silver blessing | michael kaiser - sfw, f!reader, age gap, widow!reader, european fantasy au, wc: 1169
When you first received your nephewâs letter, you assumed it would be similar to all of the other monthly letters he wrote. Asking of your health, saying how greatly he missed you and your countryside estate, always thinking of the garden where the two of you spent your time together in his youth.
Reminiscing of the years he stayed with you as a child when the smog sickness was too widespread in the capital. Gentle urgings for you to come visit him and the rest of house Ness, that you shouldnât have to continue with your strict following of the mourning customs. His words echoing that of your sisterâs. Your titles and land rights were secured, there was no need to be so vigilant. It had already been two years since the passing of your husband.
You expected the little updates and tidbits about his post in the imperial palace and another one of his endless gratitudes towards how you helped convince his parents that they didnât need yet another Ness in the royal health ministry.
Indeed this letter did have all that, Alexisâs thin, elegant writing the same as always, soft curves and ink scented with lavender. But towards the end, there was a plea. A plea for you to help one âMichael Kaiserâ.
Even you, the widowed countess tucked away in the countryside knew the stories and rumors of him. Another bastard son of the late royal princess, given a minor title and the royal surname.
Another entry to contest for the vacant crown prince position. Michael Kaiser was rumored to be the most promising despite his lowly origins, he had already obtained a position in the coveted royal guard before he had even revealed his royal ties.
(There were other rumors of course, that this Michael made a name for himself in the antiquated, barbaric arena. That he killed the arenaâs prized lindwurm with his bare hands and made a noteworthy amount of coin from his bettings.
Whispers of how he grew up on the west side of the abandoned canal, just another orphaned sewer hunter in that dirty lawless place built out of mud and smelling of dead fish and rot. Whispers of other unsavory things that you did not hear because that was then you gave your servants a gentle warning look.)
You did not think you would ever be involved in court politics and itâs tiresome drama again, you had barely been able to handle the fighting with your late husbandâs family, yet here was your most beloved nephew gently asking if you could help this Michael fellow establish himself amongst the nobility. His framing was quite persuasive, your nephew knew your worries too well, that an unmarried noble woman of low ranking had very little power, even as a widow.
But if Michael Kaiser truly was like the rumors did he really need a reclusive countess like yourself? You were uncertain of his age but he must at least be ten years your junior.
The rumors stated he was intimidating yet incredibly handsome. Surely there were better options for him, younger more prestigious and wealthier noblewomen that would be eager to marry the potential future crown prince.
You would hate to tie down a young man with so much potential in a loveless marriage. You knew how miserable that was.
So you sent your dear nephew a response back, stating that you would be willing to help his friend in other ways aside from marriage and you assumed that would be the end of it.
You did not expect for an unannounced visitor to arrive at your estate a few weeks later. A pleasant spring afternoon, you were dressed in one of your simple lightweight gowns, a sunhat thrown on haphazardly when one of your younger maids ran to your location in the gardens. Her cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling with excitement. For a moment it felt like this mysterious visitor was her master and not you as she practically rushed you to the entryway.
If you were someone else, perhaps you would have noticed the large bouquet of impossibly blue roses in his gloved hands. Or perhaps the intense blue of his eyes, his long golden hair fighting against the neat style it was tucked into, the shape of his firm lips, his pale cheeks. Perhaps the thick black fur perched upon his shoulders or the rich materials of his suit would have drawn your eyes.
But around his neck he wore a simple chain and on that chain was a small silver pendant, almost shaped like a teardrop and polished to perfection. Yet you knew it was not a mere pendant, that the teardrop was a blessed token, unique to the old western side temple of Eostre, the token only given to newly married women who paid a worthy amount to obtain the fertility goddessâs blessing.
You had only held the token for a short afternoon back when you were a young bride yet you still remembered it quite well. The weight too heavy in your palm back then, heavy with the expectations of your family, heavy with the cold words of your new husband, your naĂŻve dreams and young heart shattered. That little token in your palm more stifling than the dark colors and heavy fabrics you had to now wear as a married noblewoman.
Only in your hands for less than a day before you offered it to a young boy, a poor orphan no doubt based on the rags he wore, the dirt caked onto his body and hair. How he hissed and shrunk back as you gently handed him the token, blue eyes like that of a wild kitten.
The little token would serve him far better than it ever could you. You forgot exactly what you said but perhaps it was for him to use it, to sell it, to live. Sometimes you had wondered what had happened to that young boy, but not often. Your thoughts were always too pessimistic before the passing of your husband.
The first letter of your given name delicately carved into the center of that silver pendant around Michael Kaiserâs neck. That same token from all those years ago. Yours.
His movements, stiff yet confident, taking you out of your thoughts. Now only focused on the blue of his eyes. No longer that of a little feral kitten. Perhaps now that of a lion. Of something more powerful. More dangerous.
It seemed you would soon find out. His body shifting to kneel before you, blue roses extended upwards as an offering. His eyes unblinking as he looked up at you, gaze so ferocious it felt misplaced, unreasonably fervent, too beautiful.
Better suited for a goddess in her sacred temple, not for here on your doorstep, not for you. But it tugged at your heart, made warmth bloom that never did when you were a young bride. Was this how it was like to hold someoneâs heart? How lovely.
