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honestsycrets · 11 months

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starved | [miguel o'hara x reader]

❛ pairing | new papi!miguel x new mami!reader

❛ type | oneshot: explicit content

❛ summary | peter says he's sex-starved. he isn't. he's just... adjusting to less time with his wife.

❛ tags | breastfeeding miguel, lactation kink, slight pregnancy kink, touch starved, pissy miguel, spanish is not translated, mention of violence, some cursing, f!reader.

❛ sy’s notes | written as per poll request! thank you everyone who voted.

Miguel likes to work.

Or, he thinks he likes to work.

The fate of the multiverse and all that boring ass bullshit. Peter has heard it all, twice, thrice over. What he knows is what he sees. What he sees is an overworked man running through anomaly files, sending out orders, and not spending time where it really mattered.

“Is that who I think it is?” Peter’s annoying ass house slippers flapped over the ground by Miguel’s feet. Peter’s hands rubbed together, sparking little bursts of heat between his palms. “It is! Mireya!”

Mireya, the newest addition to his small family. She was nestled comfortably in the crook of one of Miguel’s muscular arms as if it were the safest place in the entire world, suckling on what was left of a bottle of breastmilk. Miguel turned to place the empty bottle down on his desk. Peter followed, peeping over Miguel’s arm at her. Despite Miguel’s reservations, her bright brown eyes bored Peter with interest. She cooed at him. “Can I hold her? Let me hold her, it’ll be great! Aw look, she has curls.”

“My daughter isn’t your doll.”

“Look how pretty, she’s just like her mami. All sunshine and dimples and--,” Peter reached forward, easing his scrawny hands under her plush little arms and picking her up. Miguel’s hands fell onto his hips, shifting weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at his feet expectantly. “You know, for a new dad, you’re grumpier than usual.”

“Peter.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he bobbed back and forth, spinning in a circle. She giggled the kind of laugh that was all sugar, making Peter grin even harder. “I mean, wasn’t Mireya your idea? Are you-- y’know?”

“Y’know?”

“Sex starved,” Peter whispered like it was a great, terrible secret. As if in this vast space of silence, someone might catch his words and convict him because of them. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes slid against one another, held for a second, then spread open in an annoyed flick. He fluttered his gloved fingers at Peter to hand Mireya over.

“I’m just saying if you need a night alo--”

“I don’t. I’m not sex-starved.”

He waved him off. His eyes fell on his daughter, boring back up at him with those beautiful eyes he had waited so long to see. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, lulling her back into her late-night slumber, cradled against his chest.

Sex starved, he said. What a shocking joke.

His room was no place for a child. It was perpetually dark, dimmed for his sensitive eyes. So, at the end of the day, Miguel had your room to return to. A real home, one with more than a ratty run-down chair and a lifetime of regrets. A home that he couldn't make alone. Miguel pressed past the bedroom door where he found you overcome by sleep. Just like Mireya in his arms.

He turned his gaze down to Mireya once more, her soft and squishy body a vision of peace. Tiny fists balled up over her belly as she slept in her soft velvet onesie. The whole world in his hands: the start of a happy little family. Only right now, it didn’t feel so happy. Those were the cycles, the push and pull of life.

Tonight would prove to be another silent night with his thoughts. His chest swelled with a rush of air, bunching up his shoulders as he moved to the adjoining room to set Mireya into her warm crib. Torn from his warmth, her palms stretched out, ready to wail. Miguel placed his hand along the wooden rail, his stomach flopping into throbbing anxiety in his stomach. She could wake you up. "Shh," he set his finger in her tiny palm. Mireya’s small hands rested listlessly around her head. The wail never came.

“Mi vida,” your sleepy voice fell over his ears, a gentle caress. He longed to hear it from your lips again. “Is she already asleep?”

“Sí--” he glanced over his shoulder, catching just a sight of one of his favourite little slips. Dusty rose with delicate lace details. He studied the edge of the gown, flowing over your thick thighs as you walked. Shock.

“You look beautiful." You looked down at your soft belly, a mincing smile pulling at your lips. He knew you were nervous, the way your hands obscured your plush belly. Mesmerized, his finger fell away from Mireya's soft grip. Peter's words echoed in his mind, a deep annoyance. It made his skin crawl, this growing annoyance in the acknowledgment that he had no sex in weeks, months. He took a step forward.

“I hope she doesn’t sleep through the night. My breasts are full,” Your fingers skimmed the taut skin. The glint of your wedding band invited him forward as if… you should be his tonight. You were his wife-- and though he didn't expect you to give him relief, he missed you. Miguel dipped his head, stroking the sore muscles of his neck.

Are you, y'know, sex-starved?

“When does she ever..." he couldn't help from saying. He grazed his fingertips over the swollen skin of your breasts, glancing from the skin to your deep, shy eyes. His breath thinned, realizing that you were disengaging, too scared to look him in the eye.

“She does, Miggy,” you breathed. His jaw worked, annoyed. “Lately. You’d know if you came home at night.”

If it was lately, he had no knowledge of it. Every lab screen he pulled up, every status report from Lyla, and every silent night in the lab, obsessing over how his little girl was doing-- he missed it. He should be coming in more often, crossing the threshold of work to family life. His hand cupped the underside of your breast. You winced, embarrassment working on your face. You pushed his hand away, likely feeling exposed by his touch on your tender skin.

“Does it hurt?” He leaned down, mingling his smoky, musky scent with your delicate one. He leaned in to place a soft, open-mouthed kiss along your neck, the warm pulse of your skin against his plump lips.

“Miggy, you’ll wake her up.”

Your fingers laced in his before you pulled him out of the room with a click of the door. He settled his hand on the middle of the door, sliding his hand up your waist, the soft fabric crinkling over the movement. He glimpsed a look at your soft panties cupping your round ass. “Miggy, I… I can’t. I’m tired.”

Of course, you were tired-- He underestimated how much work you took on in her care. He willed the wisps of his desire to snuff out. The distant flicker of hope followed promptly after. Maybe, one day, you would want him again. It wasn't today.

“Ya veo,” he suppressed his frustrated growl, wrinkling his forehead. “Another time.”

It wasn't the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

The anomaly whirled along a cobblestone street, exploding in a cloud of dust and stone. Its many black dipped hands flickered, dulling into little more than a negligible tremor of their limbs. Everyone else noticed the complacency that came with loss of consciousness. Miguel did not.

Miguel sauntered forward, dragged it by its muddy boots out from the crumbly remnants of the wall, and whirled it into another. It wasn't moving. It was done, tired, exhausted. He didn't care, his large hand encompassing its tendril hair and smashing it over the dusty floor. A violent crack, crack, crack of its head scratched his inert need to destroy something, anything, anyone. It fell from his hands with a slump. Miguel spat a bit of blood to the side, his cheek chewed raw under the tension of the moment.

“You need to take Peter up on that offer.”

Miguel stretched his neck one way. Then the other.

“We’ve been over this,” Miguel grumbled, hiking the pummeled body over his shoulder. It gushed blood, streaming into a diluted pink with the downpour of rain. A simple contusion, Miguel said. It was just a contusion. And a concussion. Maybe a gash or two. It would heal if the thing woke up. “I don’t need help.”

“You thrashed it, whatever it was,” Jess said pointedly. Miguel’s finger ran across his watch. The air was stale without an acknowledgment of Miguel’s churning temper, growing into a churning tempest by the passing minute. He stared long and hard through his mask. She drew out the silence as she waited for his response.

“It’s a contusion.”

The portal whirled to life before them in a slurry of vivid color, an unforgiving abyss. Jess slumped her bike with weight on one thigh, hand on her belly. The longer Miguel stared at her, so full and pregnant, the more he was reminded of you. He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no use-- he saw visages of you everywhere he looked.

“Doesn’t look like any head contusion I’ve seen,” Gwen slid into the portal. His lip curled, annoyed by the obvious objection to what he was saying. If they would let it go-- he could go on about his life, wait for this obsession with his sex life to abate. Wait for you to come back to him.

“You can’t keep taking out your—“

“I am not sex-starved!”

“Convincing.” Jess sped into the portal.

Miguel soothed the stress out of his forehead, opening and closing his palm, a current of energy coursing through his palms. They picked— and they picked— and they picked at him. At some point, he was bound to explode. He only hoped you wouldn't be in his way when it happened. He whipped the anomaly through the portal and followed after.

On the other side of the portal, there was Peter— again. Cooing with his hands on his daughter— again. His dark mask faded away, his suit wicking water off his frame. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he located you beside Jess and Gwen. You nudged its crumpled body with your shoe. He didn’t often feel ashamed of his actions. Usually, they were necessary. Something was wrong, your face pinched and curled in disgust. He felt the string of your disapproval pulling through his arms, a slight, incriminating tremor flickering through his finger. He willed it away.

“What did you do to this poor thing?” you turned to Jess, a click-click-click off your tongue. He’d hardly call it poor. “It’s overkill.”

“Girl, ask your husband,” Jess folded her arms, reclining on her bike.

“Mi Miggy?” you went to him. You leaned over, pecking his cheek with a terribly insulting kiss, tickling his jawline. He swallowed. Blinked. Then frowned and brushed off your fingers, finding the care misplaced. You could care for an anomaly but didn't care to ask him how he felt. What he needed. Your voice wilted that sunshine quality, dropping almost to a whisper. “¿Qué te pasa, Miggy?”

“Nothing.”

“Miguel--"

“I said nothing!” He knelt down, grasping its ankle and dragging it down the long, drab hall that stored a variety of anomalies. A line of blood soaked the floor, swerving after his rumbling steps. You took a step forward, snatching his wrist between your fingers. He whirled around, a tremble on his lips firmed out into an unforgiving glare. You let up the pressure on his wrist, allowing him to spin his hand free. “Déjame en paz! There is nothing shocking wrong!”

Mireya cried. So did you.

The admittance that Peter was right wasn’t one that Miguel was about to make openly.

Although he showed up that night, as you informally requested, the night proceeded awkwardly. There was no talk over dinner, not as he watched you feed his little girl, swaying by the window of the enormous city below. As you gazed into the sea of twinkling lights, Miguel came up behind you. His palms encompassed your slight shoulders, moist against your exposed shoulders. His naked chest grazed your back.

"Are you going to apologize?"

Why should he have to? If anyone listened to what he was saying-- he wouldn't be in this mess. Still, Miguel steeled his face. He placed a mincing kiss on the top of your head. His voice thinned out, barely a feather on his lips.

"I snapped."

"You did a lot more than that. You scared her."

You let him sit with his regret until you fell asleep. He debated returning to the lab or his room to try again tomorrow. But he knew his wife. You were attentive to everything that he did. You might take it as a sign of his disinterest. After minutes turned to hours, he breached the door and slid into your bed when he was sure you were asleep.

When his eyes coursed over your figure, he realized all he missed. It was too long since he felt the warmth of a real kiss. Not the brief pecks on his lips as he rushed out the door to help Jess or Gwen or any other number of spiders demanding his attention. He missed the warmth in your eyes, the way they turn into crescents with a happy smile or jaunty laugh. He longed for that sensation of your fingers combing through his hair, taking your time and curling his fluffy hair behind his ear, eyes trained on his alone in a sea of spiders. That… sensation of being the only one that you wanted.

Mireya was that for you now. He longed for it every time he came into the room, seeing you sway with his child in your arms, cradled against your breast, feeding her into a restful sleep. What he thought was a mere seed of jealousy turned out to be a terrible beast, tendrils of resentment that you can’t see what he needs. He needs you. And it isn’t his beautiful Mireya’s fault, no. It’s his.

Instead, he lay there with his palm wretched around his cock, soaked in the artificial lubricant, throbbing into his hand. He remembered his words that night. A begrudging -- Mami, give me a baby-- and how well you took him. Your body seemed to know what he wanted, swelling with his child after a few weeks. He buckled into his palm, cranking around the base and swirling up to his leaking tip, bubbling with his need. He circled his finger over the head, swiping the fluid away.

“What are you thinking about?”

Miguel paused, sweat crept down his thick throat over his broad chest. He shuddered under the weight of your silken words. His hand coiled around his cock in one more jerk, somehow accepting that he had been caught.

“Are you thinking about me? Or is there someone else?”

"Someone else?" he breathed. His lips dropped into a frown, agitation simmering to a boil. It cooled when you looked at him-- but really looked at him. The bed shifted under your weight, ruffling pillows aside. You hoisted your legs over his body, pushing his cock against your soft vulva and his stomach, breasts pushing into his face. So close that Miguel inhaled the uniquely sweet smell of your milk obscured by thin lace.

“Why would I have anyone else?” he asked, his chest distantly aching. His gaze tracked from one breast to the other. He stole a glimpse at your face, stricken with shyness. The slight pout of your lips, eyes refusing contact. “Do you even want me?”

Undoubtedly yes.

“You don’t come to see me. You don't fuck me. You don't even--"

"You're always tired."

"But you could wake me.”

“Could I? To deny me again?” It hadn’t meant to come out so passive-aggressive, but with the natural inflections in his voice, he knew you could read him like a book.

“Oh, papi," not that soft voice. He might hope again. "I always want you.“

Hmpf. Debatable.

“Even when you’re jerking off in my bed. Or couch.” You slid your pink tongue along your lower lip, guiding your body against his. The wet draw of your juices over his dick drew his sharp scarlet eyes to the sight, knocking your stiff clit with his dick. For a moment, his words failed. He should have known you would watch him.

“Is that why you're so... angry? Because of me?" He made a small noise, barely a huff. You drew his hands to your full breasts, obscured by a thin layer of fabric. This time, he smothered a groan in his chest. How pathetic, he thought, to be moaning from something as simple as your firm breasts back in his hands. What was he-- twelve? "Have I been neglecting you, Miguel O’Hara?”

“Yes-- you've neglected me,” he murmured, dragging the lace underneath each breast, knocked together by the straps of the fabric. He melded your breasts again between his hands, massaging the sore skin. His thumps flickered over your nipples, stiffening them into peaks. With a small pinch to your breasts, milk dribbled over his fingertips.

"I won't do it again," he wondered if you missed his touch by the full, grateful hum of your lips, your palms disappearing into his dark hair. You coursed along his dick again, eliciting another piteous noise of longing from his throat. "I promise."

“Hm," was the only agreement. "What a mess,” he teased, not bothering to look at you. It had the desired effect, your shoulders shyly bunching up, the cute pout of your lips, warmth in your cheeks, quivering eyes. He loved it when you looked so fucking shy, so vulnerable, and all for him. "You're leaking all over my hand."

“I’m-- sorry,” you flushed, “It… happens.”

“Mhm, you're full,” Miguel flicked his pink tongue along your stiff, fat nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a suckle. Sweet milk soothed his tongue. He hungrily drank it up, shifting his other hand back to angle his cock at the entrance of your core. A hand left his thick locks and jerked to his broad shoulder, stabilizing your hips down to sink onto him. Blood welled to the surface with your claws scratching piteously along his sunkissed skin. With a bit of resistance, he slid perfectly into your body, just like he always did. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips against your breast. It was somehow different-- the tug and stretch of his cock-- as he fucked the mother of his child. Maybe it was all in his head. “Shock, you’re gorgeous on my dick.”

“Miggy--”

He shifted to the other breast, his hands nearly stapled on your hips, encouraging you to do the work. Your warm milk slid into his mouth, down his starved throat. The pleasure of knowing he was draining you of your milk was tempered with the ever-present fact that soon, you’d have his spunk in your belly again. Your hips flushed, drawing around in quick circles, flushed with his pelvis. Small waves of pleasure grew in your belly. Your stiff clit glided against his skin, again, and again with the undulations of his hips. You felt pinned between his mouth and dick, restricted in movement, but all his, devoured by his need.

“Come here, mi hermosura,” Miguel released your breast from those lush lips, sliding his tongue along his lips to catch the remnants of your sweet milk. He slid down along the pillows, flushing your chest to his, and propped his legs slightly for a better angle. His muscular arms wound around your back, cock pumping into you with renewed vigor. He knocked against your cervix in this position, holding you fast and tight in his arms. You nestled against his sweaty chest, accepting his thrusts so well.

“Miggy-- I’m not-- on anything.”

“You're breastfeeding, close enough,” he mused in your ear as though it were a joke.

You might have argued with him if you weren’t so blinded by that fantastic juddering of his hips. As it were, pleasure rocked all thoughts of birth control out of your mind. Miggy, an ever-present lover, groaned as he held out through your orgasm milking and soaking his swollen dick in your cum. Not a moment later, Miguel forced a long stroke of his dick inside your cunt, reaching his climax buried deep in your tremoring walls. You squeezed him tight, milking him dry of his orgasm until it all faded into fuzzy pleasure. You sighed as his arms loosened, warm and full of Miguel after so long. His soft dick slipped free, cum oozing onto his thighs, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess.

