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library-of-ohara · 2 years

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anon asked: Hello, may I please request a filthy af, dirty as u can get this, zoro x reader with fem body where they do it in public? It doesn’t have to be but just an example is like maybe their all eating dinner while zoro fingers reader under the table while all the Strawhats are there unaware or vice versa and reader gets him off under the table. It can be modern AU or canon. Just two specifics dirtier then hell and public. Thank you 🖤💚

➪ a/n: oh dear I read doing it in public and absolutely ran with the idea, may or may not have gotten out of hand bc this ended up being absolutely filthy. am I somewhat ashamed? definitely! :,D so take this with what you will, hopefully someone will enjoy where my dirty mind sometimes goes lol - maxx (@sugxrslushy)

➪ details: NSFW//Zoro x afab!reader//w.c: 1.7k //warnings: NSFW MINORS DNI, afab!reader (pussy/cunt used), BORDERS ON DUBCON AT FIRST (there's hesitation by the reader but ultimately consent is given), exhibitionism, fingering, degradation ("whore" + "slut"), alcohol, panties, pussyjob, creampie, technically being caught

Wild flames flickered in front of your face, the bonfire emitting its warmth on all of those sitting close, lighting up their faces in its orangish glow and dancing slowly. Your face was already a fire on its own, the heat from your blush burning against the skin of your hand pressed to your face. You gnaw at your finger as you survey the faces of your crewmates.

A sloppy kiss is pressed to your neck, Zoro had become rather handsy after his last drink. He’d wracked up a new record this night it almost seemed, the liquor finally getting to him and washing away any previous inhibitions he held. Each touch grew dangerously closer to places you wouldn’t be caught dead letting him touch in public. But you were turning to mush underneath desperate kisses and his heavy breaths in your ear.

“Get a fucking room,” The cook hisses as he collects the empty glass bottle strewn at your feet. Your heart jumps in your chest, head snapping up to look around if Sanji had brought anyone with him. The hand scaling your rib cage only lowers by an inch, Zoro resting his chin on your shoulder to catch the irritated glance of Sanji.

“Shut it love cook, not like you wouldn’t be doing the same if a girl actually liked you. Too bad all your stupid pervy fantasies only live in your head.” He may have been borderline drunk but his tongue was still sharp as a blade, his irritation towards the cook never dying down. “M’ not even doing anything.”

Sanji sputters in annoyance, a retort dying on his lips when Nami calls him over to refill her drink accompanied by Luffy’s starving cries for more food. He spares you both one last glance then leaves, leaving you in the arms of Zoro who was hungry for something entirely different.

The blanket sprawled across your lap is light, used for nothing more than a little cover on chillier nights. It feels entirely too revealing, too light and see through as Zoro hooks his fingers in the belt loops of your pants and works them down your legs. Your eyes widen in terror when the pants slip past your ass, the sound of your friends around your entirely too loud in your ears.

“What are you doing?” You hiss, trying to seem inconspicuous as you chew him out under your breath. “You said you weren’t even doing anything.”

“I did, and I was.” Holding your breath, you can feel his fingers ghosting against the now bare skin of your thighs, drifting further up as if on a mission. “But I’m curious…” The bitter smell of alcohol is heavy in his breath, hot against your ear and making you shiver. His fingers running along your skin feel like bugs skittering across your skin, you sit in his lap tensed and resisting the urge to swat them away, your curiosity taking over concern.

His heavy palm cupping your warmth, the feeling of your satin lingerie panties is soft against his hand. You can feel the manic smile against your shoulder. “Why’d you dress like such a fucking slut if you didn’t want me to fuck you?”

Your heart skips a beat and you fight the urge to rub your thighs together, the sharp bite in his tone setting your skin aflame. Was it wrong to be getting excited over this, with the lingering eyes of others passing over you and the way Zoro gripped you so harshly, so meanly. The idea of being fucked right now was enticing, but another shout of your friends singing to the song reminded you that now may not be the best time.

