#CLOWN LAP DANCE!?

[bloomingonionbitch]

(i must be truly missing something because what is the deal with parents fussing about Sabrina Carpenter's tour outfits? they're similar enough to some of Taylor Swift's bodysuits, maybe minus the straps from time to time? is it the garters? both of their looks are just sparkly Esther Williams-synchronized swimmer suits, no? is it the cheeky towel bit at the beginning? it's literally like a "Look at Me I'm Sandra Dee" sleepover look - which is fun!!)

[chosok-amo]

THE CLOWN HAS BEEN FOUND s. gojo

★ sum. the baggy clothes, the glasses, the book, the brain— sum : a nerd, that’s what you are. a center of attention, but not because of how beautiful and popular and everyone wants to date you— no, but because you are a loser. and the popular boys have a bet who’s get to sleep with you first and pop the cherry.

warning. college au, ōral ( m & f receiving ), fingēring, dirty talk, hair-pulling, bit name-calling, petnames, praise, cherry pop mentioned, unprotected sēx.

the four of them—geto, gojo, toji, and sukuna—sat sprawled out under the big willow tree on campus, a prime spot they’d claimed as their own. the tree’s branches hung low, providing shade from the afternoon sun, and it seemed to be the perfect place for them to lounge around, their laughter and conversation echoing through the quiet space. they were the popular boys on campus, infamous for their looks, athleticism, and wealth, and equally notorious for their cocky, careless attitudes—a magnetic combination that somehow made them both admired and hated.

they were deep in some joke, laughing obnoxiously, when toji’s gaze drifted, his laughter fading as his eyes settled on something—or rather, someone—in the distance. his smirk widened as he cocked his chin in your direction, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“look at her,” toji muttered, loud enough for the others to hear. the way he said it held a certain bite, like he’d just stumbled upon something amusing.

the other three followed his gaze, their eyes landing on you, sitting off to the side with a thick textbook open in your lap. you were tucked into yourself, shoulders hunched slightly, completely absorbed in whatever you were reading. your clothes were baggy, drowning your frame in layers that did little to give away any shape. the oversized hoodie practically swallowed you, sleeves pulled down almost to your fingertips. your glasses kept sliding down your nose, and every now and then, you’d push them back up absently, clearly too lost in your book to notice much else.

“oh, the classic nerd look,” sukuna sneered, his eyes narrowing as he looked you over, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “cute,” he added mockingly, though there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he found the whole thing entertaining.

gojo let out a low snort, shaking his head as he took a long drag from his cigarette, smoke curling around him in lazy spirals. he leaned forward, one arm bracing against the grass. his eyes still on you, but there was a mocking amusement dancing in them now. he exhaled slowly, a smirk pulling at his lips as he glanced over at sukuna, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“what’s this, sukuna? into the nerdy type now?” he taunted, tilting his head as he raised an eyebrow. his tone was layered with mockery, his smirk widening as if the very idea was too ridiculous to believe. “thought you had a thing for a girl with big tits.”

sukuna rolled his eyes, but his smirk didn’t waver. “naaah, not my type,” he shot back, his gaze flicking back to you briefly before he shrugged. “just saying she’s… amusing. probably jumps if someone even looks at her.”

“oh, definitely,” geto chimed in with a chuckle, folding his arms as he looked you over with a lazy curiosity. “bet she’s terrified of guys like us.”

toji laughed, shaking his head as he looked back at the others. “please, she’d probably faint if you even said hi.” they all shared a laugh, a mixture of arrogance and amusement, reveling in the thought. to them, you were just another quiet, unassuming girl in a sea of faces, someone they could easily overlook—or mess with, if the mood struck.

gojo snickered. “hell, she probably doesn’t even know we exist,” he taunted, his smirk growing ever more patronizing as he puffed out another plume of smoke. “probably spends her nights in her room, surrounded by books and stuffed animals. bet she’s never even been to a party.”

geto chuckled, leaning back with a mocking smile. “oh please, she’s probably never even been kissed.”

toji smirked, adding to the barrage of mockery. “god, she’s probably never been touched by a guy either, huh?” he chimed in, his words dripping with lewd undertones. he took another drag of his cigarette, then glanced back at you, eyeing you up and down again, his smirk widening into a leering grin. “bet she’s a complete virgin.”

there was a collective burst of laughter from the three of them, their voices loud and harsh in the otherwise peaceful afternoon air.

sukuna, his smirk still firmly in place, leaned back against the tree, his arms crossed. “yeah, she’s probably saving herself for her dream guy,” he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “probably wants some perfect fairytale romance. what a joke.”

toji let out a low, dark snicker, his gaze flickering back to you as his smirk widened into something almost predatory. he leaned forward slightly, the cruel glint in his green eyes sharpening as he watched you, completely oblivious to the way they were talking about you.

“oh, please,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mock amusement. “give me an hour with her, and i’d pop that cherry first,” he said, his scarred lips twisting into a wider smirk, a glimmer of cruelty evident in his gaze.

the other guys laughed again, their voices mingling in the harsh, arrogant way only they could manage. for them, it was a game—a chance to mock and taunt someone so outside their world.

geto snort, “yeah, right.”

gojo chuckled, his smirk widening as he took another casual drag from his cigarette, shaking his head at toji’s words. “big talk, man. you are too scary, let me take the ‘pop’,” he said, his voice laced with a mischievousness.

sukuna let out another sharp huff of laughter, his gaze trailing over you disdainfully, his smirk a mix of mockery and condescension. “yeah, good luck with that,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “bet she’d faint if you even came close to her.”

but toji didn’t seem worried, his smirk only growing wider, a cruel gleam in his eyes as he continued watching you, a dark challenge present in his expression.

“oh, i’d get her,” he said, his voice oozing a dangerous sort of confidence. his eyes darkened, his smirk turning almost feral as he looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers idly.

“she wouldn’t even know what hit her.”

sukuna raised an eyebrow, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he leaned in, matching toji’s dark energy with a glint of excitement in his own crimson eyes. he crossed his arms, tilting his head with a look that practically dared the others to take him up on his idea.

“let’s make it interesting, boys,” sukuna drawled, his tone laced with twisted amusement. “how about a little wager? who’s gonna get to pop the cherry first?”

the idea hung in the air, laced with a sense of cruel playfulness. the others exchanged looks, smirks widening as they took in the challenge, their gazes flickering back to you as you remained completely unaware, hidden in your book and blissfully out of earshot.

gojo’s smirk only widened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the idea. he took another puff from his cigarette, eyeing sukuna with amusement, clearly intrigued by the proposal. “a wager?” he asked, his voice tinted with a hint of curiosity. “what’s the prize?”

geto chuckled, the idea clearly appealing to him as well. he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he chimed in. “i’m in,” he said, his smirk mirroring the others.

sukuna shrugged, an amused gleam flashing through his crimson eyes as he glanced over at you, still utterly engrossed in your book and completely unaware of the bet unfolding among the boys. his smirk deepened as he looked back at the others, his tone casual yet laced with dark amusement.

“anything you want,” he replied smoothly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. he paused, his gaze flickering back to you for a brief moment before adding, “but there’s one condition—whoever wins has to take a photo as proof.”

the challenge hung heavy in the air, each of them exchanging glances, their smirks widening in unison. the thought of the twisted little game gave them all a sense of cruel excitement, feeding their arrogant thrill as they eyed you once more, already imagining how they’d play this out.

gojo let out a low snort, his smirk growing into a smirk of his own. he took another draw on his cigarette before tilting his head slightly, his expression shifting into one of agreement. “deal.” he said, his tone laced with a hint of determination.

geto chuckled softly, his eyes flickering to you once more before he nodded his agreement. “i’m in,” he added, his smirk mirrorring the others, clearly liking the idea of the bet.

toji chuckled, a cruel gleam appearing in his green eyes as he looked at the others, the idea of the bet stirring something wicked inside of him. he leaned back, his smirk growing wider as he nodded. “i’m in,” he echoed, his voice lower than before, filled with an almost excited tension.

it had been a strange week, to say the least. the four most popular boys on campus—geto, sukuna, toji, and especially gojo—had suddenly taken an interest in you, a stark contrast to the way they’d mostly ignored you before. they’d pop up in places they normally wouldn’t be, go out of their way to hold doors open or throw you playful smiles, and act… almost charming. but you weren’t buying it, especially not gojo’s relentless attempts to convince you to tutor him. every time he begged for your help, you’d shut him down without a second thought.

today was no different. you were tucked away in a quiet corner of the library, lost in your studies, when you heard the sound of a chair being pulled out beside you. you didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. with a heavy sigh, you rolled your eyes and refocused on your notes, determined to ignore him.

