his scalp. "Inside,"

You don't have to tell him twice. He rubs your clit in messy circles, pulling you over the edge with him as he spills into you for the second time, pumping you full. You whine, swallowing his moans with your sweet kisses, as both of you grow sensitive.

When you pull off him, it's with a wet pop, cum spilling out of you. Simon watches the sight, satisfied with his claim.

What a perfect roommate he has.

hi i started writing this last night but i fell asleep halfway through (ironic) so here you have it. i only edited it like two times so if you find any mistakes ignore itttt …. 🫪

masterlist | dividers by diviniyae

[silverlullabies]

Sometimes violence is the answer to your problems- or in this case, Simon Riley’s problems

It’s not as if there had been a particular moment where Simon Riley had sat down and decided that he was done with having sex.

Rather, it was the accumulation of torture over the years that had left damage- nerves misfiring or simply not firing at all beneath scar tissue that had healed wrong.

Then there were the other injuries layered over it across the years: the fractures, surgeries, concussions, medications, chronic pain and the permanent state of low grade readiness his body seemed incapable of leaving even when he was technically safe.

Simon had spent enough time in hospitals to know the human body was less a machine than people liked pretending it was. Things went wrong. Sometimes they healed. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes nobody could tell you why.

His cock, apparently, had decided not to.

He’d noticed it gradually.

Morning erections disappearing first, though he couldn’t have said precisely when- not when his mornings were spent around other people and never actually got the time to wank one out before morning drills or in between dodging gunfire.

Then on the rare occasion he did actually feel enough inclination to do something about himself, it became an exercise in diminishing returns: attraction still existed somewhere in his head, sensation technically existed below the waist, but whatever bridge had once connected the two appeared to have been bombed out.

Simon discovered it through the deeply scientific process of occasionally attempting to masturbate and getting absolutely fuck all for his trouble

He could touch himself and get nowhere. Could want, abstractly, and have his body answer with complete indifference. The first few times Simon tested it, he approached the problem the way he approached most of his failures: with detached irritation, as though persistence alone might force the damaged thing back into service.

Eventually he’d stared down at himself, accepted that nothing was happening, pulled his trousers back up and thought, Right. That’s that, then.

He never mentioned it to anyone, not to a doctor and certainly not to Price, because- contrary to popular belief- there were limits to what Simon Riley was willing to survive and the idea of being waterboarded ranked higher on the list of things he’d want to go through again before having John Price know whether his lieutenant’s cock remained operational or not.

He didn’t make an appointment specifically for it either. Doctors had poked, prodded, scanned, stitched and reconstructed enough of him already, and there was something uniquely intolerable about volunteering this particular failure for examination when he had no real intention of actually doing anything with the equipment even if they did manage to fix it.

Casual sex had never really held enough appeal to justify navigating the humiliation of his body refusing to cooperate halfway through. A relationship sounded worse. Relationships required trust, trust required vulnerability, and Simon had never understood the fascination people had with handing another human being that kind of weakness so openly.

So celibacy became another practical adjustment. Fine. Good, even. One less thing to worry about, one less chemical urge trying to convince him another person was necessary.

Simon’s body already demanded sleep, food, medication, physical therapy and the occasional begrudging acknowledgment that he was not, despite considerable evidence to the contrary, composed entirely of out of spite.

He didn’t particularly mind losing one more demand and eventually he stopped checking whether anything had changed. He stopped noticing attractive strangers beyond the detached recognition that, yes, objectively, they were attractive. He stopped wondering whether there might be some circumstance under which his body would respond differently.

It had been years and whatever part of him had once wanted sex had either been damaged beyond use or buried beneath too much other shit to reach daylight, and Simon had made his peace with that.

Then you arrived and immediately became the most irritating person he had met in recent memory.

Not because you were cruel. Simon could deal with cruel; cruelty was straightforward. You simply possessed a spectacular disregard for the strange force field that usually formed around Ghost.

New recruits tended to give him space. Experienced operators might not fear him, but they understood him well enough not to poke unnecessarily at whatever lived behind the skull mask.

Even Soap, who had elevated testing Simon’s patience into a recreational activity, possessed enough survival instinct to recognize certain lines.

You, however, seemed unaware there were lines at all.

The first time Simon deliberately crowded your space during a disagreement, expecting the usual subtle retreat people made when six-foot-something of masked lieutenant invaded their breathing room, you merely tipped your head back farther and continued arguing. When he leaned down, you leaned forward. When he blocked the doorway afterward because you’d been getting on his nerves for the better part of twenty minutes, you stared at him and asked, “Are you finished?”

“Finished what?” he’d replied, because sometimes Simon could be every bit as juvenile as Soap accused him of being, even if he’s deny it until the day he died.

“This.” You waved vaguely at all of him. “Whatever weird intimidation ritual you’ve got going on. Move.”

He hadn’t and you responded with putting both hands against the center of his chest and shoving him instead. He barely shifted if course, which only seemed to annoy you further.

Your mouth tightened, your boots planted and you shoved again with genuine intent this time while Simon stared down at you in profound disbelief.

Somewhere behind him Soap made the distinctive strangled sound of a man swallowing laughter, and when Simon turned his head just enough all he saw was the sergeant suddenly studying a patch of wall with extraordinary concentration because he valued his continued existence.

By the time Simon looked back, you were already shouldering past the narrow gap you’d created, muttering something about oversized fucking roadblocks.

Deeply irritating. That was Simon’s assessment, and it remained his assessment over the following weeks while you developed an increasingly casual habit of putting your hands on him whenever he was being difficult.

Not affectionately. Never anything he could easily categorize as flirtation.

Rather, you slapped his hand away when he reached for things you were using, nudged his boots aside when he stretched his legs into your path, drove your shoulder into his arm rather than walk around him when he occupied too much corridor.

One afternoon he reached over your head for the exact mug you’d been reaching toward despite three identical ones sitting beside it, and you promptly elbowed him in the ribs.

“Use another one.”

“Wanted this one.”

“You’re a prick.”

“Been told.”

You turned with your mug held against your chest and gave him a look of profound disgust. “Do you wake up every morning and consciously decide to be unbearable, or does it come naturally?”

“Natural talent.”

Something low in his stomach tightened when your eyes narrowed. Simon noticed it only enough to dismiss it. His body produced strange aches, sparks and misfires constantly; one more meant nothing.

The real problem emerged three weeks later over a mission report, largely because Simon had made the decision to edit your wording after you’d already submitted it.

You found him sitting at his desk with the amended copy beside him and launched immediately into an accusation of bureaucratic sabotage.

Simon informed you that he’d corrected inaccuracies. You informed him there had been no inaccuracies. He reminded you that on line of your official report had read, Lieutenant Riley ignored the proposed entry point because apparently God himself whispered a better idea directly into his ear.

“That is an accurate account of events,” you argued.

“Not putting that in an official report.”

“You’re only mad because it makes you sound like an asshole.”

“I am an asshole.”

“Then why are we editing for accuracy?”

You were already moving around the desk while you said it, coming toward him with the particular determined stride Simon had learned meant you were about to invade his personal space as punishment for some perceived crime.

He remained seated though, mostly because standing would have made the whole thing absurd; he was already large enough without looming over you while you complained about paperwork.

You stopped directly between his knees instead, close enough that the fabric over one of your thighs brushed the outside of his. Simon registered it without meaning to and dismissed it.

Then your finger came up and pressed hard into the center of his chest.

“You listen to me, Riley. If you touch my report again without asking, you can take that red pen and shove it so far up your- “

Simon stopped listening.

His body had gone abruptly, impossibly still around one singular point of awareness. There was pressure beneath his pants. Heat. A heavy rush of blood into an organ Simon had, for all practical purposes, considered medically retired.

For several bewildered seconds his brain refused to identify the sensation because it had been absent too long to belong naturally among the catalog of things Simon expected his body to do.

Then his cock gave a distinct pulse against the front of his trousers and every word leaving your mouth vanished beneath one stunned thought.

He was hard.

Not sort of hard, not an ambiguous twitch he could blame on sitting wrong or fabric pressure or some random neurological event.

Simon Riley, who had gone years without getting an erection under considerably more deliberate circumstances, was sitting in his office with a fully functioning cock because you were jabbing him in the chest and telling him to go fuck himself.

You were still speaking, though Simon had no idea what you were saying anymore- although judging by your expression it remained insulting.

He stared at you with such unusual stillness that eventually you stopped on your own, finger still planted against his sternum. “What?”

Simon said nothing.

“What?” you repeated. “Have you gone deaf?”

His gaze dropped to your hand as though it might explain what had just happened. You mistook the look for irritation and removed your finger and Simon waited for the erection to disappear with it. It didn’t.

If anything, the lingering anger in your expression produced another deeply inconvenient pulse.

“No,” he finally said.

“Then say something.”

There were probably several sensible options but Simon chose, “Finished?”

Your whole expression sharpened. “Oh, fuck you.”

You snatched the report from beside him and stormed away, leaving Simon alone in his office with the door swinging behind you and his body apparently celebrating a resurrection.

He sat there for another several seconds before slowly looking down at himself.

The erection remained as undeniable as it was inexplicable. After years of absolutely nothing, his nervous system had apparently located a bypass around the damage because you had yelled at him over paperwork.

Simon stared until disbelief curdled into suspicion, then muttered, “Tha’s fucki’ inconvenient.”

By the following morning, he had explained it away. Bodies were strange. Blood pressure changed. Anger raised adrenaline. Perhaps poking his chest had compressed something in precisely the right way. Perhaps a damaged nerve had fired randomly for the first time in years.

After much deliberation, Simon decided one isolated event proved nothing, and there was absolutely no reason to investigate further.

So it was a completely coincidence, of course, that Simon happened to be standing directly in front of the cutlery drawer the next day, when you needed it.

You’d made tea, reached for the drawer and found approximately two hundred and forty pounds of lieutenant in the way. “Move.”

“Comfy.”

Your hand paused on the mug. “You’re blocking the spoons.”

“Plenty elsewhere.”

“No, there aren’t. They’re in the drawer behind your ass.”

“Sounds inconvenient.”

You stared at him. Simon leaned against the counter with studied indifference, though somewhere beneath that indifference his attention had become embarrassingly focused.

Nothing happened. No stirring. No heat. Simon experienced an emotion dangerously close to disappointment and immediately resented himself for it.

Then you stepped forward, caught a fistful of his shirt at the chest and yanked. “For fuck’s sake, Riley, move.”

His cock went hard so quickly Simon nearly inhaled his own tongue.

There was no ambiguity this time. Your knuckles dragged against his sternum through the fabric, your body crowded directly into his as you tried to haul a man significantly larger than yourself out of the way, and apparently this combination constituted the precise password required to unlock Simon Riley’s long dormant reproductive system.

You succeeded in shifting him half a step, reached around him for the drawer and retrieved your spoon without noticing that Simon had gone rigid for an entirely different reason.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked when you turned back.

“Nothin’.”

“You look weird.”

“Always look like this.”

“No, you’re acting weird.”

Simon left without making the tea he’d ostensibly entered the kitchen to prepare.

Still, twice could still be coincidence. Simon clung to that argument for roughly forty eight hours before curiosity overwhelmed dignity and the entire situation deteriorated into an experiment he refused to acknowledge he was conducting.

He began noticing variables with the clinical attention he would normally reserve for surveillance. Ordinary proximity produced nothing reliable. Sitting beside you during briefings didn’t do it. Your shoulder bumping his in a crowded transport didn’t do it. You once passed him a weapon and your fingers brushed his glove, and his nervous system remained entirely uninterested.

There was something reassuring about that at first. Perhaps the episodes really were random.

Then he ignored you while you were trying to ask him a question.

“Riley.”

Simon continued inspecting the rifle in his hands.

“Riley.”

Nothing.

“Simon.”

There it was: that warning woven through his name, irritation sharpening the edges. Simon looked up and caught the full force of your glare just as warmth tightened low behind his belt.

“Wot?” he asked.

“I’ve been talking to you.”

“Have you?”

Your eyes narrowed further. His cock stirred harder.

Simon turned back toward the weapons bench before you could notice the slight adjustment in his stance.

Three times constituted a pattern.

After that, his behavior became indefensible.

He discovered that if he deliberately moved one of your things, you would hunt him down to complain. If he blocked your route, you would put your hands on him rather than politely ask twice. If he took the pen nearest your fingers instead of any of the other four available, you would slap the back of his hand. If he walked away while you were talking, you would occasionally grab the back of his vest and yank him to a halt, which produced such an immediate response the first time that Simon had needed to invent an urgent reason to leave the room before you noticed.

He tested other possibilities privately because, despite what his increasingly deranged behavior suggested, Simon was still attempting to establish whether you were actually the variable.

A woman flirted openly with him during leave; nothing. He watched pornography one evening and experienced such profound indifference that halfway through he became distracted wondering whether he’d cleaned the knife he’d used on a security guard earlier. He tried touching himself without any outside stimulus and got little more than the same sluggish response he’d become accustomed to years before.

The following afternoon you stormed into the common room because he’d eaten something with your name written very clearly across the container and jabbed him in the chest, snarling. “I swear to God, Riley, I’m going to kill you.”

His body responded like somebody had thrown a switch, cock harder than diamonds.

Simon stared at you as heat settled heavily between his legs. You stared back, waiting for remorse that was not forthcoming.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

A profoundly defective impulse surfaced. Simon leaned slightly closer. “Gonna have to try harder than that.”

Your mouth fell open before outrage filled the space. “You absolute fucking bastard.”

You attempted to leap at him, spitting profanities and attempting- Simon assumed- to claw his eyes out but Gaz intercepted and kept you off of him. Still, you managed to shove his shoulder and his cock throbbed in response.

Simon stepped back immediately, which only made you look suspicious. “Stay away from my food,” you snapped, throwing Gaz’s hands off of you, before walking out.

Gaz lowered his hands and looked toward Simon.

Simon turned his head very slowly.

Gaz’s eyebrows rose.

“Wot?”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

Gaz gave him a deeply searching look- perceptive bastard- before finally settling on. “Not a conversation I’m looking to have, mate.”

Simon went upstairs, shut his bedroom door and sat on the edge of his mattress with both hands dragged over his mask.

It should have been good news. That was the part he could not reconcile. For years he’d assumed the damage was permanent, another small theft committed by men and circumstances that had already taken enough from him.

He had accepted it because Simon understood loss better than he understood recovery; there was peace in declaring something gone and never hoping for it again after all.

Now, against every expectation, his body was proving that some pathway still existed. Something beneath the scar tissue and damaged nerves still knew what to do. Under any reasonable circumstance, that should have felt like getting a piece of himself back.

Instead, Simon was being forced to confront the humiliating possibility that his cock was not broken so much as catastrophically selective.

Apparently lingerie did nothing for it. Flirting did nothing. Attractive strangers did nothing. Pornography had nearly put him to sleep.

But you glaring at him like you were three seconds away from committing an indictable offense? Excellent. You hauling him around by his clothes? Evidently irresistible. You shoving him because he was deliberately standing somewhere inconvenient? His nervous system seemed to consider it practically erotic.

It got worse because Simon genuinely enjoyed irritating you even without the increasingly inconvenient physical reward attached to it. There was something satisfying about the immediacy of your reactions.

Most people behaved differently around Ghost. They measured their words. Watched his hands. Gave the mask more space than it physically occupied. Even people who knew him eventually retained some instinctive awareness that he could become frightening very quickly if circumstances demanded it.

But you treated him like an enormous nuisance.

Simon could stand silently behind hardened soldiers and watch their shoulders stiffen; but all you would do is look over, discover him hovering there, and tell him his breathing was annoying you. People feared monsters but you only responded with irritation at the one who stole your mug.

Simon did not examine why that distinction mattered to him. Instead, he moved your mug again.

The situation finally collapsed when he blocked you in a corridor for no reason beyond the fact that he knew exactly what would happen.

You stopped in front of him with immediate suspicion. “Move.”

Simon remained where he was, arms folded.

“Riley.”

“Hm?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“This.” You gestured at the width of him occupying nearly the entire passage. “Standing exactly where I need to go.”

“Small corridor.”

“Exactly and you’re somehow taking up all of it.”

“Skill.”

You stepped left. Simon stepped left. You stopped and stared at him. He could see realization beginning, he dawning certainty that his obstruction was deliberate. You moved right. Simon mirrored you again.

“Are you twelve?”

“Could ask you the same.”

“Oh, my God.” You tried left one more time. He blocked you, and now your patience broke visibly. Your shoulders squared, your jaw tightened and when you spoke again your voice dropped into that particular warning register his body had inexplicably decided it adored. “Move, Riley.”

Heat tightened beneath his belt.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He should have stepped aside then. He had his answer. He had, in fact, accumulated an absurd quantity of answers over the previous week and required absolutely no further data.

Instead, despite being a grown ass adult, Simon leaned one shoulder against the wall and heard himself say, “Make me.”

You went very still.

There was a small part of Simon’s brain, the portion apparently not currently occupied by destroying his own dignity, that recognized he had pushed this into ridiculous territory.

Then you planted both hands against his chest and shoved hard enough to drive his shoulder into the wall.

The response was immediate and vicious. His cock surged against the front of his pants, balls tightening instinctively, breath catching just enough that you noticed. Your hands remained spread over his chest while your expression changed from irritation to confusion.

Simon looked down at them.

You followed his gaze, but this time your attention continued lower.

Silence settled between you.

Simon felt the exact moment you understood.

Your eyes lifted slowly back to his.

“No.”

He said nothing.

Your mouth began to twitch. “No fucking way. Is that why you’ve been fucking with me?”

“No.”

The denial came far too quickly.

Your expression transformed. “Oh my God.”

Simon pushed away from the wall. “Don’t.”

“You have been deliberately pissing me off.”

“Have not.”

“You moved my boots yesterday.”

“Safety hazard.”

“They were under my bed.”

“Could’ve tripped.”

“In my sleep?”

“Dangerous business.”

You stared at him for a long second before laughter broke through. Not polite laughter either. You actually bent slightly with it, one hand still braced against his vest while Simon considered every decision he had made since entering military service and wondered which one had placed him on the path toward this precise humiliation and whether he could go find his enemies and beg for the west release of death.

“You ate my food,” you accused between breaths.

“Was hungry.”

“You stole my pen out of my hand when there were three sitting next to it.”

“Liked yours.”

“You stood in front of the spoon drawer for five fucking minutes.”

Simon’s silence convicted him more effectively than anything he might have said.

“You’ve been fucking with me because it gets you off.”

“Wouldn’t call it that.”

“What would you call it?”

He had nothing.

Your laughter returned, softer now but infinitely more dangerous because amusement was giving way to curiosity. Simon recognized the shift immediately. You looked down again, not long enough to be crude, merely long enough to confirm the evidence remained present, then back up at him. Something in your expression sharpened with wicked understanding.

“You’re a fucking freak, Riley.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“That do it too?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Simon caught your wrists when you pressed both hands to his chest again, intending only to remove them. The movement changed your expression instantly. Amusement flashed into irritation at being restrained, your weight shifting toward him instead of away.

“Let go.”

His erection throbbed so hard Simon nearly swore.

Your eyes narrowed.

Simon shut his own for half a second because apparently there were indignities even he required time to process. When he opened them, you were staring at him with a new kind of fascination.

“Oh,” you said quietly.

Simon released your wrists.

You didn’t move back.

Neither did he.

The corridor had somehow become smaller around you both, the joking edge thinning into awareness. You watched him for a second, then reached forward with deliberate slowness and hooked one finger beneath the edge of his pants. Simon knew exactly what you were doing now. More importantly, so did you.

“Don’t,” he warned.

“Don’t what?”

“You know what.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Bullshit.”

You tugged him half an inch closer.

His jaw tightened as his cock reacted instantly.

That awful, delighted grin spread across your face before cupping your palm around the hard, obvious shape of his cock through the fabric and closing your fingers.

Simon’s entire body betrayed him at once.

His head tipped back against the wall with a dull, undignified thunk. His eyes rolled upward so hard he briefly saw the inside of his own skull. A sound escaped him that could generously be described as a groan and less generously as a whine.

He stayed like that for a second- head thrown back, eyes somewhere in the rafters, cock throbbing shamelessly in the warm curve of your hand- while his brain attempted to process the sheer fucking audacity of the situation.

You gave a small, experimental squeeze.

Simon’s hips jerked forward of their own accord- traitors- and he locked every muscle he still had control over, forcing himself still, which only made the next pulse against your palm more obvious.

“Christ,” he muttered at the ceiling, voice strangled.

You didn’t let go. If anything, you adjusted your grip with the calm curiosity of someone who had just discovered a particularly interesting malfunction and intended to poke it until it made more interesting noises. Your thumb stroked once along the ridge of him, and Simon’s breath left him in a short, punched out sound that was deeply unhelpful to whatever remaining dignity he was trying to cling to.

You tilted your head, still cupping him, and watched the way his throat worked under the mask.

“So,” you said, far too conversationally for someone currently holding a lieutenant’s previously non-functional cock in her hand, “this is the bit where you explain yourself, or…?”

Simon dragged his eyes back down to you with visible effort. The mask hid most of his expression, but the set of his shoulders suggested a man who had just realised he had spent the better part of two weeks engineering his own public humiliation and was now living with the consequences.

“Not explainin’ a fuckin’ thing,” he managed, voice rough. “While you’re still holdin’ my cock in your hand. You’re becoming a problem.”

“I’m becoming a problem? You’ve spent the last week acting like a primary school boy pulling someone’s hair because apparently your dick needs interpersonal conflict to function.”

“Tha’s not what’s happening.”

“You got hard because I shoved you into a wall.”

“Coincidence.”

“I can test that.”

“You fuckin’ will not.”

Your grin widened and your palm pressed down and Ghost nearly saw God long enough to ask why after nearly thirty years of suffering, this was apparently the punchline.

