MDNI. Top Amab Reader X Bottom Knig [manhandling, Unprotected Sex, Mating Press, Creampie, German]

MDNI. top amab reader x bottom könig [manhandling, unprotected sex, mating press, creampie, german]

I want him to snap my neck between his thighs. Thanks.

You can hear your security deposit saying it’s final farewell with the crack your front door makes as the wood of the jamb splinters. Though, as König presses himself into you, your (likely) damaged doorframe is the last thing on your mind. Your duffle slips from your grasp and your hands fly to his hips to stabilize him against you.

“He—” His mouth finds yours before you can even greet him. Time is a valuable resource when you spend most of it apart on deployment, and you waste none of it, eagerly kissing him back.

It’s desperate and sloppy, your tongues tracing over each other’s lips and teeth clacking together. You can taste the sweat on his upper lip and the bitter remnants of his eyeblack tracing down his face. Your hand blindly reaches for the lock and the second you hear the deadbolt click your fingers are slipping behind him and under the band of his pants.

One of your hands grabs at his ass, dragging him forward to grind your hardening cocks together. The other trails down between his cheeks, drawing a line down to his hole that has his spine tingling. Before long, you’re knuckles deep in him, spreading him open on your fingers. He moans into your mouth, hands clutching the fabric of your shirt as you skillfully zone in on his prostate.

You keep your bodies pressed together as you haphazardly make your way to the bedroom. Every step is utilized; curling your fingers inside him, pulling his pants down just a little further, pushing your aching hard-on into his hip. Eventually the heels of König’s boots hit the foot of your bed. The sheets are forfeit and you readily ignore the reality of the number of liquids and black boot prints that will find their way onto the pristine fabric.

Squatting down, you hook your hands under his thighs, effortlessly lifting his hefty frame up and over onto his back. He sinks into the mattress with a soft grunt. From this angle he looks so pliable, shirt riding up and legs up in the air, his dick lying heavy and useless against his stomach. You love seeing him like this. He towers above everybody he meets, including you, but he’s absolute putty in your hands.

Your eyes catch sight of his own mostly unpacked bag sitting in the corner of your room, clothes streaming out in the direction of the door presumably from when he heard you arrive. A small smile creeps up on your face.

You plant one knee on the bed, looming over him. Your hands slot themselves in the pits of his knees, pressing them up towards his shoulders, and you lean down to coo at him. “Were you waiting for me?”

He nods breathlessly in response, nose brushing against yours. You feel his hand slip between you to cup the erection currently fighting to get out of your pants. His fingers quickly find their way to your belt, hooking under the leather strap and undoing your buckle in record time. It’s not shocking when he nearly rips the button of your pants from its threads to get your zipper down.

His hand grabs at the band of your boxers and yanks them down enough for your cock to spring out. A breathy “scheiße” passes König’s lips as your dick slaps against the cleft of his ass. You can feel his hole twitch against the underside. It’s hot and soft, and every quiver has your cock leaking.

Your teeth catch your lip when you feel his fingers wrap around your length and give a gentle tug. It takes no convincing, you follow his touch eagerly as he guides you. You fall forward, planting your hands on either side of his shoulders. The action closes the distance, pressing your tip up against his rim.

Both of you are breathing way too hard before you’re even started, but the threat of relief after months of not being able to fuck raw until both your bodies are slick with sweat and littered head to toe with love bites has both of you by the throat.

You groan into his neck as you finally start to breach his entrance. König’s legs envelop your waist, strong thighs squeezing your sides as you sink deeper into him. His insides are tight and wet, pulsing around you with every inch. You feel the vibrations of his moans against your lips as you finally bottom out. His voice is low and sweet in your ears.

You adjust your position above him, straightening up to stand over him. One of your hands run from his ass and up his thigh to hook under the back of one of his knees again. “You feel so good, baby.” Your knee digs further into the mattress, your body weight driving your cock to the deepest parts of him until your balls are squished snugly against his crack.

“Fuck,” The air feels like it’s punched out of his lungs. His hands reach to grip at the backs of your thighs, drawing you impossibly closer.

Your fingers dig into the meat of his legs as you pull back out, leaving just the head of your cock inside him. The squelch is nothing short of obscene as you sink back in. Your arms are trembling from the feeling of his tight heat wrapped around you, squeezing you with every inch you slip in. You try to maintain the gentle pace, but as you catch sight of his face, flushed skin streaked with melting eyeblack, hair stuck to his forehead, and glazed over steel blue eyes, you lose your resolve.

The cry he lets out when you slam your entire length back in sends a wave of heat up your neck. His head is thrown back into the mattress, nails scratching at your thighs as you repeat the motion over and over, fucking into him like it’s the last time you’d ever get to. He moans uncontrollably in that raspy indelicate voice, his legs straining to spread further against the pants gathered at his knees.

Your pace is relentless as you pull back against the tight resistance of his hole only to thrust right back in. You groan in the back of your throat as he arches his back off the bed, putting his shoulders into the bed and pressing back against you. All that height and all that muscle and yet he’s still so good at getting fucked. You can’t wait to fill him up.

One of your hands slips down to run your thumb along his bottom lip, “You’re so pretty like this.”

He whines at your words, feeling the tip of your thumb slide across his bottom row of teeth. The skin of König’s ass is blotched with red from your hips. You hardly even notice the sting anymore, too preoccupied with burying your cock inside him over and over.

“Schatz— I can’t, ‘m gonna cum!” His words flood your senses, insides wringing your cock as one of his hands flys to wrap around his own dripping hard on.

You watch his fist franticly work his cock, his hips rolling back against you until he snaps. Thick ropes spurt from his slit, splattering across his heaving abdomen. Heat surges down your stomach to the tip of your dick as his hole constricts around you. All of your body weight goes towards getting as deep as possible inside him, rocking your hips against his until the warmth in your belly finally comes to a peak. Deep resonating moans spill from your lips as your cock throbs inside him, filling him up with weeks worth of yearning.

Your legs finally give out on you, and you topple over onto him. Your hips work gently against his, riding out your high for as long as it will let you. His arms drape across your back as you both bathe in the aftershocks. Your softening cock pops out of him, and your temporarily sated lust preens at the feeling of your cum seeping out of his entrance. You lift your head to look at him, and he meets your eyes with a look that’s equal parts adoring and exhausted. You press a small kiss to his stubbled chin, eyes taking on the gaze that he knows he can’t say no to. It comes as no surprise to him when you ask,

“One more time in the shower?”

too much

toji fushiguro x male reader smut

started watching jjk and i'm almost done with season 2. i added a few characters from the show to my masterlist, so I'll probably be writing for them next.

1.1k words

warning for a little out of characterness, if toji begging the reader to tell them how good he's making them feel is out of character.

“Open your eyes,” he says, his voice low in your ear. 

Your eyes stayed shut tightly, but it wasn’t like Toji could see, as he decided earlier to keep you face down on the bed as he got you ready for his cock.

He chuckles darkly into your ear before speaking again, “doesn’t matter. You can’t hide from this,” he pulls his cock all the way out before it goes right back inside, “from how good this feels,” he says, emphasizing his point by circling his hips against your ass. 

“Toji,” you whine when his hips still, leaving his cock as a long, hot intrusion deep within your body. 

“Hm?” Toji questions as he runs his hands up your back, his fingers dragging through the sheen of sweat that covers your body. “Finally going to give me what I want?” he asks before he drags his nails down the path he just mapped. The sensation edged on the line between pain and pleasure, reminding you of the way his cock felt as you clenched down around it. 