He set a kiss on the top of your head, then your forehead, and eventually snatched your lips in a warm kiss. You could taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue and flushed. Your head dropped down on his chest, listening for the gentle whining of your daughter. It was silent but for the intermingling of your heaving breaths.

After all the issues: the disappointment, the fighting with Peter and Jess, Miguel couldn’t help but chuckle. All it took was jerking off in your bed. He should have known-- you never did like to be left out on his fun. You were always a jealous lover, even at the threat of his own hand.

“Hm? Why are you laughing?”

“Peter said I was sex-starved."

“Well," you glistened a smile, kissing along his jaw. He huffed. "He wasn't wrong."

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diorchids · 4 months

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teasing, luke castellan.

cw: smut, piv, masturbation, sadism (slightly??), fem!reader, swearing & more

from this ask (i never did it)

luke loves to piss you off. the way you pout or get all pissy about his teasing just makes him elated.

getting to comfort you with his fat cock in your sweet cunt, or it stuffed down your throat.

the cabins were empty while the bonfire at the lake had kept everyone entertained, but your thighs burned when you thought about luke.

after weeks, this was your chance to finally have alone time, rather than fucking deep in the woods.

he’d been touching you all day. rubbing the small of your back, massaging your thighs while you told him about whatever, he loved teasing.

“want you so bad, luke. nobody’s here, l-let’s just do it now,” you whined while he thumbed your puffy clit through your panties, “so fuckin’ good, luke, please.” you whimpered each time his thumb pressed onto your nub.

you were desperate. too much for his liking, though.

he sighed while your eyes ran over his face, “so needy. so, so needy. wan’ my cock, yeah?” he smiled lightly as his fingers curved while he palmed his cock through his jeans.

you nodded while biting your lips, trying not to cry as he moved slowly just to get you bothered.

your core tingled on and on until he finally pulled his cock out, tip dripping with pre-cum as you sat up with anticipation, “please, now, luke. stop bein’ so mean..” you whined pathetically, the wet patch on your panties making his pretty cock twitch.

you just wanted his fat cock, what’s so wrong with that?

you yanked off your wet panties with quickness.

“can't wait any longer?" with one swift motion, he pushed his cock inside you, filling you up completely. “oh, fuck." he groaned as he bottomed out, feeling you tighten around him.

his hand was planted on your stomach while his cock through up in your stomach, making him practically whimper at the sight, “shit—look, baby. stop cryin’, look at me.” his words made you clench his fat cock so perfectly, practically milking him.

you didn’t stop crying.

his other hand gripped either side of your cheeks, while your lips squished into the cutest little shape. he loved this look on you, kissing you harshly while his tongue roamed your whole mouth filthily.

“luke, keep goin’, s-so good. cock feels so good in my tummy, baby..” you tapered off because his cock dumbing you down completely.

he looked down, watching his cock disappear into your tight cunt. “fuck, you're so tight." he groaned.

your lips quivered with each thrust given to you, cervix almost being beaten up if he went any deeper.

“kiss? want me to kiss you, yeah?” you nodded dumbly while your cunt spat out juices to compensate for the overstretching.

your eyes rolled out salty tears that luke smeared all over your lips, making you taste what he was doing to you. your puffy lips looked so pretty.

your core tightened pathetically, clenching his cock perfectly.

he pulled out of you. your gaped cunt clenched around nothing when you moaned like a whore.

“luke? no, no, no, please, luke, needa cum!” you whined helplessly while he got up to put his jeans back on. he shook his head incessantly, carrying on with his dressing.

his cock was still obviously hard underneath his jeans, fat bulge making you whimper softly.

he tsked while you silently begged, “look at you—can’t live without my cock,” he teased you sadistically, watching you beg and get all pissy about him pulling out.

you followed him around camp with a stick up your ass, acting like a brat because you couldn’t get what you want.

he couldn’t help but laugh at you shouting at him and pushing him while you were dead serious.

your cunt still ached at the thought of him pounding it relentlessly, walls getting practically bruised from the constant abuse of them.

“it’s not fucking funny, luke. i’m serious!” you’d managed to grab his arm, he kept walking away and chuckling at the sight of you being this angry over him doing so small.

you were serious, though. very serious. you didn’t find anything funny, he ripped your orgasm from your fingertips after dangling it in your face like a carrot on a stick.

you jerked him off while he whimpered pathetically in your ear just half an hour later.

“f-fuck, feels so—good. love you so much, sooo good t’ me,” he bucked his hips up into your hand pitifully.

it wasn’t so funny when you let go of his cock, resulting in him begging you to make him cum for hours.

#pjo #luke castellan #luke pjo #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #charlie bushnell

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ukigun · 2 months

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੭୧ more ellie ; before patrol.

⋆𖦹. : waking ellie up before her patrol. ( from my hcs list )

this is my first time attempting this, so smile n nod pls..

cw: sfw. no usage of y/n. joel is still alive (slight mention). pet names like “baby.” a little scattered..

“baby?” you whisper so faintly amidst the stillness of the room, you aren’t even sure you really spoke. your eyes caress the silhouette of her messy hair before enveloping her with gentle care.

pressing one kiss to her temple, you try again. “els?”

she stirs, her own soft murmur escaping her lips, her words utterly lost in a haze of sleep before she nuzzles closer to you. as much as it swarms you with warmth, as much as you want to cuddle her up and sleep for eternity, you have to get her up.

if she wakes from anything other than you, her mood is pissy all day, so you do this out of courtesy to her patrol partner.

“c’mon els, you have patrol.” you speak in a whisper, lacing your tone with sweetness, a tender plea. “wake up, baby.” you pepper gentle, scattered kisses along her freckled skin. each kiss a testament to the quiet intimacy of your morning ritual.

the smallest hint of a sleepy smirk begins tugging at the corners of her lips, “really, kisses as bribery?” her voice still heavy with the remnants of sleep.

“well it got you up, right?” you retort with a playful, snarky tone before you seal the moment with a tender kiss to her lips now that she’s awake to reciprocate.

you watch as she gets up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before fixing and smoothing down her hair.

“you’re.. gonna go like that?” you ask, only half teasing.

ellie turns around, a playful scoff released from her lips. “excuse you, it’s just patrol.”

you snicker before getting out of bed too. “yeah, but presentability still matters, els.” you retaliate while fishing out her green jacket from the closet.

handing her the jacket, she accepts with a soft smile lingering on her lips. without a word, she embraces you with a series of tender kisses to your lips. “you know i could stay, skip out on patrol.” she teases, her words whispered between kisses.

letting her very tempting suggestion linger in the air for just a moment, you’re ‘ready’ to pull back from her embrace. “we’ll have plenty of kisses later, els,” you playfully push on her shoulder. “get your shoes on and go.”

she groans and moves towards the collection of shoes, her fingers deftly snatching her boots as she slips them on her feet. “no fun at all.” she teases, her tone laced with mock disappointment.

you roll your eyes with a small smile, “you know joel will never let you live it down if you’re late again.” you remind her.

with a resigned sigh, she stands and adjusts her jacket. “yeah yeah, i’m going” she relents, her voice carrying a hint of reluctancy as she prepares to leave the comfort of your cozy haven.

you follow closely behind as she heads for the door. your hand falls over hers when she reaches for the handle.

with a tender smile, you lean in for one last kiss which you intended to be brief, but of course she elongates it. breaking off with a soft laugh, you gently tease her. “okay, okay. time to go.”

she smiles and leaves, closing the door gently behind her, leaving you alone in the now quiet shared space. you sigh and return to the bed, the absence of her presence palpable.

now, you have to wait forever for her return so you can be filled in on the patrol details.

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dilatorywriting · 7 days

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Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 1.5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: There is a little, annoying human trapped in this bay with him. And he's going to eat them. (Vil's POV)

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3]

There was a little, raggedy human staring up at him from the sand, and Vil had never felt so miserably persecuted in all his years.

The thing had been bound to him in a mess of ropes and frantic, bipedal flailing, and he’d honestly thought that it had drowned. Hoped that it had drowned. But no, apparently he couldn’t be quite so lucky. None of his pod’s raids had ever gone so terribly, and normally he was better able to keep his head about him. But it had been Epel’s first attempt at sneaking on board one of the grand, creaking, human vessels, and maybe he’d been a touch concerned about it. Like a fretting parent sending their guppy off to the deep for their first solo-swim. And perhaps he’d struck a bit too quick and sharp when he saw things headed South. Not taking the normal care he would to assess for traps, or weapons, or stupid humans and their equally stupid, fraying ropes.

But none of that mattered. It was hardly a crime to want to protect your family. It had happened, that was the end of it. There was no changing things. And now he was here. In this cove. With that thing.

You pedaled backward in the sand like those two legs of yours hardly worked at all, and even though it looked like you were retreating (rightfully so, at least you were smart enough to realize this was a lost battle), Vil still bared his teeth in a challenge. Because he was angry, and sore, and at the moment you were the cause of every, single one of his problems in the world. He tossed his tail in the surf, splattering stinging bits of ice water into your face.

“Stop! Stop!” you squawked, wheeling away like he was dousing you in acid rain rather than a bit of pissy water warfare. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

“Of course you weren’t,” he spat. “From the looks of you, you don’t plan much of anything at all.”

You didn’t respond to his scathing insult, only kept scooting yourself back against the sand on legs that still apparently refused to work. Or maybe you’d simply forgotten about them. You seemed like you could be the type.

He ground his talons into the damp sand at his hips and felt the ridges of the fins along his spine prickling tight and painful, trying to puff out in a predatory display that they simply couldn’t because he was still bound in the godforsaken rope.

“I don’t know what your little plan was,” he hissed, “but you’ve done both of us a disservice. And while I’m sure you’re used to disappointment, I am not going to tolerate this.”

More silence. You looked—not confused, per se. But definitely not particularly keen on following his very justified rant against your person. Your gaze kept darting from his vicious glare, to his claws digging up the shoreline, and then to his lips. He could see your own mouth moving a bit alongside his, like you were trying to echo the shape of the insults flying off his tongue.

“Listen here, you fleshy rat,” he snapped, jabbing a black talon in your direction. “You’re going to tell me the course that your ridiculous ship had set so that I can return to my pod at once. Do you understand? And if you’re lucky, I won’t crawl my way up there to bite off your fingers one by one. How’s that sound?”

You blinked back at him with no comprehension, like his marvelous depiction of having your bones gnawed on for snacks just wasn’t a vivid enough picture.

The rage in his chest bubbled bright and hot, and the age-old magics in his veins zipped through his blood like a stroke of lightening.

Insolent brat.

Fine. He’d make you listen then.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you said, and oh, you were a nuisance. He was going to rip your nerves out from the depths of your useless, human limbs. Feast on your bones until the marrow had been picked clean and leave the scraps for the gulls—

He parted his lips and sang loud and sharp—letting that familiar lull roll off his tongue like the sweetest poison. His Call had always been the strongest in his pod, after all. That’s why it was his job to keep them safe, to ensure that no one was lost in a hunt that was meant to be so simple just because they couldn’t keep their purple-headed curiosity under wraps long enough to not to be caught—

Vil turned his sneer back your way, fully prepared to see you kowtowed before him with your nose buried in the sand. And—

You were just sitting there. Butt in the muck and just as wide-eyed and brainless as before. Staring back at him with a startled sort of expression on your face and nothing else. Normally there was a sort of tether between him and his victims. A call, an answer. Simple principles. And while he could never see the tangible net of his influence tightening around their brains, he could always sense it. Or at least something like it. But this time, there was just… nothing.

Vil snarled, swallowing around the spiky pinch of something in his gut that he refused to call panic, and canted his head back to sing louder.

The shallow dregs of the cove rippled at his hips with the force of it, and he could feel the swell of his influence curling out further and further. Digging its claws into anything and everything it could reach. He could feel one tether spooling out and grabbing after the other, feel the familiar pull of subservience from the very sea itself. And—

“I can’t hear you!”

Oh, you mocking piece of—

He widened his mouth until his jaw was creaking and his tongue was going numb from the sharp bursts of arcana snapping from throat.

“It’s not a challenge!” you wailed, hands cupped over your mouth to try and shout over his howling song. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

His mouth fell closed all at once, the Call cutting off so abruptly that the returning wave of snapping magics almost made his head spin. The power of it hung along his nerves like the zipping prickle of electric eels, and the water at his hips churned and bubbled.

“There,” you huffed, like someone who’d just been horribly inconvenienced by a gust of wind ruining their hair, rather than a human bearing the full weight of a siren’s fury. Brushing off some of the most powerful magics in the ocean like it was nothing worse than a bit of sand in your trousers. It was… unnerving. And it had something uneasy curdling in Vil’s stomach.

He dug his claws into the sand, fins flaring along his sides in a defensive display before he could help himself. Your eyes tracked the way the muck gave way beneath his talons and he watched your throat bob. Good. You should be afraid of him. Because he refused to be afraid of a human like you. No matter how the hair at his nape prickled or the fins at his ears pinned against the sides of his head.

“Well…” you said after a long moment, awkward and stiff. “I should get going, I suppose.”

And then you were stumbling your way to your feet to venture deeper into the crags of the small island. Vil smacked his tail against the surf, loud and sharp. A plaintive ‘good, begone,’ if ever there was one. But you didn’t even flinch, let alone turn around to witness his grand ‘fuck you.’ He wasn’t sure why he was expecting you to.

He watched you crawl your way up a mess of boulders and old shells, eyes narrowed and that same, unpleasant prickle running through his nerves. Once you were well and truly out of sight, he returned to his fins and started doing all he could to assess the damage. The sooner he could deal with this setback and set out into the depths of the ocean, the sooner he could return to his pod. And the sooner he’d be away from you, and all your strange, human ways.

You returned maybe an hour later, only a few minutes after he’d given up on trying to pick the horrid mess of twine from the wounds along his tail. His claws weren’t made for such delicate work, and the poisoned tips of them weren’t doing his shredded fins any favors.

He turned on you with a snarl that would have sent any other sentient creature scurrying for cover, fins pinned and canines on full display. But apparently you had less self-preservation than even the brainless, teeny, rock crabs burrowing hurriedly into the sand.

“Hello,” you said. Like that was any way appropriate.

“Get lost,” he snarled.

You nodded back, simple and sage, and then pointed to the mess of your ropes twined along his fins.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

Vil sneered and surged forward to scrape his claws through the muck again, hoping his demonstration of what he would do to your face if you stepped near him was clear enough to get through your head.

“Touch me and you’ll be lucky if all I do is eat you.”

You blinked back, and he watched the way your eyes jumped across his expression. Trailed to his mouth, his brow, his teeth. Reading whatever you could see there. And then you shrugged again, unbothered by his spitting threats as before.

“Alright. Your loss, I suppose.”

There was a keenness to your gaze though, a sharp, pointed consideration that had his hackles rising all over again.

“If you think that you can be rid of me that easily, you’re solely mistaken,” he spat, smacking his fins into the shallows until the water was churning wild and angry. “This is all your fault, and whatever ridiculous plot you’re considering, I’ll gladly return it tenfold.”

Your face pinched like you had any right to be annoyed by this at all, and then promptly turned away from him like you’d lost all interest in his theatrics. You meandered around the shore, scooping up the battered remains of some of the fish that had stranded themselves during his failed Call. Then you sat yourself well away from the water’s edge and pulled a knife from your boot, running it along the fish’s scales and clearing out the muck.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly, making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so. Like that little blade of yours was supposed to be any sort of a threat. Perhaps he could use it to pick the leftover bits of you out of his teeth.

Vil turned up his nose and returned to carefully grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

“You’re an obnoxious brat,” he growled, wincing as his claws caught over a frayed patch of scales and began to bleed all over again. “And I’m going to drown you.”

Naturally, you did not respond.

The rope burned, and he knew he wasn’t helping himself. The twine of it was frayed, poor quality. And combined with the tacky, salt-sticky damp of the waves, it made the worst sort of web. Vil threw himself around in the shallows like a pup stuck in their first net. And he knew—knew—this wasn’t going to make things better. But the more he worked to free himself and the less progress he made, the angrier he got (Not afraid, angry. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t).

A tight bit of fibers snagged along the delicate mesh of the fins at his hips and gave a shrieking riiip that had him collapsing into the sand bed with a bitten off noise that he refused to call a gasp. But Sevens, it did hurt. He pressed his face into the shallow pool of warm water beneath his chin and forced his breath to calm, to dig his claws into the grit beneath him rather than his own scales. Because this wasn’t working. And he—he needed to fix it. On his own. Because he was on his own. And he was going to manage, just like he always had.