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future proofing - nsfw,mdni, monkey d. garp x f!reader, mentions of reader x koby (crush), age gap, size difference, power imbalance, semi public setting, thigh riding, vaginal fingering, masturbation, overstimulation, reader is a little bit of a creepy pervert, peeping, unspecified time after timeskip (no spoilers) wc: 1801
"Now, let's go over that again, brat!"
The famed Vice Admiral Garp towers over you, all tanned skin and muscle and old scars. Only that little white towel wrapped tightly around his lower waist keeping you from seeing him fully.
Though it does little to hide the coarse trail of snowy hair below his belly button, The veins below the slight sagging pudge of his lower stomach thick and bulging with blood.
Healthy and vigorous despite his age. The peek of those large, saggy dark balls beneath the pristine white terry fabric. The standardized towels kept in the locker rooms were always too small for him. Yet he never bothered asking for the larger size.
You swallow back the build up of saliva in your mouth before responding. The movement of your throat too loud in the quiet space of the men's locker room.
The cold press of the locker against your back the only relief from the heat radiating off his skin, fresh from the steamy baths. Your bucket and mop forgotten near one of the benches.
"I-it's really my day to clean! I swear, Vice Admiral Garp!"
Your voice shaky, eyes big and wet as you look up at him. Pitiful. Your lower lip jutting out, wobbly. Your hot, flustered cheeks slightly smushed in the firm grip of his massive hand, easily keeping your head tilted up to look at his sharp, fiery eyes, the disappointed furrow of his burly grey brows. OhâŚ
You loved when he looked at you like this.
"I really didn't mean toâŚI just..I-I couldn't help it, Vice AdmiralâŚp-please.."
You murmur in that soft, quivering voice. A little sniffle. A slow, sad flutter of your lashes.
Your fingers loosening their grip on the garment they held. The soft cotton fabric of Captain Koby's boxers. Today they were muted green with little colorful fish.
His favorite pair, judging by the frequency you saw them. Still slightly damp with his sweat. Remnants of a little wet spot from where the tip of his cock must of rested against the green fabric.
You were only going to use them for a little bit. Before Koby came back from baths. You always only needed a few minutes. You always timed it perfectly.
"Naughty brat."
Garp lets out a gruff sigh. Letting go of your cheeks to take the boxers out of your hands, placing them back into the opened locker next to you. The metal locker shuts with a resounding click.
"You can't keep doin this, kid. I won't always be around to save your sorry hide."
His eyes softening into something more gentle as he watches your face, the nervous twitch of your fingers against your shabby uniform. You wondered what he saw in you. Still wanting to guide you despite your depravity. You wouldn't question it.
"We've been over this hmm? No need for all this boxer sniffin. Just talk to him. A little chat here and there. Koby's a good man. He'll treat you well."
It was true. Captain Koby was an exceptionally good man. No. Good was not a word that did enough justice for what he was.
He held a special place in your heart. How could he not? He had saved you from that desolate island once called your home. Stood up to his superiors to give you this opportunity to live and work at New Marineford when you had nothing.
Never forgetting you even though it had been a few years since then. How his eyes lit up when he spotted you in the hallways or when he helped you carry the bulky stacks of towels. Always catching your eyes even when you thought yourself invisible, just another cleaner.
You wanted him to always smile so brightly like that when he said your name. You wanted more and more and more. Things that would no doubt scare your precious savior off. Things only kept in your tiny cot. In the minutes of empty rooms that held traces of him. Your hero. Your god.
But Vice Admiral Garp. Well..
He was special too.
Not placed on that high pedestal dedicated only to your hero, yet still eliciting want and need. Hunger. Especially as of recent. The touch of his large, calloused hands were tangible. Easy to obtain.
Relieving despite the heat and slick they always drew out. Satiating the deep hunger that the touch of Koby's boxers against your aching pussy had barely been able to satisfy.
"Will you..will you punish me, Vice Admiral?"
Like last time?
The unspoken words the loudest. Your thighs pressing together already in anticipation. Heart beating fast.
A soft snort from his nose, the slight crinkle highlighting the subtle crookedness from an old injury. That familiar amused grin lighting up his face. Eyes narrowed and dark. Vibrant despite the wrinkled lines of his face. An undying flame. You, the moth drawn to them, praying for them to never extinguish. You needed this guidance.
Needed to see that carnivorous desire when he looked down at you.
Feel it.
"You want me to punish you, hmm?"
The little drip, drip of the leaky shower head was thrilling. Arousing. Like a little bell you had been conditioned to associate with the greedy wetness of your folds, the fluttery need of your twitching hole.
This small shower stall yet again becoming a little heated den of carnal desire. A pleasingly confined space, only wet tile and cold metal and the press of hot, tough tanned skin on your own.
Your breath coming out in cloudy little puffs, fogging up against the polished metal of the shower handle. In it, you could still slightly see your distorted blurry forms. Your pitifully small, naked body engulfed in hard muscle.
A single hand holding your waist, large thick fingers easily wrapping past your bellybutton, calloused fingertips on the soft skin of your hips. The thick veins of his leathery hands still prominent despite his relaxed grip. Leisurely dragging you up and down his seemingly endless, meaty thigh.
"A-aah.."
Little weak breathy mewls leaving your wet mouth. Hot breath having no where to go but back against your flustered cheeks and heavy lashes, the bronzed, steely chest pressed against the back of your head.