Was your body not enough? He now knew it intimately in ways many others did not, what more could you give him? “What do you want?” You ask after turning your head to lay your cheek onto the bedspread. 

“It’s easy to see how much you want this,” Toji responds before pulling back out again. This time when he goes back in, it’s faster, punching the breath from your lungs as his cock hits your prostate, “I want to hear you say it.”

“Get it over with,” you snapped in response. Though you couldn’t see his face, you could hear how absolutely smug his voice was. “I’m getting bored,” you turned face down back into the bed to hide your smirk. You definitely weren’t bored, if your hard cock was anything to go by, but you didn’t want to give him further satisfaction. 

“Fucking brat,” Toji growls before one of his large hands is wrapped around your neck to pull your body back. Your back meets his muscular chest before he starts thrusting at a brutal pace. “Tell me you want this,” he whispers into your ear. There’s an edge to his tone, one that you didn’t expect to hear. 

He was fucking pleading, no, begging for you to say what he wanted to hear. Stubbornly, you held back from saying the words, after all, it was quite hard to think of the words with how Toji’s cock was nailing your prostate. Instead, you grabbed one of Toji’s hands and brought it to your hard, leaking cock to try and get the point across. If he wanted to, he could even move his fingers lower to feel how tight your balls were, full and ready to shoot your spend from your cock.

“Is this not enough?” You bit out before you moaned. 

“Tell me,” Togi growls. His fingers, aided by the slick of your precum, move down to the base of your cock to wrap tightly around the base, staving off the orgasm that you already felt was building.

You try and fuck your hips forward and thrust your cock into the tight clench of his fingers, but Togi is too strong and fast. His other hand not wrapped around your cock moved to wrap around your stomach to keep you in place. You can’t tell if you’re at his mercy, or if he’s at yours, after all, all you had to do was swallow your pride to get him to keep going. 

You let all of your weight fall back onto Toji. Your head fell back onto one of his broad shoulders, and you grimaced at the stretch to your already bruised neck. “Toji,” your lips dragged along the shell of his ear as you whispered the words out, “please fuck me. I need it.”

Toji turned his head to face yours. In a quiet moment, his lips brushed yours in a whisper of a kiss. His hands moved slowly across your body, with goosebumps popping up behind the movements of his fingers. 

His lips finally met yours when his fingers finally settled on your hips. He was slower than earlier to start up the same pace, taking his time to map out your mouth with his tongue and swallow the moans you let out as his pace started to match the one from earlier. 

“Finally,” you moan against his lips when the kiss breaks.

”Fucking brat,” Toji repeats, nearly sounding fond, even though the next actions don’t show it as he manhandles you back down into the same spot on the bed. 

Toji lays his body down along your back as he fucks down into your hole. The groans and grunts he lets out rumble from his chest down into your own. When the vibration hits your heart, it makes it beat fast as blood courses through your body and pleasure runs through your veins. 

He brings your hips up off the bed, making his cock feel like it’s going deeper inside your body on every thrust inside. “Toji,” you say in warning when his fingers sneak down between your legs to wrap back around your cock, already knowing that it’ll only take a few tugs for you to cum. 

“I’ve got you,” Toji says against the back of your neck. His teeth bite into flesh when you finally cum. He groans around the flesh between his teeth as you clamp down on his cock as ropes of white shoot from your cock.   

When your brain finally comes back on, you’re left wondering why Toji holds your hips up. Is it because he doesn’t want you to fall into the messy spot you just made, or is it because he wants to mold you into the perfect form for his cock to fuck as deep as it can. 

You’re going to have bruises on your hips, just like the ones on your neck when Toji finally cums. It’s with a loud, drawn-out moan that bounces around the walls of the bedroom. The echo of it rings loudly through your ears, even after Toji has collapsed down on top of you, his cock softening inside your messy hole. 

He leaves no space between your bodies as you both come down. It’s so close that Toji’s cock is barely able to slip free, but it finally does when he turns you both onto your sides to avoid the mess you made. 

You wonder if you should break the silence as your sweaty bodies cool down, but Toji decides for you when you hear the sound of his snores from behind you. You laugh to yourself as you feel your eyes grow heavy. 

His body was like a furnace wrapped around yours. It made it easy to fall asleep without having to worry about not having a blanket to keep you warm. 

cherry on top | Johnny Slaughter x gn!reader

a/n — 1000% cheesy dumb self-indulgent birthday nonsense. wasn't gonna post because I honestly don't like this fic but the lack of Johnny stuff makes me want to just to put out something for the guy

words — 1.9k (the smut is short sorry, wanted to get this out on my actual bday!)

warnings — smut (not very graphic but still 18+), nipple play (Johnny receiving), food play, whipped cream, strawberries, implied cannibalism for both reader and Johnny, not proofread! consider y'alls birthday gift to me that i get to post one bad fic this year <3