There was a noise off on the shore—the tumbling of pebbles against stone as you shifted around in your little, makeshift hideaway. And he refused to look up to meet your gaze. Because surely you were staring. Humans were always so happy to watch his kind suffer, flailing about in their traps and bound in nets like a garish display. And he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of knowing he’d been seen like… like this.

So he forced himself to go still and silent, ignoring the pain biting into his sides like the teeth of a shark and the panicked, clawing thing in his gut that kept screaming that he was going to die here.

The next morning, you were wandering the shoreline, scrounging after the remains of various crabs from the day prior. Vil refused to look at you, and spent the time pointedly running his claws through the tangles in his hair and primping himself like he didn’t have a care in the world. Because if a stupid, lowly human fit for nothing but an after-dinner-snack could thrive in these circumstances, than surely he could do even better.

There was the soft, wet sounds of your footsteps behind him, and Vil turned on you with a roaring snarl—fins pinned and spines perked, defensive.

“What?” he snapped, beating his tail.

You awkwardly held up one your pickings—a round, red crab with fat claws.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…”

Vil fought the urge to gawk. Were you offering him one of—but why would you—

He bit through his surprise with another sneer. “Firstly, crabs are crustaceans, not fish. You’d think any self-respecting creature that spent their days on the ocean would know something as obvious as that. Secondly, why would you even think that I would share a meal with you? Even I didn’t think humans could be that stupid, but you’re certainly setting a new bar.”

Your mouth twitched at his very sharply enunciated ‘stupid’ and he fought a smirk.

“Oh. Know that one, do you?” he cooed, all mocking.

“Look, do you want it or not?” you snapped, irritated, and his fins flared up again—wide and defensive.

Vil crossed his arms on an exaggerated, pointed huff and turned in the other direction. A clear dismissal. “I’d rather starve.”

“Whatever,” you griped, voice canted sharp with your foul temper, and then there was a crack and a yelp.

Vil turned back to see you reeling away, hand over your mouth to catch a mix of blubbering, wincing curses and a shattered crab shell clenched between your fingers in the most obvious show of stupidity he’d perhaps ever seen. He burst out into laughter before he could help himself, and you stormed away with warm cheeks and pieces of jagged, red shell still clinging to the corners of your lips.

That night he fought the ropes even harder, ignoring the way they pulled, and tore, and dug into places that he knew they should not. And maybe it was self-destructive, stupid, but if he didn’t get himself free of this horrible mess his fins would never heal. He’d never be able to swim properly again. And he’d never be able to leave this cove, never return to his pod, his family. Never—

A shell walloped him in the back of the head and Vil turned with a shriek so vicious it nearly startled even him. Because there you were—the bane of his existence. Standing at the edge of the water with that ridiculous, deadpan look on your ridiculous face and already scrounging about in the sands like you were looking for something else to throw at him. He didn’t even know what he was screaming at that point, absolutely brought over the edge in rage, and pain, and fear, and it was all. your. faul—

Then something in your expression snapped and you were storming forward towards the surf—absolutely incensed.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you shrieked, stomping in the sand and nearly pinning the longer, trailing ends of his fins beneath your heels. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”

“You trapped me!” he howled, outraged. “You were going to kill a member of my pod! Who’s barely out of his pup days! And he was my responsibility, and you were going to attack him!”

Magic zipped along his tongue, demanding that you kneel. Show your throat and be done with it. But when you just kept glaring back—absolutely stone-faced and seething with indignation—Vil forced himself to take a breath, and then another.

“Epel,” he spat, low and exaggerated. He saw your eyes flicker to his lips, trace the outline of the word. “Epel,” he said again, sharp and angry. And when your own mouth began to subconsciously follow the shape of it, he was off and running again. “He’s my responsibility. Epel. He—” Vil pointed at the pale, lavender creases at the base of his fins. “His hair is like this. You saw him. You spoke to him. And you were going to tie him up just like you did to me.”

Your eyes narrowed, sharp.

“That kid,” you said after a moment, lips twisting in a frown. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

“Epel,” Vil spat again, smacking his fins into the surf to douse you in a mess of seawater. “Not some kid. A pup. Barely of age. And you were going to—”

“You—” you hissed, scrubbing the salt from your eyes with the back of your hand. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. It splattered along Vil’s hips, barely a sprinkling in comparison to his own tidal waves. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

Vil snarled, and the twist of it left a bitter, rotten taste on his tongue. It wasn’t the same. It didn’t matter what you wanted, because you were just some human. Humans were vile, and cruel, and good for nothing but filling their bellies. And this was his family. So what if you claimed you were just standing up for your own brood? It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t.

So he turned back to dive into the shallows with as much force as his aching, crippled fins could manage. Sinking to the bottom of the cove in a huff of bubbles and clawing his way through the muck until he was well and truly hidden in the murky, sandy depths. He smacked his tail against the mess of pebbles and rocks until every creature beneath was scurrying for safety—fleeing outwith the flailing, destructive force of a Siren’s tantrum.

Was that why he was here, then? Bound and gagged on some hellhole of an island because of his own mistakes? Because you’d just been aligning yourself with the moral high ground he’d been riding this whole time? Saving your kin at the cost of your own, fragile skin. Dragged overboard to fight the monsters trying to devour your family whole. Ridiculous. He wasn’t going to let himself feel bad for the slighted prey in a hunt gone wrong. Sharks certainly didn’t regret the fish they chased, nor did the great black-and-white whales that pursued those sharks in turn. This was just the way of things, the circle of life. And he wasn’t going to feel guilty about the tight, protectivelook on your face as you shouted him down about defending your own pod at all.

You were curled up by the same rock the next morning, sleeping soundly against the rough hewn edge. It looked hideously uncomfortable, with your chin tucked up against your chest and your head pressed against half-a-dozen layered, jagged ridges. Vil had always heard that humans were used to luxury—soft, plush blankets made of foreign fabrics and great, stuffed squares of bedding that could put even the finest woven siren nests to shame. And there you were. Scrunched up with a shell clearly embedded in your cheek.

He frowned, fins rippling awkwardly at his sides where the majority were still knotted up in twine.

He needed to leave this cove. As soon as possible. And get away from… all of this.

It generally wasn’t considered the best of ideas to Call openly across the sea. Lone sirens were prime targets for all sorts of nasty scavengers. Human hunters, rival pods, even other rogues looking for a fight. It was dangerous to mark one’s position so openly, let alone in a manner that made it obvious of the less than stellar situation they had no doubt found themselves in. It was also a nasty toll to try and Call so far for so long, on himself and the environment around him. A screeching, horrible thing that he’d only heard a few times in all his years. It was a terrible idea for everyone involved, himself and his fellow castaway most of all. But, well, desperate times, and all that.

Besides, it wasn’t like you’d be able to hear it anyways.

So began his endless song.

He’d sing, and sing, and sing—feeling the ripples of it carrying across the surface of the water and shivering through the air. And then, after he’d worn his throat ragged, he’d pause. Just long enough to swallow around the sting and tilt his head to listen. His fins would flare out against the side of his head, and he’d wait. And then, when there was no answer to his Calling, he’d circle back and do it again. A part of him hoped there would be none. He’d taught his pod better than to do something so foolish—to put themselves at the mercy of all the monsters of the sea. And… if they didn’t answer, perhaps that just meant they were searching for him. Using his own, ridiculous harping to trace him down. And if not that, then at least that they were off somewhere safe. Somewhere far, and hidden.

He swam and sang until he was too exhausted for either. Bound fins a heavy, leaden weight at his hips and head barely cresting above the water.

When the sun set over the horizon, Vil let himself roll in alongside the surf to rest in the sand, boneless and sore. His eyes slipped shut with the encroaching darkness, too heavy to hold open at all. He hadn’t seen much of you today. Occasionally you’d wander down to the shoreline, head popping up over a cluster of rocks to shoot him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher, but for the most part you’d stayed hidden away. Out of his hair, at least. Perhaps you’d finally learned what was good for you, and that keeping as far away from the beast lurking in the shallows was the only way you’d be getting out of this alive.

And then his eyes were snapping open to a field of stars overhead and the moon hanging fat and low in the sky like a fruit ripe for the plucking.

And there you were, hovering over him with that laughably small knife of yours.

Carefully and gently working the rope away from his tattered fins.

Your fingers were delicate, precise. Every time those woven fibers tugged in a way that could even begin to hurt, you were softening your touch and muttering reassurances under your breath. He wondered if you realized you were doing that at all—chattering quiet, rambling nonsense like a nervous tick. ‘Ack, don’t twitch so much, it’s just going to cut deeper,’ and ‘sorry! Sorry! I didn’t think that would move like that! Just—just stay still and it will all be done way faster and then you can swim off, and—’ You were exceptionally careful over the areas of rough, beaten scales along the dip of his tail, wincing in sympathy at the raw, raw skin there. The blade never strayed anywhere it wasn’t needed, and you never touched any part of him that wasn’t in an effort to work another tangle of knots free.

Vil kept himself perfectly still and his breaths even and deep. He watched you through the low, golden dip of his lashes, eyes tracking your fluttering hands and quiet mumblings.

The last of the rope fell away with a wet, heavy plap in the sand and when you sighed there was a smile in your voice.

“There,” you muttered, soft. “Now he can swim home again.”

He froze, startled, and something dropped low and tight in his gut.

Because humans were cruel. Humans were food. Humans were nothing more than vermin crawling over the surface of his ocean in their hunkering, wooden vessels and finless feet. They didn’t deserve sympathy, or anything of that ilk. And—

Your gaze met his and the spark of horrified realization didn’t even manage to settle properly in your wide, wide eyes before he had you pinned in the sand.

It was easy—far too easy. Compared to him you were so small, so fragile. No heavy, bulk of muscle and scales to help keep you alive and fighting. Just fragile limbs and lungs that were good for nothing. He dug his claws into your shoulders and felt the warm prick of blood curl up beneath his talons—could see you wince with the first pinch of acrid poison sharpening the wound. He was going to rip you apart, just like he’d said he would. Even if you hadn’t been able to hear him, he’d show you. Because humans were vile, and no matter what you’d claimed, you didn’t deserve anything better than an end beneath the points of his fangs. Fuel for the journey back to his pod and nothing more.

‘There. Now he can swim home again.’

He reeled back, nose scrunching and teeth grinding in his jaw.

You were still beneath him, blinking up in shock but not fighting. Like being flipped onto your back had been startling out of principle, but not unexpected. Like the idea of dying at his claws was just something you’d been expecting from the get-go.

And yet—

‘Sorry! Sorry!’ you’d been rattling. ‘Ah, if you squirm it’s just going to hurt, you stupid, overgrown fish—'

Vil reared back with a snarl that had goosebumps racing all along your arms, and then he was diving back into the shallows—swiping the tip of his fins against your nose as he went in a sharp crack that he hoped would have you yelping and stumbling away from the ocean’s edge.

He paced along the edges of the bay, newly freed fins slowly uncurling in the lull of the tide. And he felt free. Sore, certainly, and aching in ways he never had before, but free.

When he popped his head back out of the water, you were sprawled out in the sand like a dying starfish, absolutely out of your mind and babbling nonsense about ‘captains’ and ‘collars’ under your breath.

‘Good,’ he harumphed, diving back into the shallows to twirl along his unbound tail. ‘Maybe that would teach you to stay out of the water.’

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Mermay #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 1.5 #Vil's POV

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bigfatbimbo · 3 months

Note

sorry not sorry but.

Vox having so shitty day that when he sees reader chatting with someone just a little bit too happily, he can't help but aggressively sub in the evening (idk how else to call it). Like, he's riding you as if his life depends on it, bitching non-stop about "who else could offer you so much things? who else could make you feel so good?" and stuff

but in the end, he's an actually desperate mess, whining about how he'd do anything, just don't leave him. He's not this insecure usually at all, no, it's just a really terrible day

warnings — sub vox, use of a strap, smut but lowkey it’s kinda fluffy smut at the end

a/n — so I should clarify that since I have so many requests to get too, all of them will probably be short drabble like this, maybe shorter.

summary — my thoughts on the request above in the form of a low effort drabble.

Oh, poor baby. After an already terrible day of his fragile ego taking hit after hit, seeing you happily talking to someone else would end him. Maybe he had to sit through one of Val’s tantrums, or he had an excessive amount of meetings, and maybe he lost an argument to his rival the radio demon.

And then on top of that, you’re just having so fun talking to some random person without him. As if he wasn’t even there. He’s analyzing everything about the scene, why your body’s are ever so slightly leaning towards eachother, the smile on your face, the eye contact.

He’s pissy but he’s also just genuinely hurt. Like oh, just his luck; an already shitty day gets shittier! Why not just have his lover leave him for some ugly ass nobody.

He’d approach you later that evening and literally not wait to be all over you, telling you to get your strap, and pulling you down onto the bed.

No because imagine he’s just humping and grinding on your strap faster and faster as he’s glitching and rambling. You don’t even know what he’s on about because it all seems so random and internalized, as if he’s not even really talking to you. And the glitching and moaning doesn’t help make it coherent.

“No one else would w—wzz—worship you like I do, make you feel so good,” Vox would remark, more to himself than you. “No one would want you as much as I do—“

He’s interrupting himself and cutting himself off by whining, and he’s fucking himself onto your plastic dick so aggressively that you’re sure it’s hurting him. Honestly, you were a little worried about this behavior.

“Vox, baby—“ you try but he just moans loudly and speeds up, tears pricking in the corner of his eyes.

You don’t even have to praise or degrade him because he’s literally doing it all himself, not even letting you get a word in.

“Nngh—zzzh— No one would be such a slut for you. Not like me,” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut intensely, “Tell me i’m perfect, tell me i’m the best you’ve ever had, tell me i’m good enough. I—“

”Vox!” You interrupt, sitting up fully and putting a tight grip on his hips, preventing him from moving. He whines at the loss of friction. “Vox, sweetheart, slow down.”

The lack of movement from your strap makes his brain fuzzy and needy, causing him to let one tear fall across his screen.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Even with your dick inside him, your words showed no trace of flirtation, only sincere concern.

He squirms in your lap, trying to get you going again, “I just—ungh—fffuck. Please. I need you, I need you. ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry! I’ll do anything, please don’t stop. Please don’t leave me!”

At this point more tears drizzled down poor vox’s screen as he uselessly rutting down onto you. Your heart pangs as you examine he’s pathetic demeanor. Your hand links around his waist and you flip him onto the mattress.

Placing a kiss on his lips, cheek, and then neck, you start to move inside him once again. “You are perfect,” you praise, speeding up, “You are good enough, baby. You’re wonderful.”

He whines at your movements as he cries more desperately. “You’re amazing, sweetheart. I could never leave you, I will never leave you.”

Your pace becomes quicker, but you treat him gently, bringing his hands individually up to your lips and pressing soft kisses on each, before interlocking your fingers and pinning them to the mattress.

He whines and squirms underneath you, sobbing loudly, sending a spark of electricity uncomfortably through your body. You recover from the buzz fast.

“So pretty, so good for me,” you praise softly, “You have all my attention now, Vox. You have nothing to worry about.”

a/n — wasn’t aware if you wanted boypussy vox or just for me to be normal for once— so i left it up to interpretation.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #inbox open #dom reader #vox x reader #sub vox #vox smut

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gojos-thot-patrol · 8 months

Note

I desperately need tiger!hybrid Sukuna headcanons! Maybe a lil nsfw too ?

I...may have gotten a little carried away with the nsfw, my bad.

Now Loading...

Starring: My breeding kink Ryomen Sukuna, and his issues with authority.

He’s naturally very cat-like.

No, I’m serious the moment he sees you trying to focus on anything other than him he’s in your way.

He’ll put his entire upper body on you to try and distract you from your laptop, book, phone, whatever. If that doesn’t work, he’ll push a glass off the table. You will pay attention to him.

Tigers are mostly nocturnal, and so is he. He’s prone to waking you up at odd hours of the night just because he’s awake and doesn’t have good volume control.

He hisses at you when you try to get onto him. “NO Ryomen, no! Do not knock that vase over!” “Hissss” “Get pissy all you want, that was my moms!”

He’s horrifically protective of you. Like, genuinely it’s kind of a problem. He’ll growl lowly at anyone who comes within 10 feet of his darling, and he’s always willing to fight.

He always makes sure you’re in some article of his clothing. Drenched in his scent.

He loves it when you scratch his ears, it’s the fastest way to get him to purr. You can actually put him to sleep doing this

His tail is very sensitive. He loves when you gently play with it, but it always leads to more.

He has a scent fetish, and has been known to steal your dirty panties. You’ll go to do laundry and just sigh deeply when you find yet another pair filled with his cum.