“oh, come on,” gojo drawled, leaning in close with a pout as he rested his elbows on the table, clearly unfazed by your cold response. “i really need help, you know. i’m hopeless without you.” his tone was dripping with exaggerated desperation, but there was a playful glint in his eyes as he watched for any reaction.

you kept your gaze fixed on your book, trying to block him out. “then maybe you should try actually paying attention in class,” you muttered, flipping a page, hoping he’d take the hint and leave you alone.

but gojo just leaned closer, his voice dropping to a softer, almost persuasive tone. “come on, i’ll owe you one. just one study session. i’ll even buy you coffee,” he offered, flashing you his signature charming smile, like he thought that was all it would take to wear you down.

“not interested,” you replied flatly, turning another page without looking up. you could feel his gaze on you, persistent as ever, but you were determined not to give him the satisfaction.

gojo’s smirk widened, his eyes narrowing slightly. he leaned even closer, his lips almost at your ear, as if daring you to ignore him. “come on, please?” he begged again, his tone dripping with fake desperation, his voice low and tantalizingly close. “just one little tutoring session. i’ll do anything.”

you froze, your pen pausing mid-word as the warmth of gojo’s hand slid down to your thigh, his fingers grazing just under the hem of your skirt. his touch was light, teasing, and you could feel your heart race at the audacity of his move. irritation flared within you, but when you turned to him, ready to give him a piece of your mind, you were met with that damn smirk of his—a look of pure, unbothered confidence.

his face was so close that you could feel his breath, warm and steady, as he whispered, “please?”

his voice was soft, almost seductive, and despite the irritation simmering beneath your calm facade, you could see the glint of amusement in his narrowed blue eyes, fully aware of the effect he was trying to have on you. your eyes narrowed, meeting his challenge, and you gave him a cold, leveled stare, unfazed by his proximity.

you lifted a brow, voice cool as ice. “is this your idea of begging, gojo?”

his smirk didn’t waver; if anything, it grew wider, clearly thrilled by your reaction. “i can be very persuasive,” he murmured, letting his fingers ghost over your thigh, just enough to keep your attention.

he leaned in even closer, his smirk widening further. his lips grazed your ear as he spoke again, his voice low and smooth, like silk. “and i can be very convincing,” he whispered, his hand sliding further up your thigh, leaving a trail of heated tingles in its wake.

you inhaled sharply, his breath hot against your skin as his words lingered in your ear, and you could feel your resolve slipping, his touch relentless and daring as his hand slid further up your thigh. the warmth of his fingers, the confidence in his voice—it was infuriatingly hard to ignore, and you could tell he knew it, that smirk of his only growing as he watched your reaction.

you turned to him, catching his gaze, meeting his smug look with one of quiet defiance. the words were barely a whisper as you muttered, “fine.”

his eyes lit up, triumphant, as if he’d known all along you’d give in, but you held his gaze steadily, a hint of warning still lingering there. “just one session,” you clarified, your voice firm, trying to reassert control even as you felt a flicker of warmth in your cheeks.

gojo’s smirk deepened, seemingly satisfied with your response. his hand paused, still resting on your thigh, his fingers gently caressing the soft skin, sending chills through your body.

“just one, huh?” he echoed, his voice low, thick with satisfaction. he leaned in closer, his breath hot on your neck, his lips practically grazing your skin as he spoke again. “don’t worry, i’ll make it count.”

he paused, his fingers tracing small, slow circles on your thigh, the gesture almost innocent, yet the meaning behind it clear. he looked at you, his gaze almost challenging, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes as he noticed your slight shiver at his touch. he leaned in further, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

“my place or yours?” he purred, his tone dripping with suggestion, his hand gradually making its way higher up your leg.

and that’s where you are . . .

gojo smirks down at you, his eyes roaming over your nerdy appearance hungrily, knees on the floor inside his dorm room. “thanks for coming to tutor me today. i really appreciate it,” his voice drips with false sincerity as he palms himself through his jeans.

“i’ve been struggling with this subject and i’ve heard you’re the best at explaining things.” gojo leans back on his hands, spreading his legs wider to give you an even better view of the bulge straining against his zipper. “why don’t you come closer and we can start going over the material? i’m all yours, baby.” his thumb pinch your chin, the soft pad of his finger trailing off your skin before slipping past your swollen lips into your mouth.

he chuckles softly, a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you squirm. “aww, what’s wrong? you look nervous. there’s no need to be shy around me.”

you swallow hard, your heart pounding in my chest as you kneel before gojo, feeling small and insignificant compared to his tall, muscular frame. your glasses slip down your nose slightly as you gaze up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“oh, um, t-thank you gojo-kun,” you stammer out, your voice quivering slightly. you shift nervously on your knees, very aware of how vulnerable your position makes you feel. and when gojo’s thumb pushes past your lips, you instinctively close your mouth around it, sucking lightly from habit before realizing what you were doing. a deep blush spreads across your cheeks.

“i’m just a bit overwhelmed, to be honest,” you managed to murmur, voice muffled by his thumb.

gojo’s smirk widens as he feels your warm, wet mouth envelop his thumb. he slowly pumps the digit in and out, mimicking a lewd act. “mmm, don’t be like that, cutie. i promise i won’t bite... much.” he winks salaciously.

his free hand reaches out to cup your burning cheek, calloused fingers brushing over the delicate skin. “you’re so cute when you’re flustered like this. it’s adorable how innocent you are.” gojo leans in closer, his hot breath fanning over your face. the musky scent of his arousal fills your nostrils.

“tell you what, why don’t you put that clever tongue of yours to good use and help me relax a bit before we dive into studying?” his thumb presses deeper into your mouth insistently.

you whimper softly as gojo’s thumb invades your mouth more insistently, your tongue automatically swirling around the invading digit. your mind races, trying to process the sudden intimate contact and the heavy implication behind his words.

“i’m not sure if this is appropriate, gojo-kun,” you manage to say around his thumb after pulling back slightly, your voice muffled. “we should focus on the tutoring session...”

despite your weak protests, you can feel your body reacting to gojo’s proximity and touch— a traitorous heat pooling low in your belly, your cunt starting to clenching around nothing in your skirt. you squirm uncomfortably on your knees, hyper-aware of your submissive posture before him.

“what exactly did you have in mind?”

gojo chuckles darkly, amused by your feeble attempt at protest. he grips your hair, tugging your head back to expose the slender column of your throat. “oh, i think we both know this is exactly what we came here for, isn’t it?”

his other hand moves to palm his aching erection through his jeans, the thick outline unmistakable. “i had something much more... educational in mind than boring textbooks.”

gojo leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers huskily, “why don’t you be a good girl and put those pretty lips to work? show me what that smart mouth of yours can do besides spouting facts.” he uses his grip on your hair to guide your face towards his crotch, rubbing your cheek against the prominent bulge.

gojo groans softly as he feels your soft cheek pressed against his throbbing erection. he grinds subtly against you, seeking more friction. “fuuuck, you feel so good already. i bet these nerdy little lips will wrap around my cock perfectly.”

with his other hand, he starts unbuckling his belt, the metallic clink seeming obscenely loud in the quiet room. he pops the button of his jeans and slowly drags down the zipper, letting them gape open to reveal the waistband of his boxers straining over his massive bulge.

“gonna ruin you for anyone else,” gojo growls possessively. “by the time ’m done with you, the only thing you’ll be able to think about is choking on my dick.”

the idea was overwhelming— the thought of ruining you and winning the bet performed a cloud in gojo’s head. you gasp sharply as gojo forces your face against his clothed erection, the heat and hardness searing into your cheek. your eyes widen at his crude words, a shiver running down your spine— equal parts fear and reluctant excitement.