Before he could ask, God apparently decided to throw the poor suffering bastard a bone because Soap’s voice sounded from around the corner. “Ghost, ye seen- “

Simon stepped away from you with enough speed that you nearly stumbled forward.

Soap rounded the corner, stopped and took in the scene. You were suspiciously amused. Simon was standing at an equally suspicious angle with his hands planted on his hips and approximately three feet more distance between you than two people naturally needed. Johnny’s gaze moved from you to Ghost, back to you and then very deliberately refused to travel any lower.

“Aye,” Soap said slowly.

Nobody answered.

He nodded to himself. “Actually, never mind.”

Soap turned around.

“MacTavish.”

His pace increased.

“Johnny.”

“Didnae see anything, LT.”

“You didn’t.”

“Exactly.”

He disappeared around the corner before Simon could decide whether murder was worth the paperwork.

You made it perhaps two seconds before laughter burst out of you again, and Simon dragged one hand down the front of his mask while your amusement echoed through the corridor.

This, apparently, was his life now. He had survived torture, burial, gunfire, explosions and enough bodily damage to permanently alter the way his nervous system functioned, only to discover that whatever remained of his sexual response had crawled out of its grave specifically for the most confrontational person he knew.

The pattern had become painfully specific: you close enough to crowd him, your voice edged with irritation, your hands on his chest because Simon had deliberately made himself impossible to tolerate.

His body had surveyed years of opportunity with complete indifference, ignored every conventional invitation offered to it, then watched you square up against a man nearly twice your mass and apparently made an executive decision.

That one. You need to fuck that one.

The thought arrived so clearly Simon actually glanced upward again as though God might be willizng to throw him another bone.

Apparently he’d used up all this good will because the Almighty wasn’t.

There was only you, still laughing as you pushed past him and deliberately knocked your shoulder into his chest on the way.

“Move, Riley.”

His cock twitched again.

Simon closed his eyes and stood perfectly still in the corridor while the universe continued to punish him for crimes he could not presently recall committing and groaned out. “Fuck’s sake.”

[inspired by this post by @quarterlifekitty]

[musingsofheaven]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ﹙ masterlist ⋮ request ˓ ask .ᐟ ﹚

THE SUMMONING

summary: Peter Parker knows something inside him is changing, and it gets harder to fight it every night. Then there’s you, who happens to be the one it won’t leave alone.

pairings: peter parker x afab!reader

warnings: 8.9k words. mature themes. dubious consent (dubcon). intoxication. altered mental state. restraint/bondage (web). unprotected p in v. creampie. breeding kink. fingering. nipple play. breast play. clitoral stimulation. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. hair pulling. biting. praise kink. pet names. dirty talk. mask kink. monsterfucking undertones (arachnid). strength difference. stalking. surveillance. voyeuristic implications. read responsibly.

note: i am so hungry, and i hope this will also make you all full of peter. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

Walking home alone with too much alcohol in your system makes the city streets feel a little less lonely at night. You stumble slightly over the curb while you check your phone for the time. Spiderman is out there swinging between the buildings somewhere above you. You know he exists without ever trying to follow where he goes. Seeing him on the news occasionally is enough for you. You keep walking down the sidewalk until footsteps drop from the rooftops above you. Tonight feels like an ordinary walk home before someone bumps right into you. Peter is fighting bad headaches that won’t go away no matter what he tries to do about it. His arachnid genes are acting abnormally lately and pushing past his human side in ways he can’t control. He spends his nights searching for a cure because the animal instincts keep taking over his thoughts. Stress makes the biological changes worse tonight since his mind is already exhausted, and seeing MJ kissing another man at her housewarming party earlier today makes it worse.

Watching her with someone else triggered something feral inside him, and it doesn’t help that no one remembers who Peter Parker is anymore. His arachnid instincts take over as he drops over the street before he bumps right into your path. Organic web shoots directly from his wrists instead of mechanical shooters before it wraps around your waist. He grabs you with him to swing around until both of you are up on a rooftop. You don’t know Spiderman personally for him to do that so you think you are in danger as he lands on the roof. The spinning motion, together with the drinks in your stomach, creates a terrible feeling by the time you reach the top of the building. You immediately bend over to throw up all the alcohol in your stomach right onto the roof. He watches you puke before he lets out a loud laugh. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand while he just looks at you and shakes his head.

That first night didn’t end up so terrible because Spiderman brought you home safely after you threw up on the roof. He even apologized for grabbing you off the sidewalk before he left you outside your building. Running into him once feels like a simple coincidence when you think about it the next morning. He knows he doesn’t mean to keep doing it, but he saw you walking home alone weeks later and decided to give you another ride across the city. Happening twice is already something unusual, yet a third or fifth time tells both of you that this is no longer an accident. He can’t control the urges yet since he hasn’t managed to suppress his arachnid genes. Everything that happened on that first night opened his eyes to the idea of trying again. He isn’t actively searching for another girlfriend, though he feels open to the possibility now. He doesn’t understand why his arachnid side feels so protective over you whenever you are out late at night.

He isn’t stalking you by any means, yet his senses alert him whenever someone gets too close to you on the street. He has no idea why his biological instincts react so strongly whenever you walk home alone after a night out. The urge to check on you keeps happening without any clear explanation. Maybe he even programmed your details into E.V so his tech tracks you whenever the cameras catch you walking by yourself. E.V notifies his mask display whenever you leave a building late at night so he can make sure the streets are clear. He tells himself it’s just a safety measure to keep you out of trouble. You never actually saw each other face to face during any of those times E.V watched over you from above. He waited up on the roofs while you walked down the pavement. You only knew he was around when he decided to drop down to pick you up for another ride home. Those repeated trips across the city happened several more times over the past few weeks.

Neither of you talks about why he keeps showing up whenever you are out late. His arachnid side feels satisfied whenever he drops you off safely at your front door. He never fails to bring you home after you finish drinks with your friends. Tonight tests his patience because the alcohol in your system makes you act way too clingy. You wrap your arms around his shoulders instead of holding onto him normally while he takes you above the street. You press your face into his neck right over his collar. He tries to ignore the way you rub your nose against him as he moves between the buildings. “Don’t move around so much up here,” he grunts while he checks the distance to the next roof. You ignore his warning before you inhale the scent of his suit right against his throat. Your mouth opens against the material as you leave small pecks along his neck. He tenses up when your teeth bite down on him through the fabric.

His senses are already too sensitive tonight, so your mouth against his neck distracts him. His web misses the next building after your teeth catch him by surprise. “F-fuck- what are you doing?” he curses as he brings you closer against his chest. Both of you almost fall before he shoots another web to find support and avoid touching the ground. “You smell good,” you mumble against his throat while your teeth nip at him again. He manages to get both of you across the rest of the blocks without falling again. He lands on the floor of your balcony before he sets you down. You refuse to let go of his shoulders even after your feet touch the ground. His arachnid side reacts badly because your mouth keeps trailing over his neck. “Stop biting me,” he warns you as his hands hold your waist. He backs you toward the wall of your apartment while his breathing turns ragged behind his mask. “Mmm- no,” you say before you tug him closer by his shoulders.

He looks down at you with his chest heaving while he tries to control his urges. He raises one arm while he keeps you against the wall of the balcony. A line of web shoots from his wrist toward the knob of your balcony door. It sticks to the handle before he pulls his arm back to slide the door open. He wants you inside because standing out here makes everything too complicated. You ignore the open door while you keep your arms around his shoulders. Your hands leave his shoulders before you reach up toward his mask. You try to pull the red fabric up over his chin so you can look at his face. His right hand leaves your waist before his fingers wrap around your wrist to stop you from lifting it higher. He pushes your hand away from his face while he looks down at you. “Don’t do that,” he warns you as he shoves your wrist back down between your bodies. You try to reach for the mask again with your other hand, but he blocks you easily.

“I can’t let you see me,” he tells you while he keeps your hands away from his head. The alcohol in your system makes you stubborn, so you push your hands against his chest in frustration. You hate that he stops you every time you try to see who hides behind the mask. “That’s not fair,” you complain while you try to wiggle your wrists away from his fingers. He keeps you against the wall while your feet kick slightly against the floor. “You always pick me up and bring me home, but you won’t even show me your face,” you whine as you bump your forehead against his shoulder. He watches you throw a tantrum before he finally lets go of your wrists to guide you through the open balcony door into your living room. He swats your hands away whenever you try to touch his chest again. He walks you backward across the floor while he watches your face. “You’re too drunk tonight,” he tells you as he tries to keep some space between your bodies.

You ignore his warning before you wrap your hands around his arms. “I’m very aware of what I’m doing,” you complain while your fingers caress the fabric of his sleeves. He tries to shake you off, but you refuse to let go of him. You look up at him while he keeps walking you backward across the room. “Don’t you want a reward for keeping me safe?” you ask him while your hands move up to his shoulders. He shakes his head immediately before he tries to remove your hands from his suit. “You need to sleep,” he answers while he pushes you toward your bedroom hallway. You hate that he keeps rejecting you after everything he did for you tonight. You stop walking backward so you can look up at his face. He pulls the bottom of his mask up just enough above his chin to leave his lips exposed so he can catch his breath. You stare at his mouth while he tries to get you to move again.

You lean forward quickly to try to kiss his lips. He catches your shoulders with his hands before your mouth can touch him. He pushes you back away from him while he turns his head to the side. “No,” he warns you as he holds you at arm’s length. You stumble backward into your bedroom while you look at him in disbelief. “Why won’t you let me thank you?” you whine before you try to step toward him again. He acts quickly by shooting a thick line of web around both of your forearms to bind your wrists together behind your back so you stop grabbing him. You stumble back a step until the back of your knees hit the mattress, and you sit down. His hands reach for your ankles before he starts taking your shoes off your feet. He tosses your shoes aside while he tries to ignore the way you keep staring down at him. You spread your legs wider apart on the edge of the mattress to get his attention.

He tries to ignore what you are doing while he drops your second shoe onto the floor. You lift your right leg before you place your foot right on his shoulder. You use your leg to pull his shoulder closer toward the bed. He shakes his head at you while he kneels on the floor between your knees. “Why are you acting like you don’t want me?” you whine while you pout down at his mask. He lets out a loud sigh before he leans forward between your knees. He drops his forehead right against your thigh with his shoulders tensed up. The mask is rolled up above his chin so his mouth is uncovered. His exposed lips touch the fabric of your pants while he rests his head on your leg. “You’re making it really hard for me to behave tonight,” he warns you as his chest rises against your knees. You feel his breath through your pants while he keeps his forehead on your thigh. He tries to control his arachnid side before he does something he can’t take back.

You feel the web that binds your arms together behind your back. The alcohol makes you bold, so you lean your chest closer toward his face. “I wouldn’t mind if you tied the rest of me up with your web,” you tease him while you nudge his shoulder with your foot. He lifts his head from your thigh to look up at your face. His jaw tightens after he hears what you want him to do. “Jesus- don’t give me ideas like that,” he mutters before his hands reach up to hold your hips. He pulls you closer to the edge of the mattress until your thighs surround his chest. He refuses to back away from you now that you invited him closer. “I can’t do much with my arms tied up anyway,” you tease him while you look down at his exposed mouth. He looks at your face before his hand reaches up to grab your ankle. He removes your foot from his shoulder and sets your heel down onto the floor between his knees. “Are you really going to leave me here like this?” you ask him before you nudge his side with your leg. He shakes his head as he kneels on the floor in front of you.

“This is some freaky shit you’re doing tonight,” you joke while you watch his jaw tighten. He keeps looking at you like he is trying to figure out how far you are going to push this. “Don’t make this harder than it already is,” he warns you while his jaw tightens behind his mask. He keeps his head down as he tries to ignore the way you lean toward him. “If you won’t untie me, then at least help me get my pants off,” you complain while you tilt your chin down at him. You don’t really care about changing your clothes tonight. You only want to make it look like you need help so you can see how far you can push his patience. He looks down at your lap before his thumbs touch the waistband of your pants. He knows you are trying to mess with him, but he refuses to back away from the bed. “Come on, do the belt first,” you chuckle while you wiggle your hips slightly on the mattress. He looks up at your face while he kneels on the floor between your knees.

You watch him hesitate before he reaches for the front of your waist. Both of his hands move to the belt around your pants so he can undo it for you. He removes the belt from your waist. He drags the strap free while you keep your attention on his exposed mouth. He drops the belt onto the floor before his hands return to the sides of your waist. “You took the belt off, but you aren’t going to unzip them?” you complain while you shake your head at him. You start pulling your wrists apart behind your back while he kneels in front of you. “What the fuck is that about?” you ask him while you try to push your hips forward on the mattress. You manage to tear through some of the web around your hands even though it doesn’t come off all the way. You keep pulling your wrists apart while you wait for him to answer you. He hears the web tearing behind your back while he kneels between your knees. He doesn’t try to stop your hands from moving because he is just letting you have your fun.

He ignores what you are doing behind your back while his thumbs move to the top of your pants. “Just stop moving for a second,” he tells you before his fingers pop the button open. He pulls the zipper down until your pants open wide at your waist. You spread your legs wider on the edge of the bed so he can take them off. You wait for him to lean closer, but he surprises you by moving away instead. He crawls backward on his knees two steps away from the edge of the mattress. He pushes your knees together with his hands before he grabs the waistband of your pants. He pulls the pants all the way down your legs in one motion until they slide off your ankles. You smirk down at him because he stripped them off you so easily. “You can look,” you tease him when you notice him turn his head to the side. Your smirk grows bigger as you watch him avoid looking at your red panties. “I’m trying really hard to be responsible here,” he mutters while he looks away from you.

He keeps his eyes away from your waist while he drops your pants onto the floor beside him. “You don’t always have to be the good guy,” you tease him while you wiggle your knees on the edge of the mattress. You pull your wrists apart harder behind your back while you wait for him to look at you. “They match your suit,” you point out as you lean your chest forward. He turns his head back toward you before his eyes drop down to your red panties. He doesn’t mean to stare, but your words make him look anyway. “I knew you wanted to see,” you laugh while you keep working your wrists apart behind your back. He shakes his head at you while he kneels on the floor between your feet. “You’re not helping my case here,” he groans before he looks up at your face. You stretch the last strands of web behind you while you watch him hesitate. “Take them off,” you tell him as you tilt your chin down at him.

His jaw tightens while he tries to ignore what you want him to do. “It won’t hurt anyone if you do,” you add while your shoulders twist on the bed. His human side wants to back away so he doesn’t take advantage of you. His arachnid instincts fight harder against him because every second near you makes him want to stop holding back. He keeps his mouth shut while his hands hover over his knees. You force your wrists apart until the web snaps behind your back. You bring your arms forward so your hands sit in your lap. The web still covers your fingers and wrists, but your arms are finally free. You grin down at him while you show off what you did. He scoffs at your face because you look so proud of yourself. “You know I let you do that, right?” he asks you while his mouth almost forms a smirk. You ignore his excuse before you rest your hands against your thighs. “I’m stronger than you thought,” you boast while you look down at his exposed lips.

He shakes his head while he reaches forward to touch your knees. You lift your hands to grab his mask again, but he tilts his head back away from your reach. “Keep trying that, and I’m going to tie you to the bed,” he warns you while his hands move up from your knees to your waist. He looks up at your face before his thumbs hook over the waistband of your red panties. “Yeah? With your web?” you smirk down at him as you open your knees wider against his sides. You ignore what his hands are doing at your hips before you grab the bottom of your shirt. You pull the top over your head in one motion and toss it across the bedroom floor. Taking off your shirt leaves you sitting on the mattress in only your underwear and your bra while he kneels between your feet. “Jesus- I told you to stop making this worse,” he mutters while his jaw clenches below the rolled fabric of his mask. You reach your hands behind your back to undo the clasps of your bra so you can take it off too.

He raises his right hand before a line of web shoots from his wrist right onto the center of your bra. He yanks his arm backward so the web snaps the clasps open behind you and pulls the bra away from your chest. He catches the bra with his right hand and throws it into the corner of the room. “I told you not to be stubborn,” he warns you while he drops his right arm back to your waist. You cross your arms over your chest to cover yourself because you didn’t expect him to strip you like that. Your face heats up while you look down at his exposed mouth in surprise. You look up at his eyes through the mask and think they look like they are turning black. You blame the dark room and the bad lighting for making his eyes look so strange. He knows it isn’t the lighting because his arachnid genes are fighting harder to push past his human side. His animal instincts want to take over now that you are sitting unprotected in front of him.

Both of his hands return to your hips before his thumbs hook into the waistband of your red panties. You push his hands away from your waist before you crawl backward toward the middle of the mattress. He gets up from the floor while he watches you get to your feet on the bed. You hook your thumbs into the sides of your panties to push them down your legs. You kick the red fabric off your ankles before you throw it right at his chest. “I can take them off myself,” you tease him while you stand naked in front of him. He catches the underwear with one hand before he lets it drop onto the floor. He tries to avoid looking right between your legs, but his arachnid side takes over. He raises his wrist before a line of web hits your stomach. He yanks his arm backward to pull you off the mattress and into the middle of the bedroom. The web lifts you up so your feet leave the floor. “What the fuck- are you serious right now?” you laugh while you kick your legs in the air.

He ignores you before he lifts his other wrist to send another web around your right forearm. He attaches the other end to the ceiling so your right arm stretches above your head. He casts more web across your waist before he connects the ends to the walls to keep you in place. The web holds you high enough so your hips align with his waist. You yank your free left arm around to see what he will do about it. He releases another line of web around your left wrist before you can swing at him again. He pulls your left arm upward before he attaches the end to the ceiling on the opposite side of the room. Both of your arms spread wide open above your head while the web wraps down to your elbows so you can’t pull your hands down. “Are you going to fuck me like this, spidey?” you tease him while you try to wiggle your hips against the web. He watches you test the hold before he shakes his head at your consistency in trying to get into his pants.

“You wanted me to tie you up,” he grunts before he sends more web across your chest and hips. He attaches the ends to the walls around you until you have nowhere else to go. Your legs dangle in the air while your feet hover above the floor. He aims his wrist at your right leg to put web around your thigh before he lifts your knee up to the side to connect the end to the wall. “Like what you see?” you tease him while you look down at where his eyes drop. He ignores your joke before he raises his left wrist to release more web around your left calf and ankle. He pulls your other knee upward and attaches that web to the opposite wall so your legs spread wide apart. The web bends your knees back until your feet hang high off the bedroom floor. Your entire body hangs in the center of the bedroom right at his hip level with your knees bent back. The web covers your forearms before it wraps around your waist to hold your body up in the air.

Your bent legs hang open so your chest and your cunt are exposed to his eyes. He steps right between your spread knees while he looks down at your waist. You can’t move your limbs away while he stands right in front of you with his mask rolled up above his mouth. “You’re not so talkative now,” he mutters while he looks at your face. You try to wiggle your hips against the web, but it holds you tight in the air. His suited hands reach toward your thigh where the web wraps around your leg. His hands trail slowly over the web while you watch his mouth open slightly. “What’s wrong, spidey? Are you going to leave me here like this?” You laugh as you push your hips forward. His hand leaves your thigh before his palm slaps hard against your exposed cunt. “Ah-! F-fuck-” you gasp while your thighs flex against the web. He watches you react to the slap while his head tilts to the side. “I told you to stop testing me,” he warns you before his hand rests against your inner thigh.

He lifts his left hand between your legs before he presses his covered palm right between your legs. He rubs his palm over you while you try to push your hips forward to meet his hand. The web around your waist holds you in place so you can’t grind against his palm. “Is this what you want?” he asks you while his fingers trace over your wetness. You nod at him while you pout down at his exposed mouth. “You can’t tie me up like this and not give me anything,” you complain as your knees pull against the web. He hums at your answer before he rubs his palm harder against your cunt. “Nnngh-” you gasp while you try to close your legs, but the web keeps your knees apart. He watches your mouth open while he keeps working his hand between your thighs. You try to move your hips again, but the web holds your waist in the air. “You’re really asking me to do this?” he asks you while his teeth clench below the red fabric.

He slows his hand down between your thighs while he waits for your answer. “That’s what I’ve been trying to get you to do all night,” you answer while you look down at his face. He stops rubbing your cunt before he pulls his hand away from between your legs. He takes a step back from your feet before he turns around so his back faces your body. He reaches for the shoulders of his suit and starts pulling the fabric down his chest. You watch him peel the top half of the suit off his back while he stands in the middle of the room. “What about the mask?” you ask him as he pushes the suit past his waist. He keeps his back turned toward you while he steps out of the bottom half of the suit. “The mask isn’t coming off,” he tells you while he drops the suit onto the floor. He wears only his boxers and the red mask over his head before he turns around to face your spread knees. He brings his right hand back between your legs without the suit in his way anymore.

He brushes his middle finger down your folds while his thumb presses against your clit. You bite your lower lip and try to wiggle your knees, but the web around your hips stops you from moving closer. He raises his left wrist and shoots another band of web around your right thigh to stop you from moving around. “Ah-! Why did you do that?” you whine as the web wraps tight around your leg. He ignores your complaint before he slips two fingers inside your cunt. “You look adorable tied up in my web like this,” he tells you while he watches your mouth open. You try to push your hips forward to take more of his fingers, but the web holds you back. “Yeah? Adorable enough to actually fuck?” you tease him while you look down at his face. His lips curve up into a smile below his mask before he pushes his fingers deeper inside you. “Nngh-! F-fuck-” you gasp as his fingers move inside your wetness. He watches your chest rise and fall while he keeps his hand between your thighs.

“You’re so desperate tonight, you can’t even wait five seconds,” he mutters while he curls his fingers inside your entrance. He pushes his hand deeper between your legs while you look down at his mask. “You’re still holding back on me,” you complain while you try to move your knees against the web. He steps closer between your spread legs and brings his face right next to your neck. His exposed lips press against your throat before he speaks against you. “I’m only doing this for your own good,” he whispers while his fingers work inside your cunt. It’s been years since the last time he touched someone like this or actually had sex with anyone. That’s the main reason he’s been holding back as much as he can all night. His arachnid side wants to swallow his human genes so his animal instincts can take control over his actions. He knows he’s on the edge of breaking if he keeps touching you like this.