Relaxing against his chest, you face him with eyes wide and full of faux innocence, enough to fool an idiot or possibly a half drunk one. “We’re not doing this here, right?” Zoro doesn’t spare you an answer, the glow of the flame barely lights up his face but you catch his silvery eye scanning the crewmates seated dangerously close to you both. “Right?” You ask again, voice cracking with a genuine unsureness.

The tearing sound of your panties is impossibly loud to you, reverberating in your ears as if it was the sound of your now arrived doom. No one else seemed to hear it. Brooks' singing and guitar was loud enough to be heard from miles away but all you could hear was your own thundering heartbeat in your ears as your anxiety picked up.

“We aren’t doing this here.” You make a pathetic grab for his hand diving down between your legs. All you can muster up is a panicked look, unsure of what to do. A sick part of you was excited, becoming utterly turned on at the thought.

“Oh, we aren’t?” Zoro’s tone is mocking. He doesn’t make a move, testing your boundaries without words and finding yourself giving in, slipping and falling into his trap as you loosen your grip on his hand in a lust driven curiosity. “That’s what I fucking thought.” Gliding his digits through soaked folds, your cheeks are stained dark with the embarrassment of what he’s doing. You couldn’t tell what was worse, him feeling you up in front of all your friends or the fact you were dripping wet over it.

A finger breaches your entrance harshly, just one big enough to sate some of your desire as your thighs shiver and you bite your tongue to cut off a moan. There’s no mercy as he starts thrusting his finger in and out of you without giving you a moment to recover or breathe. The filthy squelching sound quickly becomes all you can hear, blocking out the sounds of anything else.

“Y/n, Zoro. Is everything alright over there?” You swore you felt the drop of your heart into the pit of your stomach. Robin is seated merely a few feet from the two of you, a clear concern written on her face. “It seemed to me you both were arguing.”

Your veins run with anxiety and Zoro plays a drunk fool, giving her nothing but a meaningless grunt in response. His finger is still buried to the knuckle and he’s working another in, fully aware of just what he’s doing. Your mind is crying out with panic, the wet feeling between your thighs and gooey pleasure becoming all you could think about.

“Y-yeah, we’re fine-” You manage to bite out, back to chewing on your lip to try to keep any other voices from spilling out. “Just too much to drink I guess- ah!” You’re shouting every imaginable curse inside your head while Zoro slides his two fingers impossibly deep inside of you, your own wetness spilling out onto his lap.

Robin’s eyebrows knit together in concern but Zoro is still, thankfully, playing dumb. “S-sorry. Luffy was doing something d-dumb and I panicked.” Sticking the blame on the reckless captain, Robin seems to relax almost instantaneously. She tips her head and walks away talking about leaving water for you two in the morning, but her words are drowned out by the erratic thrusting of Zoro’s digits inside you.

It’s humiliating how turned on you are, mewling softly and bucking your hips against his hand to bury him deeper inside you as he smears your juices over your lips. Zoro doesn’t miss it at all. “What a whore, getting all wet cause we almost got caught. Does that turn ya on, having people watching you get your pussy stuffed full? You like it don’t you?”

You shake your head, a blatant lie you were clinging onto like it would get you anywhere. You would clench around him so tightly even when someone’s eye merely passed over the two of you, it was a damn wonder you didn’t come right there when Robin came over.

“Fucking liar.” He spits aggressively and tears his fingers out from inside of you, leaving you empty and whining to be filled again. Fumbling under the blanket, he carefully turns you to your side and leans against your back, spooning you. “I should make you fuck yourself on me just for saying that, show everyone what a slut you really are. And you’d like it, probably would come so fast all over my cock.” His voice is low, bordering on dangerous.

His throbbing cock smacks against his ass, you hadn’t even noticed him taking off his pants, much less his underwear. You can’t get a word in nor a question, as quick as his cock had been taken out it’s guided between your thigh. Your hopes rise when the cockhead nudges your slick pussy, then drops when there’s no press against your entrance. He slips his cock between your dripping folds, nestled between your pussy lips and merely nudging your clit.