summary — Johnny lets you take the reins for your birthday.

~~~

The door to Johnny’s shack shut with a bang, followed by a mumbled curse. From his bed, your eyes fluttered open. Between the mess of flower-patterned sheets and pillows you were buried in, you could see the man of the house take a step back to the door, then his eyes flicked to you to see if he had interrupted your sleep. You shut your eyes, too tired to take in the dreaded sunlight pouring in; you were so well-rested that you could fall asleep all over again—the feeling of sleep was addictive to your tired body. The only energy your body had was to pull the covers of his linens over your head with one hand. The earthy scents of him filled out the absence of his actual presence.

Your mind slipped away for a second, back into the dreamy state of consciousness where responsibilities didn’t exist and life had no issues. The man entering your cabin could solve about ninety-nine of your problems, though, and you slowly started to realize that you had an increasingly worrying problem on your plate. You peeked through the slits of the blanket at him. Even without looking at him in a clear view, he still looked like Adonis in your crooked and half-obscured-by-the-pillow perspective. Covered in his prey’s blood, his hunt was successful. But, hunting? Johnny usually woke you up at five in the morning, when the creatures of the night were heading to bed after a night of existence. You hunted in the realm of the crepesculars, operating on the thin line between night and day, all to maximize the hours you had to hunt and he was already coming back from it? It couldn’t be that time already, could it?

Johnny heard the sheets ruffle, and your breath hastily drew in with a panic. You had overslept. He let his knife clatter in the sink, turning to face you while leaning back against the counter. You could see the blood more clearly, it was smeared all over the front of his body. Staining his jeans—his favorite pair, the ones you said made his ass look the best—and trailing all over his torso before ending with a bloody handprint across his face. “It’s just me.”

“How fucked am I?” You asked, knocking the sheets off your body. Being a part of his family meant you had to contribute to the dinner at the end of every day, to make sure that everything was functional since you were Johnny’s piece—his pride. He provided less than a solid answer as you took a moment to acclimate yourself to the day. Ever since you moved in with Johnny, you had never really had a morning like this; a morning where your day started so late. Nancy liked when Johnny’s partners would accompany him on hunts and his more normal errands like getting car parts from the mechanic a few towns over and getting fruits from the market a few miles down the road, and she was too unpredictable to not heed the warnings of. Most of them came from Johnny, so that’s why you knew to take it seriously. It’s why today needed to be just like the rest, regardless of whether or not it was your birthday.

“Happy birthday, sweetness.” He smirked, knowing that even in the real world, you wouldn’t have any responsibilities today. “I woulda woken up right next to ya, but I was out huntin’ for your birthday dinner… and doin’ a few other things.”

“So, you did the hunting, tidied up around here, and went into town?” You asked, drawing near him. The blood had yet to dry, its sheen shining strong with the cracks of sun peeking through the window. He must have purposefully gone out hunting while shirtless, too. “What exactly is my present? A whole new Johnny?”

He let his head drop down and looked at his feet, rubbing his boot a little harder into the floor. “Something like that.”

It had only been a few minutes but the position you were in changed drastically. Johnny gave you a rundown of everything about your gift, including the various items that were included in it. One of which was a can of whipped cream that he picked up with the fresh fruit and placed it alongside them in the fridge—strawberries were in season, so two small wooden crates filled the space in his fridge next to the canister. The second thing was Johnny himself, which came as a shock. His first gift made sense because it was a sweet retreat from the many meals of savory meat from your hunts being fashioned into the three core meals one must eat every day, but the second was new. Different. Sensitive. He proposed it without looking you in the eye, so you didn’t believe it at first.

“I figured I’d be nice and give ya’ full, unlimited access. Get yer fix for the rest of the year so you stop chewin’ my damn ear off.” He sounded hesitant to offer it up, the fatigue in his tone from hunting as well as having to hear your incessant cries about wanting to experiment with him rang through. But today was your birthday, so he wanted to make it special.

Even if he didn’t want it at first, his tone shifted when your lips finally collided. You had been moving closer to him since you left his bed and now you were finding your way back to it with him in your arms. Your attempts to stay blood-free worked until you went to push him by the shoulder and back onto his bed, some of it smearing over your hand. Johnny’s legs hung over the bed and nearly touched the floor, placing his head around the upper middle of his bed and giving him room to lift his arms above him. This gave you the perfect access to get to work.

“Hell, I think this’ll be more than you can chew,” he teased. He cocked his head to look at where you were headed, your body was noticeably gone just as the fun was starting. But then, Johnny saw you return from across the shack with the whipped cream in hand.

From there, he became your already-painted canvas. The blood on him was the first coat of paint—still setting, still drying. Next in the assemblage was a healthy layer of the sweet foam. The cap came off with ease and you started coating him in it. You drew a heart over his chest first, then followed by swirling the foamy cream over his nipples. Johnny moaned at the cold sensation against his hot body. The way the can inconsistently sprayed droplets outside of your designated whipping area to add to the mess of red all over him. Johnny was already starting to feel desperate to the point that you had to shoo away one of his hands from knocking the cold cream off his sensitive nipples. You had never seen him like this before. Different. Sensitive. This was such a fast way to make him cave, and you had barely done anything at all! He must have insanely delicate around his buds.

You pulled back to admire your work. He noticed your puzzled look as you scanned over it like an artist who nearly had everything put together the way you liked it. “What’s wrong, sweetness?”

“It’s missing something.” You pouted. He had the perfect milky base, a cavalcade of saltiness topped with the sweet cream and bloody cherry drizzle. Though, something was amiss. The final thing to adorn him with that would make the centerpiece in the middle of the bed complete; something that would win the county fair. It wasn’t there. No, it was still sitting in the fridge.

You followed a loose path back to his fridge, swinging the door open and grabbing the strawberries on the shelf. Setting them on the counter, you grabbed two—one for you, and one for Johnny—and made your way back to him. He was still untouched, still perfectly in place without a hair moved for you. If he thought the sweet cold ivory was painful on his marinated skin, the cold sensation of chilled strawberries sent him over the edge. You ran it over him like an ice cube, watching it pick up some of the blood and whipped cream, cutting right through the heart you carefully drew over his chest. The strawberry was run across his body like the last bite of a meal with a sauce that you really want to get the flavor out of. Then, you lifted the thing to your mouth, taking a bite and savoring the bitter and sweet combination of flavor. The notes of metal in the blood were hidden and blended into the oncoming notes of sweet cream, followed by the tart taste of the berry.

Johnny’s face lightened as he watched you go in for seconds, dipping the rest of the strawberry in the sauce spread all over his body. You did the same with the second one, making it with the same amount of gore-soaked toppings and twisted dabble of whipped cream as the last. 

You offered the decadent strawberry to Johnny, but made one condition clear, “Bite down on this for me. Don’t eat it yet.”

His face twisted into one of confusion, but he didn’t question you. He let out a soft, “Aw, hell…” His mouth stayed open, waiting for you to bring the fruit to his lips. He accepted it when it was placed to his lips, wrapping them around the fruit, and, from the inside, he ran his tongue over the parts he could taste and lick at. He wanted to pierce the berry’s flesh, to make its flavor bleed into the rest.

While he was distracted with that, you took the opportunity to get to work. You lowered yourself back down so that your face was level with his pecs and started lapping at the dollop of whipped cream swirled around one of his nipples. You licked the soft peak away until there was only his hard pebbled flesh, so red and sensitive from just a few presses of your tongue. Johnny squirmed, a moan being muffled by the strawberry in his mouth. Things only got worse when you moved over to his other bud, doing the same motions to wipe away the cream and get to the really sensitive part. He struggled not to bite down on the strawberry, or to end this little reverie of lenience he offered for your birthday. He gave you so much power and he hated you for it. He hated that you made him squirm and buck his hips with need, desperate to pull you off his nipple and guide you to his waiting dick. But he fought the urge for you, to give you the control you deserve on a day like today. 

All he knew was that the feeling was too much, the juxtaposition of cold cream twirled around his rosy tips to your hot tongue leaving them a wet and sticky mess was much too much. In what was probably one of the fastest instances ever—he came. His jeans darkened with a soupy mess of white just like the melted remains of cream running over his chest and onto the bed. If this was desert, you couldn’t wait to get to dinner.

ngl i’d lose my mind for some bottom mattheo x male reader content, there isn’t enough 🤧

(is there any at all just asking for a friend)

• smut • “best friends”, my ass (and your ass too, while we’re at it) — best friend! submissive! bottom! mattheo riddle x AMAB! soft top! reader

stuck in the hospital for the foreseeable future, so have some more shitty fanfic, my lil gayass weirdos

i’m also really fuckin high on pain meds rn so this is undoubtedly gonna be the most shameless fuckin smut i’ve ever written yw ig

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Would you fuck me?”

Your head shot up to stare at Mattheo with comically wide eyes as he burst into your dorm room and shut the door behind him.

You managed to splutter out a very caught-off-guard, “I- what?”

“Would you fuck me, Y/n? Pretty please, with a condom on top?”

You just stared at him, mouth agape in shock. Finally finding your voice after a painfully long moment, you asked, “Are you high?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “Entirely sober, I assure you.”

“Then- then why are you…?”

He sighed dramatically and trudged over to your bed, falling face down onto it. “Please?”

“That’s not really a reason, Riddle.”

“Fine! Fine. I want to lose my bottom virginity, alright?”

“I swear to Merlin-” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Why me? You can literally just breathe and have people throw themselves at you. So why me?”

“Well…I want to- I wanna try being, like…submissive,” he mumbled, obviously embarrassed. “An’- an’ I trust you t’ take care of me ‘n be gentle an’ shit.”

“Damn, alright. Yeah…” you trailed off. “Shit, I mean, I’m flattered, really. Uh, yeah- yeah, I’ll do it.”

He visibly perked up. “Wait- really? You’d really do that for me?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “What else’re friends for?”

“Oh, so we’re still on the whole ‘best friends’ bullshit, huh?” He snickered.

“I’m already regretting this,” you sighed, actively choosing to ignore what he said. “This is a terrible idea.”