He pushes his fingers deeper between your thighs while he listens to your breathing change. You squeeze your cunt tight around his fingers while you look at the top of his head. “So do you want me just to moan spidey all night since I don’t know your real name?” you taunt him as you try to move your hips. He pushes his thumb hard against your clit before he drags his tongue across your neck. “Haaah-! m-mfffh-” you gasp as his mouth leaves your throat before he lifts his head to look at you. He licks his own bottom lip while he thinks about whether he should tell you or keep quiet. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers inside your cunt while he stares at your face through the mask. You look up at his covered face where only his mouth shows below the red fabric. “Don’t you want to hear me moan your actual name?” you ask him before you squeeze your cunt around his fingers again.

You can’t push your hips forward to get his hand deeper because the web holds you in place. He sighs through his nose while his jaw moves under the mask. “Peter- you can call me Peter,” he mutters while he curls his fingers inside you. There are thousands of guys named Peter in New York, so you wouldn’t know who he really is anyway. He knows that if he ever takes the mask off to show you his face, then he will just have to keep you by his side so you never tell anyone. You hum when you hear his name while he keeps moving his fingers between your thighs. Your clit starts to throb against his thumb, so you close your eyes and let your mouth fall open. “Mmn- ahhnn-” you breathe out while your head tilts back against the air. He lifts his left hand away from your side and brings it up to your chest. His palm cups your exposed breast while his fingers roll your nipple between them.

He squeezes your breast while his other hand works inside your wetness. “You really know what you’re doing with those hands, Peter,” you tell him while you open your eyes to look down at his mask. He scoffs under his breath because he knows you’re just trying to talk him into fucking you now. Hearing his name from your mouth sends a rush straight down to his cock, so his arachnid side reacts before he can stop it. An embarrassing but small amount of web shoots out from his wrists. “Looks like someone else can’t hold back anymore,” you tease him while you laugh at the white string on his wrist. He pinches your nipple hard before he drops his hand away from your chest. “Ah-! sh-shit-” you gasp while he reaches his hand down to the front of his boxers. He grabs his cock right through the fabric while he stares up at your mouth. “See? I told you that you were just as desperate as me,” you laugh while more slick coats his fingers inside your cunt.

He sighs through his nose before he slips his hand under the waistband of his boxers. He strokes his cock inside his shorts while he watches you try to close your legs. “Stop playing around and take those off,” you complain while you watch his hand move under the fabric. You try to wiggle your hips forward to reach him, but the web keeps you in place. “You want it so bad? Come over here and get it,” he teases you while he keeps his fingers working inside your wetness. You glare up at his masked face because your arms are stretched above your head. “Oh, that’s right... You can’t move because you’re tied up,” he mocks you while he curls his fingers inside your cunt. He watches you try to pull your knees together against the web. “Nngh-! p-please-” you whine out while your hips try to push against his hand. He never stops pumping his fingers between your thighs while his other hand strokes his hard cock inside his shorts.

You shake your head at him because he won’t do anything besides finger you. It frustrates you that you can’t even wiggle your knees away from his touch. “Poor baby... Are you getting impatient?” he laughs while he looks at your pout. He pushes his fingers deeper between your wet folds while he watches your mouth open. “I hate you so much,” you mutter while your cunt squeezes around his fingers. He smiles below his rolled-up mask before he slows down his hand between your legs. “Mhm, you’ve been good enough for me tonight,” he tells you before he pulls his hand out of your cunt. He lifts his wet hand up to his mouth to lick your slick off his fingers. He watches your cunt clench around emptiness while he uses both hands to push his boxers down his hips. He kicks the shorts off his feet away from him across the bedroom floor. You watch him stand naked in front of you with only the red mask covering the top of his head. “Never fucked someone like this before, Peter?” you taunt him while you look down at his cock.

You arch your back against the web while he steps closer to your spread thighs. “Never had someone tied up like a toy without their legs around you?” you ask him while your knees pull against the web. His exposed lips curve into a smirk because he knows you always have to be a smart-ass. He steps closer to your spread legs before he slips his right hand through the web to hold your leg. He uses his free left hand to guide his hard cock right between your thighs. He rubs the head of his cock up and down against your wet folds without pushing inside you yet. “Hah- wait- P-Peter-” you gasp out while he slides his length over your clit. He looks down at your face while you try to push your hips forward against the web. “Shh- quiet down for me,” he whispers before he starts to push his cock slowly between your lips. His left hand guides him inside until his length is deep enough to fill your cunt before he drops his hand and stops pushing forward.

He brings his hand up to your face while you tilt your head to rub your cheek against his palm. “Mmf-” you whine while you lean into his hand. He watches you through the white lenses of his mask while you close your eyes to bite your bottom lip. He looks at the way your face reacts to him opening you up, and he likes seeing you tied up for him. He pushes his hips forward again to slide the rest of his cock inside you. You breathe through your open mouth once he pushes all the way inside your cunt. You open your eyes to look at his covered face because you want to see what he looks like right now. Your eyebrows knit together while tears start to gather in the corners of your eyes. “Oh god- haaah-” you moan while you feel him push your cunt wide open. He squeezes your thigh before he leans forward to rest his forehead against your neck. He starts thrusting his hips back and forth while the web holds your body up.

“You take me so well,” he grunts against your throat while he picks up his pace. He brings his hips back so only the tip of his cock is inside you before he slams himself forward to bury himself deep again. You try to move your knees, but the web forces your legs wide open. “P-peter… please, let me see you-” you beg him while he thrusts fast and hard inside your cunt. He ignores what you asked before his teeth bite down onto the side of your neck. “I told you no- jesus-” he mutters against your throat while his hand squeezes your thigh tighter. He moves his other hand from your cheek to the back of your head so he can tangle his fingers in your hair. He forces your head back while he keeps pumping his cock in and out of your cunt. You cry out against his shoulder while his hips slap against your thighs with every thrust. His lips trail up from your throat to your jaw before he presses his mouth against yours. You close your eyes while he kisses you hard enough to force your teeth apart with his tongue.

He bites down on your bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth and lets it go to spit right onto your lips. “Mmmph- you’re so-” you moan after he does that, and his tongue licks your lips. He pulls his face back to look at you before his right hand reaches down to snap the web around your right thigh. He pulls your freed leg up against his side so your knee rests beside his hip. The new position lets him push his cock deeper inside your cunt while he holds you close against his body. He watches your face through his white lenses while he keeps moving his hips forward. His left hand rests tangled in your hair behind your head to keep you in place. Your cunt clenches tight around his cock, and his fingers pull back on your hair hard enough to make your scalp burn. His shaft throbs inside your wetness while he watches your mouth fall open. “Do you want your other leg wrapped around me too?” he asks you while his hips slam into your thighs.

You nod at him while you try to move your left knee against the web. He keeps holding your right thigh with his right hand while he raises his left wrist to shoot two fresh bands of web over your arms. It gives your arms more support in the air before his left hand snaps the web around your left calf. He guides your left leg over his waist so both of your thighs wrap around his hips. He grabs both of your hips with his hands while you float in the middle of the room. “You know how good you look right now?” he asks you before he thrusts deeper inside your cunt. His fingers dig so hard into your hip that it hurts your flesh like he wants to devour you. “Nngh-! o-ow- Peter that hurts-” you complain while your hips rock against his cock. He looks down at your face while he slows down for a second. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” he tells you while his thumbs push harder into your waist. He leans in closer to your ear to bite it, but it’s just an excuse to be closer to you.

“You’re going to take it like a good girl,” he whispers before he lifts your legs off his waist and puts your ankles up onto his shoulders. He looks down between your bodies to watch his cock slide in and out of your wet cunt. His enhanced hearing picks up every single noise in the bedroom while he speeds up his thrusts. He listens to the wet squelching of your cunt and the loud slap of his hips against your thighs. Your ragged breaths are loud in his ears while he pushes his cock all the way to his pelvis. He holds your ankles on his shoulders while his hips work faster inside your wetness. His fingers caress up and down your calves while he thrusts deep inside you. You get closer to the edge every time he pushes all the way in. You don’t tell him you’re about to cum, but he feels the way you pulse around him. The wetness drips down his shaft while you squeeze him tight. You need to hold onto him while the pleasure builds, so you tug hard against the web around your arms.

“I need you- p-please let me hold you,” you whine while your toes curl against his shoulders. He turns his head to the side to bite down hard onto your calf. He pulls his cock back until only the tip is left inside you before he slams all the way deep again. He fucks you so hard that the web around your body starts to break. The broken pieces weigh you down, but the rest of the web holds you up in the air. He moves his hands away from your legs to tear right through the bands around your waist. His arms wrap tight around your body while he brings you against his chest. “I need you right here with me,” he grunts before he buries his face into your neck. He thrusts deep enough to reach that spot inside your cunt, and it makes you cum instantly. “Nngh-! o-oh god-” you moan while your wetness coats his cock. He feels you cumming around him and his arachnid instincts take over his head. His enhanced strength makes it effortless for him to walk forward and break right through the remaining webs to carry you.

You wrap your arms around his neck before he walks both of you toward the bed without ever pulling his cock out of you. He gets onto the bed so he can lay you down on the mattress and hover over you. Shredded web clings to your arms and your thighs. “You came around me so fast,” he mutters while he looks down at your face. You nod at him before he slowly starts to thrust inside your cunt again. Your hands leave his shoulders to grab the bottom edge of his mask. You push the fabric all the way up over his head to see his face finally. It scares you because his eyes are pitch black instead of human. You open your mouth to react, but he grabs both of your wrists with his hands. He pins your arms down hard onto the mattress beside your head. “Come on- you wanted to see me so bad,” he smirks while he stares down at you. You try to pull your hands out from under his palms, but he keeps smirking at you.

“You’re not even human- you’re a d-demon,” you gasp while you stare up into his black eyes. He ignores what you called him before he thrusts his cock deep into your cunt. “Ahhhnn- f-fuck-” you moan out loud even though you just tried to insult him. He watches your mouth fall open while he keeps his body pressed over you. “Shh- it’s just me,” he mocks you with fake sympathy while he holds your arms down on the bed. He raises his wrists to shoot web right over your forearms to bind them to the bed so your arms are spread wide open again. “You have such playful hands,” he tells you before he lets go of your wrists. He gets up onto his knees between your spread legs before his left hand grabs your waist and his right hand reaches up to grope your breast. “Are you scared of me now?” he asks you while his fingers squeeze your nipple. You shake your head quickly on the pillow, but he smirks down at you from his knees. “You really should be,” he tells you while his right hand squeezes your breast. He pushes his cock deep into your cunt, and his fingers play with your nipple.

His left hand slides down your side to reach between your legs. You try to twist your bound wrists against the mattress before his right hand leaves your chest. He raises his right wrist to shoot an extra layer of web right over your hands. “Stop fighting me, or I’ll shut your mouth for you,” he warns you while his left hand finds your wet clit. He pinches your clit hard enough to make you whine. “Ah-! nn- please-” you beg him while you shake your head on the pillow. You don’t want to piss him off because he keeps staring at you with those black eyes. You spread your thighs wider for him in response, and he takes a deep breath. “That’s a good girl,” he tells you while a smirk forms on his face. He slams his hips forward with more force, and his left thumb rubs back and forth over your clit. He doesn’t care that you just had an orgasm minutes ago because he keeps rubbing exactly where you are most sensitive.

“Mmf- hahh- it’s too much-” you cry out while your cunt clenches around his cock. His right hand goes right back up to your chest to grab your other breast. He squeezes the soft flesh while his hips slap against your thighs. “You look so fucking perfect like this,” he grunts while his thumb flicks over your tight nipple. You want to touch his body badly, but the webs keep your hands pinned to the bed. “Nngh- let me hold you- p-please, Peter,” you beg him while you twist against the web. He looks down at your wrists, and he keeps thrusting into your wetness. “If you want to touch me, then just break free,” he challenges you while he keeps his hands on your body. You stop struggling because you know exactly what he will do if you manage to escape. “Nn- you’d just tie me down again,” you complain while your hips rock up to meet his thrusts. He chuckles above you before he leans all the way down over your body.

He pushes his mouth right against yours for a quick kiss, and he trails his lips down your neck. He moves over to the breast that he neglected earlier to drag his tongue right across the tip. “Oh god- haaah-” you moan out loud while his wet tongue licks your nipple. He moves his face back a few inches to look at you again. “You can try to break free all you want because I don’t bite,” he whispers before he drops his head back down. He wraps his mouth all the way around your nipple, and he bites down hard on the sensitive peak. “F-fuck- ahhhnn-!” you scream out while your back arches off the mattress. The bite makes your cunt squeeze tight around his cock. You thrust your hips up against him while he sucks on your breast. He grunts out loud before he shoves his hips forward to push you deeper into the mattress. He thrusts his cock as deep as he can go while he keeps his teeth pressed into your nipple. His mouth works over your bud while his left hand rubs your wet clit.

His right hand squeezes your other breast before his cock slams deep into your cunt. Having all his attention on your sensitive body pushes you over the edge again. You tear your wrists right through the webs to free your hands from the mattress. You throw your arms around his shoulders so you can tangle your fingers into his hair. You drag your nails down his back while your hips thrust up to welcome every deep pound inside your cunt. “Fuck- yes- mmn- right there,” you moan out loud while you arch your back off the bed. He sucks hard on your breast to take whatever he can get from you. He slams his hips forward faster to match your needy movements. The thought of breeding you takes over his head. He wants to pump all of his cum as deep as he can reach inside your cunt. He feels his balls tighten because he gets closer to cumming with every hit. “I’m going to fill you up so much,” he grunts against your chest before he bites your nipple one more time.

He lifts his mouth from your breast to leave wet kisses up your neck until he reaches your shoulder. He sinks his teeth right into the curve of your shoulder before he pulls away to look at your face. He watches your eyes roll back while his left hand pinches your clit and his right hand pinches your nipple. He rubs his thumb faster over your wetness while he shoves his cock all the way to the base. “You feel so fucking good around me, don’t you?” he praises you before he leans all the way down. He pushes his mouth against yours to force his tongue past your lips. You open your mouth for him so he can taste you while his hips slap against your thighs. “Mmmph- ahhh-” you whine right against his mouth while you kiss him back. The urge to cum gets too close for him to think straight. He doesn’t even notice that his fingers slow down on your clit or how his thrusts become sloppy.

He can feel his cock throb deep inside your wetness. He knows he won’t last another minute before he cums inside you. He bites down hard on your bottom lip until he tastes blood on his tongue. He keeps his teeth there the exact moment his cum starts shooting deep inside your cunt. “Mmf- f-fuck-” he groans against your lips while he empties himself inside you. He leans his forehead against yours while his hips keep moving. He feels how close you are to another orgasm, so he slows his movements down to be gentler. You push his face away to tug on his hair until he opens his eyes. You look up at his face to see that his eyes are normal again. He realizes he is finally back to normal. He moves his hand away from your clit to rest his palm on the mattress beside your neck. He continues to roll his hips between your legs before he leans his forehead against yours again. “I- I’m sorry,” he whispers over your mouth.

You close your eyes to caress his back while you listen to his heavy breaths. “Why are you sorry?” you ask him while your hips move with his thrusts. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he answers you. “I was too rough earlier, and I wasn’t myself,” he mumbles right against your lips. Hearing that makes you bite your bottom lip before you grind your hips up against his cock. You breathe hard against his mouth to share his air before you lean up to kiss him. “I can handle you just fine,” you tell him between soft pants. He moves his face away from yours after he hears that. He wonders if someone can actually take that side of him without getting hurt. His left hand squeezes your chest gently while his cock pushes deeper inside your cunt. He closes his eyes as he feels the wetness coating his shaft. He wants to give you a second orgasm, so his hand balls up into a fist to twist the bedsheets beside your head.

He takes his time to slide all the way out before he pushes back in. “Haaah- oh god- yes,” you whine out loud while your cunt squeezes his cock. You cum hard around him, and he throbs inside you the exact second he feels it. He drops all his weight onto your chest to hide his face in your neck. “That was my first time letting that part of me out,” he whispers against your collarbone. You trace your nails over his shoulders to comfort him. “Let’s hope it was worth it,” you tease him while you wrap your arms around his back. He shivers against you, and his cock twitches deep inside you. He drags his teeth over your collarbone before a ragged exhale leaves his mouth. His body melts completely against your chest, and he refuses to pull out. You let your fingers wander down his sweaty spine while he nuzzles your neck. “More than worth it,” he mumbles back.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-six © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

[dearwalker]

mask on, fuck it, mask off | sex pollen

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader Word Count: 8.4k

Contains Brand New Day spoilers 🕸️

Description: You’re spider-man’s closest thing to a friend since the world forgot his name. Helping him with gadgets, cleaning his wounds…all without him ever taking the mask off. His true identity has always been a barrier between you two, but what happens when he gets hit with the pollen, and not only him, but the creature lurking inside him fixates on the only person he gets to call home?

Tags/warnings: sex pollen smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, whiny desperate peter >>>, dry humping, piv, riding, oral fem!rec, fingering, dark!peter taking over for a bit, orgasm denial, prone bone, so much yearning, mask stays on…or does it?

Note: You have no idea how giddy it makes me to write him again. He had NO business looking that good in the movie so I had to get this out of my system. Enjoy 🤍

Masterlist

You've seen spiderman hurt many times. When you signed the lease of the first apartment you could afford as a recent graduate, you never thought that would become your new normal. 

The first time it happened was completely accidental. He’d arrived at the building in the middle of the night, bruised, bleeding and too disoriented to realize that the window he’d come through was not his. 

That night, the noise of a heavy body collapsing onto the floor woke you up. For one terrifying moment, you believed someone had broken into your apartment, only to switch on the lamp and find the city’s superhero groaning and pressing his hands to his side. His suit was torn there, and blood soaked through the ruined fabric onto your rug. 

He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.

“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now. 

You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”

“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”

“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”

You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back. 

He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual. 

The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could. 

It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong. 

“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.” 

The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours. 

The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him. 

His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face. 

That had been one year ago. 

After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account. 

So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)

Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought. 

Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine. 

When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.

Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend. 

Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero. 

He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.

Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night. 

A promise was a promise. 

Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.

“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.

He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that. 

He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully. 

“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?” 

He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable. 

“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”

You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer. 

“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.” 

The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.

“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused. 

“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks. 

“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes. 

“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”

“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.” 

“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”

“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully. 

You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him. 

“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless you’re dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement. 

The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions. 

Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday. 

Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.

Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room. 

Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins. 

And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out. 

“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…” 

The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence. 

“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”

“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”

“Message already sent.”  

He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am. 

He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you? 

Oh fuck. 

You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–

“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.

The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now. 

He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and– 

“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him. 

You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful. 

“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?” 

You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again. 

“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.” 

The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch. 

He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.

You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams. 

This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago. 

It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it. 

“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?” 

“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”

You nodded, turning toward the workstation. 

“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment. 

“EV?” 

The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light. 

“Online.”

“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.” 

“Beginning diagnostic.” 

You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye. 

Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe. 

This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him. 

But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head. 

There was only you. 

Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor. 

Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment. 

The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again. 

That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes. 

He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly. 

This was wrong. So wrong. 

His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.

He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you. 

What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–

“Diagnostic complete.” 

Your heads snapped toward the screen. 

“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.” 

“What biotoxin?” You frowned. 

“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.” 

Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was. 

Tiny, microscopic potato, she would say.

The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.

He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead. 

He suddenly felt the need to lick it off. 

Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–

“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.” 

“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier. 

It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything. 

“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”

Mating response. He stopped breathing. 

Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants. 

That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–

He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer. 

“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly. 

“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”

He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.  

Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.

You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual. 

“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment. 

His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.

Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse? 

“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”

Heat rose to your face once again. 

“What does that mean?” 

Don’t say anything, don’t–

“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.” 

He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin. 

Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the ink stains in them from your journaling session before bed. 

“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.  

You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat. 

The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin. 

“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.

White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth. 

“No.”

His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up. 

“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.” 

His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that. 

The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable. 

His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions. 

Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.

His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric. 

Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.

He hated it.

He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain. 

“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side. 

“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”

“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”

“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely. 

“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?” 

“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”

“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”

“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”

“You wouldn’t hurt me–”

“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles. 

The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second. 

One second enough. 

“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”

The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest. 

“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”

He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be. 

Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes. 

The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.

He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.

You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs. 

His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly. 

You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals. 

He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence. 

Too hard. 

Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure. 

It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out. 

“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”

“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.” 

He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it. 

“But my offer still stands, spidey.” 

What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’

Fucking hell. 

“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”

You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.

“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…” 

He wasn’t. 

“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”

For God’s sake. 

“I think I can help.”

By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him. 

His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with. 

“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide. 

“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?” 

You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed. 

His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation. 

Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.

It wanted more.

His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you. 

“Sorry–”

“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder. 

He was burning.

The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly. 

“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm. 

“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”

“Breathe,” you reminded.

His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down. 

Just take her, man, she’s right there–

Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch. 

“Please.” Was all he said. 

Leave it on. 

It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life. 

“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”

See? She wants it. She needs it so bad. 

He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.

Fuck it.

In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core. 

His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses. 

“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”

You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw. 

“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”

You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you. 

“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”

His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand. 

“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”

“What do you need? More what?” 

“More contact.”

His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt. 

“Can I?” He whispered.

You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull. 

“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air. 

He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask. 

His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you. 

“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”

“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air. 

You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away. 

You weren’t wearing anything underneath. 

“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”

Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours. 

“Can–can I–?”

You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs. 

Water. He found water in the middle of the dessert. 

His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life. 

“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”

He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound. 

“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”

His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right. 

“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”

Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers. 

“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”

“Not stopping, baby.” 

He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts. 