“g-gojo-kun, please...” you whimper, your voice high and thready. “we shouldn’t... i-i’ve never...”

despite your halfhearted protests, you find yourself leaning into his touch, nuzzling almost imperceptibly against the thick ridge of his cock. the scent of his arousal is dizzying this close, musk and sweat and pure male essence flooding your senses. trembling fingers come up to tentatively brush against his hipbones as his zipper lowers with agonizing slowness.

gojo smirks cruelly as he hears the tremor in your voice, relishing how easily he can affect you. “shh, it’s okay baby. i’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he croons mockingly.

he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and slowly peels them down, freeing his enormous, rock-hard cock. it springs out, slapping against your cheek with a meaty thwack. the thick shaft pulses with need, the flared head an angry purple and leaking copious amounts of precum.

you let out a choked moan as gojo’s huge, throbbing cock slaps against your cheek, leaving a smear of sticky pre-cum on your soft skin. your eyes widen in shock at the sheer size of him, intimidated but undeniably aroused.

“open wide, nerd. i’ve got a big load for you,” gojo taunts crudely. he fists his hand in your hair again, using his grip to angle your face towards his weeping cockhead. “stick out that clever little tongue. i want to see you worship every inch of my big, fat cock like the desperate slut you are.”

“oh god...” you whimper, your tongue darting out to unconsciously lick your lips. the salty-sweet taste of his essence explodes across your taste buds, making your head spin. with trembling hands, you reach up to grasp his muscular thighs for support as he forces your face closer to his imposing manhood. your glasses fog up slightly from your quickened breathing. “i’ve never done this before,” you admit in a tiny, scared voice.

gojo grins wickedly, his eyes gleaming with sadistic lust as he sees the fear and reluctant desire warring in your expression. “that’s alright, that’s why i’m here, you’re about to get the fucking of a lifetime to your virgin pussy,” he grunted.

he rubs the swollen head of his cock all over your face, smearing your cheeks and lips with his slick precum. the musky scent fills your nostrils, making your head swim with overwhelming pheromones. “open up, baby, take my cock like a good girl. promise it feels good, do you trust me?” sweet, his honeyed voice suddenly heavy with sweetness.

but despite that, he thrusts his hips forward, pushing the broad tip past your lips and onto your tongue. he groans at the wet heat engulfing him, head just a beat throw back before snapped, eyes lock with your lips taking the half of his cock. “fuck yes, that’s it. wrap those pretty lips around me.”

you let out a muffled yelp as gojo suddenly pushes past your lips, his thick cock stretching your jaw painfully wide you almost sure the edge of your lips stretch open. your eyes water as he hilts himself inside your virgin mouth, the bulbous head hitting the back of your throat. you gag reflexively, throat spasming around his girth.

“mph!” you try to pull back but his grip on your hair tightens, holding you in place. tears leak from the corners of your eyes as you struggle to accommodate his impressive size. your small hands come up to weakly push at his thighs, overwhelmed by the intrusion.

after a moment, you force yourself to relax your jaw, breathing heavily through your nose. you start to experimentally suckle at the head, your tongue swirling clumsily around it. the taste of his skin and the musky scent flooding your senses is dizzying.

gojo throws his head back with a deep groan as your inexperienced mouth envelops him, your tongue clumsily lapping at his sensitive flesh. the sight of your stretched lips wrapped around his thick cock, tears glistening on your flushed cheeks, is incredibly erotic.

“that’s it, take it deeper,” he growls, fisting his hand tighter in your hair. with a sharp thrust of his hips, he buries himself to the hilt in your convulsing throat. your nose presses against his pelvis as he hilts inside you, cutting off your air supply completely.

“that’s good baby, goood job,” praise after praise fallen from gojo’s pretty, pink lips. he holds you there, savoring the feeling of your constricting esophagus fluttering around his cock. after several long seconds, he finally pulls back, allowing you a gasping breath before plunging in again.

gojo sets a brutal pace, fucking your face with deep, powerful thrusts. each snap of his hips drives his thick cock into your throat, forcing you to swallow around him. drool escapes the corners of your stretched lips, dripping down your chin as he uses your mouth mercilessly.

“you’re doing so well for your first time,” he praises mockingly, voice strained with pleasure. “such an eager little cock sleeve, aren’t you? born to choke on a cock.” he pulls out abruptly, his spit-shined cock bobbing obscenely in front of your face. gojo smacks the heavy shaft against your tear-stained cheeks, smearing them with your own saliva mixed with his precum. “strip,” he commands gruffly, releasing his grip on your hair.

gojo looms over you, his chest heaving with exertion and arousal as he watches you intently. his eyes rake over your disheveled form, drinking in the sight of your reddened cheeks, puffy lips glistening with spit, and the way your glasses sit askew on your face.

“come on, slowpoke. i want to see every inch of the body hiding under those ugly clothes,” he growls impatiently, one hand coming down to roughly palm himself through his open fly. the other reaches out to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging insistently. but, instead of slipping out of your ‘ugly’ clothes, you stand there, eyes widened innocently the way you look up to him.

“don’t make me rip them off. you wouldn’t want me to damage your precious belongings, would ya?“ a wicked smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, eyes glinting with mischief and barely restrained hunger.

you tremble under gojo’s hungry gaze, acutely aware of how debauched you must look— face flushed, glasses fogged, lips swollen and slick with spit. with shaking hands, you reach for the buttons of your shirt, fumbling to undo them one by one.

as more of your creamy skin is revealed, gojo’s eyes darken with undisguised lust. he licks his lips, watching avidly as you shrug the garment off your shoulders and let it fall to the floor. underneath, you wear a plain white lacy bra, the fabric straining slightly over your bust.

next, you stand on wobbly legs to shimmy out of your skirt, letting it pool around your ankles before stepping out of it. your panties match your bra, simple cotton with lace. “gojo-kun..” you murmur, hands hovering over your bra and panties, hiding yourself.

gojo’s heated gaze roams hungrily over your newly exposed body, lingering on the swell of your breasts straining against the delicate lace of your bra. he steps closer, crowding into your personal space until the hard planes of his body press against your softer curves.

“fuck, you’re even hotter than i imagined,” he rasps, calloused fingers trailing up your sides to cup your tits possessively. never in a million years had he found a loser nerd like you could be this hot, and it seems like his cock agrees with the way it’s twitching. he squeezes the soft mounds, thumbs flicking over your nipples through the thin fabric until they pebble beneath his touch, pushing a breathless gasp out of your throat.

with a wicked grin, gojo reaches behind you and deftly unclasps your bra, tossing it aside carelessly. cool air hits your bare skin, pebbling your nipples further as they’re bared to his intense scrutiny.

“perfect.”

gojo hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties and yanks them down your thighs in one swift motion. the flimsy material catches on your knees briefly before falling to your ankles, baring you completely to his hungry gaze.

he takes a step back, drinking in the sight of your naked body with an appreciative hum. his eyes linger on the cute, neat patch of curls crowning your mound, the slight flare of your hips, the gentle swell of your ass. “goddamn, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs reverently.

without warning, gojo drops to his knees in front of you, large hands gripping your thighs to spread them apart. he leans in close, his hot breath ghosting over your most intimate parts. “i bet this sweet cunt tastes divine,” he growls, dragging his tongue along your slit in one long, painfully slow stroke.

you can’t help but let out a startled moan as gojo’s warm tongue drags along your most intimate folds, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. your knees buckle slightly and you have to brace yourself against the wall to keep from collapsing under the intensity of sensation.

“g-gojo-kun!” you gasp, fingers tangling in his silver hair as he laps at your slit like a man starved. his tongue delves between your lower lips, seeking out your entrance and circling it teasingly. you squirm against the invasion, thighs trembling with the effort to hold still.

gojo chuckles lowly, the vibrations making you shudder. he seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. “ah! ahh!”

gojo moans into your pussy as you grind against his face, his tongue delving deep inside your fluttering walls. he laps at your juices greedily, the obscene slurping sounds filling the room. “mmm, you taste even better than i imagined,” he growls, the rumble of his voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh. “so fucking sweet.”

his hands grip your ass, kneading the supple globes as he eats you out with single-minded focus. he alternates between thrusting his tongue in and out of your clenching hole and flicking the tip rapidly over your throbbing clit. the lewd wet noises echo off the walls, mingling with your needy whimpers and gasps.

“oooh! m-my god!” you writhe helplessly against gojo’s relentless assault, fingers digging into his silver hair as waves of overwhelming pleasure crash over you. your hips undulate shamelessly, grinding your aching core against his face as he devours you like a man possessed.