Drawing his hips back, he spares the deck full of your crewmates one final glance then thrusts in. Your entangle your fingers in the blankets, holding on for dear life as Zoro fucks you with quick but shallow thrusts, his cock slipping through your wetness and hitting your clit. Juices smear against your legs, making them sticky and wet but he doesn’t give a damn about the mess, only chasing his own high.

Sparks explode across your skin with every nudge of your clit, your own knot in your stomach becoming tighter much like his. The clap of his hips against your ass is muted from the blanket but you can’t help but feel the rush of it possibly being heard, of your crewmates sneaking glances at the two of you getting off against each other right in front of them. The fire has died down, the edges of the light just manages to reach you both.

Zoro’s balls draw tight, his orgasm unfurling at the seams and with a final thrust he presses the head of his cock inside of your entrance, milky white seed dripping out around his cock slick with your juices. You barely manage to hold in a sob when his fingers move to your clit, rubbing harsh circles till you come undone in a wet mess. The blanket covering you both is dirtied, becoming a reminder of what you had just done.

Zoro presses kisses to your shoulder, rubbing a large palm over your shaking thighs in an attempt to bring you down from your ogasm. To your surprise, no one had noticed. The party was still going strong and the sounds of singing have only become louder, most definitely drowning the two of you out.

Relief floods your veins and you relax against Zoro’s touch, allowing your eyelids to grow heavy till you hear the flick of a lighter from the upper deck, right above the two of you.

#roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #one piece fic #one piece x reader #n/sfw #maxx writes #zoro x you #roronoa zoro smut #one piece #one piece x reader insert

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sophiamamamia · 2 years

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From Mariupol.

Waiting for death

I go outside in between bombings. I need to walk the dog. It constantly whines, trembles, and hides behind my legs.

I want to sleep all the time. My yard, surrounded by high-rise buildings, is quiet and dead. I'm no longer afraid to look around.

Opposite, the entrance to the one hundred and fifth house, number 105 is burning down. The flames have devoured five floors and are slowly chewing on the sixth. In the room, the fire is burning gently, as in a fireplace. Black charred windows stand without glass. From them, like tongues, curtains gnawed by flames are falling out. I am looking at it calmly feeling doomed to die.

I'm sure I'll die soon. It's a matter of days.

In this city, everyone is constantly waiting for death. I just wish it wasn't too scary. Three days ago, a friend of my older nephew came to us and said that there was a direct hit on the Fire station. The rescuers died. One woman had her arm, leg, and head torn off.

I wish that my body parts remain in place, even after the explosion of an air bomb.

I don't know why, but it seems important to me. Although, on the other hand, they will still not be buried during the bombing going on. This is how the police answered us when we caught them on the street and asked what to do with our friend’s dead grandmother. They advised us to put her on the balcony.

I wonder how many more balconies there are with dead bodies laid down?

Our house on Mir (Peace) Avenue is the only one that has escaped direct hits. It has nearly escaped twice when hit by shells, windows flew out in some apartments, but it was hardly damaged, compared to other houses, and it looks lucky.

The entire yard is covered in layers of ash, fragments of glass, plastic, and metal.

I am trying not to look at the huge iron structure that has landed on the children’s playground. I think it's a rocket, or maybe a mine. I don't care, it's just annoying. In the window of the third floor, I see someone's face and I flinch in fright. It turns out that I'm afraid of living people.

My dog starts howling and I understand that now they will shoot again.

I am standing in the daytime on the street, and there is complete cemetery-like silence around me. There are no cars, no voices, no children, no grandmothers on benches. Even the wind died.

However, there are still a few people here. They are lying near the side of the house and in the parking lot, covered with outerwear. I don't want to look at them. I'm afraid I'll see someone I know.

All life in my city has been smoldering in basements. It reminds me of a flickering candle in our basement compartment. It is so easy to put it out. Any vibration or a gentle breeze and darkness will come.