“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”

“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–

“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”

The plea undid you.

You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there. 

It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him. 

You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you. 

Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up. 

He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him. 

You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact. 

The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you. 

“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly. 

You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.

His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger. 

You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first. 

“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”

Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.  

Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand. 

His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately. 

Fuck her. Fuck her right now. 

“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”

You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.

He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.

You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him. 

When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver. 

He could feel it coming. The change. 

You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away. 

His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal. 

Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.

The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.

That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out. 

“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up. 

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.” 

He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again. 

“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”

“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”

A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–

“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused. 

“What–what happened? I was about to–”

“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”

That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face. 

Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now. 

Good. 

He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room. 

His bed.

He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.

“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”

You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth. 

Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets. 

“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” 

You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you? 

Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him. 

He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it. 

“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”

Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk. 

“Peter…” 

“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”

Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so. 

God. He was never going back. 

“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.” 

He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again. 

“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”

“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”

“Need what?”

“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”

He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up. 

“Yeah?” 

Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him. 

He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine. 

But something made him stop. 

“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”

The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through. 

“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”

You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again. 

He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands. 

The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”

“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow. 

“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”

He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect. 

Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper. 

He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back. 

“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”

He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again. 

What? What is–

The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back. 

“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”

He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color. 

“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“

“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”

The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again. 

“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again. 

“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”

His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.

“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”

“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…” 

He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up. 

You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you. 

“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”

The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you. 

When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin. 

Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths. 

You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–

“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.” 

EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence. 

It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened. 

“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered. 

“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”

“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath. 

“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets. 

That was your call back to reality. 

Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking. 

“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.” 

“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead. 

“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly. 

“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”

He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet. 

“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”

There it was. He said it. No turning back now. 

At least it got a chuckle from you too. 

“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”

Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you. 

“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”

“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation. 

You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again. 

Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did. 

There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined. 

Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth. 

So young. So earnest. So yours. 

Not spidey anymore. Just Peter. 

Your Peter. 

Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.

Feedback is always appreciated 🕷️

Divider by @andromeda-graphics

Tags: @johnnyfuckingsexystorm @harryplzruinme @jellyfishjpeg @tatumrileyslover @kg0626

[shamelesslyrebloggingsmut]

Zoro is a Biter

Roronoa Zoro x fem!reader

CW: Smut, NSFW, biting, use of the word bitch, doggy style, seated spoon, pretzel position, rough sex, dirty talk

Wod count ~700

Now, this shouldn't come as a surprise based on his three sword style. Fighting with a sword in your mouth means you would have to have some form of oral fixation. Lucky you. Zoro, when he's not training, eating, or sleeping, has his mouth on you in some way, shape, or form. He'll sit you in his lap while you're reading and kiss and bite your neck. Hell, you've even gotten into the habit of just offering your hand for him to bite, and you'll just sit there with part of your hand in his mouth.

So it makes sense that when you have sex he can't keep his mouth off of you. Foreplay for him involves a lot of licking, biting, and sucking marks all over your body, especially to the insides of your thighs. He leaves your body speckled with hickeys and lovebites in places only he gets to see.

He throws one of your legs over one of his shoulders while straddling your other leg so he can bite your calf while grinding deep into your pussy. The pleasure and pain are a delicious mixture of sensations. He lets out a groan at the feeling of you clenching around him. He pulls out suddenly making you whimper at the empty feeling he leaves you with. He roughly grabs your hips as he tells you, “roll over.”

You grin and playfully tell him “I'm not a dog.”

“Oh yeah?” He quirks an eyebrow at you. “Then why are you acting like a bitch in heat?” He presses his thumb onto your clit and rubs rough and fast circles over it making you moan loudly.

“Fuck you, ass- woah!” he grabs your hips again flipping you over with ease. “Zoro!”

He chuckles as you yelp after he bites into the plump flesh of your ass. “You love me.” He rubs his hand over the spot, he bit to help ease the sting. Scoffing, you roll your eyes despite him not being able to see you do so. You moan as you feel the slide of his cockhead as he glides it through your folds before he snaps his hips forward as he pulls you back and plunges deep into you. He sets a brutal pace, enjoying the way your ass jiggles when his hips make contact with it. He reaches around you with one hand and palms one of your breasts, the other snakes forward around your throat.

You relish in the feeling of his hand on your throat as he gives a short squeeze. “Fuck,” he groans as you clench around him, “you're a masochist today, huh?”

All you can do is moan in reply. Suddenly, he lays the hand on your breast flat in the middle of your chest as he pulls you up to be flush with his chest. The new angle feels delicious and you moan when the hand on your chest moves to rub circles on your clit, and the hand on your throat moves up to your open mouth Zoro gives the command of a single word, “Suck.” He pushes two fingers into your mouth as you hungrily comply.

It doesn't take long after this for him to send you rocketing to your orgasm. “Fuck, you're about to cum, you're squeezing me like a damn vice, fuck.” He rests his forehead on your shoulder “Fuck,” he pulls his fingers from your mouth with a pop so he can use it to expose more of your neck to him. He licks a stripe up to behind your ear and he bites the lobe of it. “You're gonna cum on my cock, and you're going to cum hard.” The fingers on your clit move almost impossibly faster. He makes a noise that sounds close to a growl when you cum, and suddenly there's a burst of stars behind your eyes as he bites down hard at the junction of your neck and shoulder as he reaches his own climax.

Zoro groans into your ear as he breaks the latch he has on you and places a kiss on the spot, “Good girl.”

You huff despite enjoying the praise, “I'm still not a dog.”

[shamelesslyrebloggingsmut]

Sanji is a talker

Sanji x fem!reader

Smut!, PWP, desperate!Sanji, dirty talk, mating press, prone bone, cowgirl, cock warming, NSFW,

Word count ~630

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first time you sleep together he spends the majority of the time thanking you as his cock hammers home hard and fast inside you. A brutal pace that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head as he hits that sweet spongy spot with frankly terrifying accuracy. He has you folded into a mating press as he finishes inside you. “Fuck, fuck Princess you feel so fucking good. I can keep going, yeah, please, please say I can keep going.” As he's already starting to move inside of you again, “I've waited so long for you.”

There are times that he spends slowly drawing your orgasms out of you, talking you through his ministrations. Telling you that you're “being so good for him,” and that “you can give me another one, can't you?”. He coos over you, “I know, I know it's a lot, but you can take it, can't you?”, as he has you shaking from overstimulation after another orgasm. “You'll be a good girl and take all of it for me, won't you?”.

He deifies you as he worships over your body at the altar that is your shared bed, giving praise and offering his devotion to you. He talks about how you've ruined him, how no one has ever felt like you, and that no one would be able to compare. His fingers dig into your hips as he tells you that you were made for him and how he fits perfectly inside of you.

A small part of you loves when he goes from dirty to downright filthy. He has you face down with your ass in the air, one hand has a vice-like grip on your hip, and the other is tangled in your hair. “God I love watching your ass bounce as I fuck you like this.” He licks and bites up the expanse of your back, until his lips are right next to your ear. “Do you want my cum Princess? Huh, do you want me to cum in you, until you're overflowing with me?” He chuckles, as he feels you clench around him, “Yeah you fucking do.”

The only time you can get him to shut up is when you're sitting on his face. Even then he spends the majority of his time moaning and whimpering into your pussy as you grind down on him. And after you've cum he gently lifts you off of his face to thank you for the meal.

There are times, though, when you absolutely love how much he talks during sex. Specifically, when it's one of the few times he lets you take the lead. The whimpers and moans you pull out of him as you practically torture him with your slow and steady pace. His hands tied with one of his many ties at the headboard, the wood groaning as he pulls hard at his restraints, desperate to touch you. It's especially delicious when all you're doing is sitting on his cock, unmoving. The small twitches of him inside you and the slight jerks of his hips as he becomes more and more desperate for friction. Indulging him with some small relief by clenching and releasing around him. And it's not until he's sobbing as he begs for you to move that you finally give in and ride him. He babbles incoherently as he's finally able to reach his release deep inside of you. You give him a short moment to catch his breath before you start riding him again. He looks at you with confusion and asks what you're doing.

“Oh, my sweet Prince,” you say with sickening sweetness caressing his face as he pants from the overstimulation, “I'm not done with you yet.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

This is my first One Piece fanfic. Please let me know if you liked it. I have a lot of ideas bouncing around in my head, so hopefully, I'll be posting more in the future.

[whirlybirbs]

PORTGAS D ACE WITH AN ORAL FIXATION. LOVES BEING BURIED BETWEEN THIGHS, A MESSY EATER! PLEASEEEUE7JS I BEG OF YOUUUU

PORTGAS D. ACE would do this for hours if you let him.

I mean, fuck, his jaw cramped up ten minutes ago, and he still hasn’t stopped. He won't stop — not when you look so fuckin’ pretty squirmin’ in his bunk.

Ace’s hands, rough and warm, knead the soft plush of your thighs again as he hums against your folds; he nuzzles, licks, and laps — messy, heady, and slow. He’s taking his time. After all, it’s late, and everyone else aboard the Moby Dick is busy on deck celebrating the return of the Second and Third Divisions. Above you both, the creak of boards beneath boots and the faint chorus of laughter is audible.

Both you and Ace had your fill of rum and ale, and in the dizzying bliss of a buzz came the kissing. The hands. One conspiratorial look led to another, and soon you were dragging one another off to the bunks. An escalation, sure, but a welcome one. Especially when Ace practically begged to eat you out with blown pupils.

“You taste,” he rumbles against your pussy, and it makes you laugh out a moan; his hips grind absently into the sheets, rolling languidly to hump the mattress, “So fuckin’ good.”

You push your hand into your hair as your core tenses, breath shaking out as you bite your lip. He continues his systemic dismantling of your thought function — all with his mouth. His hands stay rooted to the backs of your thighs, pressing your legs up and apart, so he can have undisputed and total access to your folds.

His chin glistens as he lifts his head, and you catch that look. His brown eyes are nearly pitch black with want. And then? The bastard winks. His back muscles twist and bow as he ducks his head back down, shoulders pinched, focus entirely on devouring you like a man starved. Again, he drags his cock against the sheets. He moans into your pussy.

His jaw hangs open, nose nudging your clit, as his tongue dips deep inside of you. His lashes kiss his cheeks as he hums in bliss.

You fist the sheets.

“Ace, fuck, m’gonna come—”

He pulls away, eyes glazed over and smirk lopsided, to rasp out:

“Promise I can still keep eatin’ once you do, baby?”

✧. ┊    OPEN : birbs’ smut blurbs 

[thedoubleawe]

Queen of Hearts

(One Piece - Trafalgar Law x FemPrincess!Reader) Chapter 8: Duel with the Doctor

Summary: Princess, swordswoman, and spinster—according to your father—your hand is forced to marry. Well…that is until you get kidnapped by a pirate with ‘DEATH’ on his fingers. Only Nika can save you now.

W/C: 4.8k

TW: MDNI—distressing themes, language, & future smut. Slow burn/enemies to lovers. Slight angst. Distressing themes with specific triggers and smut will be mentioned before each respective chapter. One Piece Spoilers. Fluff and Smut. Angst and Fluff and Smut. Trauma. Violence. Loss of Virginity. Doflamingo is his own trigger warning. Eventual Happy Ending.

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A/N: Omg, omg, omg. I can't with this chapter. I love it. Let me know if you love it too? 👀 I debated on adding more, but I really like the ending. It feels a little unfinished, but I wanted that ending statement to hit hard, ya know? I also wasn't expecting to update this early, but it's easier to write and procrastinate on packing 💀 (kill me /s). Anyways, love you guys 😘💖✌🏻

TW: Dressrosa Spoilers

Over the course of the next few days, you fell into a surprisingly comfortable rhythm.

As much as you despised being put to work, it was an improvement from being stuck in your quarters. The schedule was easy to follow, and with Penguin helping you—the chores were becoming quicker to complete as you improved your skills. In a way, the growth reminded you of sword fighting. You loathed to admit it, but there was something satisfying about putting the hard work in yourself to make a space clean.

It was strange. A new way of life. A new perspective.

Because of course anyone would rather have servants, but the work wasn't so bad once you got used to it.

And Law never tried to interrogate you again since that one time.

It left you on the edge of your seat.

At night you contemplated what he wanted from you next or how father was handling your absence. How Mystoria was handling your sudden disappearance. No one knew if you were even still alive.

What if father was forced to chose another heir? You recalled that there was some distant cousin you had that he could appoint.

You felt...oddly relieved at that idea, brushing it off that it was for the betterment of the kingdom to have a back-up plan if things went astray for you, and you weren't able to fulfill your divine duty.

Yeah, that's what it was.

Your chest still ached for your family and best friend. You missed them, wishing you could at least let them know that you were alive and not in any…imminent danger—or so it seemed. Although, Law did have your heart somewhere. Something that you'd have to get back before you could find a way to escape.

'Good luck with that,' your inner voice scoffed. 'He'll take more from you and cut you up in those weird slices if you entered his office to snoop.'

So, you were currently at a stand still. All you could do in this moment was continue to gain the crew's trust. His trust—a seemingly impossible task—until you could get your heart back.

'If I had killed him when I had the chance…'

No... You mulled that over already. His crew would've attacked you all at once. Maybe you would've experienced what it felt like to be mauled by a polar bear or thrown overboard by a man who was almost twenty feet tall.

Definitely not because you were attracted to him—smirk and cockiness be damned. Fuck that. You were more powerful than some silly, stupid, asinine crush that would lead to nowhere.

Something you had to keep reminding yourself of.

Pathetic.

You glanced at the digital clock Ikkaku had dug out of some storage closet a few days ago shortly after giving you more…suitable underwear and supplies for your period.

5:03 A.M.

Two more hours before breakfast. You could keep up the never-ending thoughts you had every morning or you could get your anxious body moving and start the day off with a nice work out and refreshing shower.

The latter didn't take much more convincing for you to decide.

Your feet hit the floor. You scoured through your dresser with a mission. Slipping off your sleeping clothes, you found comfortable pieces to move in. Excitement settled itself low in your stomach while you made your way out and down the stairs to the training room. It only took you two minutes to get there—with the bounce in your step.

When you entered, you switched on the light—grateful it was empty. First, you started with some basic stretching and warm-up exercises before allowing yourself to inspect the various weapons closely. You handled different swords, switching them from hand to hand until you found a weight and balance of one that reminded you of your own at home. For now, you wanted the familiar—satiate your homesickness with the closest thing you could find.

You walked over to one of the dummies on the right side of the room and began. Different sequences and techniques moved from your bicep to your wrist, mind already blank and falling into muscle memory of sets you were given at a young age to always practice. Time was a far away concept as you completed drills and ensured your skills hadn't diminished from the lack of practice.

"You're up earl—whoa, watch it! It's just me." Shachi's hands went up when you turned around and held the sword at his neck.

You eased your guard. "Don't sneak up on me like that," you hissed.

"My bad, my bad." He gestured with his head towards the dummy. "You're really good with that—not to mention your reflexes. Thought I was boutta be sliced up there for a sec."

"Yeah, and whose fault would that'd been?" You mumbled—already turning to your original target.

If Shachi heard you, he didn't respond as he made his way over to the weapon racks. "What's got you up at this hour?"

"Couldn't sleep." Your wrist twisted at an awkward angle, working on your backhand. "You?"

"I try to come down here a few times a week in the morning. I've been struggling as of late, but—by Nika, Pen needs to figure out how to stop fucking snoring or he's going to wake-up our entire floor."

You glanced at him, eyebrows tugging together. "Shouldn't you be used to something like that by now?"

"Not when the man has a sinus infection." He twirled his chosen sword and made his way next to you, focusing in on the dummy he stopped at.

For a second, you paused—watching him while he threw practice swings and stabs without much thought.

"You're tense," you observed.

Shachi stopped mid-slash. "Huh?"

"Your movements are tense," you reiterated. "Didn't you ever hear of warming up or stretching beforehand?"

His brow line creased. "Why would I do that? You don't stretch before a fight."

You sighed.

'Another man, not giving the consequences of his own actions—or in this case non-actions—any thought.'

"Just because you wouldn't stretch before a fight doesn't mean you shouldn't try to loosen your muscles at all. I would think your know-it-all doctor would tell you that—to at least avoid strain and bodily injury." You tilted your chin down at him, frowning in disapproval.

"For the record—Captain is an annoying know-it-all and has told me plenty of times to stretch." His tone remained light. "I choose to practice like I'm about to get into a fight. Wouldn't that make me a better fighter?"

You scoffed. "What kind of logic is that?"

"Perfectly sound logic!"

"If you were more flexible, you could've had a higher chance of avoiding a deep cut—even with two guys attacking," you noted.

"You're just as annoying as Cap'," Shachi griped. "How about you show me instead of complain how I'm not doing it right?"

You visibly hesitated.

Should you show the first man who attempted to kidnap you how to be better—how to improve his skills so the next time his crew tried to kidnap someone, he was more competent?

"…I don't think I should…"

"Then keep your opinions to yourself." He faced the dummy again, going back into his mindless attacks.

Your brain corrected his every move, unable to focus on your own target.

'Left side too open.'

'No follow through on that attack.'

'Footing off—by 30 degrees.'

It was driving you insane—which was fucking dumb as shit. He should remain hardly even average. It worked in your favor.

So how did it get to the point to where twenty minutes later, you both had sparring swords in your hand and you barked corrections at him—forcing him to yield?

Did you blackout?

Did he hypnotize you?

Or was it just your own pride and loneliness getting in the way? The fact that you hadn't been able to spar with somebody in so long—that someone was willing to learn from you for once rather than hate that you were better than them?

No. You were better than that—stronger than that. He definitely hypnotized you and you blacked out. A combination of both was the only way you found yourself here.

You were certain.

And yet, you found yourself going back to spar with him for the rest of the week. Showing him warm-ups, stretches, and honing his basic techniques. The next two days after the first, you found each other again in the morning. The fourth day you happened to be in there together during the evening. Hakugan and a man with dirty blonde hair and a navy cap were there as well—doing their own thing. You didn't notice how they watched you and Shachi. How they were listening to your criticisms while they trained separately. How they were checking their own feet and guard.

Your focus was on Shachi—not that he needed much of it—but you were in some sort of zone when you sparred. A familiar one. An aching one. It scratched some itch that hadn't been satisfied in so long. An itch that you hadn't known was burning for relief until now.

Then it was Uni and the giant man the fifth day. Hakugan was there again as well at the dummies with an axe when you walked in. The giant man was at the punching bag. Uni was throwing daggers at targets in the right corner on the back wall.

Shachi didn't take long to arrive and you began the routine of warm-ups as he complained about how sore he was from the bruises you had given him. Again, you didn't notice how the bystanders in their own corners listened to your orders. That they were intentionally taking in your words as if you were behind them and training them one-on-one.

No—you didn't notice until the seventh day when the room had less than ten people in it, all sitting down in the middle of the mat in a line as if they were waiting for something. Once the door opened and you walked in, they stopped talking and sat up straight—as if class were in session.

You stopped in your tracks, unsure of what was going on. Faces you recognized—and others you didn't—stared back at you expectantly as your eyes flickered between each one.

"Uhh…hi..?" You greeted—quite lamely if you were being honest with yourself.

Ikkaku stood and trotted her way over to you. "Hey! We heard you've been giving lessons, so…we wanted to join."

Your head jerked back and you glanced back at your…audience. "Giving lessons?"

She crossed her arms. "With Shachi—on sword fighting?" Her eyebrows raised as her eyes widened just slightly.

"I wasn't—we weren't—" you stuttered, warmth rising in your cheeks. You took a deep, grounding breath. "That's not what's happening. We're just…sparring. That's all."

Ikkaku's chin pointed downward as she raised an eyebrow. "Really? 'Cause that's not what Hakugan said, and he never lies."

Hakugan could talk?

That was news to you.

Your eyes found the masked man—whose head was suspiciously facing the left wall away from you—even though his posture was still attentive.

"I mean sure, I was giving Shachi pointers, but they're hardly lessons. I'm bossing him around most of the time. I doubt he even likes it," you argued.

"Then you don't know Shachi," Ikkaku retorted under her breath while looking away. "Look—if you don't want to teach us, we can't make you. But Captain's been…occupied as of recently with all his planning and Warlord shit he's got going on, and Bepo doesn't use any weapons. He's strictly a martial arts fighter." She briefly glanced behind her, looking at the crew before turning back to you. Her posture softened with her tone. "We need you."

"I—" The excuses you were about to give caught in your throat as your eyes mistakenly focused in on the faces behind her, pleading silently—matching her own.

'Fuck.'

The exhale through your nose was loud. "Fine, but don't expect me to be nice," you pouted.

Your resolve was clearly becoming weak.

Ikkaku laughed. "That won't be a problem. Do you know our Captain?"

You clicked your tongue irritably. "Un-fucking-fortunately."

XXX

Law was walking into the mess hall for dinner, noticing it was more than halfway empty.

Three crew members at the island. Four sitting at tables—one of them including Bepo. The only noise was the typical hum of the ship and the scrapes of forks on plates.

It was quiet.

Too quiet—even if it was something he had always hoped for during dinner.

Clione was eating quickly—about to choke on his own food—before he hurried to the sink to rinse his plate and ran out of the kitchen.

Law raised an eyebrow towards Bepo.

The vice captain refused to meet his gaze.

"Wanna tell me what's going on?"

Bepo flinched. His eyes remained wide as he looked from side to side multiple times. "Uhm…well…you see…"

Law did what he always did when he wanted information from Bepo.

He waited.

"I'm…not sure, Captain."

He gave Bepo a look. The 'you better tell me everything or I'll rearrange your organs' look.

Paws went up in the air to surrender. "I mean it, Captain! I don't know… No one has told me anything." Bepo wilted. "Sorry…"

Law exhaled loudly, understanding what that meant.

Secrets.

Dinner could wait.

He turned on his heel and searched for the rest of his crew.