~~~

“This was a brilliant fuckin’ idea,” you gasped as you sank into him, moaning at the sensation. He was so tight and warm around you that you had to pause for a second just to catch your breath.

Mattheo whimpered underneath you, his face screwed up in mild discomfort. You gently stroked his side, pressing tiny kisses to his cheeks and murmuring, “Oh- you’re doing so good, sweetheart. So, so good. Y’feel amazing.”

Mattheo whimpered again, his fingers tightening their grip on your shoulders.

You let out a shaky breath, trying not to lose your composure. “Baby- baby, please- can I move?”

“Gimme- g-gimme a sec?” He whispered, his voice wavering.

“O-of course, honey,” you murmur back, trying to stay as still as possible for his sake. “Take as long as you need.”

After a moment of listening to his shaky breaths slowly even out, you eventually heard a softly whispered, “Okay, you can move.”

At his permission, you slowly started to move in and out. You groaned into his neck. “Merlin- you feel incredible, baby.”

Mattheo gasped when you hit a certain spot with a particularly hard thrust. “Fuck! There- do that again!”

You complied with his request, increasing the strength behind each movement until Mattheo was a whimpering, moaning mess beneath you. He cried out your name as he quickly came, his fingers scrabbling for hold on your shoulders and his nails digging into the skin.

You moaned loudly as he tightened around you, your stomach flip-flopping at the intensity of the sensation. You made a move to pull out, but Mattheo quickly tightened his shaking legs around your hips, tugging you back in.

“Please, no,” he begged. “Need- need- please!”

“Shh,” you shushed him, running a gentle hand up his stomach and chest. “Take a breath, honey. Tell me what you need.”

“Need-” His cheeks flushed and he covered his face with his hands in embarrassment. “Need y’to keep going.”

You grinned, the tips of your ears going red.

You gripped his hips, resuming your original pace. Mattheo’s eyes practically rolled back in his skull as his jaw dropped from the overstimulation.

You grunted, speeding up to chase your high. You came with a low moan of his name, your orgasm hitting you out of nowhere like the goddamn Hogwarts Express.

Your arms shook and gave out as you collapsed on top of him. You panted heavily before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead and pulling out; rolling off of him and onto your back as you tried in vain to catch your breath.

He grinned and curled into your side, his slow and steady breaths warm against the crook of your neck. You both sat in a comfortable silence for a long moment before Mattheo interrupted it.

“So…best friends, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Why don’t you make me?”

Good Dog

CW: NSFW, DARK-FIC, murder, gore, power imbalance, size difference(reader's bigger), description of torture and brainwashing, oral, anal, blood as lube, plot and exposition with porn, pet play(collars and leashes), toxic relationship, dub-con, very very self indulgent.

Моя гончая- my hound, Хороший солдат - good soldier, Расслабьтесь, братья мои - relax, my brothers, приносить - fetch, есть - eat

The thick door and walls of the private room do nothing to damped the bass of the club pounding in his ears, the annoying music made bearable by the high of a recent victory. Puffs of cigarette smoke lazily curl in the air as Makarov leans further back into the couch, the buzzing sting of a fresh tattoo helping him relax. The scent of expensive liquor only adds to the heady atmosphere, crystal clear vodka swirling in his glass before Makarov takes a sip. His dark eyes peer over the rim of his glass, like doorways to a dark abyss, his gaze dancing across the faces of his most trusted men before settling on the lieutenant's as the man tries to prove his worth with pointless words.

Above all else, Makarov values loyalty.

It doesn't matter how strong a man is if he can't follow orders. The number of soldiers he can lead is pointless when he can't keep his men alive. How well he can shoot is meaningless when he can't devote himself to a cause. A man who is disloyal is a man of single use.

Makarov doesn't even try to listen to whatever drivel the lieutenant's spouting, he doesn't see a reason to sour his mood when he already knows everything: the embezzling, the lying, the adorable double agent act. He has you to thank for that, you'd sniffed the lieutenant out the second you met him, diligently uncovering every speck of dirt the lieutenant had attempted to hide from Makarov.

And you? You are very loyal. His loyal hound.

His fingers curl around the leash, the smooth black leather sliding against his calloused palms. A barely there tug is all it takes for you to lean down over the back of the couch, bracing one large hand near his head for support as the other remains over the grip of your sidearm. You loom over him, and while Makarov may be a fearsome man, he can't deny the type of foreboding fear a goliath like you inspires — a towering figure always a step behind him, broad body big enough to easily cover him fully if you need to take a bullet for him, arms strong and palms wide to easily crack a man's skull.

Settling the glass down he takes another drag of his cigarette, "Hound," Another tug — sharper, harsher; such a small correction yet the fact you needed it at all has acrid disappointment burning on your tongue — makes you bend down more, your face now next to his. He doesn't draw attention to the reprimand, breathing out a puff of smoke near your face. "Were you listening, моя гончая?"

It's a pointless question, he knows you were listening, he trained you to. But he asks because he loves to see the way your eyes darken, jaw tight. The cigarette smoke dances in the air, making the club's low lights reflect off the sharp spikes adorning the thick collar snuggly wrapped around your throat. Your day collar suits you well, no different than the spiked collars put on hunting hounds.

"Yes sir." You answer, your attention now solely on the lieutenant.

Makarov hums, eyes flickering from the lieutenant to you. "And?" He chuckles and lets the leash go, his word keeping you in place as he casually pats your neck. "What did you hear?"

"Lies. . ." The slow slide of his fingers across the uncovered parts of your throat makes your breath stutter, static crackling beneath your skin. "I heard lies, sir." Your answer causes the lieutenant to try and sputter excuses and denials, all cut short by the harsh look you give him.

Makarov chuckles, hooking a finger over the silver loop at the front of your collar, pulling on it and tilting his head so his lips can ghost across your jaw. "Хороший солдат." Makarov murmurs. His stubble scratches your skin as his lips brush a path to your ear, so very close to a lover's kiss.

But a brush of skin is all it is. Nothing more. Your body earns for more, to turn your head and experience the bruising possessiveness of his kiss once again, to feel his teeth bite down on your lip until blood floods both of your mouths. But you don't move; A spoiled dog isn't loyal and Makarov won't lavish you with attention for nothing. no — you must earn it.

"Stay." The soft 'click' of the leash unclipping sounds the same as a sentencing gavel, the strip of leather falling away until only his word keeps you from tearing the lieutenant's throat out with your teeth. Makarov smirks against your skin, his words honey sweet to your ears as he whispers: "Sick him."

That seals the ex-lieutenant's fate.

You're on the lieutenant in an instant, crashing into him like a truck. Makarov leans back and lights up another cigarette as you stomp down on the man's leg, all the weight you carry around bearing down on his bones until they break, erasing any foolish thoughts of escape when you snap the bones of his other ankle; Makarov has truly taught you well.

The screams of a traitor are much better than the atrocious club music, letting him enjoy the smooth burn of the vodka as another stomp breaks a couple of ribs. Some of his men are still nervous around you, trying not to shuffle in their seats lest they grab your attention and become the new outlet of your violence.