Your lower stomach already feeling so twisted and taut, sore with pleasure. Skin on skin so wet and too slick. A glossy trail marking where your pussy lips moved across his thigh. Arousal smeared on the downy hair that concealed your crying cunt, on the wiry grey hair of Garp's thighs.
"IâŚI want to practice like last timeâŚa-ahh..please.."
Your hips tilted down shamelessly to chase that addicting buzz of your beady little clit against crinkling muscle. Your head weightless, toes clenched in pleasure.
"Still hungry for more, huh? Greedy brat!"
A little nip at your ear, the feel of his large, white teeth on your hot skin. His grin and scratchy beard still wet with your drool, with the sticky remnants of what had trickled out of your twitching hole onto his hefty tongue.
His hand that held your breasts, a single thick finger flicking and swirling between both of your tingling nipples with ease, finally letting go to trail down the buzzing, trembling flesh of your stomach. One meaty finger dipping between your sticky thighs. The soft underbelly of his knuckle blanketing your clit as his finger curled inward, fingertip disappearing between your slick pubes.
"Remember. This is practice for the future, right?"
The future. Vice Admiral Garp always loved to talk of the future. Whether it be during his lectures, his thundering scolding, or like this, just the two of you in the tiny, humid shower stall.
You mindlessly nodded. Whatever would get you to feel that addicting little burst in your tummy, relief for your burning core.
A firm little tap of the square tip of his giant middle finger on your entrance, the noise too squishy and sinful. Your hole already squeezing, begging, weeping to take in the large, thick calloused length.
Your heart a heavy, fast drum against your chest, dizzying. Little wanton whimpers dripping from your tongue along with your drool.
Eyes unfocused, hazy. Looking at the tanned finger that covered your pussy with ease, little white hairs between his knuckles. Calloused and wrinkly, marred with little pale marks and bumps of old scars.
Eyes greedily flicking to look at that monstrous meaty thing that rested against one of your outer thighs, the leaky tip bumping against your knee. A deep dark color, all veins and girthy flesh. Twitching with vitality.
The needy whine at the back of your throat easily brought out as a cry by another tap against your hole. The firm texture of his fingerpad starting to wiggle into your wet little entrance. Slowly working into your gummy inside, lewd little noises of his smooth nail, his flesh pushing against your walls.
"Now, Koby should be about this size..maybe a little biggerâŚhe'll have to work you open like this.."
Garp's sizzling breath against your already burning head. A deep, soft chuckle, an exhale of breath as your pussy clenches and strains around the invading length. Just a finger and yet so, so big. Your head, your pussy feeling so mushy.
"Fucking the real thing will feel better but you're getting the idea, right?"
His chuckle a little more boisterous, echoing against the tile walls as your head bobbles, mind too clouded to fully nod. His finger curling more, too thick and practiced, easily seeking out that special spongy part that has you keening. You're burning, melting, drowning. Too alive.
The squelch of his finger between your fluttery walls getting louder and louder as more liquid trickles out.
"Shh, Shh..good girl.."
A throaty hum to shush your brainless little noises, grin turning to something gentle despite how his finger still remains gripped in your gluey hole.
He gives you a moment to breathe, your chest rising fast, eyes droopy and body boneless. Only propped up by his large firm hands, the hard muscle of his chest and thighs that you rested upon.
Finally he turns on the shower, warm water slowly trickling down onto your dried slick, your scorching skin. The water flow becoming stronger, a comforting pitter patter against the tile. Drowning out whatever little remark for the future Vice Admiral Garp was saying now.
Drowning out the little wet slap slap sounds in the shower stall next to yours. The quiet breathy little groans that Koby could barely hold back between gritted teeth and wobbling lips. Face red and pink hair still damp and plastered to his forehead, eyes screwed tight.
Knuckles white as he gripped his hard weeping cock, spit covered hand moving desperately to the memory of your pleasure.
Your Yo-kun was like an angelfish. Beautiful. Cute. A little aggressive.
content: nsfw,18+,mdni,f!reader, strangers to lovers, inexperienced!hiori, told in snippets, reader primarily calls him yo-kun, mentions of: dry humping, oral (f!receiving), fingering, overstimulation, toys, public indecency wc: 2044
notes: reuploaded w/ a fun little bannerđ! modified a few parts but is still clunky, og is on ao3. this fic was originally inspired by a post from @/kongkhoiđ
You were glad you decided to go on this date with Yo Hiori. You hadn't really known anything about him aside from what your friend had told you ("he's a professional footballer, he's a really good guy, give him a chance!"), but it seemed like your friend was right this time.
Hiori's gentle smile, his pale blue eyes and fluffy hair so lovely in the dim lighting of the restaurant, politely taking a bite of his food every now and then as the two of you conversed. Conversation came surprisingly easy despite his seemingly more quiet nature, he cared about what you had to say and held obvious interest, making an effort. So cute.
He reminded you of a sweet little kitten, curious and friendly but also with a bit of clear independence. You wanted to see past that gentle politeness, see how fondness looked on his face.
Would he be the clingy type? Wanting your attention and touch whenever he pleased, like a precious kitten? Arms wrapped around your waist, cheeks warm, sweet, needy words on his lips? Being the only one to get to see him like that?
It wouldn't be so bad to date a man like that..
You could feel your smile widen, push against your already flushed cheeks as you take another bite of the delicious meal. Eyes meeting his yet again. Dazzling in the candlelight. Captivating.