The halls were empty with a hum that sounded like whispers behind his back.

Laundry tumbled in the dryer, trying to run away from Law's scrutiny.

The greenhouse lights flickered as if they were trying to communicate in morse code to let their captain in on a secret.

Law finally made it to the hallway where the training room was. Voices filtered from the open door down to him.

Some were curses. Others were hoots of victory.

He stopped outside of the entryway and folded his arms—assessing before making an appearance.

Just how he preferred.

Everyone who was missing at dinner was accounted for—grouped into pairs.

And you?

You paced slowly up and down the line of partners, mouth set and brows pulled forward—concentrating.

Law took a step forward and leaned against the door frame, arms still crossed.

No one noticed.

Instead, they were focused. Disciplined. Responding to the fight in front of them.

And then you spoke.

Firm. Confident. You turned mistakes into corrections. Clumsiness into fluidity, modeling different ways to respond.

This was…

Strange.

Unexpected.

Law's brows furrowed together, trying to comprehend your motive.

He came up empty—took the lack of answers as a personal insult.

"I didn't know this was more important than dinner."

All conversation and movement stopped—including those who were mid-attack.

The silence was deafening.

Muscles tensed. Eyes refused to meet his gaze. Heads were hung low in shame.

Your eyes slanted over to him, unbothered by his thunderous mood.

Annoyingly so.

He pushed himself off of the door frame and stepped into the light, stopping a few feet away from you.

"Mind telling me what's going on?" Law's gaze met your steel one—neither unwavering.

"Captain—" Ikkaku came up behind you. You interrupted her by jutting your arm out in front of her chest, not breaking eye contact with him.

"I'm teaching your subordinates because their captain refuses. What does it look like I'm doing?" Your voice was low, matching the unfaltering glare you sent his way.

"And why—in Nika's name—would you do that?"

Your nostrils flared. "I just told you why. Or do you need to get your ears checked along with your eyes?" You hissed.

Ikkaku glanced at Law before settling back to you. She whispered your name in a warning.

You ignored it. A mistake on your part. Always a mistake on your part.

And Law fucking despised mistakes.

"Don't play stupid with me," he growled.

You opened your mouth, but before you could say whatever more biting words you had for him, Ikkaku interjected.

"It's my fault! I asked her to teach us after we heard about her sparring with Shachi."

Your glare flickered to Ikkaku before landing back on Law.

"Snitch," Shachi grumbled, head down and kicking his feet.

"It was my idea."

The voice was quiet—but distinct. A voice that no one heard often.

Hakugan.

It made Law stop glaring at you and set his sights on his helmsman. Not glaring—but not particularly content with his answer, either. Your face turned surprised as you turned towards the voice.

Everyone else spoke up, stumbling over their words and making excuses—coming to your aid.

Law exhaled a tired sigh and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Quiet."

It was silent.

"How long has this been happening? Everyone…training together under her?" He frowned.

No one spoke for thirty, agonizing seconds.

"About a week," Ikkaku whispered.

A week?

He didn't know about this for an entireweek? That most of his crew was…sneaking off for a week? Seven fucking days?

How didn't he notice? He knew everything that went down in the Polar Tang.

Was he really that busy? That cooped up in his office that he hasn't noticed half of his crew was meeting up for some secret training?

Sure, he had his hands tied up with digging information on Doflamingo and the stupid paperwork the World Government liked to pile on him—but there was no way he was that obsessed with revenge to where he was neglecting the happenings of his crew.

Law was still a captain. Still a leader to his subordinates.

And here you were, standing in his place—ordering them around like they were your subjects. It wouldn't be long until you tried to take his title.

"This stops—immediately."

Ikkaku opened her mouth. "But Captain—"

You sent her a sharp look before it was turned back on Law. You took a step forward, your chest close to brushing his while you glared up at him. "If you want your crew to die in the New World—then so be it, Captain. I don't know what kind of suicide pact you made with them, but it's obviously something they don't want for themselves. If you're their leader, then act like it."

Law's eyes remained slanted—calculating. "Why would you help your enemies?"

You laughed, bitter and angry. "Because maybe I'm stuck on this fucking ship without a choice and don't want to die either. If they're fucked, I'm fucked. Something I thought we already established two weeks ago with your bullet wound."

This was absurd. He shouldn't be taking this—in front of his own crew, nonetheless.

"We're done here," Law turned on his heel. "And I expect everyone to start heading towards the mess hall—now."

"Duel for it."

He stopped, shoulders grew to his ears before he looked back at you.

"What?"

"You heard me. Duel for it. No devil fruit powers. No cheating. Nothing but raw power and skill. If I win, they get to train. If you win, I'll be the perfect little obedient princess captive." You stared at him, straight on.

Everyone else was avoiding his gaze. Someone coughed, attempting to break the awkward stillness that filled the room.

"I don't need to duel you. I'm the captain. Whatever I say goes." Law gritted through his teeth.

"Yeah, some captain you are—keeping your crew from growing, not knowing what's going on your own ship—outright refusing to see what's best for your crew even when it's slapping you in the face." Your arms dropped from your chest to your sides. "Didn't know you were scared of a princess, Surgeon of Death."

You were rage baiting him. It was clear as day.

He hated that it worked—that he was always a victim to his blinding sense of pride.

"Fine," he spat. "But when I win, you're telling me everything about your precious Padrino."

Your face hardened—but your nod was curt.

"I accept these terms."

He held back his smirk at your agreement—hardly. Everyone gathered into a large circle shortly thereafter, with Law's hat on the ground near Uni.

Shachi walked up to him before settling himself behind Law in the circle.

"Good luck, Cap'."

Law snorted.

Ikkaku's eyes flickered between him and you—worried. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" She questioned, hushed. Law's ears strained to hear the question from the opposite side.

Your mouth set into a hard line. "Positive."

With one last nervous glance towards Law, Ikkaku took her position back in the circle.

Penguin held two daggers in his hands and placed them in the middle of the circle, side by side—inches apart. The two of you walked and stopped a foot away from the daggers.

"Try not to kill each other—please—at least for the sake of clean up." Penguin looked between both of you. "And for Bepo." He added.

Neither of you acknowledged him, gazes locked on one another.

"O-kay. That's reassuring," he mumbled. "Ready?"

Law watched your body change into a fighting stance.

"Get set..." He gave another fleeting look between you two. "Last chance to change your minds?"

"Get off it, Pen!" Shachi yelled. "Start the match!"

Penguin sighed, closed his eyes.

"Start."

You both sprang for the daggers, reaching with lightning speed.

What Law wasn't expecting was for you to grab the one on your left—meaning you both reached for the same one.

To correct his mistake, he reached for the one on his left. But it was too late. Both daggers were in your hands. He jumped back, dodging your swipe.

'Dirty.'

"Ooo," he heard Shachi taunt from behind. "Not looking so great for ya, Cap'. Gonna need that luck."

Law wasn't worried—wasn't even concerned.

You continued to advance with a vengeance. Swiping, slashing, stabbing. Law side-stepped, dodged, reared back. He watched your attacks with a clear mind and precise focus, looking for a pattern, a tell. A weakness he could exploit—keeping his hands at the level of his eyes.

It was small. Minuscule. He doubted anyone could see an opening—hell, he could've missed it if he hadn't been scrutinizing you so thoroughly.

Your left arm was the main offender while your right stayed closer to your body. The precision of your left hand could use honing, but there had to be a reason as to why you chose to take more chances with it than your right—which appeared to be more calculating.

He waited—still dodging, still side stepping—to figure out the reason as to why that was.

And then he felt it—the amount of difference in the air when you attacked with one over the other.

Your left side was stronger and your right was weaker. What your right lacked in strength, made up for accuracy.

'Interesting.'

He wondered why that was.

Instead of letting his curiosity get the best of him, Law stayed present—forming a plan.

It'd be a risk and could cost him the fight, but he could do it.

He could remain patient until you tried with your right again—and that he did.

Your right-hand advanced forward with the dagger. Law grabbed your wrist and twisted your arm with just enough force for you to drop the blade and not break any bones. He swept to your right side as he did this, as to avoid your other arm.

He saw you bite your lip to hold back whatever noise you were about to make in pain while the dagger dropped from your hand. In an instant, Law let go and grabbed the dagger that had fallen to the floor and backed away before you could respond and retaliate.

And oh, did you retaliate.

He figured you would stay back now that your enemy had a weapon, that the two of you would be in a careful dance until someone made the first move.

How wrong he was.

He should've known better—that your need for violence would only be fueled when something was taken away from you.

Just like the man who wanted to groom Law for their own immortal gain.

You were selfish. You were spoiled. You were a princess—raised with the most venomous snake of them all in your corner. In your ear—the worst demon anyone could summon from the far depths of hell where he came from.

You followed him to the edge of the circle immediately, attacking him to the point to where all he could do was block. Law was certain you'd switch to your right hand, and you did—only to switch back to your left, to your right. He would never admit it out loud, but he was struggling to keep up with your speed. The itch to use shambles was invading his mind.

So much so, he didn't see it coming—mind occupied on making sure he didn't use his devil fruit.

Your foot swept his and Law was falling, back hitting the ground, and you fell onto him, legs planted on both side of his hips, straddling him.

A knife was pressed against his throat, but so was his blade—to yours.

The room went back to that eerie silence. The type of silence that shouldn't exist when there are that many people in the room.

Your eyes were wild, lip furled back. You pushed your weapon in your hand closer to his throat.

"Yield."

"Hate to break it to you princess, but you're not in the position to make demands," Law retorted, copying your movement.

You leaned forward, hair falling in your face—creating a curtain between the two of you—chest pressing against his. Soft, in major contrast with the look on your face.

Your hips moved when you shifted forward to do that.

Which costed him everything.

A part of him that hadn't woke up in over a year at...the fault of somebody else—decided to wake up from its hibernated slumber.

"Don't move." Law gritted through his teeth, feeling the tips of his ears heat.

You slanted your eyes at him and moved closer, basically sharing the same breath. Everywhere was warm.

"Afraid of a little blood, doctor?"

"I said—" Law's free hand landed on your hip in a tight grip, which had shifted against him again. "Don't. Move."

"It's…a tie...?" Penguin had finally made it to the two of you and inspected the…compromising position you had both ended-up in. "I guess that means you guys have to start ov—"

Law let go of your hip. "Room."

The blue sphere grew around him. You. The circle.

"Shambles."

In an instant, Law was in his office—alone.

He looked down at his pants. Even in the dark space, he could see his apparent arousal straining against his jeans. He rubbed his face as if that would make the problem go away.

What the actual fuck?

Back in the training room, you yelped at the sudden jolt of your body—in reaction to the missing person you were just pinning down.

'Why did he leave?'

"Huh. I uh…" Penguin started. "I'm not sure what that was about..."

"Well—since Cap' forfeited, we still get to train," Shachi drawled.

"I don't know if we should take that as an answer." Penguin stated carefully.

Ikkaku chimed in. "I don't know. You won't ever hear me say this again—but I think Dumber has a point. Captain should've stayed if he wanted his way."

"Yeah—wait, hey!" Shachi protested.

Penguin sighed. "I guess so… but we really should go to dinner. I am hungry."

The room filled with everyone agreeing and feet shuffling to the door.

"Princess?" Penguin asked.

"Huh?" Your head shot up from the mat you were staring at.

Him, Shachi, and Ikkaku were looking at you in concern.

"You alright?" Penguin checked in.

Your gaze fell back onto the mat where you were a mere inch away from Law. Your body against his. Your core heating up, aching because it was empty—feeling something that wasn't yours twitch and…grow—confused at what it meant and why you wanted to keep moving your hips against his—make it grow more.

"Yeah, I'm good."

It wasn't until later, when you replayed it all in your head, over and over—staring at the wall on your side trying to sleep, that you remembered what it meant.

"When a man is aroused, his penis grows. The more stimulation, the bigger and harder it gets. This means the penis activated for sexual activity." Your memory recalled Selene explain—at least a month ago now—in that awful lesson you shoved to the deep depths of your mind.

"Don't. Move."

A warning you took then as a threat he was about to slice you into pieces.

Now? You weren't so sure what the meaning was.

And you hated that you wanted to find out.

[daisydovley]

Anonymous Nights - Vinsmoke Sanji

NSFW ♡ 18+ ♡ SMUT

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader [No use of y/n] Summary: Heartsick and lonely on a new island, you turn towards a brothel that offers a renowned, yet unusual, service. They will match you with another willing participant and suppress both sight and speech so that you can indulge in your desires completely anonymously. Reader and Sanji are matched through the service, unbeknownst to each of them. CW: Sensory Deprivation, Fingering (F Rec), Oral (F Rec), Handjob (M Rec), Creampie, Squirting, Slightly Rougher Sex, Cuddling, Slight Angst Word Count: 3.7k

'From the Night Anonymous' Series [Click Here For All Parts] CH 1 NEXT CH>>>> One Piece Masterlist Sanji Masterlist

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The midday sun shines through the bay windows of the ornate office, and a well dressed woman relaxes in her chair on the other side of her wooden desk. “You know,” her smooth voice calls, “I do have other options, if you’d prefer. For first timers or the more…” she casts a look towards your fidgeting hands, “nervous, patrons. I have darlings who specialize in that sort of thing.”

“No,” you shake your head, quickly refuting her her, “I don’t need that- I’m not nervous.” An obvious lie, betrayed by the quickened tumble of your words from a slightly shaky voice. “I just… I’ve never done something like this before.”

“I suppose not,” she peers over at you above her half moon glasses, “I don’t believe there is any other establishment offering the kind of service that we do. But, it’s been quite popular. I am very certain I can give you a good match.”

On an island deep in the Grand Line, you find yourself in a place you never imagined.

A brothel.

A famous brothel, apparently. At least according to the drunken conversations you overheard at the bar the crew was wiling away the hours in last night. Sitting here now, in this grand estate, you’re certain the rumors are true.

Typically, you’ve never been one for such establishments. You had tried, a few times. When that lonely ache was so agonizing you found yourself desperate for company and release. But, while it felt nice in the moment, you always tended to feel worse in the hours after. Far lonelier than you’d been before and heart wrenching knowing that none of it was truly real. Honeyed words turning sour in your stomach as you realize that no one actually loved you or wanted you the way they were paid to tell you they did. So you stopped trying.

Yet, the ache never goes away, rising and chipping away at your heart so dreadfully you’d start to think, once again, that the few minutes of fantasy might be worth it. But, you’d always pulled yourself back from that ledge before you stumbled off it.

This brothel, however, offers something different. Something that maybe your heart can stand to seek comfort in- just this once. “Is it the sensory deprivation?” the Madam asks, rooting for the core of your hesitation, “is that what concerns you?”

“Um, not really,” you fidget. “My friend knows where I am and what I’m doing.” Despite how embarrassing it was, you weren’t willing to take the risk of no one knowing where you are, so you told Nami. Regardless of the seemingly spotless reputation- which you only learned of last night- it’s still a sex house on an unknown island. Nami promised to keep your vivre card close and your secret closer- and to come find you if you weren’t back by the given time.

“Well, sweetheart,” she soothes, “this is a house of desires. There are many other ways I can fulfill yours.”

“No,” you insist, “this is what I want. I want to do this.”

“Then I shall not deny you,” with a saccharine smile, her fingers trail across the file opened before her. Pages of forms you filled out this morning that asked all sorts of personal questions that teetered on the edge of mortifying. But, you wanted this to work, so you answered them all diligently and honestly. “In fact,” she says, “you don’t need to wait any longer.”

Hands pressing together and pulse picking up, you look at her wide eyed, “really?”

Adjusting her glasses, she looks towards the man at the door, “is 33 still on the premises?”

The guard turns into the communicator at his ear for a moment before confirming, “yes, Madam.”

“Excellent. Get him prepped,” she orders before giving you a wink, “tell him we have a match.”

“That soon?” Based on what you’d heard regarding how many people register daily, and what the representative told you this morning when they explained the service, you expected a much longer wait.

“The stars shine in your favor. I’ve another participate ready to go and you are an exceedingly perfect match.”

“Really…?” nervously, you wonder how true that is.

“Darling, I’ve been doing this a long time,” she assures you. “No one leaves unsatisfied. It is a very good match.”

Nodding, you take a steadying breath, preparing yourself to meet your match. In a sense, anyway. The two of you will be given a dose of minor sensory deprivation that prevents sight and speech. Touch and sound otherwise would be unimpeded.

At first, you weren’t sure what to think of it. It’s certainly unorthodox- and a bit scary, even. But, the more you thought about it, the more you came around to the idea. Your match wasn’t a worker- they weren’t someone being paid to provide you with company. They were someone who wanted the same thing you did. In that sense, it was at least more genuine and real. But, the lack of sight and speech would give your heart a buffer against any memories of regret. It removes the reservation and leaves nothing but pleasure. At least- yearning for comfort- you hope that it will.

“Come now,” the Madam rises, smoothing her skirt and you follow her through the sprawling halls of the tastefully decorated manor. Lavish and decadent, the whole place is pleasurable to the senses- a grand fitting monument to indulgence. Nothing at all like the brothels that often lined the bar streets of the islands you’ve visited before.

Under your slippered feet, the carpets are as plush as the complimentary robe draped around your body. After filling out your paperwork, you’d spent a few hours in the onsite spa, body still feeling relaxed and renewed- though anxiously eager for what comes next.

In a small room, the Madam stops- door closing behind. A well dressed butler steps up and presents a polished silver tray with a crystal glass atop it. “Now,” she stresses, “do you remember how to stop the encounter, should you choose?” Bringing your hands together, you clap twice to demonstrate the signal. “Good,” she nods. “The room will be monitored and a guard will intervene should anything go awry- not that I have any expectation that it will,” she adds pointedly, “it’s more to put your mind at ease than anything.”

“You mean…” your hands pull your robe tighter across your frame, “people will be watching?”

“Only one,” she holds up a singular finger. “A trusted member of my staff will be monitoring the participants. You won’t even know he’s there, he’ll be watching through a special mirror from an adjoining room.”

“Okay…” you suppose it does make sense. And it is reassuring to know they actually take your safety seriously, though the prospect is rather embarrassing. You try not to think about it.

“When you hear the chime,” a sweet bell rings through the room, “you have five minutes before you’ll be escorted away. Once in a private room, you’ll be given the reversal potion to return your senses, as well as your clothes and personal effects you arrived with. You'll be able to clean up and light refreshments will be provided before you’re sent on your way.”

“And the guy, will he…?”

“He will be in a different room. Exiting through a different area of the estate. You will not meet.”

“He’ll never see me?”

“And you will never see him,” she confirms. “Are you ready?”

Without further thought or time to talk yourself out of it, you take the glass and tip it to your lips. It tingles on your tongue, but you don’t feel any different. Opening your mouth, you make to ask how long it takes the effects to kick in- but no sound escapes and quickly the room dims into darkness.

An arm wraps around yours, guiding you into your room- only the sound of your hammering heart beats in your ears. With every step, heat rises as your body flushes, being led to your partner. Silently, you pray the Madam is right and that he’s as good a match as she says.

The edge of the bed hits against your knees and you stop, the worker taking your hand and bringing it out- pressing it into one much larger and warmer than your own. His fingers wrap around yours with a soundless breathy sigh. The worker pulls away and you hear them cross the room and close the door, leaving you alone with a stranger wrapped in darkness and draped in desire.

For a long moment, the two of you stay still, hands pressed together- just feeling one another’s presence. Slowly, long fingers begin delicately tracing your own- their tips gracing featherlight in exploration. Trailing softly down your palm, up the sensitive skin of your wrist, and rising up your arm where his big hand rubs up under the sleeve of your robe.

Before he goes any further, his fingers wrap around yours and he brings them up to his lips, laying a kiss upon your hand before placing it to the warm expanse of his chest- allowing you to touch him first. He’s solid, well defined and so, so, warm- nearly feverish. Adding another hand, you roam shamelessly over his body and feel his heart flutter as your hands drag across his chest.

Feeling emboldened by the way he presses into your touch, you pull his robe apart and drop your hands down his stomach- blushing at the feel of his strong body. Tracing the divots of his rolling muscles, your mind can’t help but imagine what he must look like. Lower on his hips, you find the smooth tips of the arrows that dip down into something that heats the pool between your legs. But, just before you reach it, you grab his hand and bring it to your own chest.

Eagerly, he accepts the invitation, hand pressing between the swell of your breasts. Both hands come to cascade over the mounds, cupping the heavy curves in his hands just to feel their weight. Gently, he rubs and kneads at each breast with expert touch, grinding your nipples into the cup of his palm. While his movements steadily grow hungrier, his hands slightly tremble and you think that he’s perhaps holding back.

But, you don’t want him to hold back. You want his unbridled desire and passion unleashed upon you, liberating your own.

To encourage him, you arch into his touch, hands pressing him harder against you, forcing a rougher grab at your needy body. Immediately, he understands what you’re asking and he gives it to you. Ravenously, his hands drag across your shape, so big that together they cover so much of the expanse of your core, making you feel so wrapped up in his rapacious strokes.

When he reaches the knot of your robe, he doesn’t timidly seek your permission. Rather, he fists the fabric over your waist and rips it open, dropping it to the floor and leaving you bare before him. Though he doesn’t hear your gasp, he certainly feels it with such a tight grip on your body. It spurs him on and he feels you out, rubbing down every inch he can reach to memorize the map of your figure.

Heat rises along with the desire, the lack of sight only heightening the sensation of touch. And you want him touching more, want to feel more of him- pressed up against you. Reaching, you put your own hands back onto his body, tugging eagerly at his robe and he lets you push it off him. Naked and bare, your hands race over each other as the temperature rises between you.

Rolling your body into his, the blackened world whirls suddenly and your heart jumps as you fall back onto the bed, legs draped over the edge. Kneeling down between them, he throws them over his shoulders and wraps his arms around your thighs. Rapidly your breaths come and your knees press together, but he holds you open and dives between them.