"Расслабьтесь, братья мои." Makarov gives a charming smile, resting his ankle on his knee as he takes another drag. "Hound is well trained, you have nothing to fear." He chuckles, lazily watching you as he holds conversation with his lieutenants. Honestly, you're like a dog with a new toy, tossing the man around and pinning him down under your heavy body, each swing of your fists steadily turning the ex-lieutenant's face into pulp.

It's as entertaining for him as it is therapeutic for you.

And to think Price had tried to suppress all that beautiful savageness you possessed.

Makarov remembers how you'd been nothing but a snarling and cursing ball of anger when his men had captured you after a botched mission. He had been both annoyed and amused by how loyal you were to Price, weathering every beating and starving and humiliation with the same 'fuck you' response, baring your teeth like the cornered dog you were. With days turning to months and your resolve refusing to waver under their 'care' Makarov had considered just putting you down, sending a nice video of blowing your skull open to Price but oh — is he glad he decided to indulge in the game your stubbornness presented.

He set out to train you like he would any mongrel mutt, clear expectations making it easy to tell whether your actions would get you a reward or an even worse punishment, giving small rewards for the behavior he wanted; not snarling at him might earn you a better meal. Biting your lip and taking your beating without back talk could get you a couple of minutes outside the claustrophobic walls of your cell. Letting him touch and inspect your body without complaint might reward you with a book or some other little creature comfort he could, and did, easily take away the moment you stepped out of line.

Of course you were weary, perceptive enough to know when he was scheming. But every man has his limits, yours were simply reached when he handed you official C.I.A documents proclaiming you as K.I.A, the mission itself creatively rewritten to sound like you had gone and deserted to the enemy — no one was looking for you, no one was coming to save you, your captain, Price, wasn't coming to save you.

He had taken great enjoyment in running his fingers across your scalp as you clutched the documents in a white knuckled grip, your mind far too worn down to question or guard against the soft touches. His lips had brushed against your ear, soothingly raspy voice comforting you — you're a good soldier, strong, reliable, everything a commander could dream of. It wasn't your fault you trusted the wrong man, truly, what a shame to have your loyalty repaid with betrayed like that.

After that, it became laughably easy to train you. He stuck with simple commands, spoken only in Russian so he could amuse himself with the way your head would tilt before you'd perk up, recognition making your dull eyes brighten before you did what he wanted in exchange for a small scrap of his affection, learning to seek his praise and appreciate his touch even when your body still prickled with disgust. So when he handed you the knife, standing so close you could have easily slit his throat, and ordered you to kill another member of your previous taskforce, you hadn't hesitated for a second. "Good boy." He had purred, caressing your jaw as he used his thumb to wipe away the blood staining your cheek.

"Hound." His voice is as effective as any physical tug on your leash, making you stop mid punch with your fist inches away from the ex-lieutenant's caved in face. You're covered in blood, the rich crimson bringing out the violence swirling in your eyes.

Yet you look at him with utter adoration he wants to shove his cock deep down your throat just so he can see your tears smudge the blood on your cheeks. "Приносить." He taps his thigh.

You nod your head, grabbing the knife strapped to your thigh. There's no hesitation in your movements as you shove the knife into the ex-lieutenant's throat. An arc of blood spurts across your front when you yank it out just to stab another spot, the man coughing and choking as you cut through cartilage and muscle until with a good yank and a sickening 'crack!' you separate the head from the body.

Makarov had never seen the appeal of large hulking brutes until you — your body had filled back out with muscle and fat nicely after you became his, towering body demanding attention simply by existing as you stand up. The loud stomp of your feet and the blood staining your body making you look like a barbarian, casting a shadow over him before you kneel at his feet, offering the decapitated head as a knight does to his king.

Oh yes, he definitely sees the appeal now.

"Good dog." He purrs, reaching out to stroke your jaw, smearing some of the blood with his thumb. Fingers sliding down to hook on the silver ring on your collar he pulls your head closer. "Do you think you earned a reward?"

It's a test. One you're intimately familiar with. The judgmental stares of Makarov's trusted men are the last thing in your mind when the closeness of his body and the sharp crisp scent of his cologne threatens to shatter your resolve. "Only if you permit it, sir." Your throat feels dry, trying not to show how eager you are for his attention as you place the head on the floor so you don't get a drop of blood on him.

Makarov smirks, "Smart dog," His hands move to the back of your neck, unbuckling the collar. You're no longer ashamed to admit you feel naked as the thick piece of leather is pulled away; the time when you didn't have a collar wrapped around your neck feel like a distant memory and now the sensation of breathing without it pressing against your skin is disturbing. You have to bite your lip to keep the low whine from escaping your chest.

His hand wraps securely around your throat, bringing your breath back to you. Your Adam's apple bobs beneath his fingers as he traces the 'V.M' shallowly carved across your throat. "It's already starting to fade." He tuts, squeezing his fingers to restrict your breathing just the slightest bit more. "We'll need to have it tattooed. That would be nice, yes?"

You suck in a sharp breath, "Yes sir."

"Хороший солдат." He purrs. He pulls out another collar from his pocket and you feel yourself chub up in your pants just at the sight of it. It's the chained pronged one he uses exclusively when he wants you to pleasure him, particularly because it leaves such pretty bruises along your skin when he tugs on the leash.

You eagerly tilt your head back to bare your throat, a shudder rushing down your spine as soon as you feel the cold metal against your skin. You stay perfectly still as he secures around your neck, the sharp pull of the leash making the prongs dig into your skin, prickles of pain making you even harder. "Go on," Makarov hums, spreading his legs wider so your attention falls to the hard bulge in his slacks, his belt undone but the rest left to you. "есть."

You don't think you could enjoy servicing him as much as you did if he didn't let you work for it, the reward made sweeter because you earned it. Truly, he's so good to you, you'd thank him profusely but he hasn't given you permission to speak freely. So you lean in, careful not to get blood on his pants as you take the metal zipper between your teeth and pull it down. You've done this enough not to have any problems undoing the button, your hands obediently planted on your thighs and your gaze firmly on him so you can see the pleased smirk that spreads across his features when you bite the band of his boxers and pull them down until his cock springs out, already hard.

A pleased sigh escapes him when your warm lips wrap around the head of his cock, the leash wrapped firmly around his hand and the slightest tug on it has pain prickling down your spine. "Моя гончая, don't waste my time." You can't help but whine lowly at the admonishment, quickly trying to make up to him by sucking on the tip and licking the slit in just the way he likes it.

His leg shifts, hard boot coming up to grind the sole against your clothed cock. "That's better." The praise makes you moan deep from your chest and try to take more of his cock into your mouth, your boxers wet and sticky against your own cock as you give an experimental hump of your hips against his boot. You scrape your teeth along the vein on the underside of his cock and it earns you a rough grind of his boot. His hand tangles in your bloodied hair and pulls you down until his cock bumps the back of your throat.

You nearly choke from the sudden pressure, trying to fight off the reflex to pull back and gag. "Look at me." His order rings clear in your head, your eyes meeting his as he grinds your nose into his pubic hair, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your lungs start to burn. You fight through it, the fluttering of your throat making him five a small, rough, moan and fuck — you're hard as a rock.