"I had a great time, I'd love to see you again."
Hiori's words soft and clear as he walked you out of the restaurant, insisting on walking you to the train station. He kept his pace slow to match up with yours, your arms occasionally bumping as you navigated the bustling city streets. (With every bump, you could feel the firm muscle that lay beneath that soft, loose sweater he wore. Could almost picture the thickness of his thighs, the solid lines of his abs.)
He was too sweet, keeping close yet giving you distance. A small smile on his face every time the two of you made eye contact. He almost reminded you of a puppy. Did he want you that much?
You couldn't help but reach out to carefully hold his large hand, his fingers much longer compared to yours. Your heart beating faster as his own face brightened so beautifully, his hand shifting to properly hold yours. Palm against palm, his grip a little too tight before slightly loosening. He must be nervous. Adorable.
You wanted to see more.
"I'd love that too."
Maybe Hiori was more like a rabbit.
You couldn't help but giggle as you watched him maneuver through the crowded coffee shop, his face impassive aside from the slight furrow of his brows, the little scrunch of his nose. The drinks the two of you ordered kept carefully in his hands, his movements swift and quick-witted. Was this how he looked like while on the field? An energetic, quick rabbit? You couldn't wait to see at his game next Friday, he had already got you a ticket.
"Sorry 'bout the wait."
Your lips twitch upwards at the subtle lilt of his kansai accent. Over the past few weeks you had gotten to know Hiori, you had noticed it more and more. He has said it had weakened over the years since he rarely went back to Kyoto, but you could hear it come out in certain moments. Like when he talked about the latest video game he played.
Or when he was a bit frazzled by something, like when that rude guy had bumped into you without apologizing. It always came out so easily when you visited him at his apartment, that fast, melodic cadence paired with the slight flush of his cheeks, that warm glow of his pale blue eyes, his knee slightly bumping yours as you watched another movie on his sofa.
Yo-kun truly was like his name. A sweet, innocent sheep. Just for you.
His breath hot and heavy against your wet lips, a string of saliva keeping you tethered to him. His eyes dark and lidded, chest rising against your hands. His thighs so solid and ridged against your ass, every little squeeze of his muscle felt despite the fabric between you.
His baggy sweatpants doing very little to hide the massive bulge that presses achingly against your damp shorts, your soaked pussy, your stomach. His large hands trembling yet firm on your hips. Keeping you in place too easily.
"I..I don't wanna move too fastâŚI've never felt this way 'bout anyone before.."
A soft, needy pant against your lips, the next kiss so tender. He pulls back a bit, head lolling back against the sofa, his blue eyes glossy and mesmerizing.
Mesmerizing like the fast thrum of his beating heart beneath your palm. Your heart no doubt the same. Aching butterflies in your tummy, that delicious warm heat that filled you from your head to your toes. Dizzying. Addicting.
Had you ever felt this way with anyone else before? You couldn't remember. Didn't need to remember.
"Then we'll take it slow, Yo-kunâŚ"
You murmur breathily against his cheek, your shaky, hot hand gently caressing his now messy blue hair. Oh how your heart leapt as he slowly nuzzled against your palm. Affection nearly dripping from his eyes, the gentle curve of his smile widening.
Your cute, lovely sheep. You would take good care of him.
Well.
Maybe a sheep wasn't quite right either.
Your eyes watching him as he moved across the soccer field. You had managed to be able to make it to one of his practices and didn't want to miss the opportunity to see him in his element.
How he darted effortlessly across the field, synced up well with his teammates. Sure, some of the others were louder, more flamboyant in their efforts, but there was something about the quiet, precise movements of your Yo-kun that had you captivated. He was not to be underestimated.
Hmm.
"Ow!"
Stinging pain as you accidently bite your tongue, setting your chopsticks down to hold your mouth.
"What happened?"
Worry palpable in his voice as he quickly comes to your side, brows furrowed and lips slightly downturned.
"Ah, nothing, I just bit my tongue.."
You can't help but murmur, a little shy under the intensity of his light blue eyes.
"Let me see."
His long fingers gently prodding at your pouty lips, your mouth easily opening for him. His firm fingertips a little too heavy on your bleeding tongue, you can't help but wince.
"Hold still for me."
A gentle coo. Though it does little to soothe the firmness of his rub. But you wouldn't complain when Yo-kun was looking at you so tenderly. He was just trying to help. Right?
Angelfish.
The pretty fish you spotted on that aquarium date with him. The vibrant sheen of the little fish darting in the tank so captivating. Beautiful. Cute. A little aggressive.
His sweet laugh as you pointed the little fish out. Your head against his arm, hand in hand. His eyes so perfect in the blue light of the aquarium. Luminescent like the scales of the angelfish.
That perfectly described your Yo-kun.
The way his eyes lit up at the first taste of your pussy. His glazed eyes unrelenting and dark as his grip tightens, chin tipping up to press his rosy lips more against your slick folds.
His large hands easily tilting you hips to more effectively suckle at your clit. Dart into your tight little hole. Adding a finger. And then another.
Another.
Not letting up until you were boneless and babbling, your grip on his light blue hair so weak. A gentle chuckle as he caressed your messy, drenched pussy. Sweet little coos at your whines.