With no hesitation, no build up, no teasing- he falls face first into your cunt, tongue swiping long from core to clit. Though you can’t hear him, you can feel the long groan that rumbles from his mouth and vibrates through his tongue, the sensation pooling more heat that he eagerly laps up. You’re grateful then for the darkness to hide the embarrassment you know must show on your face by how flushed you feel.

He dines on you like a man who’s been starving for it. It’s entirely for his own pleasure the way he eats at you. Mouth messy, tongue writhing as it pushes in and out, sucking up the slick that gathers and latching onto your clit to make more. Back arching, your fingers tangle in his hair and you surrender yourself to the pleasure. Allowing yourself to indulge in it, allowing this stranger to give it to you and allowing him to take whatever he needs from your body. Because that’s what you need- what you’ve so craved all this time. Someone who desperately needs you as much as you need them.

Fingers dip into you and your whole body jolts, legs tightening around his head before falling back onto the soft bed. Mouth suckling at your clit, his long fingers rock into you, touching places you can never reach on your own. Pads of his fingers dragging across something sensitive, knuckles bumping against your cunt. When he curls into you, tears pool at your eyes and your hands tangle tighter in his soft hair.

He doesn’t relent. Curling, pushing, thrusting, sucking- tongue swirling over the swollen bud between his lips. Though you can’t hear the sound of your own voice, you know it’s breaking in your mouth, throat vibrating with the silent cries he draws out of you. You can, however, hear the wet sound slicking between your legs as he brings you to the brink, growing wetter as your body coils tight. When the vibration of his soundless voice rolls against your clit, you cum and he stays the course, steering you through the pleasure.

When you start twitching beneath him, he pushes you back onto the bed fully in one strong motion and crawls atop you. Warm breath ghosting your neck, you arch back, opening your legs, letting him settle fully between them. Arms wrapping around his neck, you hold on as he starts humping against you, dragging his hard cock over your dripping cunt. Quiet whimpers and hushed whines stutter in your chest, pressed against his as you hold him close.

Cunt clenching with every thrust, his cockhead rubs over your aching clit. Overcome with the need to feel him, you reach down and take him in your hand and he nearly collapses. Pumping his cock, you feel the length- long and hard and slightly curved. He’s so wet and sticky, you almost think he’s already cum, but then you feel the slick pour from his tip and pool in your hands. Using it to glide the drag of your hand, you feel some drip down onto your open cunt. He’s so hot. His body like a furnace that continues to rise, his cock piping and arousal salivatingly scorching.

Tightening your grip, you pump him faster- unable to pull your hand away. He trembles above you, hips humping into your grasp. When you reach down and start working his cockhead with your other hand his whole body convulses and he cums near instantly, drenching you with his release. Pooling in your hand and spurting over your stomach, thick ribbons dripping hot as candle wax onto your cunt.

This was what you’d been missing. The feeling of someone coming undone upon you. Though, there’s a pang in your chest thinking it’s over. Now that he’s cum, you expect to hear the sound of his hands clapping above you to end the session.

But, he doesn’t.

Instead he kisses at your neck, licking at your pulse- lingering when he feels the jolt of your body to signal he’s discovered something sweetly sensitive. Eyes fluttering as he sucks at it, your cum coated body rolls up against his, desire flaring again between your legs.

His still hard cock presses against your entrance and your eyes heat with the promise of more. Locking your legs around his waist, you completely open yourself for him and he pushes in. One long, slow, agonizingly wonderful push that has you arching off the bed, legs tightening and fingers digging against his back. Slid home, your breathes mingle in a long sigh- signaling how much you both needed this.

He waits until he feels your hips rolling up against him to start fucking you. Slow, at first, but rapidly rising, both of you long past restraint. Just two people chasing a shared need. As much as you can, you encourage him to fuck you harder- to have what he needs, to use your body and drive the pleasure into you as he takes it. And he does. Hips losing rhythm to a more primal thrust, mouth still sucking and licking at the spot that has you pleading.

Hand reaching between your bodies, you try to rub at your clit, but he continues fucking you so hard you can’t keep steady enough. Sensing what you’re trying to do, the stranger pulls back, sitting up between your legs. Big hands grip at your hips and before you can blink, you’re flipped so quickly onto your stomach it knocks the wind from you.

Thrill pools low in your body, cunt squeezing around his cock as he pulls your hips up with one arm and use his other hand to force the deep arch of your back. Fingers curling into the sheets, you’re desperate for purchase as he starts fucking into you from behind, hitting deeper than anything you’ve ever felt before.

Delicious tears stream down your cheeks and electricity shocks up your spine as his curved cock drives precise pleasure to that delicate spot behind your clit. When you settle into your position, body slacking for his taking, his hand drags down your spine and coils around your hip to find your clit.

Taking it between his knuckles, he rolls pleasure into you, hand vibrating with preternatural speed. Immediately, your cunt begins to clench and you’re forced over the edge- pushed by a sensation you’ve never felt before. But, he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t ease up. Doesn’t slow. If anything, the grip around his dick spurs him harder and he adjusts the angle of his thrusts so his cockhead fucks directly into your sweet spot.

Drool pools from your lips and even in the blackness of your vision, there are stars as he fucks you from the inside out- pressure building and swelling. As much as you can, you fuck back against him, the rawness in your throat proof of the way you’re crying and begging for him. Whatever he’s doing, you don’t want him to stop.

And he doesn’t.

He takes you to a place where there’s nothing but you and him and the pleasure he gives and the pleasure he takes. He fucks you wild and desperate like he knows he’ll never fuck you again, but he’s determined to leave his mark on you. To ruin you for any other man who will never come close to giving you what he’s giving you right now.

The levee breaks and you along with it, giving him exactly what he wants as your body gushes over his fingers and you cum harder than you ever have in your life. Still, he doesn’t stop. Even as you flood his hand, he milks your clit for every last drop of squirt he can coax. Even as he cums hot and deep in your cunt, his hips still thrust, fucking it inside you.

The pleasure is all consuming and you don’t have the strength to do anything but lay there and take it, body collapsing in his grasp. His strong arms keep a hold of you, propping you up until he’s finished and it draws the pleasure out how erotic it is to be his doll.

When he slows, he lets you down easy, draping himself across your back and trailing kisses across your shoulders. Wrapping you in his arms and holding you steady, he slowly pulls out- the mix cum pouring thick and hot from between your legs, soaking your thighs and the bed below.

Panting, you try to catch your breath- but it steals away when he touches you in a way you don’t expect. Gently, he settles into the bed and pulls you into his arms and your heart near bursts. Softly, his fingers pet through your hair and his lips press against the crown of your head.

He holds you the way you’ve so longed to be held- with the tenderness of a true lover. As if what you just shared was real and intimate and you have all the time in the world to live in this moment together.

Yet, you know you don't. Desperately, you try to keep the cracks from breaking through your heart to live in the fantasy a little longer. By the way he holds you, you wonder if he’s doing the same.

Tucked in embrace, your nuzzle into the crook of his neck and place a soft kiss there and his lips linger on your forehead in kind. Heartbeats pass and begin to harmonize as your breathes even out and sync together. As you settle, you let yourself enjoy the after- the softness- the gentleness.

Pressing closer to him, the darkness allows you to believe it. Believe that he’s yours, believe that this belongs to you. Believe that he’s someone who genuinely cares for you, cherishes you- loves you, even.

Breathing deep, beneath the sweat and sex, your deprived senses fill in the gaps for your imagination. And the faint scent of sea and smoke settles deep in your chest.

Eyes closing to the blackness, one image comes to mind. One man.

And here, in the dark, in this moment that will never exist beyond this room- you let yourself see it. Let yourself imagine it. Let yourself imagine him here tangled with you-

The bell chimes and the dream comes to close.

➽──────────────❥ CH 1 NEXT CH>>>>

[amplivier]

Beg for it (4k)

zoro x fem!reader, no y/n

cws: nsfw fwb, no romance, mean and arrogant zoro, clothed sex, teasing, dirty talk, degradation, edging, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, belly press (why is it called that.), no aftercare, odd possessiveness from zoro coz he has ulterior motives

synopsis: you can’t stop thinking about zoro. you thought you’d feel better by now, but it’s even worse. despite what he’s said, you can’t bring yourself to ask again, until one night you’re arranged to be on the same watch.

a/n: i tried to pick up the pace w this one so if it seems faster than my other stuff it’s bc i was impatient and turned on oops. it feels sinful to post this on a sunny afternoon. part1 here, pls enjoy

If you think things can’t get any worse, they absolutely can. The slippery slope starts when you nearly miss the last rung of the ladder as you come back down from the crow’s nest, so deep in thought that you miss Sanji’s snicker as he catches your descent right as he exits the kitchen. That night, you barely sleep.

The thing is, Zoro’s true to his word. Nothing changes. It’s even more agonizing knowing that he’s entirely unaffected while your entire world’s been turned upside down. He doesn’t make any untoward comments, doesn’t flash you knowing smiles from across the table, doesn’t get any more touchy than he already was, which was already at net zero. It’s infuriating.

It’s a stark difference to the absolute mindfuck of a week you’ve been having, because now you’re touching yourself every single night without fail, fingers knuckle deep inside you, breath heaving and legs shaking while the sheets under you are completely soaked from your effort. The stretch is never enough, and the orgasm doesn’t even feel good, hands aching and tired from trying to get yourself off all alone.

It’s embarrassing how many times you have to cum before you tire yourself out enough to sleep, because at least when you’re awake you can control the fantasy, instead of having such an intense wet dream about getting folded in half by your nakama that you jump at breakfast when he lightly taps you on the shoulder, innocently asking to pass him the pitcher of water. You’re so jittery that morning that you miss Zoro’s furrowed brow when you finally pass the water with trembling hands.

It’s on a Monday the following week, when Nami’s laying out the night watch rotations, that you realize you might be fucked. The previous watches were fine, but that was precisely because you were never paired up with Zoro. At least, not yet.

Unfortunately, Nami is very much an arbiter of crew bonding, and it’s a must that everyone switches partners every time they take a shift. Which was a problem, because the only two you hadn’t taken a shift with, were Sanji and Zoro.

But, okay. A 50/50 is survivable with decent luck. Nami calls out your name, alongside Sanji’s for the watch that same day, and you relax.

…Until the cook makes a stupid excuse about having to do extensive food prep that night, that oh so unfortunately leaves no other option except Zoro for you to pair up with.

You whip your head back so quickly to glare at him you nearly mistake the glint in Sanji’s eyes as a well-timed flash of sunlight, but you know better than to give him any credit. He looks entirely amused, and it makes you scowl under your breath. But there’s not much that you can do.

It really, really shouldn’t be an issue.

But there’s always going to be a difference between what you know and what you feel. You know that all it takes is to ask. But what if you’re asking for too much? Aren’t you being too selfish? Does Zoro even get anything from this arrangement? Is he even thinking about the logistics of it at all the way you do? Does he know you’re fucking yourself stupid every night to the thought of him?

Hold on. He doesn't have to know about that part.

You’re abruptly pulled out of your thoughts by a light tap just by your knee by a concerned Chopper, and you realize you’ve been gripping the guardrail of the Sunny so hard your knuckles have turned a stark white against them from the sheer force. Chopper clears his throat, eyes flicking between you and the deck awkwardly.

“Um, turnover’s in 5 minutes, Zoro wants you by the helm so you can discuss who takes which post.”

Fuck.

You nod curtly, before pushing off of the rail to make your way to the front of the ship.

You know something’s up, because something as trivial as posts have never been something that you’ve had to discuss. Zoro always takes the back because the crow’s nest is undisputedly his spot, and you’ve always taken the front because the feel of the sea breeze in your hair at the figurehead as the Sunny coasts along for the night has always been a comfort.

The thought of the crow’s nest again sends a shiver up your spine. Your hands are clammy as you walk up the steps, but you can’t delay it any longer, because as soon as you get up there, Zoro’s keen gaze immediately lands on yours, expectant.

You feel like you should make the first move, but you can’t think of anything that could even start this conversation off properly. Your mouth opens and closes dumbly in the silence.

“You need to relax.”

“What?”

Zoro huffs. “Don’t make it weird. I really don’t know what’s gotten into you, but if it’s because of that night then can I at least know why?”

You shift from foot to foot. Is this even something you can say out loud? You realize you’ve taken too long when Zoro takes your silence as a refusal.

“Did I cross a line or something? Because if so I would have wanted a heads up. Instead of whatever it is that you’re doing.”

You squint. “And by whatever it is that I’m doing, you mean..”

He almost laughs. “I mean, freaking out when I make eye contact, freaking out when I touch you, spacing out?” He says, incredulous.

“It’s not.” You purse your lips. “What you think it is.”

And at this Zoro seems even more amused.

“Okay,” he says exaggeratedly, “Then what is it, because I can’t read minds.”

In your head, you think back to the conversation you had the first time, about how they were just words. He made it sound so easy. And it’s probably meant to be that easy, so you drop all the frills and get straight to it. There’s never any point beating around the bush, especially not with Zoro.

“I think I need more.” You swallow. “But I’m afraid that I’m being selfish with what I want. Because I don’t know if you want it too.”

His eye twitches. For a very real second, you’re afraid you’ve said the wrong thing, until Zoro opens his mouth again.

“What I want,” he says deliberately, “is irrelevant to the conversation.” He takes a step forward. “What is more important is what my crew needs.”

He pauses, watching if you’ll make a move to reply. When you don’t, he continues.

“And if I can provide it,” he says pointedly, “then I will, with all my being. All they need to do is ask.”

It’s an oddly noble thing to say about something as mundane as sex. You’re taken aback by the simplicity of it.

It should’ve been something that you expected from someone as calm and controlled as he is. But at the same time, something prickles under your skin remembering that control.

Your eyes lock onto the floor, and you miss the glint in his eyes and the ghost of a smirk as he considers your form.

He watches you tense still, unmoving, before closing the gap quietly between you two. You hear the clinking of his swords as he steps closer.

His touch is awfully tender when he grips your chin to make you face him.

“I said to just ask, right?”

You nod.

“Is there something that you need right now?”

And your stomach turns at the idea that maybe he already knows what it is that you want.

For a moment you fight it, before admitting, “You.”

And it’s almost like you can physically feel the air shift. You see a smile pulling at Zoro’s lips once he’s realized he’s got you cornered.

“Hm, not quite what I wanted to hear.” He pauses, deliberate. “What is it about me that you need?”

You grit your teeth. Fuck it.

“Need you,” You huff, “Inside me.”

Zoro smiles, absolutely smug.

“Is that so?” He says, and for a second you’re not sure what he’s about to do, until he starts leaning down, as if to kiss you.

You realize with a jolt that the both of you are right outside, anyone could be watching, and oh god he’s so close you can physically feel the warmth of him-

until Zoro stops just short of your lips.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” He says, and your eyebrows furrow at the sudden interruption.

“That wasn’t part of what you asked for, right?” He says sarcastically, and you feel your blood start to boil. You open your mouth to retort, but he pulls away fully before you can do anything.

“Sorry, I can only do one request at a time.”

You scowl, before silently admitting defeat, grabbing Zoro’s wrist with the intention of dragging him all the way to the crow’s nest. There was no way he wasn’t deriving some sort of sick pleasure from this.

Fuck the watch, it’s not like anything ever happens anyway. Sorry, Nami. You pick up the pace a little, clearly impatient. As soon as you do, you hear Zoro’s quiet chuckle trailing behind as you start to climb up.

You can’t even get a single word out when you get up to the crow’s nest. As soon as you turn around to comment on how slow he’s going, the wind gets knocked out of you as Zoro pushes you to the floor, leaving you sprawled out on your back from the force.

He settles between your open legs again before tilting his head. “Hm. This looks familiar, doesn’t it?” And you scowl again before leaning up to paw at his pants, eager to get them off.

“Stop stalling and get to it already.” You spat, as if you weren’t clearly the desperate one in this situation, skin already warm to the touch from how antsy you were. The worst part was, you knew Zoro could feel it too.

You caught the beginning of a dry laugh before your wrists were slammed back down on either side of your head with a yelp, Zoro fully leaning over your body, clothed dick catching against your core just right with how close he pressed himself onto you. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Quit acting like you’re so composed,” He said, eyes lazily dragging up and down your body, unimpressed, and your cheeks heated even further at how vulnerable you looked, splayed open completely under his weight.

He rocked his hips forward, and you squirmed. “Acting like you weren’t the one who asked me to do this,” He ground against you again, and you yelped while your legs tightened around him to no avail. He stopped.

The scent of him was everywhere, unavoidable and pressing into you like a drug, caging you in. You mustered up the courage for a last ditch effort to save your pride, or whatever was left of it.

“What the fuck do you get from this anyway,” You panted, “And don’t try to lecture me about duty again,” You exhaled shakily. “Because I swear that duty does not cover this.”

A lazy smile curls at the edges of his lips, and your next sentence breaks off into a moan when he reaches a hand down to rub at your clit through your clothes, canines flashing when he only feels you get wetter underneath his touch, hips jerking at the sudden movement.

“Because,” He said, watching your face intently, “I like how you look writhing under me,”

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

“Squirming so cutely when I haven’t done a single thing.” You moved to protest, but your body immediately betrayed you, back arching off of the floor as Zoro continued circling your clit, and you bit your lip to stifle the moan that was clawing its way out of your throat.

“Only I do this to you, right?” Your stomach lurched.

Through the heat you were distantly aware that the hand previously at your clit was beginning to tug at your pants to pull them off completely, making you hiss as the cool night air hit your exposed legs.

Zoro cooed from above you, repositioning himself even closer to your core without the extra layer of clothes in the way.

“And only I can do this to you.” He grunted, and you whined. It wasn’t at all a question but a definite statement. There was no point in disagreeing.

“All of this just for me” He drawled, and you tried to close your legs around him, suddenly self aware, but they only clamped him down further against your clothed pussy. You bit back another moan at the contact. So close yet so far.

Then his eyes lifted back up to meet yours, holding your gaze deliberately as he snaked a finger into the band of your panties. Your mouth went dry.

He dragged them down agonizingly slow, and you felt your chest heave at the anticipation, right before he left them right at your knees.

You huffed impatiently, eyebrows furrowing as you waited for him to do something, anything, and Zoro looked down, completely amused, watching your hips involuntarily arch to meet absolutely nothing.

As soon as you flicked your gaze down to retort, your breath hitched in your throat as your eyes caught on Zoro palming himself, right before freeing his cock. You swallowed dryly.

He was so thick it made you squirm again, skin hot and sensitive as a livewire as you imagined the feel of his girth dragging again and again against your insides, so much bigger than your fingers could ever reach.

Saliva pooled in your mouth watching a bead of precum leak down the side, before he caught it between his fingers to pump his cock.

You were sure you looked dazed, because you heard a low snicker leave Zoro’s throat as you watched him fist his length, slowing his hand down deliberately when he noticed you track every single movement, watching him curse into the thick silence when he thumbed over the tip, hips jerking into his own hand at the stimulation.

You barely register Zoro’s laugh as he takes in your desperate form, heaving and half naked in front of him.

“You know,” He says, making you snap out of your trance, “I was going to tell you to be patient,” And a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth as he continues. “But you look so far gone already I’m having so much fun making you wait.”

You whine, head dropping back down onto the floor as frustrated tears prickle behind your eyes, which only makes him laugh harder, before you feel him scoot closer, one hand landing at your hip.

“Okay, okay,” He cooed, “I’m sorry, my impatient baby, I’ll make you feel good in a second, okay?”

The condescending tone made you jerk your head up, an insult ready on your tongue, before the feel of his cock dragging through your wet folds made the sentence die in your throat, and you moaned long and loud at the sensation.

Zoro rubbed the head repeatedly through your slick, his mouth open on a moan at the overwhelming warmth coating his own cock, watching you twitch and buck your hips up when he dragged just right against your clit, making your pussy clench around nothing.

Once you were fully trembling from anticipation, breathy moans escaping your lips, your whole body taut like a wire about to snap and wetness dripping onto the floor beneath you, Zoro notched his cock against your entrance, and watched, dazed, as your eyes rolled back into your head the second he pushed in.

He pushed in slowly, fingers gripping your waist as he held back from fucking into you so quickly, your own hips bucking to meet his. The feel so intense Zoro forced himself to hold his breath until he fully bottomed out, huffing into the silence.

“Fuck,” Zoro panted, eyebrows pinched and head hung from the hot, velvet feel of your walls clenching around him, while your mouth was open on a silent moan, hips twitching trying to adjust to the immense stretch of his cock inside you.

You felt like he was all the way up to your stomach, and you whimpered at the thought of how deep he was, forcing your head to lift to stare at where your bodies connected, biting your lip from the effort.

Zoro looked entranced, and he lifted a hand, to land at your waist, you presumed, before he flattened his palm against your lower abdomen, and pushed.

Your jaw dropped open on a moan, but before you could ask him what it was for, Zoro started moving. He drew back almost fully, cock head still inside you, palm still flattened against your abdomen, then slammed in, hitting exactly where you wanted him point blank.

Your eyelids fluttered from the force, back arching as you felt every ridge drag against your sensitive insides, and distantly you wondered if he was big enough to touch your cervix, sending a shiver up your spine at the thought, a punched out moan leaving your mouth from the strain.

Zoro was everywhere, musk overwhelming your senses, and you could hear him panting into the air between you, feel his thighs trembling from the effort of fucking into you, sweat dripping down his forehead and tracing the long line of his throat.

“Takin’ me so well, fuck-“ He grunted, “Can feel myself under your skin, can feel you sucking me in like you want me buried inside you-“ Zoro’s words broke on a low groan as you clamped down from the embarrassment.

You felt completely boneless in his grasp, his hips snapping against yours, hand still pressing down deliciously to feel the obscene drag of his own dick inside of you, groaning through the clench of your pussy as he hit your g spot every single time.

You felt your orgasm build up slowly, flames licking up your spine and making you spasm around Zoro’s cock the closer you got to the edge, eyes shutting and breath coming out faster and faster, without realizing he was intently watching your face.