Just as you feel like you'll pass out on his cock he lets you off, yanking your head back. You're only given a few seconds to take a sharp breath of fresh air before he pushes your head back down. You're prepared this time, hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, swallowing around his hard cock. The way you suck Makarov off is wet and sloppy, stealing ragged breaths when you can as you trace the veins of his cock with your tongue and gently nibble on the base when his cock's fully sheathed in your throat, knowing exactly how to please him. Your efforts are rewarded with the salty taste of precum on your tongue, hearing him occasionally mutter his praises in Russian, none of his words snagging on your mind like sharp orders so you let yourself drift in the pleasure of servicing him, subconsciously grinding your cock into his foot.

But you're not mentally gone enough not to notice the squeaking of chairs, your body tensing as you pull up enough so only his head remains in your mouth, your head turned just enough to throw a sharp glare at the other men in the room. Makarov having his guard down like this makes you tense, violence buzzing beneath your skin from the ingrained need to protect him.

"Hound." Makarov's growl is followed by another sharp tug of the leash, the dull ache of the metal prongs digging into your skin dissipating some of your aggression. "Did I tell you to stop?"

You shake your head as best you can, a pathetic whine escaping your chest from the way the pain makes your cock even harder. Satisfied, he eases the leash, letting you return to your work. His head lolls back, lazily looking at his men. He couldn't care less who sees you like this, but now he wants your full attention on him. "Leave." He gives the simple command.

You track the sound of shuffling feet as you take him fully into your mouth, making him hiss a curse under his breath. Nuzzling your nose into his curly pubic hair you breathe in his musk, his heel grinding firmly and consistently against your hard cock, pleasure pulsing through your veins with such intensity you're worried you'll cum without permission, low whines escaping your throat.

He pulls you off him suddenly, your lungs burning as you gasp for air. You expect him to paint your face with his cum, stake an obvious ownership over you. But he doesn't, pulling you by the leash and leaning down to mash your lips together, teeth biting down on your lip until it bleeds.

Makarov's kisses are rough and demanding, the sweet drug your body's been craving, teeth clicking together and tongues swirling in each other's mouths. The firm grind of his boot against your crotch makes you moan lowly, a sound he happily swallows down and nearly shoves his tongue down your throat. You part far too soon, your body craving much much more, but he doesn't let you stew in the disappointment of a short kiss — it's an owner's responsibility to spoil his pet — mumbling against your lips. "Prepare me."

A full shudder runs down your spine and you surge to follow his order. Makarov loves the determined look you get in your eye just as much as he loves the rough way you grip his hips and hike them up so you can pull his pants and boxers down his legs. Your bloodied fingers grip his hips and pull them down until his ass hangs off the edge of the couch, throwing his legs over your shoulders and he can feel the muscles deep in his back strain as you nearly bend him in half, his hard cock and hole bared for you.

It's a vulnerable position, trapped between your bulky frame and the couch he has no way to escape. And if anyone else were to attempt this he would feed every inch of their flesh to themselves. But Makarov relishes the knowledge that he's in control, a single word from him would make you stop regardless of how hard and wanting you were, your loyalty to him as real as the dead man's blood you dip your fingers in to lube them.

Your fingers circle his hole before you press the pad of your finger against it. Without the heat of battle the cold viscousness of the blood feels disgusting, making him shiver and his rim flutter against your digit. But the discomfort is easily forgotten when you apply pressure, the steady and persistent way you push your finger in forcing his muscles to yield. "Shit-" Makarov clenches his teeth; your fingers are so large just one feels like two of his own, the gnawing pain of your finger pushing deeper just amplifying the pleasure of being stretched open and your other hand loosely stroking his wet cock.

You don't go slower than you need to, perfectly trained to know how to move your fingers to keep him teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, each shift and slow drag of your finger pulling deep grunt and soft breaths from between his clenched teeth. "Yes, there you go." His praise makes your heart melt and cock throb in your pants, the pull of the leash bringing your lips together in another harsh kiss. You swallow his moans greedily, pushing a second finger in and curling them in search of his prostate, your thumb incessantly rubbing the space between his balls and ass to trap the spongy flesh between your fingers.

He nearly chokes you with how hard he yanks on the leash, hips pushing back into your hand and walls clenching down on your fingers. The stinging ache of being stretched open mixes with the building pleasure, leaving his skin feeling like a live wire. His teeth dig into your lip until it bleeds again, heels digging into your back. He grinds his hips down on your fingers, muttering praises against your lips as you push a third finger in and force him to take it.

He can't wait any more, gripping your hair and roughly yanking your head back. "Fuck me already." He growls, licking the blood staining your cheek.

You scramble to do as you're told, continuing to stretch him open as you undo your belt and pants with one hand, your hard cock bobbing against your abdomen. Pulling your fingers out you scoop up more blood, the cold helping reign in your lust as you lube up.

Before you can do anything he reaches out to grip the base of your cock, his hold firm and just at the cusp of pain. "You'll be good, yes?" He growls against your lips. "Fuck me good and hard?" His hand moves, stroking you slowly, evenly coating the blood along your cock. "I don't need to show you how to use this thing again, do I?" There's a dangerous edge in his voice.

Fear shoots down your spine, mouth going dry. You'd been too eager for human touch when he first let you mount him, and when you came seconds after getting inside him he'd been less than pleased by your abilities. You couldn't feel your cock for a full week after he'd tied you down and used your cock until you couldn't cum, using a cock ring to keep you hard and using you until he was satisfied.

You quickly shake your head. "No sir," You choke out and bare your throat. "I can do it, I'll be good." You promise.

His hold loosens, tugging you by the hair so he can peck your lips, his tongue licking over the small wound he'd made. "Don't fail me now."

You steel yourself like you're going to war, pressing your cockhead to his hole. Your nails dig into his hip, your grip ironclad to keep him still as you pull him down more and simultaneously push in. There's a second of resistance before your head pops in, the pleasure of entering his velvet soft insides being met with sharp pain as his teeth chomp down on your shoulder through your shirt. It all mixes in your brain into pure bliss, your hips bucking up into him automatically until you're bottomed out. You hold him close to you and leisurely grind your hips, letting him get used to the mind numbing stretch.

Fuck— Makarov may see the appeal of brutes but impaled on your cock he feels like he's being split in two, lungs burning and he can almost swear your tip's poking his diaphragm. He chases the pain more than the pleasure, heels digging into your back to give him some leverage so he can push his hips into yours. "Yes," His head lolls back when you slowly withdraw, only to suddenly snap your hips and hilt yourself inside him again. "-fuck, yes!"

The blood keeps you from tearing him apart but there's too little of it to keep him from feeling the painful stretch, the slow movement of your hips making his thighs shake. "Harder," He demands, yanking on your leash and biting your shoulder again. "Make me feel it." His voice is rough with a demand, because men like him never beg.

"Yes sir," You manage, bracing your feet and setting a rough pace, rutting into him like an animal. He muffles his sounds into your shoulder as your cock saws into him, his walls fluttering and clenching around you so tightly it feels like he'll snap your cock off. You do your best to focus on him and his pleasure, but the tight heat of his hole is rapidly melting any control you have, your cock throbbing and leaking precum inside him.

"Sir, please-" You whine, your muscles tight and your balls feeling so full you feel like you'll burst, your voice full of need. "I'm so close."

“Not yet.” He growls, pushing his hips down to meet your thrusts, your hand stroking his cock. “Make me cum first.” He growls.

You hold back a pathetic whine and redouble your efforts, your rough thrusts bruising his ass as you fuck into him, aiming to nail his prostate every time you bottom out. He wails, whole body shaking, his cock throbbing in your hand and leaking a puddle of precum on his stomach.