His eyes sparkling as he licks his slick covered fingers. The sheen of his damp chin, his wet, pearly smile your beacon in the dim light of his bedroom.
Your angelfish.
His birthday, You wanted to do something a little special. Dress up as that one character he liked. The outfit a little more revealing than needed. The way his eyes widened, his smile bright and cheeks so red, you couldn't help but beam under his clear adoration, your heart fluttering.
"You did this for me? I..wow.."
"It's your birthday, Yo-kun! today, we'll do whatever you want!"
You flutter your lashes sweetly, make that seductive little pout that always makes his blush reach the tips of his ears. Causes that little twitch of his knee.
"Whatever I want?" His eyes crinkle adoringly, sparkling, his smile blooming. Full and toothy. Boyish and unrestrained. He looked so wonderful like this. So dazzling. You wanted to make him smile like that always.
It takes him but a moment to decide what he wants.
His hand trailing up the soft flesh of your thigh, parting between the flimsy fabric of your costume, eliciting delicious goosebumps as he gently thumbs at your panties, so easily finding your clit. Looking up at you with those pale, bewitching eyes. His thumb pressing down a little bit firmer.
"Sit on my lap."
His soft words almost like an unneeded command. His smile sharpened into something almost unfamiliar.
How could you ever say no to him? You wanted to give your Yo-kun everything he wanted. He deserved it, didn't he?
Your angelfish.
The cheers loud around you in the packed stadium. The VIP seat that Hiori picked out for you was more empty, giving you space away from the rowdy crowd. Thank goodness..
An important game for the season, to determine who would proceed to the championship. Of course you would be there to cheer on your boyfriend.
Your precious angelfish.
Ah..
Wait..
That wasn't quite right.
Your eyes lidded and glossy as you tried your hardest to keep your concentration on him. Quivering lips hidden behind the soft, bulky fabric of the scarf Hiori had gifted you.
Your heavy eyes on his figure, calm and precise as he moved across the field. That long strand of blue hair bobbing in the wind. Reminiscent of something. A fuzzy blur in the back of your mind, easily lost to all the other sensations that frazzled your brain.
You could barely think. But you promised him you would count all his goals, cheer the loudest for only him. You had to be a good girl for your HioriâŚ
Another cool breeze through stadium going right up your coat. Your seat too cold against your bare thighs, your hands shaking as you attempted to pull your long, puffy coat down more to cover them.
Yo-kun liked it when you wore his coat to his games, so oversized and baggy on you. It felt a little frumpy. But it was better this way.
Another string of drool dripping down your bottom lip as the crowd erupts into cheers.
Ah.
A goal.
Your Yo-kun scored a goal.
Legs like jelly, thighs hot and damp as you stand up. You needed to cheer him on.
The little vibrator shifting as you stand, the once dull vibrations now pressing too perfectly against your already mushy, weeping clit.
That familiar, tight, aching sensation of your lower stomach. A little whine on your tongue, your trembling hands gripping your coat.
The tingling rub of your pointy, bare nipples against your coat. Toes squirming against the inside your shoes.
Slick little droplets running down your thighs. Again and again.
And again.
"A-AhhâŚG-go oh! Mmm..Go Y-Yo-kun!"
Your debauched cry luckily lost in the endless sea of cheers, but never lost to Hiori's ears.
His head swiveling to your location in the stands. A bead of sweat down his cheek, eyes still narrowed from the effort of his play.
His pale blue eyes glinting with that familiar intensity as they meet your fluttering gaze. Something dark and wicked lurking behind their soft, pale depths.
A reminder for what awaited you after this game. Your body writhing against his sheets, his favorite prize. Drowning to his hot touch, to cold metal and smooth silicone. Your tears, your never ending slick his most favorite dessert.
His smile-no, a grin. A sneer. Teeth pearly and sharp, jagged. Shiny. Tongue slightly peeking out between. Hungry. Counting down the minutes until he got to have you to himself.
âtea time temptation-mdni,nsfw, katakuri x f!reader, arranged marriage, sexual fantasizing, mentions of: masturbation, nipple play, vaginal fingering, size difference, inexperienced!reader, reader of noble birth, silly wc: 1517
Your husband is quiet, just like the rumors.
The dining room silent aside from the clinking of your silverware. Katakuriâs massive, intimidating figure all the way at the other end of the too-long table, partially obstructed by the platters of pastries and sweets and fruits that decorated the table.
Dressed in his dark leather, face partially obscured by that fur scarf he always insists on wearing. His crimson eyes focused only on the papers in front of him, whichever task Mama had given him this time.
Your husband is not a dominating sexy beast in bed, unlike the rumors.
The rumors you and your friends had giggled and whispered about in the sunlit garden back home before you were sent here. Rumors you clung to the sleepless nights before your wedding, reaching for that naughty little book you kept hidden between your silk pillows, one hand sliding into your lacey drawers to cup your heat as you replaced the characters in that lewd book with you and your future husband. Eyes closed, your soft fingers turning into something longer and much thicker, exhilarating and unknown.
Unknown even now because you have yet to do anything in bed with your husband aside from sleep, despite being married for months. He didnât even eat in front of you. Doesnât even let you see the full shape of his face, the curves of his lips, the outline of his jaw.
You knew he didnât dislike you. He couldnât. Right?