He’s clear when he wants you. Circling you and growling softly, like a predator eyeing up his prey. That’s how you know you’re gonna freak nasty.

DEAR READER, did you know that in some cultural practices, namely Chinese, it’s believed that Tiger Cock is a very potent aphrodisiac?

Just the act of him being inside you drives you feral, even if you have no such instinct. He had the ability to put you in a heat-like state just by mating with you, making you both desperate for each other.

It’s never a quicky with you two, it’s a sex-a-thon.

BITING he has fangs and he wants them in you. He wants his marks to cover you and show that you’re his

He wants you in a mating press under him, screaming out his name while he fucks his cubs into you. You’d be so cute as a mommy

He’s not normally super big on kisses, but when he’s fucking you? Man can’t get enough of it. He’s kissing you, he’s rubbing his cheek on yours, he’s pressing his forehead to yours, he- hes scenting you. That’s what I’m trying to get at here, he’s scenting you.

His ears twitch when he cums, and his tail wraps around whichever one of your limbs it can reach.

And he can never stop there, no not at all. Better wake up mama, cause it’s gonna take more than one load to knock you up.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #ryomen sukuna x reader smut #tiger hybrid! sukuna #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #whats up nonny?

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daizymax · 5 months

Text

wondrous | lmh (m)

summary: pregnancy is strange and uncomfortable and even kind of gross, but your loving husband is always willing to show you just how desirable and wonderful you are.

pairing: lee know x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: 5.3k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: profanity; pregnancy; some body insecurities; binary gender talk; graphic sexual content; pregnant sex; dirty talk; lactation kink; creampie

author’s note: rewritten for stray kids and reuploaded from my old blog. hope you enjoy!

( click here to read on AO3 instead )

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Slamming the car door with more force than necessary is childish, and if your husband were here, he would probably tell you so. Well, maybe not in such blatant terms. First, he would probably ask you to explain what led you to such pissy behavior, and your answer would be that you’re frustrated and out of patience.

You hate that your patience is in such short supply these days. You know you are going to need all of it and then some when the baby comes.

You rest one of your hands on the crest of your bulging stomach and sigh softly. “I’m sorry,” you say to the ever-growing baby within. “I guess you might need to be patient with me, too, if it’s not too much to ask.”

The tears well up unbidden. That happens often lately with your hormones on the fritz. Evidently something as mundane as a shopping trip to the mall is enough to upset you nowadays. Then your mind dwells on how you should be grateful to be in a position to buy the things you want and need whenever you want, and that only makes you sob harder.

You allow the silly little breakdown to run its course, knowing it will be better to sit and let it out now before you drive home.

After a few minutes, you sniffle and wipe your wet cheeks in shame. After a couple more minutes of deep breaths, when you are certain you are stable enough to drive, you start the engine.

The commute home gives you some time to decompress, and the sight of Minho’s car in the driveway lifts your spirits. He told you this morning that he might have to work late this evening — which was fine by you since it translated to having more money for the pending expenses of birthing and raising a child — but having him home is even better.

A loud clang and a muttered curse greet you as you enter the front door. It may not be a polite reaction, but you can’t help but smile at whatever your husband is struggling with in the kitchen. You sling your shopping bags onto the couch and go to rescue him.

Minho is bent over at the waist, rummaging through a bottom cabinet with his backside to you. You take a moment to ogle the fit of his jeans appreciatively before making your presence known.

“Hi honey, need some help?”

He flinches and whirls around. “Heyyy, doll! I didn’t hear you come in.” He hastily combs his fingers through his smooth brown hair as if to compose himself for you.

“That’s because you were busy tearing down the kitchen, from the sound of it,” you laugh.

He does not even dispute your joke. He just groans in frustration and kicks his foot out behind him to close the cabinet. “Where do we keep the rice cooker? I swear I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Did you look here?” You pull open the correct cabinet near your calves and squat down to retrieve it. He rushes to stop you.

“Hey, hey, let me get it.” He comes over and crouches with you only to put his hands on your hips and guide you back up with him. “You shouldn’t exert yourself. I have a bun in that oven, lady.”

You snort loudly. “Don’t I know it. My whole day was an over-exertion, though. I think I can handle stooping over to grab the rice cooker.”

“Oh?” His face becomes concerned, eyebrows wrinkling and pink lips pouting adorably. His hands begin sliding up and down along your sides. “What was wrong with your day?”

“Oh, I’ve just decided I hate shopping for maternity clothes now,” you say, sighing heavily. The statement is so frivolous it makes you cringe, but the rest of your unimportant complaints come flooding out anyway. “They’re all so unflattering, not to mention it’s so uncomfortable trying them on. Getting undressed and redressed is such a pain in the ass. It’s like a whole fucking workout now, I swear to god.”

“Ah, I bet. Poor thing,” Minho says without a trace of condescension to his tone, and you envy his patience. He pulls you in for a hug in his strong arms, and your swollen stomach bumps against his flat one.

Inspired by his understanding, you continue unburdening your rather meaningless worries into his shoulder. “It was so crowded, too. I hate how everyone stares at me all the time just because I’m pregnant. And I especially hate when other parents come up to me and give me advice or tell me stories about their own pregnancies, like I fucking asked.”

Minho laughs and massages his fingertips into the back of your head. “I think they’re just trying to be kind and helpful. They only mean well.”

“Yeah, well, it’s also super annoying.”

“Sorry. What can I do to help?”

You shake your head and step back from him. “Right now I just want to shower and change my clothes. I’m not kidding about that ‘workout.’ I’ve been sweating for hours and I feel disgusting right now. The boob sweat is strong under this sweater right now.”

“Well, we’ve got a towel right here.” He whips the dish towel off the handle of the stove with a flourish and holds it up with a cheeky grin. “Let me help you.”

You laugh. “You want to dry my boobs off with that?”

“It’s clean!”

“Don’t be silly.”

“You’ll be glad for my silliness when our baby comes,” he says, dropping the towel to start tickling you mercilessly.

Your stomach muscles heave with your fit of giggles, and the baby starts kicking to join in on the commotion.

“Ah! No t-tickling, damnit! The b-baby doesn’t like it.”

“No?” Minho stops his playful torment and cups your stomach on either side. It only takes a second for him to feel what you mean. “I think maybe she does.”

“Or he. The baby could be a boy, you know.”

The two of you have decided to keep the gender a surprise until the birth, but that does not stop your husband from speculating.

“Could be,” he says a bit dismissively. He kneels down on the tiled floor so his face is level with your belly-button, which has recently begun to protrude outwards like the rest of you.

He runs his fingers along the surface of your stretched sweater and says quietly, “I just have a hunch that it’s a girl. She’s feisty, like you.” He places a sweet kiss on the top of your belly, then speaks directly to it. “Sorry about the tickling, sweet baby girl. Daddy was just making Mommy laugh to help make her feel better. I have something else that might make her feel better, though.”

“What is it?” you ask.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

Minho interlocks his fingers with yours and leads you up the stairs — which have become quite the strain on your knees lately — and to the baby’s room.

The moment he pushes open the door, you see exactly what he means. The crib now resembles a crib and not a scattering of wooden pieces strewn around the floor the way they had been for weeks. The inside is lined with blankets and stuffed animals, and the mobile you chose is hanging above it. It could hardly be more picturesque.

With this, the nursery is complete. The painting had been finished a couple months ago, and the other pieces of necessary and decorative furniture have been set in their places for quite some time as well.

“Wow, you actually finished it?” you say. “How did you have time to do that after work today?”

“You were gone for longer than you realize,” he says, chuckling. “I took half the day off to come home and surprise you, but you weren’t here, so I decided to surprise you with this instead.”

“Consider me surprised,” you say with a smile. You squeeze his hand before letting go and walking over to the crib. You give the rail a little shake to test the sturdiness of your husband’s handiwork, and your eyebrows raise in satisfaction at the result.

“I only had to start all over again once,” Minho says proudly, sidling up beside you and gliding a hand along the small of your back to rest on your hip. His thumb traces little circles into it.

“You did a great job,” you say, turning in his hold to wrap your arms around his waist in return, albeit with a bit of difficulty due to your belly getting in the way.

“Glad you like it.” He leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead, then your nose, then down to your chin, then back up to your mouth. You smile and chase after his lips when he pulls away, and he laughs as he kisses you again. “Come on, let’s sit for a bit and get you off your feet. Dinner and a shower can wait a little while longer.” He moves over to the rocking chair in the corner and takes a seat, then pats his lap invitingly.

“Min, I’ll crush you,” you say with a shake of your head.

He shakes his head right back. “Oh, stop it. No you won’t. You’re not that heavy, and I’m not that fragile.”

He starts beckoning you by stretching his arms out and repeatedly opening and closing his hands. The action is irresistibly cute, so you relent. You toe off your shoes and go to sit on his proposed seat. You try not to rest too much weight on him as you sit on his knee, but he ruins your position by taking your hips and dragging you further up his muscular thigh.

“Put your legs up on me,” he says. “If it’s not too uncomfortable for you, I mean.”

You do as he says and turn sideways to hoist your legs over his other thigh. Minho holds onto your knee with one hand and wraps his other arm behind your back to keep you in place.

“There we go. Is this okay?” he asks.

You shift and wiggle until your back is relatively comfortable. “I think so. Are you okay?”

He smiles and squeezes you reassuringly. “I’ve got my beautiful wife on my lap... we’re sitting right where we’ll be rocking our baby when she — or he — is born... I’d say I’m pretty perfect.”

You take his word for it and sigh in content, leaning into him and resting your head in the crook of his neck. He lays his cheek against your head and pushes his feet off the floor to begin gently rocking the chair as it was intended.

For a few moments, the two of you sit and rock in silence until Minho begins humming softly. Something mellow and baritone. The melody is one you recognize, but the lyrics to that particular song elude you. You’ll ask him about it later. Right now, the vibrations from his throat and the steady thrum of his heartbeat are lulling you peacefully. The faint scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body seep comfortably into your skin.

You tilt your face up to kiss his throat appreciatively for the comfort he is providing. He hums out of tune at your gentle touch, and you kiss him there again. This time you take a bit of his flesh into your mouth with a delicate suck, and he hisses in a short breath. His reaction spurs you to do it again, and then again, until the honey skin is left pink from the teasing.

“Mm, that feels really good, babe,” Minho murmurs. The pet name makes your heart flutter a bit; it was used so frequently at the start of your relationship, but over the years it has become a bit more rare. It makes you feel a little sexy, even in your sweaty, bloated, and achy state.

“Yeah? Should I keep going?” you ask. Your lips ghost over his neck, and your fingers begin trailing down the center of his chest.

“Please.” There is a slight rasp to the syllable that makes you feel proud considering you have barely even done anything to him.

Your fingers find the hems of his sweater and white t-shirt and begin tugging at them. “Do you mind if I take these off?”

“Not at all.” He shrugs out of his cardigan then lifts his arms so you can have the honor of pulling up his shirt to toss it aside. The taut muscles in his chest and abdomen twitch as your fingertips graze them. Before you get to the waistband of his jeans, Minho takes your wandering fingers and stops you.

“Wait,” he says. You look at him curiously. “You said you had a rough day. I should take care of you.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, I figured I could start by getting you out of your clothes, and then we can see where things lead.”

Sex with your husband has been infrequent over the course of your thirty-week pregnancy so far, but it has occurred. The doctor assured you there are no complication risks involved, even when this far along. Your pregnancy is perfectly healthy, and sex is not harmful to the baby, so you and Minho are free to continue your normal sex life.

The problem is you don’t always feel up for sex. Between your various aches and the increasing challenge of finding a comfortable position, you sometimes have to wonder if an orgasm is really worth the trouble. But it has been a while since your last release, and you trust Minho to be caring and attentive, so you nod in agreement.

He guides you to stand up from his lap, and you allow him to remove your shirt. The sheen of sweat that has been building for the greater part of the afternoon is made even more apparent when the open air meets it.

“Ugh, I still feel gross,” you mutter under your breath. The inkling of sexiness you felt just moments ago is already gone.

“You don’t look gross,” Minho says. He scans you from head to toe before settling his gaze on your chest. “Will you take your bra off for me, please?”

You hesitate a few seconds, then unhook the restrictive garment and shrug out of it to let it drop to the floor. The moment it is gone, Minho reaches out to grasp your hips and slide his hands up along the expanse of your stomach. His warm, tender touch sends a shiver through you, and the baby begins fidgeting again. Your husband must feel it, too, because he smiles up at you brightly.

“God, how did I get so lucky? You are so beautiful.” His tone carries real sincerity. “Especially with your body like this, carrying our child. You’re so fucking… wonderful.”

You automatically let out an unflattering snort of self-consciousness as you think of the new stretch marks striping your breasts, hips, and stomach. You can’t even bring yourself to look at them right now.

“I mean it. It’s true,” he insists. His eyes drop to your bare stomach to look at what you will not. “It’s amazing how you’re able to grow a baby inside of you, just because I came in you.”

There is laughter in your breathy exhale. “Gee, you make it sound so sexy, Min.”

“But it is sexy. You’re growing hands and feet and… eyes inside your womb right now, this very moment.”

You wrinkle your nose. “That doesn’t sound sexy at all. It sounds scientific.”

“Yeah, but it’s also kind of magical, isn’t it? And just think about it: you’ll be able to feed the baby with your body, too…” Minho folds his bottom lip between his teeth for a second as he studies your chest with great interest. “Just look at these perfect tits, getting all swollen with milk for our baby.”

He starts to squeeze, lift, and massage your breasts reverently, completely undeterred by the stickiness coated on the undersides of them from your sweat. A quiet moan rumbles up from your throat.

Even though he is being gentle, the stimulation is still enough to make your nipples begin discharging a thick fluid that is slightly yellow in color. The sight of it kind of embarrasses you, even though it is completely natural. Your doctor explained that it is the “pre milk” before your body begins producing normal breast milk after the birth.

“Min…” you fret with a nervous giggle. You peel his hands away and take a step back from him.

“It’s okay, babe,” he says. He stands up and rearranges your hands so that he is the one holding yours. “It’s just your body, don’t be ashamed. I told you, you’re beautiful. You’re wonderful. You’re amazing.”

He lifts the heavy mounds on your chest again and presses them together as if to get a better view of the wetness seeping from them. He swipes his thumbs over both of your wet nipples, then casually sticks one of his thumbs in his mouth as if he has done this many times before.

“Mm, tastes sweet,” he says.

“Does it?”

“Yeah. Can I… do you think I could...” He trails off in a puff that sounds like he is the one who’s embarrassed. Eventually, he blurts, “I want to try some more.”

“What, you want to actually… drink it?” you ask. The notion surprises you, and you want to make sure you are understanding him correctly.

“I’d like to try, if you’re comfortable with that. I just want to appreciate your body in every way.”

Minho rolls a sensitive pebble between his thumb and forefinger as he waits for your reply.

After another second, you nod your consent, and he flashes you a toothy smile before he latches his mouth directly onto your nipple. The touch of his soft lips coupled with the tip of his tongue makes you gasp in pleasure. Goosebumps break out over your skin as he suckles delicately. You have to admit the sensation of the fluid flowing from your nipple is oddly satisfying, and the wet suction sound Minho is creating is more than a little erotic. Heat starts to pool between your legs to dampen your panties.

“Is this okay?” he asks you again, peering up at your face as he switches to the other tit. When his tongue takes the nipple in between his lips, you notice it is coated with a milky sheen.

“Yeah, it… it actually feels really good,” you confess. Without consciously choosing to do it, your thighs press together to apply some pressure to your clit. Even with your stomach in the way, Minho’s smirk tells you he does not miss the action.

“Are you wet down there between your legs, too?”

“Yes.”

“Dripping?”

“Mm…”

“I want to feel.”

“Be my guest,” you invite. He goes to slip his hand past the waistband of your pants, but you quickly instruct, “Just take them off.”

He does not need to be told twice. He detaches from your breast and yanks your pants down to your ankles. You steady yourself on his shoulders as you pull your feet free.

“Panties, too,” you add, but his fingers are already hooking into them.

Once they are shed, Minho takes his time running his warm hands back up your calves to your inner thighs, spreading your legs just a little wider than hip-width apart. He wastes no more time in dipping the pads of three fingers along your slit. The slickness he finds there has both of you groaning lowly.

“You are wet. Is this all because I sucked a little milk from your tits?”

A slow smile grows across your face. “Maybe.”

“Should I suck some more?”

“I don’t think there’s much in there at a time yet, honestly,” you tell him rather seriously. “Not until after the baby is born.”

He hums in understanding. “That’s okay, babe. I’ll settle for eating your pussy, if that’s alright,” he says, sinking two knuckles inside you.

“J-Jesus, Min. Y-yeah. Please.”