“I’m close-“ You whined, and then, nothing.

You let out a frustrated whimper, pussy squeezing tight around nothing as you realize Zoro had pulled out completely, hearing his heaving breaths come from above you, making you wrench your eyes open.

Your eyes locked with his, and you watched a smile slowly form on his lips, a stark contrast to his red flush and completely dilated eyes.

“You asked,” He huffed, “For me to be inside you. Not for you to cum, right?” He says, tilting his head, watching amusedly as your entire body tenses up, squirming impatiently under his heavy gaze.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“You fucking asshole.” You spit, baring your teeth, but Zoro only laughs at your trembling form.

“I’d say,” He drawls, “You should be more specific with what you want, sweetheart.”

You could cry.

“But I’m very considerate today,” He declares, “So all I want is to hear it from you.”

“Hear. What.” You hiss.

Zoro’s dilated eyes glint in the moonlight, and you have to force down a dry swallow to prepare yourself for what’s coming as his face inches closer to yours.

“What I want,” He says, “Is to hear you beg for it.”

You scowl, and he stifles a laugh.

“I want to hear you say it,” He drawls, fingers dragging down your shoulders, oddly intimate, “That you need me to make you cum,” Your breath hitches as they skirt over your ribs, “And that I’m the only one who can make you cum like this,” You wrench your heating face to the side as his hand lands possessively at your waist, pulling you flush against his still leaking cock.

The feel of him makes your back arch again, aching to be filled, but Zoro tuts your reaction and shifts away, waiting intently.

The loss makes you whine, and at this point you’re at your wits end, skin burning up and sweat dousing your entire body, delirious thinking about having to leave the crow’s nest without coming, that you grab onto his forearm and drag him forcefully back up and over you, tan arms caging you against the floor, squirming against the hot feel of his dick catching right at your entrance.

Who gives a fuck about pride, anyway?

“Zoro.” You grit out, and he hums, expectant.

“I need you to fuck me until I cum.”

“Yes, and that’s because?”

Your eyes narrow.

“Because you’re the only one who can make me feel like this.”

You’re so focused on getting the words out that you miss Zoro’s completely feral smile as you willingly give yourself over to him.

“Attagirl.” He coos, before rutting against your soaked entrance again and making your breath hitch, barely giving you a second to think before he slams his cock back into you.

Your eyes roll back into your head from the force, and you can’t even distinguish one moan from the next as Zoro starts fucking into you in earnest, and you’re not sure if he’s chasing your release or his release or both, but the feel of him sliding in and out of you over and over and over was sending you hurtling towards the edge regardless.

You felt so full you completely ignored the raw scrape of your spine against the hard wood floor as you rocked against it harshly from the force of Zoro’s thrusts.

Zoro’s hips stutter for a moment and you realize he’s close, making you frantically lock your legs around his hips to pull him even deeper inside you, before feeling raw heat bloom in your stomach when you hear a punched out moan come out of his mouth, head dipping down to mouth at your collarbone.

Breath fanned hot against your skin. “Made it too good for you.” He said, nipping at the thin skin just to revel in how you involuntarily clamped down onto him again. “Fuck. You’re ruined for everyone else.” He breathed, hiking your legs up over his shoulder while you yelped from the sudden movement, pressing you even further into the floor and leaving you completely exposed.

“Know you’re close,” He panted, “Want to finish inside what’s mine.” Your eyes rolled back into your head.

With the new angle you could feel him even deeper, hips rutting harshly against you, rubbing against your clit at every thrust, and your breath caught as you felt your second orgasm building, electric heat coiling in your gut every time Zoro hit that sweet spot dead on.

You threw your head back as you felt your orgasm crash over you, sending you clenching around Zoro’s length and dragging him over the edge too, his canines biting deep enough to draw blood and making you whine as you felt his hot cum paint your insides.

He didn’t move, groaning at the feel of your every twitch before shifting to a slow, languid grind as he fucked his spend further into you, making you yelp, before he slowed completely.

You whimpered as he pulled out, distantly feeling cum leak out of you before Zoro tutted, pushing it back in with his fingers and making you twitch from the overstimulation, hand reaching down to stop him, but he caught your wrist quickly, making you squirm in his grasp.

You felt debauched and filthy. Zoro shifted away,

and you thought he’d move to stand, but he paused, smirking.

You watched his hand reach down to your panties, before tugging them back up unceremoniously over your spent pussy, making you moan. Zoro laughed as your hips twitched at the sudden touch, fixing the band back to its proper place.

You moved to reply again, annoyed, but the fight left your body as he thumbed over your clothed clit again, watching your hips buck into his light touch as your underwear got soaked with both his cum and yours through the fabric.

He hummed. “Just for you to remember who this belongs to.” He said, almost noncommittally, making you scowl under your breath.

[amplivier]

Fantasize (5.3k)

zoro x fem!reader, no y/n

cw: nsfw 18+, clothed sex, dry humping, grinding, dirty talk and slight degradation bc zoro is an ass, fwb, no aftercare

synopsis: your fantasies were usually standard, faceless bodies touching you only to be forgotten and disposed of by morning. until one day it morphs into none other than your nakama, zoro, making you avoid him like the plague. eventually, sanji and him take notice and confront you, leading to an unexpected conversation. maybe all it took was the courage to ask.

a/n: hi guys this is my first fic in a long time + first fic ive ever posted, usually i do character studies so this was fun, hope u enjoy and pls leave comments if you liked it^^

Most of the time you can take care of it discreetly. The ship never stays in place and its crewmates are never not on the move. A group moves out to explore the island. Another sets off on a shopping trip or a much needed market run. You take advantage of these lulls to, well, take care of things. It means alone time to dive into research, finally in the quiet that allows for thinking out loud, but it also means privacy, something that is rarely afforded on a usual day at sea, much less with the personalities of your crew.

You can’t fully focus on the scene you’re trying to think up when you can hear Luffy and Usopp roughhousing one another right outside your door, footsteps reverberating through the wooden walls. Nami’s voice trails after them, yelling something incoherent but is surely a string of insults begging them to quiet down. Not to mention the buzz of drills and clanking of metal scraps flying out of Franky’s workshop completely derailing the script you’d just prepared.

Where were you just now? Right. In your chair, at your desk of course, but definitely somewhere else. A blank notebook lays flat on the wooden spread, your hand poised over the starting page with a freshly inked pen, but it stays still in your tense grip, a coverup for what was really keeping you busy.

When you couldn’t get privacy, you settled for daydreaming. Busy imagining a strong pair of hands groping and feeling around your waist almost possessively, a head ducking down to whisper praise into your ear, earrings clinking with the movement, a half-laugh smothered into your hair when you imagine yourself shying away at the compliment, your thighs clenching around sword worn fingers snaking down to touch- wait, what?

Before you can even process the fact that your usual daydreaming about the usual faceless body started taking the form of one of your nakama, the door slams open, and Nami appears through the doorway, clearly annoyed.

You immediately scramble to compose yourself, opening your mouth to retort something about privacy, but she only glances at you for a moment, either not noticing or choosing to ignore your flushed face, before whipping her head back angrily to look at Luffy and Usopp, who you’ve just now noticed to be trailing behind her, looking almost embarrassed. Nami clears her throat, glaring at them.

“Now, both of you apologize for disrupting her peace and quiet.” Nami continues, closing her eyes and crossing her arms expectantly. Of all the things you thought this would be about, an apology was probably the last on your list.

The two look at each other and exhale, opening their mouths before Nami cuts in to say, “And remember to say it at the same time!”. Usopp and Luffy sigh belatedly, and you hide a chuckle as you hear Usopp count him and Luffy down under his breath.

“3, 2, 1… We’re sorry for interrupting your study time, it won’t happen again!”, paired with a simultaneous 90 degree bow from both of them.

Nami takes this time as they’re bowing to look up at you and mouth an apologetic ‘Sorry’, her hands clasped together in a prayer sign, before clearing her throat and taking on a militant tone again as the two straighten back up.

“Now shoo!” She motions dismissively, and as the two leave you have to stifle another laugh as clear signs of Nami’s punishment make themselves apparent as soon as Usopp and Luffy turn around and patter out.

Nami looks at you and sighs, crossing the threshold of the room slowly while pushing the wooden door closed behind her. You hear the door creak shut as she leans against it, before pushing herself off of it to walk towards you, shaking her head.

You almost forget about the completely blank notebook and haphazardly hide it behind your back before she notices it.

“You know how they are. Sorry about that.” She says, and you wave it off quickly. “Oh please, it’s a welcome distraction to the amount of research I have to do.” That pulls a laugh from Nami as she, unfortunately, rounds the table and leans her arms against the table’s front while you inadvertently tense and thin your lips into a line as you wait for the inevitable realization.

“I guess, you must have been busy, frankly you look flushed from all that thinking-” She continues, absentmindedly looking down, only to realize the stark blankness of the entire notebook before you. Nami tilts her head. “Huh.” She says, before looking up at you and squinting.

“Nami.”

“Uhuh. Right. Red in the face from all that ‘research’, I’m sure.” You bury your head in your hands as she purses her lips almost comedically before continuing.

She reaches out a finger to jokingly poke at your temple.

“I don’t think it’s the research that’s got you worked up.” You immediately sigh deeply.

Nami laughs, pushing herself off of the table and sauntering back to the door. “Well, the apology still stands for the interruption,”

You choke.

“I’ll leave now so you can get back to whatever it was you were doing!”

“Nami, I swear.”

She turns back as she reaches for the door and winks exaggeratedly. “Don’t worry, I’ll lock the door and tell the rest you’re indisposed for the rest of today until dinner.”

“Nami!” A laugh accompanies the door locking shut, enveloping the room in silence.

Well now this just won’t do, you think to yourself in the silence, and reluctantly get to work on the research you were supposedly working oh so hard on before the interruption, all while fading images of a certain marimo danced around your mind.

The knowing look that Nami has slyly been throwing you all week has, frankly, thrown you off your game. At this point the frustration has reached an all time high and the daydreaming is simply not cutting it. It hasn’t cut anything for days now. In fact, it’s making it worse.

The more frustrated you felt, the more you had to resort to touching yourself. But the images that accompanied it were becoming a problem. They stopped being faceless, unknown and vague bodies, disposable after every night, and instead slowly morphed into the familiar body of one green-haired swordsman. And you were around him so much that every scene started to feel agonizingly real.

Close proximity really was a curse. Familiar hands sliding down your jaw to pull you in for a kiss, strong thighs supporting your weight in his lap, groans replicated from listening to him work out in the mornings- and so, though you didn’t intend for it to happen, the distance between the you and the rest of the crew started to make itself known.

You started being the first in and first out for all of breakfast, lunch and dinner, surprising Sanji who usually knew you to arrive with Nami, with both of you lingering in the kitchen until it was time for clean up and dishwashing.

He used to take his time letting the both of you taste test each iteration of his dishes, letting you savor the meal, and in turn listening attentively at the end of it for your feedback. But it stopped coming.

Now, you’d come in alone, take your bowl quietly with a nod, sit down to eat, and leave as soon as the last dregs of the dish were scraped up by your spoon before the rest of the crew could even enjoy their meals. Safe to say he wasn’t the only one who noticed this change.

The first time it happened, you left midway through Samji asking what you thought of the seafood pasta he’d made that day. He called out after you but had to stop after Luffy started stealing Chopper’s cherry tomatoes while he wasn’t looking. After that, he noticed you’d only ever leave if you heard the others closing in on the kitchen, attracted by the smell of food. He thought it was a problem of feeling overwhelmed.

Maybe a smaller group would be better.

He tried lunch with just him and Nami, the way the three of you used to do it on test kitchen days. You didn’t get up, and lingered at the table long enough for a round of dessert. Okay, he thought, pleased with himself.

He tried just getting Chopper and Usopp to come in for lunch, timing breakfast specifically when the others were racing around the beach on the new island they were docked at, bribing the two of them, and you, with the promise of serving the first batch of meat before the others. You didn’t get up, stifling laughter even at Usopp’s long winded stories. Sanji thought he’d solved the problem, and relaxed.

Then one day, on a late night on the Sunny, with the remnants of the sun settling across the sky and framing the picture perfect horizon, it was just you, him and Zoro on the ship. With the rest of the crew out on the island doing god knows what, he decided to close out the night with a round of drinks for the three of you, one night only.

It was just you and him in the kitchen as he made a set of sunset colored drinks with matching parasol toothpicks, and you giggled at the bartending party tricks he’d pull despite his mere audience of one.

He sighed as he set the mixers down on the table, smiling at you softly.

“You know, I was afraid you’d started to hate us.”

The directness of the statement wiped the smile off of your face.

“What do you mean?”

Sanji began to wipe down the table with a spare rag, and as you tracked his movements you realized there was no spill, and that he just needed to keep his hands occupied to soften the blow.

He cleared his throat.

“I’m just saying what I see.”

You opened your mouth to reply, before another voice cut in.

“You don’t join us for family meals anymore.”

You froze, and turned around slowly to see Zoro standing in the doorway.

The ice in each of your cocktail glasses was beginning to melt.

“That’s not because I hate any of you-“

“Then what is it? If you have a problem with the crew, tell me,” Zoro says gruffly, “but you have to stop moping around and ignoring everyone like it’s gonna solve anything.”

Sanji cut in before it could get any more tense. He reached a hand out as if to tell him to stand down.

“Zoro, I think I’ve figured it out, it’s okay.”

At this, you turn to Sanji, equally confused and, if he had looked closer at your face, almost scared. You could feel your stomach drop into the abyss.

“..What do you mean you’ve figured it out.”

There was no way this was how you were going to go down. Oh god, now you’re the pervert for fantasizing about one of your own crew. Not at all in the simpering way that Sanji does but instead in a deep, dark, carnal, disgusting way- which makes it even worse.

“I mean, you just don’t like the noise and the mess of all of us eating together, don’t you? When it was just Nami and I, you were fine-”

What?

Sanji continues, rushing as if to get the thought out before it escapes him “..and when it was just Chopper and Usopp, you were fine too, so-”

Sanji slows down as he sees you shake your head profusely.

“No-, no, I love the noise and I love being around you all-” You say it deliberately, gaze flicking between them to emphasize your point, but Zoro tilts his head right as you glance at him and you immediately rip your gaze off of him as if you’ve been burned, stuttering over your next thought.

And Sanji, ever observant and trying to track whether this argument was going to explode or not, is watching closely when this interaction in particular piques his interest, and stalls all intentions of mediating any of this.

Your gaze stops landing on Zoro at all as you continue your defense. The sunset colors of the drink in each of your glasses begin to mix as the conversation grows longer.

“and I’m sorry if it ever came off that I hated you, I’m just going through something and I-”

Sanji furrows his brow and decides to nip this spiel in the bud.

“Did you two fuck or something?” He points between you and Zoro inquisitively, leaning forward on the kitchen island as if to zero in on your reactions.

In the silence that follows, the ice in your neglected drinks choose to clink as if to say, we’re still here, you know!

The silence is broken by a simultaneous “What? No!” from both offended parties at once.

You wince as you realize how the response worsened the situation instead of helping it. Sanji raises an eyebrow. Zoro rolls his eyes and you can’t do much else except stand there and receive your judgement for a crime you didn’t commit.

“Forgive me for saying what I see, but come on. One day out of nowhere, you,”

He emphasizes by jabbing a finger in your direction.

“Start acting weird and moping around, missing out on family meals and only eating with a select few people-”

You open your mouth to try and defend yourself but are completely steamrolled over.

“Let me finish!” Sanji huffs.

“Eating with a select few people that does not include Zoro- You can’t even look him in the eyes right now, and on top of everything you say you’re ‘going through something’?” Sanji pauses to let the words sink in, and Zoro looks entirely unamused.

“Wow, cook. Knew you were a pervert, but not to the extent of lying just to create some entertainment for your nonexistent sex life.” He spits out, before turning on his heel and walking out of the kitchen.

The 5 seconds that follow feel suspiciously like several hours.

“Oh god.” You say finally, feeling like collapsing to the floor, but instead dragging yourself to the kitchen island and seating yourself at the bar, your hands closing around your face anxiously.

“I need a fucking drink.” You mumble as you feel for the now-condensated set of drinks, and Sanji wordlessly moves the one with a blue parasol into your hands. You splay your hand just enough to see through the gaps between your fingers and whisper a thank you under your breath, before raising your head just enough to sip at the cocktail.

Sanji, in turn, takes his, the one with a pink parasol, and nearly downs the entire thing in one go.

“So clearly I was wrong.”

You glare at him, and he sighs as if to agree that he deserved it, before rounding the bar and plopping himself down next to you.

Sanji takes a moment, crossing his arms and leaning into the table.

“So what was it then?”

You sigh.

“You’re fine with me, with Nami no less, and-”

“It’s not. About the others.” You weigh whether this is worth telling him now or tomorrow when it’s less tense, and decide otherwise.

You pause to stare at your cocktail glass before taking it, ‘cheers’ing in Sanji’s direction, and downing it nearly as fast as he did.

He looks thoroughly alarmed as you do it and opens his mouth, probably to retort something stupid, and you wave it off and motion for him to wait.

“You were almost there.” At this, Sanji’s eyes almost boggle out of his head, and he decides to sit up to fully take it in.

“No, what, that marimo idiot was just faking?”

“No, that’s not-. Okay I just….”

Sanji squints. “You just what.”

You just decide to get it over with. You try to close your eyes, but the world spins behind them as you do so, cursed drink, so instead of fighting it you take it as a sign to just face Sanji head on.

“I want Zoro.”

“Uhuh.” Sanji says inquisitively.

“In a way that is not appropriate for me to think about my nakama- any nakama.” You continue, still facing Sanji but unable to take the steady weight of his eye all at once. He stays silent and lets you continue regardless.

“And I know it’s selfish and greedy of me to want him that way.” At this you have to turn to stare into your empty glass instead, tracing senseless patterns into the condensation with your index to try and inch away from the embarrassment and shame curling through your gut at this admission.

You’re done, but Sanji still waits as if he was expecting something worse, so you decide to tack on, “And saying it probably won’t change anything, so I’ll always be grateful for what I can get.” Just because.

The silence in the kitchen is deafening, and for a moment all you can hear and feel is the steady rock of the ship against the waves.

You cut through the tension the only way you know how.

“Don’t say something stupid or sappy or I’ll kick you out of this kitchen myself.”

Sanji scoffs, caught off guard by the sudden bluntness of your statement.

For a second you could swear he was about to say, ‘I wasn’t going to,’ but evidently he was, and he swallows his statement completely.

“Sanji- I don’t need your pity, you can relax.” He starts to shake his head, but you continue.

“I’m sorry it had to get to this point where the both of you- god knows who else- was convinced that I hated all of you.”

He waves you off.

“It’s not- pity. I was just going to say. You’re as important to all of us as we are to you. I care about you, we care about you, you care about us-” This time you start shaking your head, but Sanji cuts in.

“No, listen. Something as simple as asking for a sexual favor isn’t going to cause a rupture in time and space for us. Please.” He almost laughs. “Give us some credit.”

You’d laugh if you didn’t feel so uprooted.

“And it wouldn’t be the first time. Relax.”

You nearly get whiplash trying to process this statement, so simple and yet so telling of the kind of relationship this crew has with one another. One of absolute trust and understanding.

You meet Sanji’s eyes and he gives you a small nod of encouragement, pushing himself off of the seat and slinking off into the background to clean up the remaining glasses, before his eye catches on the one with the green parasol meant for Zoro.

He hums just out of your view, but you can sense what he’s looking at.

“You wanna take this up to him in the crow’s nest or down it for some extra liquid courage?”

“..I think I’ll take it up.”

Sanji remakes the last sunset cocktail as a silent apology and you know it, but refuse to further embarrass him by pointing it out. You try to distract yourself on the way up to the crow’s nest to suppress the sickly feeling of not knowing where this next conversation could take you. Your insides were twisting uncomfortably as you climbed up, the only thing grounding you to this world being the ice cold feel of the cocktail in your hands, and the certainty of Sanji’s words that guided you here in the first place. A question won’t hurt.

You’re not sure whether to knock or not but from your spot outside you see Zoro leaning back against the wall, clearly annoyed. You decided not to knock, pushing into the room silently and standing at the door, drink in hand.

“If the cook sent you to apologize for him you can tell him to fuck right off.” He says gruffly, guard still up after Sanji’s outburst.

“I wanted to say sorry.”

Zoro levels you a look before he sits down on the floor, carefully extricating his swords before setting them aside. At first you think he’s going to ignore you, but then he motions for you to sit in front of him, and you settle in your place for a moment before placing the cocktail before him.

Zoro looks to the side and cracks a smile, having clearly noticed the care that Sanji had put to remake the whole thing. “I’m holding this over him for the next week if you aren’t going to already.” You give a slight smile in response, the tension easing but not going away entirely, before glancing upwards to see him already looking into your eyes, a silent prompt that he hasn’t forgotten what this conversation was supposed to be about.

“First of all I am sorry for how I’ve been coming off lately. It’s not anyone else's fault but my own. I want to make that clear.” Zoro keeps his level gaze.

Unlike Sanji, he wants you to get it all out and refuses to react until the very end, which makes things worse, because in this moment all you can see is how beautiful he is when he’s focused like this, earrings twinkling in the moonlight up in the crow’s nest.

“But I just can’t- It’s hard to say.”

Zoro clicks his tongue, and it forces your attention upwards.

“They’re just words. No matter what it is, we’ll help you, we’ll fix it, but you have to tell us- first and foremost, tell me, what’s wrong.”

He looks into your eyes intently, trying to read between what you’re saying and what you’re hiding.

You want to tell him, but it’s precisely because it is him that makes it so difficult.

But at the end of the day, they are just words.

And once you acknowledge them as just words, they start tumbling out.

“Sometimes I want you more than just in a friends way.”