You can already feel the familiar pout forming on your lips as you reach for your porcelain teacup, the one that was a wedding gift from one of your countless in-laws. Freshly poured with your favorite tea, brewed perfectly, much like how most of the food placed upon the table was tailored to your tastes, never lacking in quality. It made you feel a little better to know that he had set up this routine of afternoon tea together, made your heart all fuzzy that he remembered which flowers you preferred for the centerpiece, which flavors and textures not to have placed at the table.
Surely, you at least held a little place in his heart. He was always so considerate with you.
Although it still made you feel a bit sour, as this daily routine was his response to when you asked to be included at his daily merienda. The response to when you fluttered your lashes at him, placing a hand on his beefy, veiny arm, nearly throwing yourself into his lap as you told him you wanted to spend more time with him. Alone.
Your dream of a candlelit night, your silk nightgown torn and body ravaged with bliss from his mighty form was shattered as he suggested daily afternoon tea. (His hand gently encompassing your shoulder, barely touching, not exuding any effort as he kept you at arms length on the lush bedding of your marriage bed, voice quiet and solemn and gentle as he spoke.) Too considerate. You had almost considered taking off your nightgown yourself that night, baring your naked, soft skin before him and rubbing up against him like some cat in heat. But you werenât that salacious. Not that night.
But todayâŚwellâŚ
Reaching for another pastry as your eyes flit back over his seated figure. The pen in his hand, the one you had bought him at the market, looking comically tiny between those thick, calloused fingers. At least you had this small victory of getting to see his bare hands, convincing him he didnât need to wear those leather gloves when at home. Nails short and well trimmed, the firm square shape of his fingertips. The gentle squish of his flesh against the dark pen, not too stiff.
So thick.
So big.
How easily they could encompass your breasts. A single one of his fingertips would so easily be able to cover your nipple. How would that calloused finger feel against it? Would he rub it gently until it pebbled under his touch? A soft swirl against your heated, tingling nipple, his deep, solemn voice against your ear, your neck.
Or would he twist and pinch? Pleasure blooming from delicious pain, his tongue running down your skin, a bite here and there, the mark of his teeth etched into your skin, your breast. His mouth unrelenting, ravenous against your hardened nipple.
How would those fingers feel against your hot folds? A rough finger pad on that little hidden pearl. Dipping down further, squelching against your slickness as a single burly finger finally delved into your tight, aching-
âBe careful with your tea, wife.â
Katakuriâs low voice nearly making you jump out of your chair. His crimson eyes now focused on you, particularly on how weak your grip had become on the handle of your tea cup.
Ah.
The heat of your face suddenly all encompassing, cheeks burning, throat dry as you carefully set your teacup back down on itâs saucer. The clink of porcelain against porcelain a little too loud. A familiar wetness between your thighs.
âYou always look out for me. Thank you, my darling.â
Honest words paired with your shaky, well-intended smile, the corners of your lips still fighting against the heavy hotness of your cheeks. Hoping, like always, that your sincerity would keep his eyes on you a little longer. Hoping that your clear fondness would be met with something similar.
Just a little something. Something a little more meaningful than simple consideration. Words a little sweeter than normal, red eyes with palpable affection, his hand reaching for yours, a sweet kiss placed upon your li-
âAs Iâve said before, there is no need for such words.â
His words firm, voice a little hoarse as he clears his throat for some unknown reason, eyes going back to looking at the papers in front of him. The dining room silent yet again.
ââŚâ
If only you had asked for iced tea today. Perhaps you could have spilled some on yourself. How perfectly it would have stained the light fabric you had decided to wear for this lovely warm day. Seep into the thin fabric, letting your skin, your breasts, your nipples appear like blooming flowers. A sweet, pitiful gasp on your lips, maybe a little insincere but still beckoning his attention. Leading his large hands to your soft, wet skin, asking him to help you. Your husband was so considerate, of course he would help.
But the last time you had tried that he had been a little too helpful. Preventing you from spilling even a drop. Sometimes this husband of yours was a little too attentive..
The glimmer of your silver fork under the ornate chandelier suddenly quite interesting. Perhaps it was time to be a little more bold. A little wanton.
âBe caref-â
Your husbandâs perfectly timed warning interrupted as you still tossed the fork beneath the table. Letting it thud against the plush carpet before you reacted.
âOh no! My fork! I shall go fetch it, husband..â You gasp and pout dramatically, making sure to bat your lashes, maintaining eye contact, as you lower yourself beneath the lavish table, your hands and knees sinking into clean carpet. Your hand making contact with the silver utensil only to push it forward, crawling after it, letting it guide you to the other end of the table.
âS-stay over there!â
His voice suddenly shaky, the most strained youâve ever heard it (aside from that time he had accidently held you in his sleep). Beneath the table you can see the tense grip of his hands on the wooden chair, thick legs rigid, as if he was petrified. Good.
âOh my! This fork is so hard to find!â You exclaim a little too dramatically perhaps, but at this point you were so, so close to the dark fabric of his pants, crawling to that open spot between his legs.
Finally.
Your hand making firm contact against the black leather that clothed his thick thigh. Your face peeking up from under the table to settle quite closely against that particular area of thigh that led to his crotch, pressing your cheek against the smooth fabric.
His face a deep, dark red, shaky eyes trained only on your face. So vivid, so handsome. His hands trembling against the arms of his chair, the wood nearly cracking. That little cute sound of bewilderment muffled by his scarf, like that time you had managed to sneak a surprise kiss on his cheek. A sound you had dreamed of hearing again. Wondering what other sweet sounds you could discover. Your hand moving to that skull belt, seeing how far you could get this time.