“that’s it, ride my tongue,” he grunt, the words muffled against your soaked folds. you throw your head back with a keening cry as gojo works you over with his skilled tongue, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. your fingers tighten reflexively in his hair, tugging sharply at the silvery strands.

“ah! g-gojo-kun!” you gasp brokenly, toes curling against the cool tile floor. your inner muscles flutter wildly around his invading tongue.

gojo growls into your pussy, the sound sending delicious vibrations through your core. he doubles his efforts, sealing his lips around your clit and sucking hard while simultaneously thrusting two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your spasming channel.

“g-gojo-hng!” you sob brokenly, hips continue to roll shamelessly against his face. you mewl helplessly into the filthy kiss, when gojo’s tongue dominating yours as he claims your mouth thoroughly after he stands abruptly.

you can taste yourself on him, the musky flavor making your head spin with renewed arousal and it sends a fresh wave of heat flooding through your veins. his hand slides up to palm your breast roughly, calloused thumb scraping over your sensitive nipple.

when he finally breaks away, you’re left panting and dazed, lips kiss-swollen and tingling. gojo grins wolfishly down at you, pupils blown wide with lust. “god, so fucking beautiful when i’m ’bout to ruin you,” he promises darkly, voice rough with desire. “by the time i’m done, all you’ll be able to think about is my cock splitting you open."

his hand slides down your body to grip your thigh, hoisting your leg up to wrap around his hip. the new position leaves you feeling deliciously vulnerable, your slick folds rubbing directly against the rigid length of him.

gojo’s heated gaze rakes over your flushed form, drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin. he licks his lips slowly, savoring the taste of your essence still coating his tongue. “fuck, you look good enough to eat,” he growls appreciatively, palming himself once again, smearing his precum all over your thigh, the biting lips to stop the moaning betraying his own desperate arousal.

with a few quick movements, gojo shucks off his shirt, revealing the lean lines of his torso. his pale skin is littered nothing but softness. he kicks off his pants next, leaving him fully naked now.

slowly, torturously, gojo sinks into your welcoming heat inch by excruciating inch. gojo grunts as your slick folds slide along his shaft, coating him in your essence. your slick walls stretch deliciously around his girth, molding to every ridge and vein. by the time he’s fully seated, you feel impossibly full, stuffed to the brim with hard, throbbing cock.

“fuuck!” he snarls, eyes squeezing shut at the exquisite sensation of your velvety walls gripping him like a vice. he holds himself there for a moment, letting you adjust to the sudden intrusion. “p-pussy sooo-shit! good.” the feeling of your gummy walls suffocating his cock almost making gojo’s feel bad for using you as a bet, but fuckkk! you feel so good.

you let out a strangled moan as gojo hilts himself fully inside you, stretching you wider than ever before. your slick walls flutter and clench around his thickness, trying instinctively to accommodate the sudden intrusion. the sensation borders on painful but the dull ache only serves to heighten your pleasure, stoking the flames of your arousal higher.

“ah! s-so biiig,” you whimper breathlessly, fingernails raking down gojo’s back. your hips twitch restlessly, torn between the urge to pull away from the intense stretch and the primal need to take him deeper. gojo groans at the feeling of your scorching heat enveloping him so completely. his pelvis presses flush against yours, ensuring that not an inch of space remains between your bodies.

gojo once again, groans deeply as your velvety walls ripple along his length, the exquisite sensations threatening to undo his control. he wants nothing more than to rut into you mindlessly, chasing his own pleasure. but he forces himself to hold still, giving you time to adjust to his size.

“shit baby, you feel incredible,” he rasps, voice strained with barely restrained lust. “so fucking tight...” he rolls his hips experimentally, pulling out just an inch before sinking back in. the drag of his thick cock against your sensitive nerves makes you both gasp. gojo sets a slow, deep rhythm, letting you feel every inch of him as he strokes your inner walls. his hands roam your curves possessively, mapping out the dips and swells of your body.

you arch into gojo’s touch, craving more of his addictive caresses. your nails score down his back, leaving red welts in their wake. the sting only seems to spur him on, his thrusts growing harder and faster as he chases his own pleasure.

“too muuuch,” you cry, tossing your head back as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back to urge him deeper. “hurt, ah! too big.”

gojo snarls, the sound feral and hungry. he leans down to capture one pert nipple between his teeth, biting down just shy of too hard. you yelp at the sharp jolt of pain, cunt clenching rhythmically around his pistoning length.

gojo grunts as your inner walls clamp down around him like a vice, the added pressure sending sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine. he knows he should probably slow down, give you time to adjust, but the way you’re writhing beneath him is just too enticing.

“you can take it,” he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly brutal thrust.

once again, gojo snarls against your breast, tongue flicking out to lave over the abused bud. “don’t worry baby, i’ll make it feel real good,” he promises, harmonizing his words with a particularly vicious thrust. the blunt head of his cock kisses your cervix, making you see stars.

your slick walls spasm wildly around his girth, fluttering and clenching as if trying to push him out even as your body betrays you, hips rolling shamelessly to meet each punishing stroke. the wet slap of flesh echoes obscenely in the room, mingling with your wanton moans and gojo’s animalistic grunts.

gojo lets out a low groan, eyes fluttering shut as your slick walls ripple around his thickness. “fuck, your pussy is milking my cock so good,” he grunts, hips snapping forward almost violently. one large hand snakes between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud. “come on, baby. squeeze this cock just like that,” gojo urges gruffly, increasing the pressure on your clit. “gonna fill this pretty cunt up real soon.”

you throw your head back with a guttural moan, fingers tangling in gojo’s hair as he works you closer to the edge. your thighs tremble, muscles quivering with the strain of holding yourself open for his relentless assault. sweat beads along your brow, plastering strands of hair to your face.

“please,” you keen desperately, unsure what exactly you’re begging for anymore. more? less? harder? faster? all you know is that yo’'re teetering right on the precipice, balanced precariously between agony and ecstasy.

gojo grins wickedly, sensing your desperation. he leans in close, hot breath ghosting over the shell of your ear as he whispers filthy promises. “that’s it, cum for me baby. gonna pump you so full of my seed, you’ll be dripping for days.”

but before you reach that peak, that climax you desperately need, gojo abruptly stops moving. hands trailing down your tights before throwing your body to his bed. a gasp of surprise tears from your throat, followed by a whimper— a subtle sign of protest.

gojo chuckles darkly, reveling in the delicious sight of you sprawled out before him, flushed and panting. he takes a moment to admire the view— your chest heaving, breasts bouncing with each labored breath, the glistening evidence of your arousal painting your inner thighs.

gojo smirks down at you, taking in your confused expression with a glint of mischief in his eyes. he trails a finger down your sternum, circling one dusky nipple teasingly for a second. “what’s wrong, baby?” he coos mockingly. “didn’t get your fix?”

he shifts slightly, the movement causing his half-hard cock to brush against your thigh. you shudder at the contact, a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you. gojo hums approvingly at your reaction, leaning down to nip at your jaw.

“mmm, look at you,” he purrs approvingly, trailing a finger through your slick folds. “all spread out and ready for me. such a goood girl.” without warning, gojo flips you onto your stomach, hauling your hips up until you’re presenting yourself to him like a bitch in heat. he runs a proprietary hand over the curve of your ass, squeezing roughly. “this ass though... fuck, i could play with it all day.”

gojo’s eyes rake over your prone form appreciatively, drinking in the delectable sight of you splayed out before him. he takes his time exploring your curves, fingers tracing idle patterns across your skin. when he reaches the swell of your rear, he gives the supple flesh a firm squeeze, kneading the plush globes like dough. this might be the first and the last time he has you in his bed, might make it memorable.