A pause, and you can tell Zoro wasn’t really expecting this to be the subject matter of the night. He shifts in his seat.

“I don’t mean that I’m in love with you, just to make that clear. I just mean that sometimes-” You’re not sure if Zoro’s amused at your balking or what, but it makes you want to wipe that stupid face off of his face. Whatever that means.

“Sometimes you want the benefits.” He picks up right where you leave off, surprisingly calm, and you nod slowly.

Now Zoro looks entirely amused, and soon begins to stifle what seems to be laughter?

“You were moping around and not joining us for meals because you had thoughts about fucking me?”

Oh my god.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Don’t get a big head now, you idiot.” You say, embarrassed, as if you had any control over the ridiculous situation you just found yourself in.

Once Zoro came down from his giggling, which was a stark difference to his usual demeanor, his face settled into a more relaxed, but still, intentional gaze.

“Of course not.” He says, and something in your posture relaxes.

“You think I’d joke about this around the others? It’s just between us.”

He pauses, shifting in his seat.

“But just tell me what you need, when you do.”

The implication of it sends sparks up your spine, but in a way that still feels safe.

This is safe. It’s okay. You aren’t a monster for wanting more. So you take it as an invitation and let his statement sit for a moment.

“What if,” You swallow.

“I need something right now?”

Zoro raises an eyebrow, and opens his mouth to say something smug before you interrupt him.

“I don’t mean all the way- right now, of course not. I just need..“

You’re trying to choose the words that are about to come out of your mouth very carefully, but Zoro beats you to it.

“You need to feel something?”

You purse your lips. “More or less.” Zoro nods.

The next thing that comes out of his mouth almost knocks you over from the force.

“How do you want me?”

And it’s such a simple question.

He’s managed to turn this entire situation into something so simple, a need you have that he perfectly understands. It’s not selfish at all. He has what you need, and for tonight a warm body is enough.

“I want to- fuck, I can’t. I can’t even say it.” You almost crumple in on yourself as you try to make things less awkward. Zoro laughs.

“Again, they’re just words. Relax.” He pauses, before continuing.

“You have me.”

Your stomach lurches. You press the heels of your palms to your eyes as you prepare yourself to say it out loud.

“I can’t stop thinking about being in your lap.”

You know you shouldn’t be able to sense it, but you can feel the smile on Zoro’s face even when you can’t see it. You refuse to acknowledge it. Opening your eyes would make everything real.

“And what do you think about doing when you’re in my lap?”

You squirm, almost turning away entirely. He’s so near but he’s so far away. You just want to get rid of this burning heat. So you open your eyes and slowly take your hands off of your face, knuckling against the hard floorboards of the crow’s nest instead as you think of what to say next.

“Aw. Are we embarrassed? So eager to sit in my lap but can’t handle a little dirty talk?”

“Fuck off.” You spit.

Zoro laughs. “Don’t fight it. I won’t tease anymore. But you’ll have to show me what you want.” He leans back and taps his thigh expectantly, and you feel your heart drop off into the abyss.

You get up tentatively, your face entirely flushed despite the cool summer night, and crawl across the space between you before settling down carefully into Zoro’s waiting lap. The feel of corded muscles flexing underneath you made your breath hitch. His hands come to settle at your waist before noticing your own uncertain hands unsure of where to land.

“Come on, even in those fantasies of yours you haven’t thought this part through? Sit how you would in those dreams. Don’t be shy.”

Your throat was dry as you swallowed, before you slowly moved your arms around his neck, settling you further against him until you could feel his entire warmth enveloping your body. You tried to readjust, accidentally brushing the hard outline of his cock through his pants, and Zoro let out an appreciative groan.

“And now?”

You were too embarrassed to reply, avoiding his eyes.

He hummed as if deep in thought, fingers tapping against your side as if he had all the time in the world, ignoring the tremble of your body.

“I’m not so certain we stayed like this in your dreams, unless we did.” He tilted his head. “But I severely doubt it..”

You knew he was just coaxing it out of you, you could feel the smirk in his voice, and just as he wanted, you snapped.

You hissed. “Fucking fine.” Your hips began to move in slow circles, breath catching as you ground against his erection.

“I grind just like this and you-.”

“And I do what, sweetheart?”

You looked him in the eye, swallowing dryly.

“You force my hips to move faster and we both cum just from this.” You refused to let any other emotion show, but you were certain you were going to die in the crow’s nest after tonight, flushing red all over in your own nakama’s lap.

Zoro smiled, obeying and grabbing at your waist to grind down harder, causing you to yelp in surprise.

He huffed. “Like this? Am I doing it right?”

You moaned, thighs locking around his waist to feel the friction more intensely, not even bothering to reply.

“I am, aren’t I?” Zoro laughed. After days of waiting and even longer nights fantasizing about this exact situation, nothing could compare to the real thing. Was the crow’s nest always this hot?

Zoro continued teasing. “Look at you writhing like this just for me.”

You panted, ducking down to stare obscenely at where your bodies connected, until Zoro grabbed your jaw, forcing you to face him directly, the harshness making you whimper, combined with the delicious grind of his hips against yours.

“Say yes for me, please.” He pouted, uncharacteristic, before gripping your face harder.

“Or else I won’t let you cum.” The taunt sent a shiver up your spine.

You kept shaking your head, refusing to answer out loud despite the debauched picture the both of you painted, fully clothed but panting loudly against the quiet of the room.

Zoro continued. “That’s okay, you overwhelmed? Feels too good?” You couldn’t do anything else but nod in reply, constrained in his hold, back arching slightly to meet his clothed dick, slick from pre cum and your wetness.

Zoro chuckled as he felt you adjust, releasing your jaw to grip both hands on your waist. “Aw, you want me to go faster?” You moaned low in your throat, throwing your head back and exposing the line of your throat to him.

“I bet you do, you want it messy-“ His words broke on a groan as you dragged against his cock just right. “You hear yourself moaning like that in my lap? I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Tears were welling up in your eyes from the embarrassment and the pleasure all at once, making you bury your head into his neck, overwhelmed.

The grip on your waist tightened as he laughed.

“This won’t do. Can’t see your face.” You raised your head, momentarily confused, before you were flipped onto your back, making you yelp as you met the harsh bite of the cold floor.

Zoro held your legs open, settling between your thighs again to grind down on your clothed pussy, the angle choking off your yelp into a long moan before your hands flew to your mouth, covering the sound.

In the next second he ripped your hands free, grinding particularly hard to get his point across. “Stop fighting it, c’mon. For me.” He panted into your ear. “You asked me for this, right? Stop thinking. Give it to me.”

You whine, embarrassed, hearing the squelch of your clothed bodies against each other as Zoro fucks into you in earnest, your hands scrabbling for purchase against his back as he keeps talking. You feel your high coming and fast.

“You’ve dreamt of this, you’ve been telling me about how much you want me- right?” Your eyes roll back into your head, nodding helplessly as the coil inside you grows tighter and tighter. You can feel Zoro’s pace beginning to grow erratic above you.

“Give it to me.” He groans, and you can’t do anything else but obey. Your vision whites out as your lips part on a wordless moan, hips spasming against Zoro’s body.

He moans through your release, feeling it soak through your pants as he moves his hips slowly through wet heat, making you hiss in response. The sight of Zoro panting above you is immaculate, rivulets of sweat dripping down his face and throat.

He stares transfixed between your bodies, and after a few shallow thrusts into you, Zoro follows your release, dampening your clothes even further before he readjusts to meet your eyes.

His expression settles.

“Happy now?” He asks, and you can’t even nod properly before he pushes off of you, the movement making you groan in overstimulation, leaving you vulnerable and exposed on the floor of the crow’s nest as he reaches for the neglected drink to take a sip.

“Next time, just ask.”

[pennedbyagemini]

⤷ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Ocean Breeze

pairings - roronoa zoro x fem!reader

a/n - fuck i love zoro sm

content includes - modern au. nudism/nudist beach. breeding kink. unprotected sex. various sex positions. swearing. lots of cumming. lots of sex bc yk im ovulating ;-; with fluff sprinkled about.

word count - 2.4k

“Is the AC unit still not working?!” you shouted from your corner-of-the-room cubicle to your co-worker at the opposite end of the room, dramatically wiping sweat from your forehead.

“Yeah…How’s it going on your end, anyway?” Your co-worker kept busy, not looking at you even during their response. Your sigh served as its own answer, looking down at your in-progress translation for whatever number manhwa panel you were on. 

“You should visit the new nudist beach. You get to cool off in the pretty water and be an absolute perv—two of your favorite things.” Your co-worker responded monotonously, but you could easily sense their jest. You flipped them off, aware they weren’t looking, humorously hoping they at least felt the middle finger to some capacity. 

But it honestly didn’t sound like such a bad idea now that you thought about it. You were working on the English translations for a steamy josei and had to translate the smutty chapters for today. You’d be lying if you weren’t a bit turned on…which didn’t help that it was actually hot. So, a nudist beach sounds like a delight. 

After the workday finished, you hurried home, got changed into a bikini, and headed to the beach.

It was surprisingly hard to find. 

There was only one road covered with heavy greenery. A small sign simply marked the entrance with “Au Naturel Bay” in a nice white cursive, with “nudist beach” in a smaller sans serif font and parenthesis, with a few low hanging vines slightly obscuring the sign. You chuckled to yourself at the name of the bay and parked as close as possible, heading to the entrance. 

Your feet felt sand as you went through the tunnel of trees; at the end of the tunnel, the bright sun and sparkling water quickly met your eyes, almost blinding you. 

You turn left and right, trying to scope out your surroundings, taken aback by the great expanse of the bay before you. After gathering your bearings, you set off to a more barren area, which was very far from the opening…quickly noticing why people set up close to the way out. 

You pass a few jovial people who wave hello and greet you with carefree smiles. There was a small instinct to tug at your towel and bikini. Ironically, you felt out of place. To quell that feeling, you physically shake your head to clear it, building up the same carefree mindset as ‌everyone else as you walked farther out and set up camp there.

As the last few finishing touches, you pitched ‌a small pop-up tent at the edge of the dense shrubbery and for what felt like several hours—struggled to put up the wind screen.

A faint voice cut through your cursing.

“H-hey. E-excuse me!” Your ears finally register the familiar rough voice calling for your attention. You whip your head around to meet the voice. Your green-haired, bare-assed (and absolutely hung) ex in front of you takes you aback. You quickly fix your eyes to meet his.

“You need help?” He asks with a hand on his hip.

“Uhh…yeah! That’d be great, thank you.” Two parts of your mind were at war with each other; there was one part of you that didn’t mind this interaction and found it to be normal, but there was another part of you that mentally slapped yourself for not sending him on his way.

Sure—the breakup with Zoro wasn’t terrible. Its end was as amicable as it could be, even though‌ both of you didn’t want the relationship to end; opposing life circumstances proved to be a strong rift that “couple goals” couldn’t fix.

And here you are, face-to-face with your ex and a flurry of feelings seeing him again after a long time to accompany you.

Zoro coached you through setting up the wind screens with his gentle and calm demeanor, casually throwing in a couple jokes here and there. Your heart recognized this fluttering feeling; something reminiscent of a happier time. So naturally, when you and Zoro finished up…you knew it’d feel a bit painful to send him off…again. 

So…you chose not to. Because—fuck it, why not?!

“Hey, Zo. I brought some sashimi, sushi, and drinks…if you wanna hang out for a bit?” You say the last bit rather meekly; trailing off. 

Zoro adorns a small smirk and gives you a solid, singular nod before sitting down next to your chair on the blanket you had laid down.

You bring out the food and drinks, talking about anything and everything. Even “cheers-ing” every time you two crack open a new beer. 

“I’m surprised you're at a nudist beach.” You take a long sip of your beer, eyes not leaving Zoro’s.

“I’m not surprised you’re here,” he says with a chuckle as you roll your eyes.

“I just wanted to try something new, I guess. I overheard Sanji mention it to Robin and Nami…and I thought it’d be an experience of some sort. Luckily, it's been a good one.” Zoro raised and tipped his can to you, and you clinked it with his, with both of you taking a sip afterwards. 

The day went on like that for a couple more hours before the heat started getting to you. 

You reached for your hair clip and put up your hair. But even that wasn’t staving off the heat.

“I think I’m gonna jump in the water now. It's too fuckin’ hot.” You get up and motion Zoro to follow. He obeys, and you both dive into the water with a vast space between you and any other people. You joke to Zoro how it’s nice not to have the smell and feel of sunscreen attack you; calling back to a previous summer beach trip that resulted in washing your face forever to get off the forty-odd people’s sunscreen off you both. 

Then, silence fell between you both as a cruise ship caught your eye in the far distance. 

“So, how is life on the cruise ship,” you say stoically. Zoro noticeably shifts uncomfortably.

“I quit,” he stated plainly. Your head whipped to him again with your mouth agape. 

“It was nice to have friendships on the ship, but I missed having someone to sleep next to.” Zoro stared at the ship with a mix of pain and longing in his eyes.

“You had my number. Why didn’t you text me? You knew I didn’t wanna let you go either.” You wade closer to Zoro, bodies only inches apart.

“I felt scared and, not to mention—busy. I’m an armorer now, so that takes up a lot of my time…but at least I’m home now.” Zoro turns to you and meets your eyes with a soft face and a heartfelt smile. And there was that sweet twinkle in his eye that he only got when he looked at you full of love. You could never get tired of that look. 

Zoro places a hand at the small of your back and pulls you in. Your heart skips a beat as your lips collide with his, immediately feeling yourself melt into his touch. The kiss deepens as your tongues dance with each other. 

Your hum interrupts that kiss as you break apart for a second to confess, “I’m so fucking turned on right now. I just need-” Zoro cuts you off with another deep kiss before pulling apart again and taking your hand, guiding you out of the water and back to the pop-up tent.

“Can I?” Zoro’s index fingers tugged at your bikini top and bottom. “Oh god yes,” you say breathlessly. Zoro wastes no time and strips you naked, taking a nipple into his mouth—sucking, tugging, and licking with ‌insatiable hunger. 

You grab his right hand and insert his middle and ring in your mouth, swirling and coating his fingers. He instantly knows what to do and places his coated fingers on your clit, giving it a little teasing rub before sliding to your entrance and dipping his fingers in not even halfway.

“Stop teasing me, asshole. We both need this.” You take your index and poke his forehead, internally cursing yourself because his head actually pulled back from your poke, essentially pulling your nipple with it.

“Agh~ Fuck, that was stupid of me.” You laugh. Zoro hums around your breast and continues teasing your clit until he gives in to you and inserts both fingers deep inside your pussy. Zoro moans around your breast at how tight you are. You couldn’t help but moan too at his thick fingers fingering you at an unbelievable pace..

“Z~ Gimmie your cock, please~” You push him off your breast for easier access to him as you wrap your hand around his aching cock, pumping it tantalizingly.

“Anything for you.” He carefully removes his fingers out of you and places them into your mouth. He bites his lip as he feels your tongue seductively lick and suck your essence off his digits. His cock twitched in response, excited to be in place of his fingers soon. 

“H-how do ya wanna do this?” You ask, a little shy. Zoro’s the last man you’ve been with, and it's been years since you last had him, so sex became unfamiliar territory yet again. 

“You still stretch every morning, yeah?” You blink continuously with no clue as to where this was going but nod ‘yes’ regardless.

Zoro gently lays you down on your back, grabbing one of your legs and holds it to his chest as he straddles your other thigh, lining himself up. You get more comfortable by propping yourself up with one arm, holding your head in your hand, watching as Zoro's length slowly disappears into you.

“Fuck, you’re still big as hell.” You laugh breathlessly. 

“Hah~ And you’re still squeezing the hell out of me.” He bucks his hips in response. 

“Mmpfh~ Fuck, Zo. Keep going!” You beg. Zoro lets out a cocky ‘yeah?’ and grabs a tighter hold of your leg, pounding his dick in and out of you mercilessly. 

After several seconds, Zoro realized he had to pace himself. Taking his time to kiss and bite up and down your secured leg whilst slowly thrusting from tip to hilt—really letting you feel every inch of him intimately. 

“God, I’ve missed you.” You say and practically collapse from bliss, upper body just sprawling out, letting Zoro do as he pleases..

“Angel, I’ve missed you more.” Zoro lets your leg go and drops down to you, giving you a quick kiss before having you wrap your arms around his neck, resting them on his shoulders, as he bears down on his forearms.

You nuzzle your noses together, sharing quick kisses every second, before Zoro picks up the pace and fucks deep into you—not even taking himself out halfway before slamming his hips into yours. 

The feeling changed as both of you sensed your climaxes coming. The knots in your stomachs came undone and burst into an intense and addicting sensation.

“Fffuck~ Gotta p-pull out-” Zoro tried to pull back, but you swiftly wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him to his hilt. He was surprised by you, but absolutely relished in the feeling of cumming deep inside you.

“This is even better~” Zoro put his forehead on yours, looking into your eyes as he came down his high. Rocking his hips as he panted, never wanting his climax to end. 

You nip at his bottom lip before giving him a deep kiss. 

“...Uhm, Z?” you whisper reluctantly. 

“Yes, doll?” He kisses from your cheekbone to your collarbone.

“I’m still horny.” You whine out. Zoro just laughed before tapping your thigh, signaling for you to get up. You follow along and eventually end up on your hands and knees, facing the water.

“Why am I like this now? Not that I’m complaining cos this view is stunning-” Zoro slapped your ass lightly, having you jolt and quiet down.

“Cos I’m gonna have you ride my face with that beautiful, wet pussy.” Zoro laid down, looking up at his stunning view and watched as you lowered yourself onto his mouth. You moaned out as soon as his tongue made contact with your clit. Zoro hummed in response, gripping your ass with both his hands, steading you and simultaneously filling his need to feel you. 

You pushed yourself up from doggy position and gripped onto Zoro’s green locks, grinding your hips back and forth as you feel him suck and prod passionately. 

“Just like that-just like that. So fucking good-” you cry out before pausing as a couple passes by, stopping you in your tracks.

Zoro doesn’t let up despite you letting him know. All he mumbles out is, “Who cares” and “Enjoy yourself.” With little thought due to a completely fucked out brain, you agree with him and continue to ride his face.

Zoro’s cock ached tending to you. He took hold of his length and jerked himself off to relieve some tension. You turned, feeling the shift in his body, and saw him pumping his big length which sent shockwaves of arousal through you. You couldn’t help but shout out and grind even more as you came undone.

“Fuck, just pound me out already. I can’t take anymore!” You go back to doggy position and arch your back. Your mind became preoccupied again as your eyes were still laser focused on the couple yards away and also still trying to catch your breath.

“I’m assuming inside again?” Zoro questions, snapping your attention back to him. You ‘mhmm’ with a smile on your face and wiggle your ass. Zoro slaps your ass harder this time and you behave (for now).

“Let them know my name, yeah?” Zoro jests. You scoff and shortly later—gasp sharply as Zoro just slams himself into you to his hilt. You instantly feel arousing bliss, practically in peace almost.

“Fuck, Zo! ‘S fucking good.” You shout and feel his cock twitch in response. He was actually surprised you did that, but fell even more in love afterward. 

“God that’s a fucking turn on. Holy shit~” Zoro’s head lulled back as you took over, fucking back onto his cock, not wanting to break momentum. 

“Fuckkk, I’m gonna cum already!~” Zoro ghosted his hand on your back as a pseudo-stabilizer as he came deep inside your pussy. 

Rocking his hips slowly and pulling out lazily before collapsing beside you onto his back, you follow suit and intertwine hands, sharing a breathless giggle—just being happy to be in each other's presence. 

[w1tch0fmoonstone]

𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐝, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠…

⎈ 𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 1224. ⎈ 𝐹𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠: 𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈 𝗑 𝖥! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾, 𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋´𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝗈𝗇 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 ♡

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗂𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝗈; 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁.

𝖲𝗎𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗎𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉.

𝖮𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾; 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽: 𝖫𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗒, 𝖱𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇, 𝖭𝖺𝗆𝗂 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝖢𝗁𝗈𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆.

𝖥𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈'𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽; 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾'𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍.

𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌. 𝖨𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗀𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾'𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗀𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆.

𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝖾𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍-𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗒𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗆 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗀𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄, 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉𝗌, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆; 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀: "𝖧𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗐? 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍!".

𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌.

𝖧𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁: "𝖣𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈, 𝗐𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇. 𝖨 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖽!"

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆; 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗀𝗎𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀. “𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖽! 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗐. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗋…”

𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝖽𝗆𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗇…

"𝖶𝗁𝗈 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗎𝗁? 𝖨'𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎. 𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝖨'𝗆 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇!". 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗒𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗂𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗌. "𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍? 𝖶𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒!" 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖺𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗏𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾.

𝖭𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗅...

“𝖲𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗒𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖨’𝗅𝗅 𝖽𝗈 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍!” 𝖧𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍. “𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗅𝖾! 𝖸𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺-…”

𝖨𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗎𝗉𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝖺 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗍 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗁 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗆𝖻𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝗇𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒.

𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾.

𝖨𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎; 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈 𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈, 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋.

𝖧𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖽𝗎𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌.

𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗀𝗅𝗎𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗇𝗎𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍.

𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈'𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌. 𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀; 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗒.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝖿𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆; 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗌𝗍, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗐𝗅 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾.

𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝖧𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒. 𝖧𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗈 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾.

𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁…

“𝖮𝗂 𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈, 𝗒/𝗇! 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾’𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈?” 𝖫𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗒’𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗒.

𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆, 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝗈𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌.

“𝖧𝖾𝗒, 𝖫𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗒!” 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖫𝗎𝖿𝖿𝗒’𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. “𝖲𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍, 𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇.” 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖭𝖺𝗆𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗋𝗒 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖱𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗁𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽. 

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖹𝗈𝗋𝗈'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝖿𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌, 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍… 𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗏 𝖮𝖯 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗌𝗆! 𝖧𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍!! <3 <3

[patroclusdefencesquad]

boss makes a dollar i make a dime that’s why i read old man smut on company time

[pr3ydriv3]

nsfw sideblogs r so funny. my friend we can't talk here it isn't safe.. we have to go to sex world together

[livingdead-system-deactivated20]

Why would you hide this in the comments