He always let you kiss his cheek, hold his hand when you wanted to. Surely you could do more, right?
Your husband was so unlike the rumors. He was too kind. Maybe a little shy. Inexperienced, just like you. But that was okay, you didnât mind being the ravenous beast in this story.
Especially when he seemed to melt so easily under your touch, craved it as much as you did.
Content: nsfw, mdni, bokuto kotarou x f!reader, sleepy morning sex drabble.
âKotarou..â
Your husbandâs name comes out mumbled, thick, your voice still heavy from sleep. Your vision blurred as you adjust to the soft, dimmed sunlight filtering through the bedroom curtains.
His only response is the continuation of his soft, familiar snores, puffs of hot breath against the nape of your neck.
Yet his right hand, usually gripped on the squishiness of your waist, long fingers branded against your stomach, has wandered up into your pajama shirt (his, from college).
His warm, calloused hand squeezes and palms at one of your breasts, your nipple starting to perk up against the heat of his rubbing palm.
You huff, suddenly realizing how drenched in sweat the sheets beneath you are, his muscular legs tangled with yours are scorching.
The press of his lower stomach against your back is molten. Always your personal heater beneath the sheets.
He shifts again, the bedsheet becoming noisy against the left side of his hip as he grinds against your ass.
That hard, thick, sizzling length only separated from your skin by the thin layer of your panties.
Something akin to a grumbled whine interrupts his snores. You donât have to turn around to picture the furrowed state of his brows, his open mouth turning pouty.
Your own lips curving upwards, heavy eyelids now softened with fondness. One of your hands drifts between your thighs to guide his cock there. His dark red, veiny length now cupping your mound. His fat mushroom tip heavy against your underwear, settling onto your clit.
The thick, curved underside of his cock presses up against your folds, your underwear now damp as the fabric is pressed up into the wetness of your hole.
Your index finger and thumb find his leaky tip, smearing pre cum against his angry red cock head, against your cotton underwear and your tingling clit beneath. Your fingers spreading far, far apart as they move down the thick length of his cock. Your palm against his hot, veiny member, finger tips only able to curl halfway around itâs meaty underbelly. You give a light squeeze before retracting your hand, hearing another sleepy whine, his hips jutting desperately.
âHold on, honey..â
A breathy giggle that he most likely canât hear, always a heavy sleeper despite his desires. Your fingers easily pull your underwear to the side, his hot, solid cock finally at home against your folds. His leaky tip jutting up and up, deliciously squishing your clit, your hips moving to match his movements, letting the hard wetness of his cock glide between your pussy lips, his heavy balls nestled between the warmth of your soft thighs.
âMmph..â
You tilt your head back to look at his sleeping face, his hand wandering from itâs teasing of your breast, calloused fingers sliding down your side until grasping your hip firmly. Your body tilting until the tip of his cock leaves a leaky trail between your folds as it seeks your dripping, already clenching hole.
Your pussy lips spreading apart as his cock finally pushing up into your waiting, slick hole. The weight of his cock at home within your gluey walls.
His pouty lips finally settling back into that wide, dopey smile, lashes still closed against his now flushed cheeks, snores replaced with those grumbling, scratchy sounds of satisfaction as he rocks into you.
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According to the pie crust recipe you had found on instagram, it was supposed to be buttery and the perfect texture between crunchy and soft.
But the thing in front of youâŚwellâŚ
You can't help but grimace at the black edges, some crumbling as you placed some heart shaped apple slices on top in attempt to save it's presentation.
That was a little better.
You sigh and carefully wipe your forehead with your sweater sleeve, hoping that there wasn't any flour dusting there. The heat from the oven had quickly overpowered the mild temperature that the apartment was usually set to and you felt hot and sticky despite the crisp, autumn weather you could see outside the kitchen windows.
The kitchen counters were covered in flour, apple peels and the star and heart shaped cookie cut outs you had wanted to try this year. Your little tower of mixing bowls and measuring cups crowded the kitchen sink in that way that always overwhelmed you a little bit but that was a problem for future you. At least you had that fancy new dishwasher this year.
You glance at your phone where you had Kenma's stream playing in a tiny square above the ad-riddled website with the crust recipe. The game he had been trying out, some indie demo about fishing in an endless ocean, had been replaced with his break splash screen.
"Hey."
Familiar palms slide across your hips, long deft fingers softly rubbing against the sweater that covered your tummy, his thumbs brushing up and down in that grounding caress. His chin gently pressed into your shoulder, the soft black cotton fabric of his over sized hoodie pressed against your back, his warmth easing the tension that had built up in your shoulders from your baking activities.
"Kenma.."
His name turns into a puff of soft, adoring laughter as his hands on your stomach pull you closer to him, arms sliding to lock you close to him, his forehead against your cheek as he presses his lips to your neck.
"Smells good.." he mumbles, soft and mellow against your skin.
You brush some of his messy dark locks out of the way to get a better look of how his golden eyes gleam in the afternoon sun flooding into the kitchen windows, so beautiful and his, the same eyes that had met yours 15 years ago in the high school gymnasium.
Cat like eyes you hoped to see shine in the same way for many, many more years. Golden brown like autumn leaves, cinnamon apples and so, so much more.