He grins, drawing his fingers back a little just to shove them in forcefully. “Alright. Have a seat for me,” he says. He removes his fingers from you and slides them into his mouth for the taste of something else. He really does adore all parts of you.

The rocking chair tips backwards when you settle into it, which only improves the access Minho has to your pussy. He makes it even easier for himself, however, by kneeling down and hoisting your legs onto each of his shoulders.

“Is this good?” he asks. He brings his head between your thighs and dots soft kisses along one of them.

You scoot your butt to the very edge of the seat. “Yeah, for now. I’ll let you know if it starts to hurt.”

“Please do,” he agrees at once.

He leans forward and parts your sticky folds with two fingers before dragging his tongue from the bottom of your slit to the top in one slow, firm motion. Your breath hitches in your chest when he buries the pink muscle into your wet hole. He licks in a circle from one pulsing wall to the other and back again, then pulls back and licks his lips.

“Do you want my tongue in you and fingers on your clit, or my tongue on your clit and fingers in you?” he asks. He does not normally require such direct instructions, but he has been so concerned with you in your pregnant state. He wants to make sure he is giving you as much pleasure as possible, and he does not want any room for misunderstanding or disappointment.

“Fingers inside, please,” you say.

Minho fits one finger back inside your pussy, soon followed by a second, and your walls squeeze tightly around the digits to welcome and secure them. Then he flattens his tongue to press it back and forth, up and down over your clit. He builds a steady pace that renders your eyes closed and mouth unhinged to let flow a stream of pleasurable sighs and moans. Your pitch heightens considerably when his fingers hit pay dirt on that spot inside you that always makes your toes curl. When you rock against his face to get all the friction you can, the chair moves with you.

“Shit, this is so hot, babe,” your husband groans from below. “Should’ve eaten you out in a rocking chair a long time ago.”

You start to respond but your words pinch into a squeal from a particularly strong tap against your g-spot with his fingertips, and that seems to be all the answer he could want.

Minho becomes greedy for your unfiltered noises and closes his lips around your clit to suck it the way he sucked your nipples just moments earlier. A shiver tumbles down each rung of your spine, all the way to your clenched toes. Your muscles tense to cope with the sheer intensity of the pleasure being administered to that oh-so-sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. His fingers work tirelessly to undo you in tandem with his skillful tongue. The crest of your climax is drawing near so soon.

“Oh my god, Min,” you breathe with hardly any sound. “Fuck, you’ve got me so close already.”

He grunts his acknowledgement. “Is this how you want to come, doll? All over my fingers? All over my tongue?”

It is very tempting, but you still decline. “N-no. I want you inside me.”

“I’m already inside you.” He twists his fingers pointedly. “Can you be more specific?”

“You know what I mean,” you groan.

He has to get in a few more swipes of his tongue before he can say, “Yeah, but I want to hear you say it. You can have everything you want if you ask me.”

“I want your c-cock inside me. Now, please.”

Minho makes no move to cease his actions other than to briefly retract his tongue to speak again. “You sure you don’t want me to just keep going? You’re so close.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. Please, fuck me already.”

The moan he lets out when he pulls away from you and gets to his feet is positively carnal. He rushes to undo his jeans, then shoves both them and his underwear to the floor in one swoop. You tilt your head to take in the view of his erect cock; the bulbous head is nearly purple from engorgement, and there is a glistening wetness at the slit from a buildup of precum.

“How do you want me?” he asks.

“Let’s try the chair.”

“Do you want to bend over it and I’ll fuck you from behind? Or do you want me to sit down and have you ride me?”

“Sit down and I’ll try riding you.”

You rock yourself up and out of the chair, and Minho takes a firm hold of each of your hands to help tug you to your feet. He kisses you quick and sloppy, giving you a quick taste of your arousal, before switching places with you and taking a seat. His cock points upwards as the perfect target for you to sit on.

You face away from him and straddle his legs to get yourself in position. One of his hands steadies your lowering hips as the other lines his dick up for entry. The tip squeezes into your warm wetness with ease. Minho spreads his legs wider and thrusts up to fit a few more inches of himself. With another shove from him and a bit of wriggling on your part, he bottoms out.

“Fuck, you always feel so fucking good,” he rumbles from behind you. Both of his hands are clenched tightly on your hips now.

You moan in agreement. “So do you.”

Bracing yourself on the arms of the chair, you raise yourself up a couple inches, then sink back down swiftly. Minho plants his feet firmly to keep the chair steady and meet you blow for blow as you start up a rhythm. The two of you grunt and pant with every stroke; the sounds are out of sync, but your movements are not.

The friction feels good, but your looming orgasm from earlier is not quite building again as you had hoped it would. Furthermore, your arms are already beginning to tremble from your efforts.

“Shit,” you swear in frustration. “Maybe this won’t work after all.”

He brings up his earlier suggestion and says, “Want to try bending over?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s try that.”

His wet dick falls out of you to slap against his stomach when you stand up from his lap. Again, the two of you switch positions so you can lean down and prop your arms along the armrests of the chair. The seat tilts downward as you bend over and press your head against the back of it, and your breasts hang heavy below you. You vaguely notice they have begun to leak again.

Minho steps up behind you and returns his hands to your waist to lift your backside a little higher to expose yourself to him. The head of his cock briefly pokes over your asshole when he guides it into place at your pussy again. With a sigh of satisfaction, he pushes back inside and waits for an extended moment while you to readjust to the tight stretch of his girth.

When you tell him you’re ready, he recreates the rhythm you had started earlier, but at a slightly faster tempo now. Each smack of his tensed thighs against your buttocks makes your breasts bounce — another motion that does not go unnoticed by him.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he breathes. One of his hands reaches over to cup one swinging breast and then the other. His fingers toy at your wet nipples once more. “You’re already such a MILF.”

The term makes you burst into surprised laughter. “Oh my god, please do not call me that,” you say.

“Why not?” Minho laughs back. “It’s true. You’re so. Damn. Sexy.” He emphasizes each word with concise, gasp-inducing thrusts. “And motherhood is only going to enhance that.”

“Ungh, right now I just want to come,” you groan, not interested in continuing a conversation at the moment, no matter how flattering. Your body feels heavy, but the coil in you is getting close to snapping again. “Please, Min... please…”

“Oh, you will, doll. I want you to come just as badly.” He pinches your drippy nipple with one hand, maneuvers the other hand around your waist, under your stomach, between your legs to trap your throbbing clit between two fingers. “Want you to come all over this cock.”

“Keep going and I will,” you promise him.

He speeds his hips up until he is hitting your g-spot with every push. He rubs and plays with your clit just the way you like. The steady whapping sound of skin on skin fills the nursery, along with your breathless encouragements for your husband to keep groping, keep pounding, keep going.

“You’re dripping everywhere for me, aren’t you, baby?” he grunts, his breath hot and ragged. “Got your sticky little clit in one hand, and your tit is leaking in my other.”

He is not wrong. Everything is so wet, so hot, so sticky. You whimper and repeatedly push back against him to further increase the friction.

“So fucking filthy,” he goes on, nearly growling. “Makes me want to bust and fill you up with cum. There’s gonna be so fucking much of it.”

His words, combined with a few more sweeps of his fingers over your clit and stabs of his cockhead against the sweetest part of you, burst you straight through the roof of your climax. With a whiny, broken moan, your pussy clamps him tightly, and it is not more than four of five more strokes before he joins you in sheer bliss. He seizes and grunts deeply as his cum shoots out of his twitching cock to meet the resistance of your already-occupied womb. He was right — there is a lot of it. The viscous white fluid oozes out of you and down along your thighs before the spurts have even finished trickling out of him.

Both pairs of legs between the two of you are shaky as Minho pulls out of your swollen pussy with a slick squelch. He helps straighten your body and pulls you into an adoring hug as you both regain your lost breath. His sweaty chest is nearly as damp as yours as it heaves against your back. You can feel his heart racing.

“You alright, doll?” he checks while dotting sweet kisses along your shoulder. “Was that good?”

“Very good,” you pant with a blissed smile. You turn your head to the side and pucker your mouth for a kiss. Your lower belly is cramping from the intensity of your orgasm, and you massage it absently as Minho’s lips envelop yours. His fingers bump yours as he, too, goes to cradle your stomach.

“How’s our little princess?” he asks next.

“Fine,” you answer. You kiss him deeply and whisper against his mouth: “We’re both just fine, thanks to the daddy.”

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if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

#lee know smut #minho smut #lee minho smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know x reader #minho x reader #lee minho x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #wondrous #daizymax

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ghoastixx · 4 months

Text

Alastor w/ teenage human reader

A.N: gender neutral reader. You insert your name at ‘____’

Warnings: abusive parents mentioned, Alastor being a bit intimidating for a while, this is very self indulgent so yeah!

Goodness…how did the radio demon stoop so low as to be collecting human souls? Honestly what a pity..

To be honest Alastor didn’t even really know what had happened. One moment he had been drinking some tea on the balcony of the hotel, enjoying some absolutely dreary sights, and then he just.. wasn’t-

It caught him off guard to say the least. His ear laid back as his claws gripped his mic tightly. His smile never faltering.

“Holy fuck it worked!” A voice rang out, sounding astonished and a bit..too alive. Alastor’s eyes drifted down a little bit to see a child. …are you serious. He had been summoned by a child. How humiliating.

‘_____’ looked up at the demon. They had to admit, they were a lot more terrified than they would’ve liked to of been. The two just sort of looked at each other for a while before the child spoke up. Getting off of their kneeling position.

“Are you..the radio demon?” Their voice was meek and curious. It was intriguing that a child was able to do all of this. Alastor’s smile hitched up his face,

“Why yes I am! I’m assuming you’re the human that summoned me.” His smile widened when the kid tensed at his static-y voice. The radio filter never letting him down.

“W-well yeah.” They stuttered, showing vulnerability. That was going to be their first mistake. “I-“ now they were stammering, “I didn’t think it would work- honestly. I was just trying to humor myself.” Alastor was starting to get pissy, he had more important things to do than talk to a human that didn’t even know what they were doing.

“You summon a very powerful demon for fun?” His voice sounded rough, that static becoming more prominent as he got angrier.

“Well- I didn’t really think about this. This stuff doesn’t happen! I- I read a lot and of course there was that rumor going around on how to actually summon one and I just-“ the kids rambling was interrupted by a yell from downstairs. The kid winced at a thud that followed shortly after and the sound of a female voice filled with rage. The sound was almost too familiar to the radio demon.

“There wasn’t anything you wanted? Nothing at all?” He asked impatiently. When the kid sheepishly shook their head he got ready to go back to hell, but then he heard another thump which got him thinking. Why waste a trip? Perhaps there was a deal to be made here. “Say kid, why don’t we make a deal?”

“A deal..? Isn’t it frowned upon to make deals with demons? There’s like..so many songs about that.” The kid was smart, Alastor didn’t like that.

“Nonsense! I’m looking out for your best interest, little fawn. I think you’re very smart, I want to show that. If you give me your soul, let me take care of it, find me human souls, I will make sure that you do not rot in this silly little town. These people around you will not weigh you down.”

It seemed Alastor hit the nail on the head when he saw the consideration in the kids eyes. I mean- of course! A small kid who is summoning demons? In a small town? Arguing parents? Why wouldn’t they want out! And it seemed Alastor was right too, when the kid looked at the smiling demon and tensed.

“Okay. It’s a deal.”

The first time Alastor came back up to visit the soul he learned was ‘____’ he was quite impressed by the work they had done. The kid explained the type of people that would definitely be going to hell, all for the demon’s delicious picking. The first visit was strictly business.

It was the second meeting that became more personal.

‘_____’ looked up from the book they were reading, the music that they had playing softly from their radio turning staticy. They had been trying to drown out the sound of the constant screaming and whining.

“Is that a radio?” A loud static voice made ‘____’ jump. Obviously they hadn’t been expecting dear Alastor, who laughed heartily at the sudden jump.

“Damn it- scared the piss out of me-“ the fawn mumbled. Alastor thought they were like a fawn at least. Skiddish and soft. Curious. He thought it was a good comparison.

“I do apologize my dear! But please do answer, I thought radio went out of style in this day of age.”

“Well, it’s certainly not as common anymore, but it hasn’t gone completely out of style. Records have made a bigger comeback than radio.”

“How curious,” Alastor hummed, the sound of it immediately grabbing the fawn’s attention. It humored him how easily he could get the focus on him. A bang was heard on the wall with an incoherent yell, the only eligible word being “SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

‘_____’ shifted uncomfortably. It was obvious that they were trying to lose themselves in the radio. Alastor was starting to really like the little fawn, so he considered something.

Suddenly green fumes embedded themselves into the radio, making a static sound. The fawn looked up curiously,

“What did you do to my radio.”

“Patience, you’ll be able to tune into my broadcasts now. It’s only fair.”

The kid simply nodded. And they would listen to it. Because when Alastor decided to visit again for his souls, the kid would tell him it was quite morbid, but they liked the song selection.

This continued for a good while, the little fawn would tell Al about the new age for humans and Alastor would help distant the kid from their parents. If anything it boosted his ego, he felt like more of a stable figure for this kid than their own parents. And that would be put to the test when Alastor popped in only to see the little fawn curled up on the corner of their bed, so upset.

His ears flattened as his smile was forced. He couldn’t stand to see his little fawn so upset. He wasn’t sure when it became his little fawn instead of the little fawn, but he liked it better. It felt more appropriate.

“Now now, little fawn. I’m here, it’s alright.” He tried his best to console the little one.

Perhaps it was time to renegotiate their deal. Perhaps he could form this kid into a better version of themselves.

Now all he had to do was figure out how to get this kid into hell.

#fanfic #fanfiction #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #platonic Alastor x reader

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venting-town · 2 years

Text

The stupid-ass voices are getting pissy with me ( as per usual ) because how DARE I be a bitch back to them

Oh the horror!!!

Fuck you bastards too

#vent #tw vent #vent 7/15/22 #tw voices #I’m so sick of these stupid-ass pissy voices in my head #and me CONSTANTLY having to apologize to them over and over and over and over again #because I hurt their dumbass feelings #and if I don’t they’re gonna make my body overreact #or have stupid fucking bullshit happen to me until I submit again #man existence sure is great!!! ( /sarcasm because NO THE FUCK ITS NOT. NOT when there’s all this bullshittery going on!! because it HAS to #because * THINGS * and * STUFF * or lack thereof or a mix or whatever. because * BORED * and * FUN *!!! )#FUCK existence and FUCK the beings that decided this shit should be!!! and FUCK ME TOO!!! ugly spineless pathetic little bitch #dude there’s so much wrong with me 😂#a 30 second look through my blog and you’ll think ‘ damn this bitch is crazy!’#you’re not wrong. and there’s a LOT more to it than this blog and the posts have to say about it #good GOD this is so fucking dumb. fuck this #stupid-ass bullshit. yeah! go ahead and make me numb like the little bitch(es) you are!!! like you weren’t going to regardless #get pissed because of all the truth I’m saying. go ahead. I’m pissed too.#and you’re not gonna get away from this scot-free anyways. I’ll retard you up just like I’ve done to everyone else #REGARDLESS of how much power ( or lack thereof or whatever ) you have ( OR that I have )#regardless of how bold your sorry-ass gets/is ( along with mine too! )#tw r slur #tw r word #r word mention #r slur tw #r slur mention #this is so fucking stupid I fucking hate it and the damned stupid/annoying voices in my head AND myself

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lot-of-nothing · 2 months

Text

Entwined (Ch. 1)

Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Since your youth, the relationship between Melissa and you has been complicated. In all of your years knowing her, she just can't admit that she isn't as straight as she thinks.

Warnings: Toxic Melissa, smut, and very veiled internalized homophobia

Authors Note: If ya like it, let me know and I'll write more.

On and off.

That’s how you would describe your relationship with Melissa to your closest friends. They would inevitably roll their eyes and make a face, annoyed with how Melissa had you wrapped around her finger.

It started in high school. She would start dating a new guy, he would leave her unsatisfied in more ways than one, and then she would find those missing pieces of her relationship in you.

You were best friends after all…. and best friends would do anything for each other, right?

The first night you spent together was always vivid in your memories. Her green eyes flashing with mischief before she took your hand and pulled it to her thigh. Mel told you how badly she was aching, how it was almost painful. That she needed her best friend to help resolve what her boyfriend couldn’t.

She knew about your sexual orientation. She knew how hard it was for you to date. When you hesitated, Mel said it was like practicing for when you had a girlfriend. Only if she knew how beautiful you found her to be… that she was only making things harder for you.

Young and naive, you gladly accepted her offer - desire flooding your senses as soon as she drew your hands to her body. She guided you through every motion and step, telling you exactly what she liked. Like a sponge, you soaked up every word and memorized every fraction of her body. Never wanting to forget a thing.