I am trying to cry, but I can't. I feel sorry for myself, my family, my husband, my neighbors, my friends.

I go back to the basement and listen to the vile iron rattle there. Two weeks have passed, and I no longer believe that there was once another life here.

In Mariupol, people continue to sit in the basements. Every day it is getting harder for them to survive. They have no water, no food, no light, they cannot even go outside because of the constant shelling.

Mariupol residents must live. Help them. Tell everyone about it. Let everyone know that civilians continue to be killed.

Written by a resident of Mariupol, Nadiya Sukhorukova, translated by Laura Olla AZ Palmer.

#ukraine #russia #russia ukraine war #war #stop putin #stop russia #notallrussians #not all russians #russian culture #stand with ukraine #save mariupol #mariupol

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

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I read the edgy!karl, I’ve just finished reading the alt!dream, WHEN IS GEORGE GONNA BE NEXT 😩😩

*cracks knuckles* the hcs that everyone has provided me with has hella prepped me and I'm ready. this is dedicated to 🍭 anon, whose fanart always steals my entire heart. i love u babe

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐄. ᶤ 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐤!𝐠𝐧𝐟

± pairings: punk!Georgenotfound x fm!reader

± word count: ~3300

± warnings: smut (18+), language, tattoo work, sadism, pain kink (if you squint), domination, mentions of needles, asphyxiation

song recommendation: Cent Fois by Alice et Moi

George’s mind wandered to his curiosity of the shop across from his tattoo parlor; bright neon signs advertising the local psychic. It was a stark contrast to the dark, wet city housing the businesses. Each night he locked up, he found himself standing on the other edge of the street, staring at the signs and draperies peeking from behind the glass windows and considering shedding his skeptical nature just for one night.

While your business was alluring in and of itself, his true draw to the place came after he had spotted you moving into the apartments above. Your clean appearance completely juxtaposed the business you ran. In his opinion, all natural healers and psychics were born scam artists only focused on the quickest way to pinch a penny.

Yet day after day, he found himself having to tear his eyes from your business just to get home or he would actually venture inside. He was rather subtle about his fascination when it came to his co-workers and regular customers, but each day he prayed you would wander in, requesting some kind of tattoo in a place hidden from outside eyes.

A place he’d like to see again in a less professional setting.

You flipped the textbook page after finishing your paragraph, highlighting a date you were looking for before leaning towards your notebook and scribbling down the fact. You gnawed on the end of your pen absent-mindedly, positive you still didn’t know what your professor had been rattling off about in class a few hours prior. Your sights drifted up to the incense burning across the store from you, the stick on its last few centimeters of wood as the smoke went stale.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, debating if you should light another or wait until morning. You capped your marker and stretched your back, the bell over the door letting out a telling chime as a man peeked in.

You leaned over the counter, closing your books. “Good evening! Welcome to After Life. Can I help you find anything?” You rambled, your mind flashing to the sheet of paper tucked into the frame of your bathroom mirror so you didn’t forget the basics of customer service.

The man stepped further into your view, stuffing his fists in his jean pockets as he walked closer in a cautious motion. His dark t-shirt advertised a band you had vaguely heard of, but couldn’t think of a song even if your life depended on it. What really drew your attention were his tattooed arms; branches from a grand tree twisting every which direction to peek out from beneath his sleeves; bright floral designs and litters of birds decorating the dark wood limbs. You bit back a smile at the small mushroom tattoo near his wrist that seemed to be out of place.

The laces of his Chuck Taylors grazed the floor before he was standing in the middle of your store, looking around briefly. “I actually co-own the parlor across the street. I realized I never welcomed you officially,” he stated, hints of nervousness reflecting in his tone. His accent was calming and husky from the season change.

At the mention of the tattooist across the street, your memory flashed to the various walks of life that found themselves in your store after getting work done. You also thought of the fact that you had seen the man before you break up fights in the street stretching between your properties. The tall muscular people seemed to have no effect on him as he’d pull them apart like school children on the playground.