“such a perfect little peach,” he praises huskily, spreading you wide to expose your most intimate parts. cool air wafts over your heated flesh, making you shiver. gojo hums in approval at the sight of your dripping cunt, flushed and swollen with need.

he leans in close, hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. “look how wet you are for me,” he murmurs, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. you let out a soft moan, squirming under gojo’s intense gaze. his rough hands map out every dip and curve of your body, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever they touch. you arch into his caress, silently begging for more.

when he finally reaches your aching core, you buck your hips eagerly, desperate for friction. “please,” you whimper, voice high and needy. “i need—”

gojo cuts off your pleas with a sharp smack to your rear, the stinging impact making you yelp. “ah ah, none of that now,” he tuts disapprovingly. “you don’t get to tell me what you need, understand? it’s an honor y’know, for me to take your virginity, so you don’t get to tell me what you need.”

he punctuates his words with another firm swat, watching with rapt attention as your skin blooms pink under his palm. but even so, gojo couldn’t stop the spinning from his head, the sigh of you, the feel of your cunt tightly grip his needy cock making him all desperate and losing his shit to you, a fucking nerd all out of other girl.

gojo grins wickedly, clearly enjoying your predicament. he traces a finger through your soaked folds, gathering some of your essence on his digit before bringing it to his lips. he makes a show of licking it clean, savoring your unique flavor with a satisfied hum.

“mmm, you taste divine,” he purrs, voice dripping with lust. “like the finest nectar.”

gojo lines himself up with your entrance once more, the broad head of his cock nudging insistently at your slick opening. he teases you with shallow thrusts, barely breaching your entrance before pulling away again. your walls flutter around nothing, trying desperately to draw him in deeper.

“beg for it,” he demands huskily, giving your rear another firm smack. “let me hear how badly you want this cock.“ he grabs your hip, fingers bent to your flesh the way he drags you to the edge of his bed and your feet touching the cold tile.

his one arm sneaking down to your thigh, lifting it off the floor while the other hand relentlessly teases your needy cunt with the swollen tip of his cock— kissing your clit.

you writhe beneath gojo’s ministrations, a litany of needy whimpers and pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips. “please,” you beg shamelessly, too far gone to care about dignity. “gojo-kuuunn . . i need you inside me, filling me up. i can’t take it anymore!”

your hips buck frantically, seeking friction against his maddening teasing. you’re so empty, aching to be stretched and filled by his thick length. gojo just chuckles darkly at your desperation, continuing his torturous game. his chest raining with pride and happiness for taking your virginity, him, not another man. him.

“oh? and why should i give you what you want?” he taunts, rubbing the tip of his cock against your entrance without pushing in. “maybe i like seeing you like this— alllll spread out and begging so pretty for me.”

gojo leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a brief, teasing kiss. “you taste sweet when you’re desperate like this,” he murmurs against your mouth, tongue flicking out to lick at your lower lip. “makes me want to devour you whole.”

he pulls back slightly, his gaze intense as he watches your reactions. “but since you asked so nicely...” with a slow, deliberate push, he sinks into your heat, groaning at the velvety tightness enveloping his cock.

gojo pauses for a moment, savoring the feeling of being buried deep within you. then, with a gentle roll of his hips, he begins to move, setting a slow, sensual rhythm. he savors each drag of your slick walls along his shaft, relishing in the exquisite sensation of taking your virginity. his hand leaving another handprint on your ass, digging his dull nail into the skin.

a gasp tears from your throat as gojo finally sheathes himself fully inside you, the stretch both painful and exhilarating. you cling to the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as you acclimate to the foreign intrusion.

but as he starts to move, long, languid strokes that fill you to the brim, you begin to relax into the pleasure. a low moan escapes you, vibrations humming against gojo’s lips before your head falls to his bed. “ahh... yes... just like thaaat...”

your hips start to rock in tandem with his, meeting each thrust with eagerness. the sensations build rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly. you can feel every ridge and vein of gojo’s cock as it slides against your inner walls, sending jolts of electric pleasure through you.

“more,” you breathe out, voice ragged with need, causing the man to leave your reddened ass to find your hair and take a fistful of the locks while the other arm tightens around your thigh, making a perfect symphony the way he pounds into you from behind.

gojo’s fingers dig into your scalp, tugging roughly at your hair as he pistons into you with reckless abandon. the bed creaks and shifts beneath the force of his thrusts, a rhythmic beat that echoes the pounding of your hearts.

gojo growls in approval, the sound muffled against your ear as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. his hips snap forward with renewed vigor, driving into you with a primal intensity that steals your breath away. the force of his thrusts sends the headboard thudding against the wall, a rhythmic beat that echoes the pounding of your heart.

“you’re so fucking tight,” he grits out between clenched teeth, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully as he uses it to pull your head back, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat. “i can feel every inch of you milking my cock. this cunt feels like heaven, fuuuck.”

gojo’s words are punctuated by the lewd slap of skin against skin, the obscene sound only serving to heighten your arousal. his fingers tighten in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp. the slight sting only serves to heighten your arousal, your body craving more of his dominance. gojo's other hand grips your thigh firmly, holding you steady as he pistons in and out of you with relentless precision.

your mind goes blank, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of gojo’s possession. every nerve ending is alight with sensation, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins. you can feel yourself teetering on the brink, precariously close to the edge.

a hoarse cry spills from your lips as gojo hits that spot deep inside, the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes your vision blur and toes curl. “ahhh! oh god, right there!” you wail, hips bucking wildly to meet his punishing pace.

a sharp cry tears from your throat as gojo’s grip on your hair intensifies, the pain mixing deliciously with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins. you arch your back, offering yourself up completely to his dominating touch.

“yes, oh god, just like that!” you moan, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “fuck me harder, gojo-kun!”

gojo’s eyes flash with triumph and possessiveness at your wanton cries, his grip on your hair and thigh tightening reflexively. he slams into you with renewed ferocity, the force of his thrusts rattling the bed frame and sending the headboard crashing against the wall.

“that’s it, scream for me,” he snarls, his hot breath fanning over your ear as he leans in close. “let everyone know who’s fucking you senseless.” gojo’s free hand snakes around to cup your breast, pinching and rolling the nipple between his fingers. the dual sensations of his ruthless pounding and the pleasurable tug on your sensitive bud send you spiraling closer to the edge.

as if sensing your impending climax, gojo redoubles his efforts, pistoning into you with wild abandon. your world narrows down to the searing heat of gojo’s body, the relentless thrusts of his cock, and the intoxicating scent of sex that fills the air. you’re lost in a haze of pure, unadulterated pleasure, every fiber of your being focused on chasing that elusive peak.

the pressure builds and builds, coiling tighter in your core until you think you might burst. gojo’s harsh commands and the brutal pace of his fucking only serve to heighten the tension, pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

with a keening wail, you finally tumble over the edge, your orgasm slamming into you like a freight train. your inner walls clench around gojo’s throbbing cock, rippling and fluttering as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

“fuck, fuuck! gojo-kun! ’m cumming, cumming!”

gojo lets out a guttural roar as he feels your pussy clamping down on his cock, the vice-like grip triggering his own release. with one final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his seed erupting in powerful spurts as he fills you up.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” he chants, his hips jerking erratically as he rides out the waves of his climax. his hips jerking erratically as he rides out the waves of his climax. gojo’s grip on your hair and thigh remains unrelenting, holding you in place as he marks you as his, claiming you utterly and completely.

overwhelmed by the intensity of your shared orgasms, you collapse onto the mattress the heartbeat his grasp on you loosened, your body still trembling with aftershocks. gojo’s continued pulsing inside you, coupled with the warmth of his release coating your insides, leaves you feeling utterly spent yet deeply satisfied.

as your breathing slowly returns to normal, you become aware of gojo’s hands gentling their hold on you, his fingers stroking soothing patterns on your skin. a soft, contented sigh escapes your lips as you melt into his touch, basking in the afterglow of your passionate encounter.

he leans forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the bed, his chest pressed against your back. his breath is still a bit ragged, but you can feel his strong, steady presence behind you. for a few moments, all you hear is the steady, calming sound of your combined breathing, the only indication that both of you are slowly recovering from the intensity of your shared passion.

after a few moments, gojo breaks the comfortable silence, his voice low and still slightly husky. “you okay?” he murmurs, his lips brushing gently against the shell of your ear.

his hands slide down your sides, gently encircling your waist, his touch tender and light. the weight of his chest against your back is reassuring, and you can still feel the heat of his body radiating through your clothes. he shifts slightly, his chin resting on your shoulder, and you can practically feel his intense gaze on you, as if he’s silently assessing how you’re feeling.

a soft smile curves your lips at gojo’s gentle inquiry, your body relaxing further under his comforting touch. “mhm, i’m good,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly to rest against the soft material of his blanket. “just... really sated right now.”

you let out a contented little sigh, enjoying the warmth of his embrace and the intimate closeness of his body pressed against yours. slowly but surely, the feeling of his softened cock slipped out of your cunt, taking all of your cum and his down to your thigh and floor.

gojo chuckles softly in response, hearing the hint of satisfaction in your tired voice. he plants a soft, feather-light kiss on your neck, his lips lingering there for a moment. “that’s good,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of pride, “i’m glad i exhausted you that much.”

he pauses for a moment, his hands gently rubbing your sides, before speaking again. “need anything? water, a towel, or just... rest?” he asks, his tone genuinely concerned.

you let out a soft sigh, the tension of the past moments slowly melting away as you murmured, “just rest.” your voice was quiet, tired, and gojo, ever attentive, hummed in agreement, his lips brushing softly against your cheek in a gentle kiss.