Little did you know the knowledge would come in handy again… and again… and again.

—

“I should probably get going.” Mel breathed as she pushed herself into an upright position. You had been bathing in the afterglow of your sexual dalliance when you must have looked at her too yearningly. She didn’t want you getting too attached.

“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed. It’s no big deal.” You tried to shrug off her wanting to leave so soon. It was best if you played it cool rather than let her know how much you really wanted her after all these years.

It was clear she didn’t give much thought to your statement. Slipping out from under your sheets, Melissa snatched up her underwear and bra from the floor. She was always in such a rush after you were finished, “I don’t want the neighbors gettin’ the wrong idea.”

That's what she had always told you - ‘I’m not gay.’

For years, you always had a biting remark in return.

‘Yeah. It’s not like you just spent a half hour between my legs or anything.’

“What? Worried they might think you’re gay?” Your words were twinged with venom. Now, rather than wait for her to make the excuse, you threw it back in her face. It always irked you that she could say such a thing to you given all you had experienced with one another.

“A woman can enjoy the company of women and not be gay.”

You scoffed, unable to contain yourself, “You’re delusional.”

Melissa’s lip curled and her brow furrowed. She always hated when you would get pissy with her, so she decided to snap back at you as she clipped her bra in the back, “I don’t need your shit, okay? I came here for a good time after my shitty date.”

You faked a smile and let the sarcasm drip from your tongue. “Glad to help.”

—

You knew the relationship wasn’t healthy, but this is how it always went.

She would call. She would come over. You would fuck. She would want to leave right after. You would get pissed. Then you wouldn’t speak until she wanted back in your bed.

—

You gathered saliva in your mouth and then pushed your tongue between her folds, drenching Melissa’s sweet cunt in your spit.

After the last sexual dalliance, you told yourself you wouldn’t end up on your knees for her again. But 45 minutes ago you received a partial nude from the redhead, and she had you reeled back in once more. It was a scandalous picture of her standing in front of her bedroom mirror with her hand between her legs. The caption she sent with the photo was ‘Missing you.’

While it was infuriating she could send a picture at random like that, you were in your car minutes later ready to drive over to her house.

Your hands gripped behind her knees, keeping a gentle pressure to make sure she was spread wide for you. Her hands were buried in your hair to prevent you from lifting your face away from her swollen heat. But in all honesty, you weren’t planning on going anywhere until she came all over your tongue.

“Oh, fuck!” Mel whined, pushing her hips up to grind against your face. Her enjoyment made you smile, and sadly, a small ounce of hope lingered in the back of your mind that maybe you could fuck her good enough that she would want to be with you.

“Yesyesyesyes… God, you are incredible.” Melissa hissed out, chasing her orgasm through rough bucks of her hips.

You pulled back, fighting against the grip for her hands. You provided her with a singular lick to her cunt and then paused, teasing her, “You want to come?”

“Yes~”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

“Good girl…” You hummed, pulling away entirely to retrieve the strap.

—

She had barely recovered from taking a pseudo-rage filled fucking when she crawled from bed. Her legs wobbled underneath herself as she wrapped herself in a robe, trying to make it clear a third round wouldn’t be an option. “I guess you better be goin’.”

“Sounds good.” You took the hint with grace, choosing to let her statement roll off your back rather than stewing on it. You slipped from the bed, unclasped Melissa’s strap (that she kept around just for you), and tossed the sex toy on the bed. You then proceeded to get ready in silence, not offering anything to Melissa that might display your displeasure.

The redhead was slowly unnerved by your silence as you zipped up your trousers and pulled your shirt over your head. She stared at her nail beds, trying to start casual conversation, “Gary proposed.”

You glanced up at her quickly, brow furrowed in angry questioning. While you were not proud of how easily Mel could reel you in, you wouldn’t have come if she was still in a relationship let alone engaged.

Melissa noticed your incredulous look and finished explaining, “I said no.”

You breathed out a scoff as you tucked your phone in your back pocket and scooped up your sweater off the floor. “That sounds about right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Melissa was clearly unhappy with your tone, but you refused to glance her way - slightly enraging her further.

Swiping your wallet and car keys from the bedside table you finally glanced over to where Mel sat on the edge of the bed. It was difficult to tell if she was more angry or embarrassed by your criticism, “I’ve learned the hard way, Mel. You’re hardly one to be tied down by something as trivial as love.”

Melissa was left speechless by your blatant honesty, and she could only stare as you gave her a curt nod, “I’ll see you around.”

—

She wasn’t gone for a half hour when you received a text from her - ‘Again tomorrow night? ;)’

It immediately forced you to roll your eyes. How you loved and hated that she was like this. One moment she would be so oppositional to any form of attachment, and then the moment someone ‘played hard to get’ with her, she would be fiending for their attention.

What was worse is that you were no better than her. You replied almost automatically - ‘I am off at 4. Come over whenever.’

Link to Chapter 2

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #toxic relationship #if you like the fic then let me know. it was fun to write :)

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spitdrunken · 5 months

Note

i am absolutely insane about your headcanons with the vee's, my mind is so full now... this is exactly what i was hoping to find when searching through the hazbin x reader tag after watching the episodes 👁️🙏🏻 please i'm so!! the being a writer for the vee's imagine is such a good idea, val and his.. comment especially got to me..

also, for your consideration:

Val — or all of the Vee's, really —, but, in the beginning, he's really not convinced about the quality of your dialogues, despite all the lines he's read (or, well, has had Vox read to him), so naturally you have to read your previous stories out loud to him, cheeks flushing and squirming when it gets to particularly graphic scenes and his gaze on you is so very heavy, smoke caressing your jaw while you stumble over your words.. It's worse if you've written about them and a character who resembles you, and Val's smile widens when you skip from story to story, mentioning the character — definitely not you — sucking Vox off, bending over willingly for Val and begging for Velvette to touch her, or even take all three of them at once, greedy...

Also the. love potions Velvette makes have me feeling things.. Her or Vox but they might end up putting a drop or four into your glass — purely accidentally, of course! —, and...

this is terrible.. my mind is too full now... i might have to post writing for hazbin now and it is your fault alone.. (affectionate; truly, I've enjoyed your thoughts so very much!! thank you for sharing!)

I'm glad you enjoyed it so much :D!! I had an absolute blast writing it myself, and I've been thinking about it lots!! Your ask made it even Worse (/pos) and I simply had to write more!! Please please please let me know if you write something for Hazbin, I can tell from your ask already that it'll be wonderful! And if you ever wanna chat about these guys, feel free to message me again, haha.

Notes: power imbalance, sexual harassment, heavily dubious/noncon due to love potion usage.

The fact Vox even bothers at all to take the time to sit Valentino down and read to him is already a show of your quality— He really wouldn’t go through wrangling him like that for just anyone, especially not with Val getting a bit pissy when being reminded your works were being compared to his. He needs to be told that, obviously, Val, some mere written words are never going to compare, especially not in earnings, to his creations. This placates Valentino. But all Vox gets for his efforts are a lazy flick of one of Valentino’s four wrists, his eyes not even looking at him. “Look, I still think it fucking sucks. But if you wanna hire them so badly, whatever. I’ve got better shit to do than listen to daddy’s horny story-time.” Suffice it to say, he becomes a lot more… Amiable (poor you) once you’re actually working there, and he has a face to attach to the stories. He can tell upon first glance that you’re one of those pathetic little hermits, too scared to leave your own shitty apartment, barely scraping by— He’s recruited plenty of those types as whores, after all. So easily pushed around that it shouldn’t give him nearly as much satisfaction as it does.

When Valentino practically demands you join him in his room and read your previous work to him, you sputter out protests, heart skipping a beat. Every employee in the company has something bad to say about this man, and so he’s about the last person you want to be caught alone in a room with. Especially not his bedroom.

“Ah, sir, I’m not really sure—“ But he’s already wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders, pulling you flush against his side as he drags you through the halls. The first thing that strikes you is how different the texture of coat is than you were expecting. It doesn’t even feel like anything at all. “Oh, sweetheart, call me Valentino. No need to be so unfamiliar with each other.” He practically purrs, a single finger tracing up the contours of your chest. “I feel like we’re going to get quite familiar.” If all the alarms weren’t ringing in your head before, they most definitely are now. But there’s nothing you can do. His grip on you is tight and, underneath his red coat, you can feel the hard metal of a pistol pressing against you.

He takes you to his room, walls covered with posters featuring himself, and you hardly have the time to look around before he sits you down on one of his red couches, still caught underneath one of his arms. It’s hard to think, much less speak, as Valentino starts to prod you to pull out your phone and start reading. “No need to be shy. You’re such an artista, aren’t you? Don’t keep me waiting.” It’s easy, at first. When the scene hasn’t grown explicit yet, and you can pretend you’re only reading the text out loud to yourself like you always do, making sure the sentences sound right. But Valentino makes it hard for you to distract yourself entirely. He rubs circles on the skin of your thigh, and the smoke from his pipe has long since been the only thing you can smell. The red smoke makes your head a little hazier, tongue a little looser— Though that all just might be because you’re not getting enough oxygen. Your every muscle is tense and, you think, this is what being a prey animal must feel like. The first time you stutter out the word ‘cock’, Valentino barks out a laugh, loud and sudden, entirely contrasting with the sultry demeanour he’s been putting on the whole time. You jump, gaze flickering from the screen to his face, before continuing. It gets worse when you realise exactly what story you’re reading out loud to him, one of the ones you’d never even posted anywhere, so utterly self-indulgent and poorly thought out that you regret it with every ounce of your being. (Unbeknownst to you, Vox has already read every draft you’ve ever typed up, but that’s neither here nor there.)

“Sorry, can I maybe, um, read a different one?” You practically squeak out. “I realised I have some better drafts, and…” “No,” Valentino shuts you down, tone temporarily harsh. “Don’t get too fucking cocky now, you’re already taking up enough time as it is. Shit’s about to get interesting, finally.” He’s saying all of this as if he wasn’t the one to drag you there in the first place.

So you trudge onward, reading as fast as you possible can, just trying to tough it out. As you read about a scared, unaccomplished demonic main character catching the eye of a trio of some of the most famous demons in town—through entirely unrealistic circumstances—you can see his grin grow wider from the corner of your eye. His nails dig into the flesh of your thigh, the smoke surrounding your face turning to caress your cheeks.

“So, let me gets this straight… You wrote about a trio of powerful demons with matching names, taking turns fucking an absolute nobody silly. One of them’s a pimp, the other a fashion designer, and the other a business man.” Valentino doesn’t give you the chance to respond. “Greedy little slut. You even chose this one specifically to read out to me, huh? Seems I got you all wrong,” he hisses out. “This must be a dream come true for you, isn’t it?”

Let’s just say that you got enough ‘material’ to write another four or so stories, just from that line alone.

----- A drop of love potion, and models always behave the absolute best, or so Velvette thinks! (As long as you don’t put in too much. It’s very hard to take good pictures when the girls keep trying to kiss you.) No bitching, no whining, only an easy to pose, cute demon to work with. And if she dresses you up in clothes that reveal more than they obscure, purely for her own enjoyment and usage, who’s going to blame her?

Certainly not you. You won’t remember a single damn thing. Not even the parts where you babble on about how pretty and gorgeous and cool she is, and how you’ve admired her for so long— All things she’s heard a million times before. Normally, she wouldn’t care less about it, but such words coming from someone with only a drop of her potion in her system means they’re all the absolute truth. She thinks it’s almost cute when it’s coming from you, really. ------------ Vox, on the other hand, would be more likely to use his hypnosis on you than a love potion. Just to have a few minutes in the middle of a meeting where you’re practically putty in his hands, all of your usual anxiety and shame having slid right off of your shoulders. He doesn’t feel any guilt about it whatsoever. Having read all of your works, he finds it safe to say that this is the exact kind of scenario you would enjoy…

And even if you didn’t, he still would. He gets a bit of a thrill out of the loopy, relaxed smile on your face as you nuzzles your cheeks against his arm, professing all of the thoughts you had about him before working at VoxTech, and the ones you still have today. It’s during one of these exact moments, that he’d likely find out that Valentino had fucked you already, something he hadn’t found necessary to mention. They’ll have a bit of a discussion about that later!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #valentino x reader #vox x reader #velvette x reader #cw.drugging #cw.noncon #cw.dubcon

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sugrhigh · 5 months

Text

FEELINGS MUTUAL - ( c.s. )

summary- you and chris, a d1 lacrosse player, have been good friends since freshman year. he accidentally hurts your feelings one night while youre hanging out, and things escalate as he’s apologizing.

warnings - it’s smut (use of ma included oop) so PLEASE read at ur own risk, if u don’t like it keep scrolling cuz idgaf 🤭

bff!chris x fem!reader

a/n: this is my first one shot on here AHH! i’ll probably be writing more so if you have requests or ideas, pls send them my way xoxo

“i still don’t understand how you predicted most of that within the first thirty minutes.” chris shakes his head, arms crossed as he leans back against the headboard casually.

“i told you, i’ve got it down to a science. all scary movies are practically the same.” you shrug, clutching a pillow to your chest as you lay in his bed.

it’s late now, or early. you’ve been watching movies together all night, just like you usually do during slow weekdays where neither of you have to be up for class, or in his case, practice.

“i wish you didn’t insist on watching them all of the time.” he says.

“aw, is little christina scared?” you tease him with a small grin.

“i hate when you call me that. and nothing about me is little.” chris kicks you with his foot gently, and you nearly roll off of the bed trying to avoid the contact.

“gross.”

“whatever, you’re the one thinking about my dick.”

“i absolutely am not.” you argue, though you feel your cheeks flush.

“keep lying.”

you lift an arm out to smack him in the bicep, and he just laughs. “stop flirting, you slut.”

“if i was flirting, you’d know.” chris smirks, running a hand through his long hair.

“you think you could rizz up the babadook?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at him properly.

“oh for sure.”

he doesn’t hesitate before saying it. he even nods his head a little bit in certainty.

“someone’s confident.” you laugh.

“c’mon, i could rizz anybody up.”

“you haven’t managed to do it to me, and we’ve been friends for two years.”

“that’s because i’m not trying to.”

for some reason, this stings a little. chris is a bit notorious for getting around, though it’s not really his fault. as a d1 lacrosse player who also happens to be very attractive, girls come falling at his feet.

you’re just not one of them, and he clearly doesn’t mind. you’re not sure why you even care.

it just makes you feel weird, that you’re the only girl he’s not attracted to for whatever reason. like you’re defective or something.

“right. i forgot you’ll hit on every other girl in the world, just not me.” your voice comes out more sour than intended.

chris looks a bit surprised, eyebrows raising slightly at your tone. “because you’re…you know…you.”

“wow, you really know how to make a girl feel good, huh?” you roll your eyes before turning to lay facing the other direction.

a hand snakes its way to your waist, a familiar sensation that still makes butterflies erupt in your stomach regardless.

“you know i didn’t mean it like that.”

you bury your head further into the pillow, trying to ignore the way his thumb is tracing circles against your hip. “whatever, chris. i get it.”

“you clearly don’t, because you’re all pissy now.” he sighs, breath tickling your skin.

“no i’m not.”

“yes you are.”

“i just want to sleep.” you lie.

chris fully wraps his forearm around your stomach now, tugging you so that your back is flush against his chest. he buries his chin in the crook of your neck, and you can’t help but smile slightly to yourself.

“all i meant is that you’re not those girls. you’re too special.” he says quietly into your ear.

you bite down on your lip to try and keep the grin from growing.

“now you’re just humoring me.”

he shakes his head slightly, stubble scratching at your shoulder in a pleasant way. “i’m not and you know it.”

you’re actually thankful you’re in a tank top, because having his warm skin on yours is nice. you’ve never felt it before, and it kind of makes you nervous.

“do i?” you question.

“you should. you’re the only girl who can get me to watch horror movies with her. the only one who sleeps over, or gets to steal my hoodies—”

“oh please, i know you gave that bitch maddy your sweatshirt. she wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks.” you cut him off.

“okay, she stole that from me and now she won’t give it back, so that’s different.” chris shuts you down quickly.

“if you insist.”

you shift slightly in his arms, and you hear him suck in a breath as you get comfortable.

“don’t do that.” his voice is strained.

“what?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“don’t move like that.”

“i’m not allowed to move now?”

“not when your ass is on me.” his grumbles, and you finally get it.

“oh.”

your response is abnormally high pitched, and you’re not sure what else to say. you’re too terrified to turn even in the slightest.