You pushed your books further to the side. “Oh yeah, that’s right! I should have come over and introduced myself, so don’t worry about it,” you eased, swatting the air of his comment.

He chuckled softly before reality seemed to snap into his head, making him step forward and extend a hand to you. “I’m George, by the way,” he introduced. You took his hand, muttering your own name and hoping your attention span would hold for long enough that he would be entered into your long-term memory.

His hand was calloused in yours, something that you wondered came with the job or if he was some kind of carpenter in a past life of his. You gently pulled his hand closer to you, slipping your hold out of his to look at his palm. He tittered nervously, peering at the flesh with you. Your finger traced along the mounts in his hand, finding Jupiter to be the most prominent. “That checks out,” you mumbled to yourself, nodding softly.

His eyebrows perked up. “What? Am… Am I gonna meet a tall dark stranger and take a trip across the sea?” He joked, making you smile as you looked at his Sun line.

“I didn’t peg you as an Outlander fan,” you chided.

His brows flattened for a moment, chewing the inside of his lip and playing with his snake bite piercings. You found it hard to look away from him. “Honestly, I wasn’t. A girl I was fooling around with really liked it. I don’t know…” he trailed off, making you giggle.

Your nail grazed along his heart line. “You guys were just fooling around?” You quirked, eyes meeting his. His expression narrowed smugly as if urging you to continue. “Your heart line begins below your index finger. You’re not the fooling around type.” He let out a snort. “You fall in love easily too.”

He sighed with a slight sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you. You couldn’t tell if he was amazed or mocking you again. “Well, yeah. That’s…” He paused with a swallow, biting back a grin as if he was uncomfortable, but didn’t retract his hand from you. “... That’s why we’re not anymore,” he admitted. He leaned his elbows on the counter as you sat in your chair. “What else does it say?”

Your lips curled into a soft smirk, his curious eyes trailing over your face as if to watch your brain work. “You have a fire element hand which indicates that you’re confident and passionate. Maybe a bit cocky sometimes,” you teased, making him chuckle with you. You could feel his eyes on you, sending heat to your cheeks as you tried not to focus on the mount of Venus under your touch.

You wanted to ask him about his sexual indulgences, mainly because of the prevalence of Venus in his palm. “You have a mount in Jupiter, which means you’re a natural leader, and rather dominant.” You looked up at him again, watching as he bit back a smirk, seemingly understanding the subtle innuendos behind your statements.

George seemed to have some kind of effect on you, your thoughts clouding with the idea of what his snake bites would feel like against your lips. He smelled like cigarette smoke, but there was no discoloration to his skin to suggest he was the one smoking. He watched you through the hair threatening to dangle over his eyes, his gaze hinting at an attraction he had for you below his collected form. “Go on,” he murmured, voice soft and wispy as the space between the two of you seemed to warm.

You made a conscious effort to keep your sultry thoughts at bay as your thumb brushed over the area you had been avoiding telling him about. “You’re driven by desire,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… very in touch with your sexuality and you thrive on your indulgences.”

You couldn’t help but meet his eyes, the dark irises swimming with some kind of cocky smugness at what you had just told him. He pulled away from you, gently standing up. Part of you wished the counter between the two of you would vanish just so you could be pressed up against George at the mercy of his driven mind. “I feel it's only fair I tattoo you now,” he quipped, making your eyebrows raise. Your confidence shriveled yet you swore you wouldn’t let him know that fact.

You chewed on your lip, looking up at him with a hint of suspicion. “Oh, I’ve never been tattooed,” you avowed, voice carrying the slightest bit of your coaxing nature.

He smirked. “I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he cajoled, teeth playing at his piercings again as you were sure he was already undressing you with his eyes. “You read me, I’d like to do the same.”

And how could you refuse such an appealing offer?

You leaned back on your elbows, your skin sticking to the leather chair beneath you as you watched him pull back his hair, elastic band dangling from his white teeth. Despite securing back his locks, bits of his bangs still hung over his forehead. You liked the interior of his parlor, maybe because it was only the two of you.