Makarov cums without any warning, going rigid and biting your shoulder even harder as pearly cum shoots from his tip, his walls clamping down on your cock. "C- cum!" He snarls, voice muffled, and it's all you need. Bottoming out fully you moan as you shoot his insides full of your cum, rocking your hips and grinding your cock against his prostate to prolong both of our highs.

You hold him close as you come down to reality but the way his walls clench around your cock makes you feel like heaven. His hands grip your jaw, bringing you down into a disorganized sloppy kiss. He's boneless in your arms, his walls continuing to flutter around you. "That was good." He slurs, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. "Good dog."

The tug of the leash is expected and Makarov kisses the corner of your lips, tongue swiping across your skin to lick up more of the blood staining your lips. "Clean me up." He orders, "Lick up your mess." He growls, and there's not a single part of you that would refuse him.

Tag list: @lieutnt, @pastelclovds @thee-great-enigma @vladimirking24

Stretching session

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x [gender-neutral, amab] Reader Summary: Zoro's (in)convenient help while you want to train. Tags: top zoro / bickering / hes an ass (affectionate)

Requested by anon ["Hey there I love your writing so much!! I was wondering if I could request a Zoro x male (amab) reader smut where reader is also physical fighter and Zoro helps reader stretch before training and uh it leads to some spicy situations 👀👀 If you're comfortable with all that! 💕 Also would love Zoro to be the top. Also bonus points if they bicker a little usually hehe Thank you so much whether you write it or not and thank you for sharing your awesome fics with us!! 💕💕"] [A/N]: That's very sweet, anon! Thanks a lot for the request, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

MASTERLIST

          “Why are you here every time I come here?” Zoro’s eye narrowed at you as he placed both his feet on the wooden floor and looked over at you with a glare, kicking the hatch closed. He had his arms crossed over his chest when you turned, feet planted on the ground while looking over at him, with your forearm still behind your head while you stretched your tricep, raising your eyebrows lightly.

You copied his expression in return, scoffing while changing arms to stretch the opposite one now, shaking your head as you turned back around. “I thought the crow’s nest was for everyone,” you said with a hum, returning your gaze to the calm waves in the distance, reflecting the bright sunlight. The weather wasn’t that hot, though. It seemed like it would be a peaceful day, too. Only Nami could confirm that with precision, though.

“Yeah, but…” Zoro sighed in frustration as he shook his head and closed his eye for a second before leaving his swords on the couch, humming softly. It totally didn’t have to do with how some of his stuff was put aside to be used, and he presumed that they wouldn’t be returned to place the way he liked.

“Annoying,” you whispered, unable to hold a soft chuckle when he grumbled in response.

Next, you sat on the ground, stretched your legs before you, and reached for your feet, groaning at the light pain tugging the muscles on the underside of your legs. Zoro’s gaze burned against your side as you stretched, and you thought he was walking away until his hand pressed to your lower back, which startled you a little.

“Dude—”

“You’re a shame,” Zoro muttered, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. The curse you meant to throw at him ended up turning into a gasp when he pushed you further, making the air escape your lungs at once when he stretched you further than you were used to. “Now, that’s something,” he complimented with a tinge of presumption. You wanted to smash his face so badly, but you could barely even say anything as he forced you beyond your previous limits, trying to relax your muscles.

You took a deep breath when Zoro finally let you go, inhaling as much air as you could as he motioned for you to lie down on your back. Despite the curious look you shot him, you followed his instructions, breath hitching at the way your back hurt initially when pressed flat against the ground. Your breath hitched again, but now it was at the way Zoro folded one of your legs up against yourself while he pinned the other down to the ground by your thigh, using his leg. He was kneeling between your legs, helping you stretch like that… What were you supposed to do? Just lay there? Leave your hands on the ground and stare at the ceiling? You hoped it wasn’t visible that it left you somehow embarrassed. Awkward.

“Feeling it?” Zoro pulled you away from your thoughts, making you avert your gaze to his face. Did he know the effect he had on you? It was difficult to read his expressions sometimes.

“Yeah,” you breathed. It sounded like a moan, but you couldn’t do a lot with the new stress your muscles were put under as he tried to stretch you as if you were Sanji. Fucking hell. He pushed a little more, enticing another sound from your lips as you arched your back off the ground. “Ahh, I hate you,” you breathed, feeling the ache persist despite how he let go of your leg.

“Mhm, I know,” he muttered with a chuckle while he moved to repeat the motion to your other leg. It was a little stiffer, making you scrunch up your face while pinching the bridge of your nose. He watched it all with amusement. “(Y/n)?”

“Yeah?” You breathed out, and it once again sounded… off. Zoro chuckled again, for some reason, compelling you to lower your hand so that you could glare at him. “Fuck off, Zoro. Are you even that flexible? I don’t think so, so you should stop— Ngh!” You were once again cut off by a ‘gasp’ when Zoro forced you to stretch even more, but you also let out a soft cry of discomfort in an attempt to mask the sound.

“Strength is nothing without flexibility. Mobility. Something like that. Did you never learn it?” Zoro still had that stupid grin on his face as he looked at you almost in a challenging manner. “I wouldn’t be surprised—”

“You’re all smug about it because the only thing you know how to do properly is fucking train and fight, you damn muscle head— Fuuuck!” You clicked your tongue and pressed your eyes shut when he forced you more, making the pain tug on your muscles even more, and it was practically impossible to push him off you. He had such a grip on you. Fuck off, that was so… So… Damn it. “I’ll fucking—”

“What, hm?” Zoro chuckled as he shook his head and moved again, sort of sitting on your thigh as he held your thigh over his own, keeping you trapped there. Even when you reached out to punch him, he held your wrist, so you gave up and lay down on the ground, melted against it. “You’re really stupid,” he said with a chuckle. “Not stupid, but like, very pathetic, really.”

You turned your head a little to look at Zoro and sighed, narrowing your eyes. “I hate you.”

Zoro’s grin widened before he hummed in agreement, sarcastically. “Yeah.”

You shook your head with a sigh and shifted slightly, but immediately froze, feeling your crotch graze against Zoro’s own. Oh, so you two were that close. Gulping, you tried your best to mask your embarrassment at the discovery, which proved useless when Zoro’s grin morphed into a smirk.

“Motherfucker…” You went limp on the ground, hoping that it would discourage Zoro, but his fingers sank deeper into your thigh instead as a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. His grip tightened around your wrist as well, but not uncomfortably.

“What?” He challenged with a soft sigh and a light movement of his hips. It all was nothing but empty teasing, with light grazes through layers of clothes that wouldn’t awaken anything in both of you if it weren’t for the tension that permeated the moment. “Not so tough now, are you?”

“Why is it that you always have to find a way to inflate your ego?” You clicked your tongue. “Is it because you’re not big somewhere else?”

Annoyance flashed on Zoro’s face, the last thing before he moved and pinned you to the ground at once, ignoring your protests but relishing the look you shot at him—despite the intention of it being a glare, you couldn’t do much through the embarrassment. You closed your hands a little, without daring to test Zoro’s grip around your wrists, even if he tested your resistance with that intense gaze.

“Need me to prove it?” His breath fanned over your face.

“You feel like you need to prove it?” You tried to mirror his attitude at least a little, chuckling as you arched your back, trying to increase the contact.

“Fucker,” Zoro huffed. He released your wrists so that he could lean back and start lowering his kimono, proudly exposing his torso to your hungry gaze. Somehow, he looked bigger from close. Your attempt to touch his chest was interrupted by his hand pushing yours away. “I think you need a better stretching session today.”