“who’s scared now, huh?”

you swear he must have gotten closer, because you can almost feel his lips hovering by your earlobe as he speaks. the smile is prominent in his tone.

he’s teasing you, and it spurs a fire in the pit of your stomach that you’ve never felt with him before. you maneuver your body, and this time you purposely back your ass up against his lap.

you hear him let out a small groan that vibrates against your body, and it nearly makes you shiver.

“not me.” you give him attitude, though you’re practically breathless.

“have you really thought this through?” chris asks, pressing up against you so you can actually feel how hard he is.

you’re already pulsing, and his fingers dance back and forth across your stomach lightly. even with your shirt as a barrier, it’s too nice.

you nod in response, and his hand slides up your arm and over your shoulder, fingernails barely raking against your skin as he goes. chris grips your throat, and you push against him for some sort of friction, for anything.

“tell me you want it.” he demands, squeezing just a bit harder.

“you want it.” you manage to taunt, grabbing his arm and guiding it down your chest to the bottom of your shirt.

his hand slides underneath the tight fabric, back up your stomach, traveling to massage your left tit slowly. his thumb ghosts over your nipple, and you arch your back into him involuntarily.

“fuck.” you gasp quietly.

“no bra, huh? just for me?”

chris twitches against your ass, attaching his lips to your neck hungrily. his tongue slides against the sensitive skin, teeth digging into the flesh where your throat meets your collar.

his hand switches places, and he drags the pads of his fingers across your other nipple in a tantalizing pattern. the sensation of his touch and his mouth at the same time is bliss, and you let out a moan of pleasure.

“always wondered what you sounded like, you fuckin angel.” he praises, grinding his hips against you.

just feeling his length, pressing right against your core through the fabric of your yoga pants, makes you incredibly wet. he’d be shocked to find you’re not wearing underwear either.

you guide his hand back out from underneath your shirt so you can flip over again, sitting up slightly as you move to straddle him. he’s already bucking up into you, whining from the feeling of being underneath your hips.

“don’t tease me. i’ve waited too long for this.” chris pulls your arm down so he can give you an actual kiss.

his lips are soft, molding against yours desperately as his hands grip your ass. you rock against him as his tongue slides against yours, and he groans into your mouth.

“god, i love hearing that.” you admit against his lips.

you pull away so you can lift his shirt over his head, trailing your long manicured nails down his chest slowly, right along his happy trail. he throws his head back against the pillows, relishing in the feeling.

you can tell he’s growing frustrated though, and suddenly he grabs you by your waist, throwing you down so your back hits the mattress.

chris helps you out of your top like it’s a race, tossing it to the floor with his other clothes. he positions himself over you, capturing your lips with his hungrily.

you bring your hands up; one tugging at the curly strands of hair on the back of his neck, the other clawing at his back.

he likes this, smiling into you before biting down on your bottom lip harshly. chris pulls away, pressing kisses down your throat, down the valley of your chest, but not without moving his tongue back and forth against each nipple at least a few times.

it makes you writhe, hands tangling in his sheets as he continues.

“jesus, chris.” you’re basically whimpering.

he stops right at the top of your leggings, looking up at you from between your thighs like he’s asking for permission.

you lift your hips as an answer, and he tugs the slick material down over your feet. the air hits you, and you can feel how embarrassingly ready you are.

chris lowers himself to you again, pushing your legs apart with both palms.

“you’re so pretty, ma. so fucking wet for me, too.” he mumbles, kissing and nipping at your hip, down your inner thigh, right next to where you need him most.

ma. he’s never called you that before, and you like it way more than you should.

without warning, he slides his tongue flat against your pussy in one long stripe. his lips come down around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue against it slowly.

“holy shit—” you gasp, and your fingers tangle in his hair again, tugging at his roots as he buries his face further.

you’d been given head before, but it never actually felt good until now. chris’s fingers grip your thighs as he continues to force them apart, tongue moving up and down against your center at a faster pace now.

you can feel the pressure building, but you know you want more. you want to make him feel good too.

“oh my god baby.” the pet name slips out without even thinking, your head is so fuzzy with pleasure.

“fuck, call me that again.” he pulls away just enough to speak coherently.

“i need you inside me, baby, please.” you beg desperately.

“so ready for me, so eager.” he practically growls, sitting up so he can yank off his sweatpants, tugging his boxers down with them.

his dick is just as big as it felt, definitely the biggest you’ve seen in person, which is a little scary. he puts a hand to your mouth, turning your head to the side slightly.

“spit.”

fuck, this is hot.

you happily do as your told, and he pulls his hand back to spread it around his dick. his other arm goes to prop your one leg up as he aligns himself at your entrance.

chris pushes in slowly, and you both let out a long moan at the same time. you can feel him stretching you, and it takes a minute for you to adjust to his full length.

“fuck…” he says in that breathy voice you love so much.

he moves out, then back in, steadily picking up his pace as you get more comfortable. you have to give it to him, the kid knows how to use his hips.

“mmm…you feel so good around me,” chris grumbles, lifting your leg a little higher.

he hits a new spot, and it sends delicious waves of pleasure through your body.

“yes, right there!” your eyes screw shut, and his free hand goes to reach for your tits.

“fuck ma, i can feel you squeezing. taking it just like a good girl.”

such a pretty mouth saying such dirty things, things you didn’t think you’d ever in a million years hear from your friend. and yet, it feels exactly like it should.

he’s practically pounding into you now, and the little noises he makes drive you crazy. his free hand shifts so his thumb rubs against your clit, and you feel your core seize up.

“chris!” you cry out, and that damn smirk crosses his face again.

“tell em, angel. tell them exactly who you want.”

his fingers feel so good combined with his strokes, and this time the building pressure in your stomach is too much. you know you don’t have a lot longer left as your body begins to shudder.

“fuck, chris, i’m so close—”

“just a little longer, hang on for me.” he says, movements growing sloppier as he reaches his own peak.

his nails dig into the skin of your thigh, a bit of pain that is not unwelcomed. chris circles his other fingers around you faster, and you let out an even louder gasp.

“i’m—”

“fuck, me too. come on baby, come all over me.” he cuts you off, and you feel him twitch inside of you as he finishes with a groan.

“shit!” you ride out your own high, releasing onto his dick as he slows to a stop. you’re both completely breathless and sweaty as he pulls out, and you immediately feel at loss.

he leans down to give you a little peck before collapsing beside you.

“i’ve seriously dreamed about that so many times.” chris says, arm splayed across his chest as he stares into your eyes.

you cover your face with your hands in embarrassment. “stop it.”

he’s quiet for a moment, and you peek through your fingers to look at him.

“you know this means more to me, right? you mean more to me.” he speaks softly, like he’s scared of how you’ll react.

you finally reveal yourself again, smiling more widely than you’d care to admit.

“good, cuz the feelings mutual.”

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #smut #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #fanfic #oneshot

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sordidmusings · 7 months

Text

Loose Lips (Buggy x Reader)

A/N: Fulfillment of this request! Thank you for making a request dear anon 💕 I really hope that it's what you wanted because it kind of grew into a whole thing 😬 also this is going to be this week's Thirsty Thursday!

@fanaticsnail brilliantly suggested this song for the fic!

Word Count: ~5.7k (~3.1k of smut 💀)

Warnings: Fem!afab!reader, NSWF very naughty indeed, praise, degredation, p in v, chop chop tomfoolery, overstimulation, creampie, dirty talk, dom!Buggy, jealous and heavily possessive Buggy, manhandling/forceful treatment, Gossip time with The Girls (probably ooc but let me have this), trashing your partner (he deserves it), allusions to gaslighting and emotional abuse, starts with humor then just needy but then devolves into lots of smut I promise 💀, some fluff at the end cuz I had to

~Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of endless perversion~

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Buggy had the most shit-eating grin, and it only grew wider with each word you said. He was sunk deep into his chair, feet thrown on the table in front of him, nursing his fifth beer. Taking another gulp, he eyed you over the rim of his tankard. You were only starting your third drink, but to his delight that was enough of a buzz for you to loosen up. Normally, you were quite the skittish little thing around him, and while it was cute he wanted to see and know more of you. He’s always been quite infatuated with you and wished that he had more time with you to sate his want for your presence (and to fuel his fantasies). Tonight, that wish was granted when you had seated yourself next to him instead of your normal drinking buddies on the crew. It may have been Mohji’s usual seat, but whatever you claimed in his presence was immediately yours to him. Mohji was also easy to convince with a warning glare and sharp nod to the chair beside Cabaji.

Speaking of your usual drinking buddies, one in particular had taken to giving Buggy quite the sour look. It only fed Buggy’s smugness more. He wasn’t exactly a fan of your boyfriend in the first place. His dislike was quickly turning into disdain as well with the picture you had been painting for him. It was filled with unappreciated gestures, expected caretaking with no reciprocation, and an absolute bulldozing of your emotions. Clearly, this man boy didn’t deserve you. Possibly not even a spot on the ship with how poorly he’d been treating Buggy’s favorite. That’s probably why said boy was looking so pissy and threatened over there in his corner with your friends. Buggy raised his drink in a sarcastic cheers to him while you were distracted with a joke Cabaji had made at your partner’s expense. When your chuckles tapered off, your face started to pinch with apprehension.

“I feel kind of bad. I mean, you’re his crew and captain and I’m just here bitching to you,” you lamented. Your eyes widened with a sudden thought and you groaned. “Oh no, I must sound like a bratty teen gossiping about their partner.”

“Sounds like you’ve already tried talking it out with him,” Cabaji said. At your shy nod, he continues, “Then fuck it - you gotta get it out.”

“I know, but it’s all so stupid and trivial.” You were hunching back into yourself, staring down at your fingers while they played with your glass in your lap. There’s a flick on your forehead, and your head darts up to see Buggy’s hand floating back to him.

“S’not stupid if you’re upset,” he asserts, much to your astonishment. Buggy always struck you as more of the “suck it up buttercup” type. Wait, he was; you’d seen him bark or laugh at pouting crew members more often than not. You had seen him give some comfort, too, but it was always for something inarguably large in scale. Unexpected sympathy from the torch you’ve held longest should have been enough for you to cheer back up, but the vicious fight you’d had with your partner this afternoon still had all your thoughts trending negative. The confrontation had been brewing for a long while, but knowing it was coming didn’t shield you from the hurt.

“Then it’s pathetic,” you argued. “I mean, only sad lovers in sappy plays cry themselves to sleep right?” You tried to play it off as a joke, but the laugh you used to chase it was hollow.

“You’ve been crying?” Mohji asked, worry showing in his face and voice. Next to him, Cabaji scowled and Buggy sat up straight, even placing his feet on the floor.

“Yeah but I’m just being dramatic; I’m a bit oversensitive,” you said, echoing the words your boyfriend had long worked into you.

“No,” Buggy bit out. “I’ve seen you stare down pirates twice your size, coming at you cussing and swinging. You passed the berating month when you got here, and that has had lesser pirates sob their way back off the ship. Hell, you’ve been stabbed and you were more concerned with your friends crying about it.” Buggy snorted and shook his head, distracting you with the way the blue hair swayed from his hat. His heavy leather boots plonked back on the table, rattling the cups and plates, and he shuffled back down into his seat. The look he gave you was bordering on offended. “You’re not dramatic or too sensitive.”

You think your heart may burst - did he really have such a strong opinion of your character? You may have sought Buggy’s presence out because you were upset and you feel protected around him, but you never would’ve dreamed that the outcome would feed your infatuation such a hefty meal.

“He’s been feeding you bullshit hasn’t he?” Cabaji butted in, tone full of contempt.

“He might have… been the one to tell me that first,” you answered hesitantly. Your brows furrowed. Did you really think that of yourself or had he thought it loud enough for the both of you? Was he the only one who thought it? You became stuck looking for answers in the dark liquid in your cup. Meanwhile, the looks Buggy gave your boyfriend had taken on a lot more accusation and threat than teasing.

“See now that’s pathetic,” Cabaji scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “A man who has to belittle his partner is no man at all.”

“Yeah, he’s probably scared ‘cause he knows half the crew would gun for you if you left him,” Mohji laughed. It got you to perk up a touch and giggle with him. Buggy’s hard expression eased at the sound and the sight of a genuine smile pressing at your cheeks.

“Ah, some actual attention would be nice,” you sighed wistfully. Your voice became bitter when you muttered, “Besides digs and requests for sex of course.” Buggy choked on his drink, causing him to pound on his chest in an attempt to recover quickly. The other two were hooting at both your partner’s and Buggy’s expense.

“He’s that bad that he has to beg for it?” Cabaji snarked gleefully.

“Unfortunately,” you grumbled, pouting into your drink. “I don’t really find him attractive anymore either.”

“Oh no, sweetcheeks,” Buggy admonished, “You should not put up with some manipulative brat who can’t even please you.” Beyond his distaste for seeing you upset and mistreated, his glee at the wedge between you and your partner left him feeling fluttery. He did have a small pit twisting in his gut though; why would you even go to him if you were barely attracted to one of his most handsome men?

“See, this is why you’re my favorite,” you sighed dreamily, smitten from hearing him send a pet name your way and from his persistent defense of you. Your words and the lovesick look you gave Buggy had him short circuit. He needed to grab at this train of thought and pull the whole thing from you.

“I’m your favorite?” Buggy rushed out. Cabaji and Mohji smirked at each other before looking back to see how this played out.

“Well, um, yeah it’s always been you,” you mumbled. Before you could stop it, your mouth kept moving. “I’ve always wanted you but felt stupid doing anything about it. You’re just really impressive with how well you run the ship and with your chop chop thing and how you don’t turn people away because they’re different and you’re always there for us when we really need you and also your hair is really pretty and you’ve taken really good care of me - um - all of us and you’re so strong and really hot doing like anything and I should-” you finally took a breath “-I should shut up.”

Buggy stared at you wide eyed, mouth agape. The duo next to him was trying to keep in their snickers and doing just an awful job of it. You took another gulp of your drink for something to do. Gods, you don’t think your face has ever felt so hot. You cleared your throat and said, “I think I should-”

“You’re breaking up with him,” Buggy told you. You blinked.

“I am?” you asked, not upset with the idea but confused at the sudden order.

“You are,” Buggy confirmed. His drink was placed on the table with a firm clunk, which his feet echoed on the floor. When he stood before you, you had to crane your neck up to see him with how he loomed into your space. His expression was one you’d never seen on him before; he looked ready to snatch you up and bite down. His sea-green eyes glimmered through the shadows cast across his face. He jerks his chin at the drink in your hand. “That’s your third right?”

“Yes, Captain, my um-” you gave an embarrassed smile “-my mouth gets affected far before everything else.”

“So you feel okay?” he checked one more time, eyes boring into your own and making you feel naked.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good,” he started, leaning even more over you and placing his gloved hands on your cheeks. The fabric felt soft and warm and you found yourself leaning into it. “Then you are coming with me.”

Buggy stepped back, leaving his arms with you. One moved around your back and the other behind your knees. They lifted you up and brought you to him in one smooth motion. You still yelped without any jerking, bringing attention to yourself from many of the drinking pirates crammed below deck with you. Flustered, you hid your face in the soft fur lining his coat. Buggy turned to his two highest ranked men. He took in their shit-eating grins and sneered back, mostly in jest.

Buggy moved his look over at your group of friends and most importantly your (ex-)boyfriend. While your friends mostly looked confused (and one giving a thumbs up), the idiot of the hour was livid. Buggy smiled slow and wide, making his canines shine threateningly in the flickering lamplights, and he detached a hand just to flick his fingers in a cheeky wave.

“Cabaji. Mohji.” They straightened at his tone. “Let that one know he’s no longer on my crew and he figures out a way off the ship by tomorrow night or I’m throwing him overboard.”

“Aye, Captain!” They both cheered, tipping their drinks his way.

“Now,” Buggy said softly. He turned and began walking in long strides, expertly weaving through the passing plates, flailing arms, and spinning bodies of his merry band of misfits. The gentle bob and sway of being in his arms managed to settle your scrambling heart and mind, if only a bit. He paused when he reached the stairs to the upper deck. The cheek he leaned down onto the top of your head calmed you even further. “You’re coming with me to my cabin to make up for lost time. Okay?”

Your heart thudded strongly and pressed up at your throat. Your eyes burned. He was still checking in? To give yourself a moment to get rid of the lump in your throat, you turned your head and gave a few soft kisses to the base of his neck. Even through his cravat, the action made him shiver. Finally, you answered, “Yes, Captain Buggy.”

The flight up the stairs and to Buggy’s cabin was much swifter and more impatient. Both of you found yourselves thanking the Gods for his devil fruit abilities when they let him open the way without sacrificing his hold on you. He refused to release you until he was kicking his door shut behind him and tearing off his jacket. You took the time to admire the way the muscles in his arms moved as he threw off his hat. His upper body popped up and flew to you so his legs could work at toeing off his boots. You welcomed him to you with open arms and grasping fingers.