“say no less,” he whispered with that same reassuring tone, his arms immediately wrapping around you. he shifted you both onto the bed, pulling you into his embrace and letting you rest your head on his chest. his warmth surrounded you, grounding you at the moment, his heartbeat steady beneath you.

gojo made sure to cover both of you with the blanket, tucking it around your bare body with care, his movements slow and deliberate. despite the weight of the earlier events, his presence was steady, a soft contrast to the tension you’d felt before. outside of the bet, outside of the teasing, the games, and the complexities of it all, he seemed intent on giving you comfort—giving you the space to just rest, without further complications. his fingers gently traced circles on your back, a quiet reminder that, at this moment, there was nothing but a reason you were on his bed simply because of a bet— the bet he’s going to win.

gojo held you close, his arms encircling your body snugly under the soft warmth of the blanket. he continued tracing light circles on your back, the soothing repetitive motion a silent reassurance of his presence and care.

his chest rose and fell in a steady, calming rhythm, and you could feel the faint thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. his body offered a solid, comforting presence, grounding you in the aftermath of the eventful night.

gojo remained silent for several minutes, simply holding you close, his touch gentle and nurturing. after a few moments, he leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. “get some rest,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

he shifted slightly, adjusting his position so that both of you were more comfortable. his arms remained wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest, a silent promise of protection and comfort.

you simply nod.

gojo feels your nod, his lips curving into a small smile against your forehead. “good,” he murmurs, his voice soft and low.

he lets out a deep, content sigh, his body relaxing further into the bed, his arms still holding you close. his breathing slows, a steady, measured rhythm that seems to lull you into a sense of peace and security. the room is enveloped in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound being the steady beat of his heart against your ear.

gojo’s gaze softened as he looked down at your peaceful face, the soft rise and fall of your chest the only movement in the stillness of the room. he stayed like that for a while, just watching you, making sure you were fully asleep, your breathing steady and relaxed. he could feel the weight of the day, the tension from earlier, and he knew you needed this rest, even if you didn’t quite realize it yet.

once he was certain you were asleep, gojo's fingers slid beneath the pillow, pulling out his phone with careful movements. his smirk returned, a wicked gleam flashing in his eyes as he unlocked the screen and opened the camera. he took a quick snapshot, the sound of the shutter a soft click that was barely audible in the quiet room. his eyes flicked down to the picture, his smirk widening as he admired the photo of you, completely unaware, asleep in his arms.

“this is mine,” he muttered quietly to himself, the excitement of the bet reigniting within him. he knew he was going to win, and as much as he enjoyed this rare moment of calm with you, there was no denying the competitive streak that ran through him. he tucked the phone back under the pillow, settling back into the warmth of the bed, still holding you close, but his mind already racing ahead to the next step in his game.

gojo’s gaze remains fixed on you, admiring the innocent, vulnerable expression on your face as you sleep. he takes several more moments to just watch you, his gaze flickering over every detail of your face—the way your eyelashes flutter against your cheeks, the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the slight part of your lips as you breathe in.

he lets out a soft sigh, his fingers gently tracing your skin, his touch almost reverent. “god, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs quietly, the words slipping out involuntarily.

gojo’s eyes lingered on your peaceful, sleeping form, an unsettling mixture of admiration and satisfaction bubbling inside him. every detail of your face seemed to draw him in, each soft breath you took making his heart twist. he couldn't help but trace the curve of your cheek with his finger, as though savoring the image of you in your most vulnerable state. god, you're beautiful, he thought, the words slipping from his lips in a quiet murmur, but they were tinged with something darker.

as much as he tried to shake it off, a faint flicker of guilt gnawed at him. just a tiny sliver, a whisper in the back of his mind, reminding him of the bet, the cruel game he was playing with his friends. was this really what he wanted? to use you like this, to take advantage of your innocence, your trust, all for the sake of proving something to them? the thought scratched at his conscience, but it was fleeting, quickly drowned out by the more dominant, selfish part of him.

he couldn’t help it—he wanted to win. he wanted to show off, to prove that he was the one who’d conquered you first. the idea of rubbing it in toji, geto, and sukuna’s faces, seeing their reactions when he revealed that he was the one who’d claimed you, made his chest tighten with dark satisfaction. the guilt? it was easily buried beneath the hunger for victory.

monday couldn’t come soon enough.

sukuna leaned back, crossing his arms with a sly smirk as he glanced at gojo. “you’re so damn stupid,” he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “just get to the point, genius. we’re here to talk about the bet, not hear you babble on like an idiot.”

the mention of the bet caused a shift in the group. toji’s smirk sharpened, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he leaned forward, clearly ready to pounce on whatever gojo had to offer. geto, normally the calmest of them, looked intrigued, his gaze steady and expectant. sukuna’s own smirk widened into a mocking grin, savoring the thrill of competition, ready to lay down his own proof and claim victory over the others.

he let the tension build, basking in the eager anticipation hanging thick between them. then, without further ado, sukuna reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone and casually waving it in the air. “alright, boys. one... two... three,” he counted, then turned his screen toward the group with a triumphant look. displayed was a photo of you lying next to him, fast asleep, vulnerable and unguarded. sukuna’s smirk grew wider, reveling in the victory he thought was his.

as sukuna’s countdown reached three, he confidently pulled out his phone, an air of smug triumph around him as he turned the screen to reveal the photo of you, asleep in his arms, your peaceful face nestled against him. for a brief moment, he savored the victory, certain he’d be the one to claim the title. but as he looked up, expecting awe and frustration from the others, he found something else entirely.

geto’s face, usually so calm, had twisted into a look of sheer confusion, a frown creasing his brow as he looked down at his own phone, then up at sukuna, and back to his phone again. in his hand, on his own screen, was the exact same photo—down to every last detail. his jaw clenched, and he turned the phone towards sukuna without saying a word, letting the image speak for itself.

toji, who’d been leaning back with a predatory smirk, felt his confidence waver. he, too, checked his phone, and the smirk fell, replaced by a dark scowl. “what kind of joke is this?” he growled, his fingers gripping his phone tightly, a mix of anger and disbelief in his eyes as he flashed the identical photo.

and gojo, who’d initially met sukuna’s countdown with smug amusement, suddenly felt the blood drain from his face. he looked at his own screen, the same picture staring back at him, taunting him with an illusion of victory. his lips pressed into a thin line as he glanced at each of the others, his usual cocky grin now replaced with a frustrated grimace. “so… none of us won anything, huh?” he muttered bitterly, his voice low, laced with irritation.

a tense silence settled over them, their expressions twisted with disbelief and anger. each one felt the bitter sting of having been outsmarted, the pride and triumph they’d anticipated now twisted into something sharp and uncomfortable.

sukuna clenched his jaw, the victory he’d tasted turning to ash. “this is ridiculous. how the hell—” he began, but was cut off by toji’s dry, humorless laugh.

“guess none of us were as clever as we thought,” toji muttered darkly, his voice edged with anger and annoyance.

sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his pride deeply wounded. “tch,” he scoffed, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “so we all lost? pathetic.” they sat in a tense, silent circle, each stewing in their own frustration and realizing they’d been played.

gojo let out a frustrated sigh, the realization of the situation sinking in. none of them had won, and worse, they'd all been tricked. he glanced again in your direction, a mix of irritation and confusion on his face. the realization that you, sweet and innocent as you seemed, had somehow outsmarted them all was a pill too hard to swallow.