George began to fill small caps of dark ink. “I think you should get some crystals in here,” you teased, making him smirk. “I could hook you up.”

“What, like a salt lamp?” He joked, pulling on a pair of dark plastic gloves.

You snorted, lying back and looking up at the ceiling. “It might be good. Lighten the place up a bit.” George swiveled his chair closer to you muttering some kind of line about only getting them from you, but his words fell silent on your ears as his hand pushed up your shirt. You were silently thanking whatever divine force above for swaying you towards slinkier lingerie earlier that morning.

You knew he could see the lacy edges of your bra by the way his eyes nonchalantly flashed up to you before laying out his template on your ribs. You could feel hints of his warm breath against your skin as he studied it. “You can look at it if you want,” he stated.

You shook your head, wanting him close to you as long as he could be. “I trust you,” you muttered, your eyes meeting his again. His tongue pressed against his cheek as he struggled not to smile at your statement. He had promised to cover a small scar for you and by the way he explained it, you were ready to be in his hands. You wet your lips as he adjusted the speed on his tattoo gun. “Will this hurt?” You asked, tucking one of your arms behind your head.

The look of unadulterated lust that he gave you made your toes want to curl. “Probably a bit. It feels good sometimes, though,” he answered. He came closer to you, resting his forearm on your stomach to angle himself in the right position. At the feeling of his skin pressed against yours, you swore your body was on fire. It took everything in your power not to moan. It could have been the adrenaline pulsing through your veins, but his soft breath and the anticipation of the needle made you feel like a junky. “I’ll be gentle, darling,” he leered, his accent muddy and low. He let the needles drag against your skin and you bit your lip, trying not to hiss at the pain. His eyes met yours. “See, not bad.”

You let out a breathy wheeze. “Shut up, you sadist,” you quipped, his chuckle coming out rather roguish as he focused on the work in front of him. Your nerves were more focused on the way George’s hands were barely caressing your body as if teasing and hinting at what he could do to you.

You drew in a sharp breath as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. “Shhh shh. It’ll be over soon,” he cooed, his voice sending goosebumps spreading across your body as his lips tugged into a light smirk. By your palm reading, you knew he was enjoying having this much control over you.

Part of you found it almost torture when George would look at you with soft and lusty eyes for merely a second before his gaze jutted back down to his work, murmuring soft praises about how well you were taking the pain. You would go under the needle anytime he asked, just to receive the sultry treatment he gave.

He was so close, you could have driven your fingers into his dark hair if you wanted. “How did you get this scar?” He asked, cleaning off some of the ink before continuing.

“A knife fight,” you answered without missing a beat, making him scoff. “Actually, I fell into my grandma’s glass table one time. My cousin was teaching me the Electric Slide,” you corrected, making him laugh, shaking his head slightly as he filled in a spot.

He let his tongue dart across his lips. “That’s so cute. Did you ever get it figured out?” To this you shook your head, the both of you laughing. You let out a groan as the needle dug into another area on your ribs, the sound making his eyes dart up to you. He leaned off of you, slipping one of his gloves off. “Wanna hold my hand, sweetheart?” He joked, but you took his offer, squeezing his hand in yours when it got painful enough. You held it close to your chest, hoping he would feel your heartbeat quicken each time he looked at you.

As he finished up his work, his thumb brushed against your hand absent-mindedly. You could tell by the way he gripped your hand as well that he enjoyed that the tattoo hurt you. Most of your mind was excited by how easily he was stirred up by you, while the rest was completely unsurprised and even threatened to bite out that he was a cliché.

When he was finally satisfied, he cleaned you up and stuck on a SecondSkin, biting back a grin at his work as he pulled you up by the hand he was holding onto you with. You couldn’t help but smile at how excited you were to see, swinging your legs over the side of his hair and walking towards his mirror. You held your shirt up, chewing on your bottom lip as you grinned at the ink. George rested a hand beside the mirror, watching you beam at his work.

