Happy Birthday [Shanks x Reader] [AU] (+18)

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(Photo: https://i.pinimg.com/564x/0f/b6/14/0fb614db396cb72dfc9fb34c55559338.jpg)

This is a smut/lemon/nsfw (however you wanna call it), meaning it contains explicit depictions of sex.

!!!!! If you're underage or of sensitive nature, I do not condone you reading this. You've been warned; I won't take any responsibility for any problem derived from reading this story.

I've come back with a bang! (Get it? Cause it's a sm-... I'll see myself out.)

I hope you guys enjoy it!

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Shanks smirked against the back of your neck at hearing your soft giggle. His body was almost completely flushed to your back, his fingers both expertly massaging circles on your hipbones and keeping you in place while he worked on leaving a hickey on the back of your shoulder.


"Shanks..."


Having spent the majority of the evening in a mind-numbing board meeting, you two had just arrived to your hotel and stepped into the elevator. Certainly, having to squish his birthday in between exhausting conferences hadn't been what he had been hoping for, but at least he got to spend the week with you in an expensive suite. And, in all honesty, you were all he needed in the first place.

You hadn't, however, had time to even press the button of your floor before your husband had started his ministrations. Another time, you would have found the experience even thrilling, but right then you pushed your hips back to nudge him, not in the mood whatsoever to possibly get caught almost making out in public by one of the other directors. He, however, used the given opportunity to completely press his groin against your ass through the fabrics, a sly smirk plastering on his lips as you tightened your grip on his hands.

The way up, although short in reality, felt like ages in your mind.


"Can't you wait until we get to the room?" You questioned, freeing his hands and turning around to capture his attention even if just for a second.


The redhead pouted, his warm brown irises following the skin of your neck down to the tantalizing plunging neckline of your white shirt. "I can, but that doesn't mean I want to." He looked back up with that infamous smirk of his, and you couldn't help but to roll your eyes in slight exasperation.


Luckily for you, the elevator stopped its movement as if on cue, and the doors parted after the soft ding. You stepped back —your gaze still glued to his— before actually spinning around and getting out onto the third floor.

Shanks focused on the way your hips swayed with each step you took in those black high heels of yours. They made your legs look amazing, and he inhaled sharply through his nose as he remembered how you had looked like only wearing them a few nights before. A sight he would be delighted to witness again. He followed the black lines of your seamed stockings back up and paused to admire how that black pencil skirt hugged your curves perfectly.

The minute you glanced over your shoulder at him with a knowing smile, nevertheless, he was more than quick to get out of the lift, drawn to you like a magnet.



The plastic key card fell on the cupboard by the entrance by luck.

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