“well, this is just great,” he muttered, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “we’re all idiots.”

the four men turned, spotted you a few benches away, looking completely at ease, chatting with none other than nanami. his composed, polished demeanor stood out even in the crowded cafeteria, and as you held your phone up to show him something, you looked every bit like you were sharing a private joke. they saw your face light up with that familiar, radiant smile as nanami rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, his expression softening in a way they rarely saw.

then, to their surprise, nanami sighed, pulling his wallet from his pocket and handing you a couple of bills. your smile grew even bigger, the kind of delighted, unguarded grin they’d each hoped to earn themselves. from a distance, they couldn’t make out what you were saying, but the playful exchange and easy familiarity between you both were clear as day.

their eyes widened when nanami leaned down, just slightly, his hand resting on your shoulder as he pressed a brief but gentle kiss to your lips—completely unfazed by the cafeteria full of students. the kiss was neither rushed nor hesitant, just natural and unapologetic. as he pulled away, he sent a pointed, almost warning glance in their direction, his gaze cold and unyielding, as if daring any of them to even think about challenging him.

you turned then, catching their gawking stares and raising the cash in your hand with a sly grin that practically dripped with triumph. they could only sit in stunned silence as you waved the money at them, your expression smug and knowing. your gaze lingered on them for a second longer, a little glint of mischief in your eyes, before you turned your attention back to your phone, completely unfazed by their reactions.

the four men sat there, speechless, their jaws hanging open in shock at the scene unfolding before them. they’d expected you to be meek and naive, unaware of their little bet. instead, here you were, giggling with nanami, a man known for his aloofness and strict nature, casually taking money from him in exchange for a kiss. your confident wave and smug smile only added to the shock.

toji was the first to snap out of it, his eyes narrowing as he watched you with a mixture of anger and surprise. “what the hell was that?” he sputtered, his voice strained.

sukuna’s face contorted with pure disbelief, a rare look of complete shock crossing his usual smug features. he couldn’t believe that the girl they’d all so casually thought they were playing had flipped the entire game on them. his jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as he muttered under his breath, “unbelievable… she played us.”

toji, on the other hand, looked downright irritated, his expression darkening as he watched nanami give you that casual, easy kiss. his pride stung, and he forced out a low, sarcastic laugh, shaking his head. “so much for thinking she’d be easy to handle,” he growled. “guess we’re the ones who got handled.”

geto was silent, his usual calm mask slipping just enough to reveal the flicker of surprise in his eyes. he prided himself on being perceptive, but seeing you there with nanami, openly flaunting the victory they thought was theirs, left him speechless. his lips curved into a grudging smirk, though, as he muttered, “gotta hand it to her… didn’t see that coming.”

gojo felt his face flush with a mix of frustration and lingering embarrassment. he leaned back, running a hand over his face and letting out a soft, defeated chuckle. “well, this is just fantastic,” he murmured, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he watched you wave the money with that smug smile on your face. “we’re all idiots, and she knows it.”

the four men sat there, each lost in their own thoughts, the reality of what had just happened sinking in. they’d underestimated you, treated you like a naive little toy to be won, but you'd turned the tables on them. and the fact that you’d done it so effortlessly, with such a casual smirk on your face, only added to the collective sense of shock and irritation.

gojo, in particular, couldn’t shake off the burning sense of embarrassment. you’d made him look like a fool, and that stung. him, who was never one to be outplayed, felt a strange mix of anger and admiration at your audacity. it was both aggravating and irritating, but there was an undercurrent of grudging respect. you’d made all of them look like morons, yet there was something about your confidence, the way you casually took nanami’s money, that he couldn’t help but find intriguing.

gojo clenched his jaw, his own competitive nature burning within him. “that smug little…” he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for the others to hear.

geto shot him a bemused smirk, sensing the competitive fire flaring up in his friend. “looks like you’ve met your match, genius,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “and judging by the look on your face, you’re not handling it too well.”

lost in a whirlwind of shock and confusion, they barely noticed you approaching until you were standing right at their table, an amused, knowing smile on your lips. with a graceful, almost lazy flick of your wrist, you dropped a small stack of polaroids onto the table, each one falling face-up, showing exactly what they dreaded to see.

each photo captured the same damning image: them, fast asleep, completely unaware, while you sat on their waist, looking down with a mocking pout. your lips jutted out in an exaggerated, fake crying face, as if mourning their obliviousness. their faces, peaceful in sleep, were juxtaposed with your taunting expression, turning the tables in a way none of them could have expected.

toji’s eyes went wide as he flipped through the pictures, his smirk quickly fading to a tight-lipped grimace. sukuna’s jaw clenched, a flush of irritation darkening his cheeks as he processed the fact that you’d played him, all of them, so perfectly. geto let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head, unable to hide a mix of amusement and frustration at your brazen boldness.

gojo, usually quick with a snappy comeback, could only stare at the photos, stunned into silence. he glanced up at you, his gaze a mix of admiration and disbelief. you’d outwitted them, effortlessly.

you leaned in slightly, resting one hand on the edge of the table, flashing them a wicked grin. “hope you enjoyed your little nap, boys,” you teased, your tone sweet but dripping with smugness. with one final smirk, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving them speechless, the photos in hand as a constant reminder of the game they’d lost to you.

[badlydrawntma]

alexander jagnusprotocol newall wrote an episode about mr bonzo the meat clown, made it about him giving a man his FINAL most GRUESOME lap dance, and then totled the episode "getting off". they've finally perfected the most unfuckable monster, and they're daring us to do something about it

[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 700+, 900+, 860+, 1,400+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Doflamingo, Caesar, Rosinante "Corazon".

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, yandere, obsession, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I am having a lot of fun with this series, not going to lie. You can sense my favoritism with my word count. First time writing for Caesar Clown. Art link.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Legs caging his head beneath you, you drew up your forearm to shield your eyes as the other reached down and braced your trembling hands against his chest. Grinding on his face, his smile grows wider the louder your cries of bliss fall from your lips. 

“I'm gonna-... Mmmgh-... I'm gonna cum again,” you sob, desperately writhing on top of his face in shame. He hooked his large arm over your thigh and braced your lower back over his mouth and held you firmly as he more desperately licked through your body. 

Huffing and panting, he continues driving his tongue between your wet folds and mouthing at your clit. Feeling your whole body tremble above him, he drew his unoccupied hand down to tug at his cock, giving you a show from your position looking down at him. 

His eyes grew black with lust as he watched the involuntary quake of your ass over his face, your voice mewling his name for the fourth time as he chased another desperate spasm of your walls clenching down and contracting in his mouth. 

“Plap, plap, plap.” His tongue greedily bullied your needy cunt, coating his lips, nose and chin in a slicked elixir of your nectar over his face as you desperately sobbed for him. Relentlessly chasing that high of watching you use his body to achieve ecstasy above him, he growled into your body, the vibrations within his mouth causing you to shriek. 

Latching onto your clit, he rolled his flattened tongue over the sensitive bud before mouthing at it in open and desperate kisses. Lapping at your juices, he felt his cock twitch in his hand from pistoning his shaft, squeezing his nob and thumbing over the pearlescent drop of his precum. 

“Can I cum? Can I cum?” you whined for him, gripping his chest and tensing your body above him to halt your eruption from over-encumbering your body in heated bliss, “Please? I'll be good. I'll be so good if you let me cum again?” He growled again into your body, moving both of his hands under your thighs and pinned you to his face by interlacing his fingers. 

As he felt your high approaching, he frantically nodded to give you permission to use his face to usher in the lightning sparks of pleasure over your body. You cried his name, dousing his face in a gush of sickened ecstasy as he hummed up into you. 

“I-I’m cumming,” you mewled, eyes rolling back and grinding down on his face. “I’m c-cumming.” You hummed your praises down at him as you stuttered over his name and sobbed your gratitude. 

Eyes rolling back into his head, he shot rope after rope of cum spattering up onto his torso as you squealed in joy at the display. 

“O-Oh, so much,” you whined down at him, body hands now pressed onto his chest as he slowed down his momentum rolling his tongue over you. “You came so much!” You exclaimed with a soft giggle. He hummed beneath you, softly kissing in open mouthed presses, romancing your pussy with his passionate oscillations. 

He whined against your lips, groaning into you as the aftershocks rush over him in wave after wave of chaotic lightning. Holding you firmly to him, he continued rolling his tongue between your folds like it was the only thing tethering himself to the earth. 