All of his lines were flawless, your scar completely disappearing within his shading. You’d pitched the idea of an ode to the Creation of Adam. While it was cliche, what better to fit in the space below your breast and give George the impression that you were cultured. Yet you told him he could do whatever he wanted to it, resulting in one of the hands resembling a skeleton and the other holding a sucker. As you praised him, he shrugged off your comments, murmuring about it being his pleasure. He reached out his free hand, letting his thumb smooth over one of the edges of this bandage, which brought you closer to him.

Your cheeks warmed at the close proximity to him as his eyes grazed over your body before meeting your own. His hand moved from the bandage to your back. You leaned on your toes, pressing your lips to his. The tension between the two of you dissipated as he hungrily reacted, pulling you against him and savoring your moans as his tongue slipped into your mouth.

George’s hands moved down your body, swiftly hooking around your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist to bring you back to his chair. Your hands moved into his hair, letting it loose and wrapping the band around your wrist. The leather was cold as your back pressed to it. George leaned back to pull his shirt over his head, revealing more of the tree painting the expanses of his skin.

If you weren’t so eager to be touched by him, you’d be studying the work of art.

As his lips met yours again, you ground your hips against his, eliciting a moan to vibrate through his chest. You raked your nails down his back, trying to further draw out reactions from him as his hands attentively played with the lace of your bra, fingers ghosting over the skin pressing against the cups.

His lips left yours only to travel the length of your jaw and inch his way toward your waistband. Your pants were discarded with a swift tug from him before he pulled your thighs flush against his, grinding his hips against yours, hands gripping onto your sides to keep you in place. You tilted your head back, relishing in the friction as your body screamed to finally feel him take advantage of you.

You reached between the two of you, tugging at his zipper as your hunger for him escalated. His tongue flattened against your collarbone before his teeth pressed into your skin. You could feel his arousal through his jeans at the sound of your whimpering.

He pumped himself in his hand before pressing into you, the feeling of him inside of you making your head spin as if you were on some kind of ecstasy. Your moan came out needy and desperate as he thrust into you, gripping the edge of the leather seat as his breath hummed against your skin. Your fingers threaded into his hair, raking your nails down his neck as he groaned in your ear at the feeling.

One of his hands grasped your wrists together, pinning them above your head while the other wrapped around your throat. His eyes burned into yours as he leaned back, leaning his weight on your wrists and squeezing your throat, the lack of oxygen making each of your senses more heightened as he pounded into you.

Your moans of George’s name were grated as they slipped through your mouth, his relentless pace and intense hold nearly making you drool from the stimulation. By the practice of his actions, you wondered how long he had been stewing on demolishing you in this way.

He loosened his grip on your neck, leaning down to press his lips against yours, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip just to hear you groan from the rough action. You rolled your hips against his, letting him slow his pace to reach deeper within you. A sadistic grin spread across his face as he rubbed a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the makeup smudging around your eyes from his antics and the heat between the two of you.

He pressed his lips to your neck, wrapping his hand around the edge of the chair again to drive himself into you, the new angle muddling your mind and vision as your body ached to come undone. You sank your nails into his back, earning his low, raspy whispers of your name.

At his praises, you came, tugging on his hair as he bit into your shoulder again, basking in the feeling of you clenching around him.

The next day, George stretched his shoulders, peering through the front window of his shop. His mind sparked with the feeling of your legs around his waist and the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He could practically hear you whimpering his name in his ears as he went back to touching up a fading tattoo on his friend’s arm.

“OW, George,” Clay rumbled, thigh flinching at the jab from George.

George snorted, his mind still on the high he got from your pure trust in him as you laid out on his chair. “I’ll give you something to bitch about,” George grumbled, releasing just how gentle he was during your tattoo. The way your voice got soft and quiet when he rolled over a spot that was rather tender already would most definitely be a guilty pleasure of his.

Clay barked at him again as George jerked his hand, fulfilling his promise. “I’VE BEEN NICE TO YOU ALL MORNING.”

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thelittleukrainianwell-armedgirl · 2 years