"You think so? I hope it tastes as good as it smells, but I don't know about that, the crust didn't really come out too goo-"
You're unable to finish your thoughts as he nips gently at your neck, his hands rubbing up your sides.
"It's good."
Not the "..looks good" of five years ago.
Not the "âŚyou didn't have to" of ten years ago.
Not that awkward, wide eyed expression that had graced his face the first time you had clumsily thrust a slice of apple pie onto his school desk, his lips caught in a wobble that looked more mortified than anything else.
Something a little different this year.
"Yeah?" Your cheeks so warm, your lips curved too easily, so tenderly. Your body shifting to face him, heart to heart.
Something so familiar, the way it always was between the two of you.
"Yeah. It's goodâŚ."
His forehead against yours, lips a breath apart. His cheeks turned something delicate and pink. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards in that perfect, precious smile you knew so intimately by now, soft like basking in the warmth of speckled sunlight beneath multi colored leaves.
"âŚBecause you made it."
Something a little different, perhaps something marking his 30th year in this life, growing and changing, remaining the same, settling into who he was. Just like how you were.
Becoming a little more comfortable with absolutes, because that's what the two of you were to each other, wasn't that right?
Always and forever your Kenma, day after day, year after year.
His lips pressed against yours, hands beneath your sweater, your hearts entwined.
attention - nsfw, rin itoshi x afab!reader, dry humping wc: 400
âTell me you like me..â
A pout on your lips for no reason, arms wrapped around Rinâs neck, hands playfully petting the nape of his neck, dipping underneath his t-shirt to feel the warm addictive firmness of his back, slightly scratching with your nails.
âI love you.â
Quiet but immediate, like always. A softness that only you get to see. His hands gripping your hips, not rough but still so clearly needy, thumbs rubbing against the soft fabric of your pajama pants. Turquoise eyes focused intently on your face, your pouty lips, the unneeded bratty flutter of your lashes.
âReally?â
Your pout curving into something a little more sweet but no less wicked. Leaning in closer to give him what he needs, his lips already twitching forward to eagerly meet yours, still slightly parted from the delicious friction of your heat against his grey sweatpants, against that little damp spot forming at the tip of his dick. The sweet little gasp that escapes his mouth as you press a little more onto his lap, dark lashes heavy over his eyes as you rock against his length again and again. The shape of your pussy too tangible through your thin wet pajama pants, the catch of your clit on the seam of his sweatpants, on the thick bump of his clothed cock.
âI-I love you.â
A breathless little whine against your lips, his face flushed and eyes dark, hands gripping your hips firmly, your pajama pants all wrinkled and bunched between his trembling fingers. The muscles of his arms strained, those little veins visible as he drags you up and down, his hips canted up to press sweetly against your clit, against your cunt, notching against your wet mushy pants, your hands digging into his shoulders, toes curling against the smooth fabric of the sofa.
Your pout forgotten in the uncontrolled flutter of your lashes, the arch of your back, that sweet, sweet twist of your core, the blissful weight of Rinâs name on your tongue.
And finally, one of your favorite sounds in the whole world. One only you get to hear. Rin gripping you to him, heaving chest against yours, his head buried against your neck, lips quivering and wet against your skin. Your name a needy breathy groan, a prayer.
Dark grey blooming across his sweatpants, soggy and sticky with his cum. A special flower only for you.
shrinking mattress, growing heart - a little suggestive, reo mikage x gn!reader, silly, fluff wc: 417
Reo never understood why anyone would willingly choose to sleep in a smaller sized bed if given a choice. His father preferred the giant mattresses that he was used to sleeping on from his time abroad and his mother always slept on large, plush futons reminiscent of the ones in her familyâs estate.
Reo had always thought that he and his eventual partner would also sleep this way. Each with a large comfortable bed of their choosing in separate bedrooms. It seemed most logical. Until he met you.
That first night he felt your warm, soft skin against his own, the gentle puff of your breath, the curve of your lips against his chest, little loving whispers so easily lulling him to sleep, he realized he could never sleep apart from you.
But his bed was too big. It was too easy for the two of you to drift apart between the silk sheets. It didnât matter if he kept his arms wrapped around you, your feet entwined, he always woke up to only cooling sheets around him, your sleeping form at your distant end of the bed. The comforting sound of your breath, of your little sleepy murmurs far too distant for his liking.
So he decided that the two of you needed a smaller bed. But he couldnât just outright buy a new mattress, right? He didnât like it when you shrunk like a little mouse at his spending, eyes wide but not filled with adoration or happiness.
The uncomfortable twitch of your eyebrows, the tight curve of your lips when he had purchased âtoo muchâ from your favorite brand always remained in the back of his mind. He would not have you look at him like that again.
The mattress would be replaced discreetly, shrinking every so often, little by little to ensure your comfort. Until you had nowhere to go except his embrace. Until your face would be the first thing to greet him in the morning.
Your lashes still shut, your lips relaxed. His hands gently tracing your hot skin, your silken pajamas until you finally greeted him with what he adored most. His name on your lips, breathy and tender as your smile bloomed, your eyes twinkling in the morning light.
Your sleepy love, the soft caress of your hand on his skin far more warming, more radiant than the morning sunlight on his back. But your affection would never fade like fleeting morning rays. He would make sure of that.