Buggy’s grip around you was demanding, one hand fisted in your hair and the other fisted in your shirt. You happily listened to their directions, pushing further into him and offering him your lips. His decorated eyes closed and his painted lips dove to feel yours, only to stop just a hair short.

“After this you’re mine.” His voice rumbled against your chest and his lips tickled against yours with each syllable. There was a jolt as his legs got back to his body, causing your lips to brush in the closest mimic of a kiss yet. You whined right against the brush of his red lips and pawed at the front of his shirt to ask for more. “Say it.”

“I’m yours, Captain.” The words were barely out of your mouth before he was stealing the breath from your lungs. The kiss immediately became open mouthed; he had needed to taste you since he set eyes on you and he had deprived himself of the chance long enough. It was full of dancing tongues, eager lips, and bumping noses and it was better than you had let yourself hope for.

“You have any idea how long that fucker kept you from me,” he growled. His arms kept you to him in the fervent kiss but his hands flew off to start undoing your pants. Their movements were jerky and rushed and the tugging at your pants made the garment rub pleasantly across your skin. Your body felt alive with the taste of his lips, the pressure of his arms and the pulling of his hands.

“You’ll never think of him again,” Buggy promised darkly between kisses, while his hands began harsh tugs to get your pants and underwear down. When you were stepping out of them, he finally moved back far enough from you to let his hands work on ripping your shirt over your head. Buggy’s lips were back on you before your hair even had time to settle back into place. He nipped your bottom lip and kissed his way to your ear. His hands were making quick work of your bra. “I’m going to replace every bit of his touch on your body with my own.”

Shivers trembled through your body at the feeling of his words being breathed into your ear. The tingling sensation bouncing under your skin only intensified when his hands wedged between your chests and began thumbing at your hardened nipples. While he started walking backwards to the bed, you set on undoing his too numerous belt buckles. You needed to feel his skin on you now. At your unhappy moan, Buggy had his hands help you.

“Impatient?” he teased. He got another whine for his answer. At last, all his belts were undone. The thick one from his waist thunked onto the floor and his shirt followed soon after, pushed off by hurried hands sweeping from pec over shoulder. You hummed at the feeling of his chest hair against your palm and his muscles flexing and moving in your grip. Your arms then wrapped behind his neck, pulling him in to feel his chest press to yours. You jumped at the unexpected feeling of his chest hair teasing at your nipples, making them send pleasant tingles across your skin. His arms wrapped around your waist to pull you in just as tightly, making you feel caged and at his mercy. Groping hands separated from his arms to work at the flesh of your hips and ass, the fabric of his gloves causing extra friction.

Buggy’s lips had made their way back to yours, trailing burning kisses and red paint, and his prodding tongue slid back through your parted lips. Your hurried fingers pulled the bandana from his head and scratched across his scalp, setting his hair free. Blue waves cascaded down to tickle your arms and sweep at your cheeks. Your hands broke through the curtain of his soft hair to rid him of his cravat. While your hands continue seeking ways to touch him, his hands left you to swiftly yank each glove off. When his touch came back to you, Buggy moaned loudly at the feeling of your bare, flushed skin under his fingers and palms.

His hands massaged their way down to the backs of your thighs. While he sat himself down on the bed, he used this grip to pull you into his lap. You shivered and moaned as your bare pussy finally got some friction against the leather of his pants. Even through the thick material, you could feel his length twitch against you. An iron grip clamped onto your hips and set the pace of your needy grinding. “Fuck, sweets, you’re gonna ruin my pants. That wet already?”

“Can’t help it,” you whined. “I’ve wanted you so long.” You emphasized your words by grinding down more firmly against him, sliding easily through your slick on the supple leather.

“Fuuuuck,” Buggy groaned low, throwing his head back at the sensations sparking through him with each push of your hips. He pressed back into you with more insistence. “Wanted to take more time with you, treasure, but you’re making it fucking hard.”

He used his chop chop powers to stay attached to you again, separating from his feet so he could float you two to the center of the bed. The weightlessness and tipping of your balance shot adrenaline through you and had your weight increasing the pressure of his hard on against your clit. You dragged nails down Buggy’s chest in your bid for stability, earning a grumbling moan from him.

You may have been the one on top of him, but it was clear from his controlling hands and commanding lips that he was the one in charge. You’d let him keep that power forever if it meant you kept getting to feel his touch tearing into you and taste his skin and tongue and teeth. The smell of your own arousal mixing with the hazy scent of him emanating from his body and sheets had your muscles turning liquid, save the ones helping your hips lure pleasure from his.

At the next drag of his hips across your cunt, you felt the pressure slide downward and leave you. Your thighs still felt his torso squeezed between them but the lack of support under your pelvis startled you and you began to pull back.

“No, no, sweet thing,” Buggy soothed, “Stay right here.” He trapped you to him with a hand to the back of your head and the other gripping the back of your shoulder. Your sense came back to you a little bit, reminding you of the chop chop fruit, and you relaxed slightly. Foggy eyes watched you as your muscles loosened and you eased back down for your mouths to meet again. The hand in your hair became a fist, urging you even closer, while the other disappeared. The feel of smearing makeup added to the delicious mess of the kiss, all wet lips and sliding tongues.

You slowly raised your hips up in the air, pressing your chest more firmly into his and relieving your thighs of the burn from keeping yourself hovered. Your elbows took the rest of your weight and your hands clung to Buggy’s shoulder and bicep. The air of the room sent a chill through you with how it contrasted to the wet heat you had presented. You weren’t chilled for long though; the draft of the room suddenly stopped reaching you and the bed dipped between your knees as a weight settled there. You felt knees nudging the inside of your own further apart and you happily let them, eagerly arching your cunt even higher.

“Such a good fucking girl,” Buggy growled against your lips. Warm skin met the back of your thighs then the plush of your ass. You let out chirping moans, muffled against his mouth, in burning joy when you felt the slide of his bare cock drag through your lips. “Such an eager little bitch for me; you ever go ass up for him?”

“No,” you panted. “N-no -hah- never, Captain.” Buggy nipped at your lips before he started his way down to your neck. You eagerly arched your chin up and out of the way, getting rewarded with a boiling hot lick across your pulse. Between his ravenous mouth and grinding hips, you were losing track of anything but the impulse to chase what feels good. And all of his touch ravaging over you felt so fucking good.

The way your hips circled back into his had Buggy losing his mind - he needed to grab at every piece of you, feel you under lips and tongue and teeth and nails, and he needed to feel your warm swollen walls wrapped around him. A thought occurred to him and his mouth flung to your ear.

“Has he ever fucked you raw?” It came out as more of an angry snarl than real words. “Did you let yourself be his little slut?” Hips pressed forward meanly, nearly lifting your knees off of the bed with how he was forcing you to arch. “Answer me.” A hand clamped onto your jaw. Fingers released your hair to dig into the sides of your neck.

“No, sir!” you gasped, delicious pain bringing you back some clarity.

“My perfect girl.” You felt the grumble of his voice vibrate from his chest to yours. Your jaw was released. The punishing pressure on your spine eased as Buggy backed off, only to use his free hand to guide your hips back into greedy grinds. You wanted his handprint marked there forever, and Buggy wouldn’t disappoint. The grip controlling your neck jerked you to look him in the eyes. They were blurry and black with lust, looking like they would be quenched by nothing less than swallowing you whole. “Waiting for your Captain to be the one in your cunt? Already knew that you’re my whore?” The clumsy huffs and moans of “yes” that spilled from your mouth went straight to Buggy’s cock, each one making it throb against you.

“Let me.” His knees pressed at yours and you spread even wider, opening up enough for your clit to constantly rub between the base of his cock and his heavy balls. “Gotta be inside you - own every part of you.” His dominating grip on your hip forced the long grinds into tight circles weighted on your clit. Buggy tugged you down in a quick, needy kiss, tasting the whines on your tongue. “Fuck, give it to me; be mine and I’ll fuck you like this every day, buy you anything you want, do anything you want.”

You were so close already, head buzzing from his rabid pleas and the restricting grip into the sides of your neck. Your heartbeat had moved to pound between your hips, matching the rhythm of his hips grinding into you. If it weren’t for his hand at your neck, your head would’ve lolled forward to leave you drooling against his chest.

Buggy’s detached hand slid over your ass to guide the head of his cock to press at your twitching entrance. The moment he was lined up, his hand flipped down to cup your mound and grind the heel of his palm over your swollen bud. His head stretched you wider than you’re used to and you were already tripping over the edge when you felt yourself pop over the rim of his tip. “Gods, fuck, sweets, you feel like heaven.” He kept sliding in, the stretch not easing as he worked you open. “Never -nnngh- leaving this cunt.” The forearm around your back forced you into his chest even harder. “Gonna tie you up and fuck you all day, shit!” His hips finally met yours, rooted right above the palm still massaging at you.

The first drag back, full of his mushroomed tip pulling at your clenching walls, was your favorite thing you’d ever felt. You could only manage its deliberate push and pull, ending with a shove you felt pressing through your stomach, three more times. “Yes -hahh- yes, y-yes -nnnnghaahh- yes, yes, yes yesyesyes”

Bright pleasure tore up your spine to explode in your head and fizzle out through your every muscle. Your eyes screwed shut, your feet kicked up to clench by your jolting hips, and your fingers dug and trembled into Buggy’s skin. You shoved your head down, forehead pressing into the sweaty side of Buggy’s neck, open mouth gasping out hot air and high pitched moans. Distantly, you heard him darkly muttering, “Fucking hell, good slut, goddamn you’re perfect -mmmmnnhh- my perfect girl.”

Buggy’s grip on you became bruising as he held off on cumming with you. He’d just barely got a taste of the squeeze of your cunt and he needed more. He’d grit his teeth in desperation when he felt you milking him so soon after he had adjusted to the blissful feeling of sinking into you. Now he was absolutely sure he was going to steal you away and keep you forever. He needed to feel your pleasure and desperation at his touch every second of every day for the rest of his life.

“Such a whore, so eager to cum for me,” Buggy praised. He was brushing your hair from your face with shaky fingers, guiding you back from your orgasm. He continued his steady thrusts into you but eased up on his palm when your body went limp. You looked absolutely pathetic slumped against him, ass held in the air still being used for his pleasure.

“That stupid boy ever get you to sound like that?” he goaded. The closest you got to giving a response was a breathy “nuh”. Buggy kissed at your hairline and began picking up the speed of his hips. “That’s what I thought. Now be a good pussy and milk me dry.”

Buggy’s thrusts became punishing and insistent, chasing the blissful pulsing clench of your cunt that he felt at the end of every full stroke. The heel of his palm jostled your clit with each slap of his hips against you, slipping easily against you from how much he had you dripping. Even so, your nerves burned in a way that was just slightly too much. You arched harder to try and lighten the sensation but that only angled your hips so that he hit his hand harder on each thrust. Every impact felt like an electric shock, knocking a high and breathy moan from you each time.

“Sounds so good, treasure, keep singing for me,” Buggy moaned, breath tickling the top of your ear. He wanted to slow himself down to hear you longer, taste you longer, feel the hot wet plush of your pussy forever, but he couldn’t control himself no matter how hard he tried. His body clung to and plunged into you, driven by uncontrolled instinct. He needed to grab and consume you until he couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. He’d finally admitted to himself how much he was dying to see and own all of you. Now he had you blissed out and pliant against him and he could no longer stand living without knowing the feeling of emptying his cock into you.

“Captain,” you hiccuped, “C-Captain Buggyyyyy, ‘s too much.” You tilted your head up to moan and bite at his neck, needing something to ground you. The salt and heat on your tongue cut through some of the blinding haze. Your fingers kept digging at him to find some kind of anchor in those slick, tensing muscles.

“You can do it, sweets,” he encouraged breathlessly. “Just -fuck- just be my good whore, just let me hahhhave my fill and I’ll -nnngah- help you rest.” You managed a weak “yes sir” between your moans and whines and Buggy’s hips managed to give you even more. Every nerve he touched inside you was scorching and screaming with the delicious friction and stretch of him pounding into you. Buggy felt the same searing bliss ripping through him, emptying his mind of everything but desire and possession.

Buggy groans, “So close! You’ve been soooooo fucking good for me, my perfect slut.” The hand at your neck had switched back into fisting your hair, so he could drag you up and moan right in your ear. The palm at your clit became a tightly circling thumb and your limp body jolted back to life, clawing, grinding, shaking, and gasping. “That’s fucking it, treasure, need you to cum again and -ahh- I’ll fill you up.”

You used whatever strength you had left to bounce back on his hips. Your used muscles were pounding and swollen, but the praising sounds and extra friction you got with each move had you never wanting to stop. You never knew how good it felt to be fucked hard enough for the force to ripple through the flesh of your ass and thighs and stomach and breasts and you’d do anything to keep feeling it. The crushing grip on your hip kept you steady any time you faltered from your trembling muscles and blanking mind. You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this, so completely insatiable, so deliciously overwhelmed, so voraciously claimed. The blazing signals shooting to your head from between your legs started to burn so bright that they were losing detail. That was until all four of Buggy’s fingers touched the very base of your stomach and pushed down hard.

“Buggy! Buggy! Buggy!” You kept yelping, and his eyes rolled back from the sheer ecstasy of hearing you like this. You were already tight, muscles clamping down hard and winding up for your orgasm but this… There was a firmer pressure with each stroke, especially when he knocked as deep into you as you could stretch, and he was drooling at the fact that his fingertips could feel him fuck himself into you.

“So good, holy shit -hahnngh- you feel so fucking good, treasure, gonna cum,” Buggy was beside himself panting and groaning out for you. His fraying voice became biting and fierce, rabid with need and absolute command. “Need you to cum - cum for your Captain.”

“Yes, sir, yessir please please,” you sobbed into his chest feeling so close but also already over the precipice and feeling everything and numbing out. Your body was going haywire with how good and how much everything felt and you needed something to hold onto.

“Good fucking girl, good -nnnngh- you’re mine, mine, mine-” Buggy’s voice was all gravel and possession and he chanted the only word he could manage when his balls pulled tight and his dick began to twitch. The clapping of his hips stopped, replaced with deep long grinds that had the weight of his jumping dick play with every inch of your walls and you were gone. You keened and sobbed out at the force of the feelings bursting through you and you could do nothing but quake in his grasp. The hot feeling of his cum pumping into you, cockhead tapping down at the push of his fingers on your stomach, had your eyes rolling back and your legs going limp.

Buggy was pretty sure he lost a minute or two there while he wasn’t able to think past hot, wet, and good. All he knew was that he finally got you and it was better than he ever imagined. His heart stuttered at the feeling of your panting breath cooling his chest and your sweet fingers clumsily trying to draw shapes on his skin. They kept falling limp between attempts due to the strength of your exhaustion, but you were adamant in your need to show him affection. His face split in a dopey grin. Buggy just knew you’d be the perfect little love and now you were his perfect little love. A smug snicker interrupted his heavy breaths from knowing he stole you away from that shithead, and he was going to make sure to pamper you so you’d stay and never have to cry to yourself again.

Buggy nudged you to the side so that your spine would get some relief from arching. He couldn’t have just let you straight down without your hips being forced down under the weight of his past the edge of his torso. You weren’t allowed to go far though; he felt as if he’d tear apart anything that interrupted all your skin to skin contact. You hummed deep in relief at the change in position and nuzzled your face into Buggy as thanks. He kissed his bright smile onto the top of your head and began massaging a hand into your lower back. This time you moaned at the relieving feeling, earning a chuckle from him.

“Better?” Buggy asked.

“So much,” you answered. Your eyes and muscles felt heavy and your bones were made of lead. Your breathing had become soft and slow and steady in tandem with his, beginning to draw you under with the promise of a fulfilling slumber. You managed to mumble, “Thank you, Captain,” before you were gone. A more lingering kiss was placed on your head this time. While your mind wasn’t there to receive it, your body felt it and shifted just that much closer into Buggy’s warmth.

Buggy sighed, thinking of the mess that the two of you and the bed were and how much work it’ll be to do the necessary cleaning up. A large problem was detaching you from himself and an even larger and more difficult one was mustering the will to remove himself from you. He gave in to the comfort of holding you, pulling a spare blanket from a basket across the room to lay over you both. Still in deep sleep, you hummed contentedly at the new comfort and warmth, melting Buggy’s heart further. He peppered a few more indulgent kisses onto your temple and hair before snuggling his cheek down into you. He’d decided a little nap wouldn’t hurt.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown #one piece #my writing #thirst hours #anon request #buggy x y/n #buggy x you #fem reader #afab reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy #buggy smut #x reader

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