At the same time Zoro’s words made you want to cringe, you also could feel the arousal burning in your lower stomach and the blood rushing between your legs. “Zoro,” you groaned when he stood up and walked away, but you still planted your feet on the ground and lifted your hips to remove your shorts and boxers. Upside down, you watched him walk over to the lockers and rummage through his workout stuff.

“Mm? That attached? I couldn’t even just go grab the lube?” His voice still carried that smug tone, but it was the last thing you worried about when he stood in front of you again, by your feet. It was impossible to tear your gaze away while he finished undressing, letting his kimono and his obi fall to the ground along with his pants and underwear. Just the sight of his cock standing hard and proudly was enough to make your cock twitch as you clenched around nothing in anticipation.

“You’d like to think so,” you muttered with a groan, arching your back a little. Your shoulder blades dug uncomfortably into the ground, but it wasn’t the worst thing ever, not when you were drooling over his bright pink, glossy tip.

Zoro clicked his tongue and exhaled in disappointment that you would’ve taken as genuine if it weren’t for the playful air on his face as he knelt on the ground again, now taking place between your legs and letting your thighs rest over his own. He raised his eyebrows at the sight as he placed the lube aside for a moment, just so that his hands could freely roam over your thighs and knead on them until you moaned. His warm, big hands caused your skin to rise in shivers, increasing your anticipation.

“Zoro,” you groaned, thrusting your hips into the air in a silent request for him to rush.

“You’re a pain…” Zoro opened the bottle of lube, ignoring your protests, at least until you tried to knee him on the side lightly. “Fucking bastard,” he muttered as he elbowed your leg in return and glared, but it didn’t have as much effect as when he finally poured some lube on his fingers. “Hmmm.” Zoro’s eye narrowed, and you knew what to expect from that mood.

The lube was cold against your skin, making you moan at the same time your skin rose in shivers and your cock twitched. Why were you so sensitive? Even the feeling of the lube trailing down your crotch made you arch your back a little in a silent plea for Zoro’s touch, all in a very much entertaining show for him. He exhaled, lips parting into a grin, and put the lube aside once a generous amount of it was pooled on his palm.

Zoro’s fingers traced your entrance, feeling it clench around nothing before he could finally push two of them in, not exactly slowly, sending pleasure sparkling up your spine at once.

“Fuck, Zoro,” you gasped, arching your back with a moan, squirming as you tried to process the sudden pleasure that made your toes curl. Your hand closed around his wrist once he started holding your hip, though nothing you did inspired some pity in him. A string of moans escaped your lips as his fingers caressed just the right spots inside you, despite he didn’t seem to have any intention aside from spreading the lube.

“Won’t stop complaining?” Zoro huffed, grabbing more lube for his cock, and watching his fist moving up and down around his thick cock was such a sight.

“Mmm, so you’re the one to come here and disturb my training session, and it’s my fault?”

“It’s always your fault, so I don’t know what you’re arguing about,” Zoro said as he adjusted his position between your legs, and the disdain made you frustrated at the same time the arousal grew between your legs. “I never said anything about it being anyone’s fault, though. Did the shoes fit?”

You raised your eyebrows a little, wrapping a leg around Zoro’s waist and loosely throwing your arms around his neck when he leaned closer. “I want to strangle you to death sometimes,” you breathed, shaking your head.

“Careful,” Zoro chuckled, “I might enjoy it.”

The answer you were about to shoot at him died on your tongue when his cock pressed to your entrance and pushed in, making your breath hitch in your throat as you arched your back and sank your nails into his back. “Fuck,” you groaned through gritted teeth, feeling the light burning from the stretch slowly turn into pleasure as you got adjusted to the new intrusion. “Mmph, damn,” you cursed breathlessly and arched your back, feeling your walls adjust around his cock, involuntarily clenching more around him.

“Seems like you needed it, huh?” Zoro muttered with a soft groan as he wrapped his hands around your thighs, big and firm hands holding on to you for leverage as he started moving his hips.

You bit your lip, suppressing a sound for a moment as you pressed a hand to the back of Zoro’s neck. “Shut the fuck up already,” you complained through a moan, pulling him closer for a kiss to silence whatever he was going to say. Either way, he grumbled against your lips, grip tightening on you at the same time his hips picked up a faster pace, allowing your bodies to mold together better as the pleasure settled in.

The kiss was messy. You swallowed each other moans while trying to keep your lips pressed together despite the need for air, even if it was just by nibbling on each other’s lips. Zoro had your bottom lip trapped between his teeth, tugging on it as he observed you through his half-lidded eye, allowing his hips to move a little faster as he fucked you.

Zoro’s hands moved to hold your hips firmly as he angled them, lifting them off the ground a little, and it was enough to make you arch your back with a loud moan. His cock managed to hit all the right spots inside you, making your toes curl as you tightened your grip on his back, certainly leaving behind red lines where your nails dragged along his skin. A pleased sound came from Zoro as he held your hips in place to control the thrusts as he wanted, while you became a mess under him.

Kisses were left against your stomach in silent worship to your body; Zoro kissed and nipped wherever he could reach, adding up to your pleasure however he could at the moment. There was too much to be enjoyed, and Zoro wanted all of it at once, no matter how impossible it seemed to be. He would never be able to enjoy you completely, damn it. Your walls clenched around his cock so deliciously whenever you arched your back and gripped on to him like that, milking him with each thrust, making him twitch as his balls tightened, but he tried to keep himself in check to enjoy you the most.

“There, there,” you gasped, wrapping both your legs around Zoro’s waist, and he complied, trying his best to keep himself thrusting at the same angle at the same time his movements grew more intense. “Ahh, Zoro—”

Zoro’s eye trained on your face, observing the way pleasure was written all over your face, the pleasure that he could give you. He couldn’t help the string of moans that escaped his lips when your fingers tangled with the hair on the back of his head and tugged on them. The pain sparkled down his spine, intensifying the arousal that he already felt. He didn’t know how to interpret the new action, but he supposed that he could do something about it.

The only reason for Zoro to shift the position was so that he could give you different stimulation. It took him a while to finally let go of your hip and lean back a little, groaning at having to reduce the pace of his thrusts, and eventually wrapped his hand around your cock instead, feeling it twitch in his grip. The change seemed to be worth it, given the way you squirmed and clenched around his cock, even more so when he pressed his thumb to your tip, tracing it before he could start jerking you off in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Zoro, ‘m close,” you whispered, observing Zoro with hazy eyes that made his heart flutter and his cock pulse.

“Mm, yeah, babe,” Zoro breathed through a moan. His thrusts became messier as his muscles grew tired of the repetitive motion, but he kept seeking that pleasure, feeling the knot in his lower stomach start to tighten. His grip on your cock became firmer, fingers trying to linger on your sensitive spots until you were practically thrusting into his hand, arching your back off the ground, and from there, it just took him a few thrusts for you to cum.

Your eyes pressed shut, eyebrows knitting together as you clung to Zoro when the pleasure washed over your body intensely with the orgasm, snatching a string of wanton moans from your lips. It was almost mesmerizing for Zoro, enough to drive him to the edge, and he finally came, keeping thrusting to ride out your orgasms while his fingers sank into your hip.

“Fuck,” you breathed shakily. “Zoro, I—”

“I’m not done yet,” he cut you off.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.