He savored the feeling of your body trapping him with your heat, the way you tasted cumming on his face and drowning him in your ecstasy, as he bucked up with each twitch of his cock spurting his untouched ropes over his stomach and chest.

“Mmm,” he hums into you, flicking his tongue over both his and your lips as he comes down from his high, immediately shocked to see nothing above him in his bed when he opens his eyes. He springs up in his bed, looking around the room for you but finding nothing in his room aside from his personal effects. 

Eyes wide and frantic, he scrambles in his bed and grabs at the bedsheets. Elevating his duvet and glancing down at his bare body, and grimacing at the sticky cum attaching his bedsheets to his quivering cock. 

Doflamingo

“Untouched?” He glared in betrayal at his twitching cock dancing proudly as it deflated, “Untouched?!” He circled his fist over his shaft and choked it within a firm grasp. Beginning to piston his oversensitive cock, he growled at himself. 

“You-...” he pictured the way your pretty little whimpers called his name, beckoning him closer to bliss with each pump of his cock, “...-You little tease.” 

His motions both picked up over his cock, his fist punching his pelvis and balls sucked into his abdomen, as he desperately chased his own release while frantically repicturing consuming yours. He pictured you whimpering above him, your legs shaking like a butterfly loosening the dew from its wings in the morning. 

His eyes rolled black as he continued pumping his shaft, picturing you above him as he did in his dreams before looking to his Den-Den mushi beside him. The sleeping snail snored gently beside his clock, prompting him to grimace at the time depicted beside it. 

“If I'm up and thinking of you,” he growled, reaching his unoccupied hand up to the shell and dialing your personal transponder code, “I'm gonna make you think of me.” As the chatter from the snail awoke, your sleepy tone called over to him from the mouth of the snail. 

“G-... Good morning, sir?” you mumbled to him, the subtle shift of your bed linens rustling caused Doflamingo to roll his hips to the sound, “Why are you calling me at…” you paused to yawn, Doflamingo picturing that cute little squeak you make as you reach the perfect stretch to rid yourself of sleep, “...Three in the morning?”

“Thinking of you,” Doflamingo purred sultrily into the snail's mouthpiece, “Dreaming of you.” You groaned at him, the rustling of the transponder informed him you were moving in your bed. 

“Okay, lord Doflamingo,” you murmured lazily into the mouthpiece, “Got a mission for me? Is that it? Dreaming of me fulfilling some brutal task for you well into the night?” He pictured you sitting up and waiting for him to give you orders, mouth watering as he pictured how eager you'd be to make his vision come alive. 

As the silence hung in the air between you, you offered him one final prompt to offer you a semblance of explanation. 

“Please, sir. Tell me how I can make your dreams come true?” you asked him boredly and sarcastically, “I’ve only just got back from the last mission, carried it out successfully if you were wondering.” He grinned and rolled onto his side and glared into the mouth of the snail.

“You're always so fucking good to me,” Doflamingo praised you, flicking his tongue across his lips, “You'd follow my orders until the day you die, won't you? My dark angel. My deadly assassin. My little muse.”

After a moment of silence, you offer him a disgruntled growl and he pictured you glaring at him through the snail, “What do you need me to do, sir? Can it wait?” He laughed his deep rumble into the mouthpiece before rolling onto his back. 

“You know what you can do, pretty thing?” he purred with a deep rumble into the speaker, “You can listen to me touch myself while I think about you sitting on my face.” His nonchalant attitude had silence falling from your end, prompting him to reconfirm his directions. 

“You hear me, pet?” he snickered at the snail, grasping and tugging at his cock while a sickening smirk split his face in a sinister grin, “Answer me when I give you orders.” A low growl emitted from the other end of the receiver. 

“I am not a concubine, sir,” you snarled your disdain for him into the receiver, prompting him to piston his cock harder in his fist, “Don't treat me like some whore in the night-.”

“-If you were a whore, I'd simply summon you here and ravage your tight little cunt with my cock until I hear you scream my name,” Doflamingo growled into the Den-Den, “Call what I'm asking you to do ‘a kindness’.” He sweetened his tone, purring and cooing at you as if his request was the simplest orders you could ever receive, “All I want you to do is listen to me fuck my fist while I picture you rolling your hips over my mouth.”

After a momentary silence and a sharp exhale of agitation, you growled back at him. 

“If I was rolling my hips over your mouth, you'd be silent and do as you're told,” your blunt response had Doflamingo involuntarily buck into his hand, gasping like a stallion at their first taste of a broodmare. 

“Oh, would I now?” he whispered in a husky tone, thumbing over his nob and groaning at the feeling, “What would I be told to do, mi amorcito? Tell me.” There was another pause of silence between you, Doflamingo waiting patiently to hear how you’d respond to his little taunt. 

“You really want to do this, Doflamingo?” Your harsh chastising broke him away from his harsh momentum of thrusting into his hand and had him stare at the receiver. He hissed out a soft “Yes,” in response, prompting your smirking laugh to rise from the mouthpiece. 

“Then invite me to your suite,” you suggested nonchalantly, “I'd be happy to bully you in person,” you paused, whispering into the receiver with a soft purr, “If you can take it.”

“Oh, I can take it.”

Caesar 

“Wha-...?!” he exclaims in shock, witnessing his cock twitch in betrayal. He sits in silence, staring down at himself in horror. Running his cool digits over the display of lust spurted on his skin and rolled it between his fingers with a grimace. 

“I didn’t-...” his sentence falls short as he looked around his cold room, his lips falling into a soft pout, “...You didn’t even fuck me in my dreams?” His pout deepened, his pointed nose sniffing back a soft sob. 

Rolling out of his bed, he stood tall and winced as he felt glubs of his spend roll down his torso and drop onto the floor. He downturned his smile, sweat pooling at his temple as he walked over to his desk and found a discarded lab coat. Rolling the material over his stomach, he tidied up his mess and sniffed a soft sob back.

“Even in my dreams, you elude me. You run from me,” he looks to a folded manila folder on his desk, opening the crease and looking at your file. The firm words beside your name printed in bold, his blood running cold at the sight. 

With the face of an angel, the softest smile painted on your canceled bounty, he ran his fingers over your printed skin and creased his brows into the center of his head. 

“Doflamingo’s favorite assassin,” he murmured, discarding the lab coat and sitting naked at his desk, “His pretty little pet,” his thumb brushed over your smile on the paper before drawing his palm over the page, “Someone that will never be mine, even if I beg.” 

He whimpered as he stared down at the page, his unoccupied hand circled his cock and squeezed it in his fist. Giving it a testing tug, he sifted through his collection of den-den images of you in the manilla folder. 

Sucking his bottom lip into his teeth, he began to piston his shaft with his firm grip as he focussed on your picture. Your face held such an innocence for someone so deadly: standing beside Doflamingo at a gala, gazing up into the face of Sir Crocodile with a light smile. So pretty, so charming.

So out of his league, you wouldn’t spare him a single glance. 

He began to tug at himself harder, rolling his hips up into his hand as he stumbled upon his favorite three pictures. All so different and holding him hostage to how he could picture your face contorting in pleasure as he chased his high in his hand. 

The first was a simple image he had managed to snap as you sat across him at the table: in your simple Donquixote assigned uniform as you paid attention to every word relayed from Doflamingo. You had an air of confidence, your chin angled high and a soft purse of your lips.

“Hhah-...” he whined through his pants, feeling himself come closer to the edge as he pictured what it could be like to kiss those lips and feel your face against his. Shaking his head, he moved onto the second image in his collection.

The vengeance and wrath written on your face as it was covered in violent bloodlust, your weapon in your hand and standing victorious after landing your final blow. You looked like you would’ve ripped your enemies’ throat out with your teeth to win that fight, and he wanted to be the target of that feral gaze so desperately. 

“Nnnghh-...” he whimpered, his cock beginning to twitch, his balls sucking up into his stomach as he continued to stare down at his collection of pictures of you. His jaw fell slack, him finally finding the last picture of you: one he was sure you thought was destroyed for good. 

The picture was soft, well loved from the firm grip Caesar would hold it in regularly, peeling up at the corners and creased. Your face was flushed, your eyes wide and looking up with an almost adoring innocence, your hair pinned out of your face and dressed in an outfit intended for flamenco. 

Your skin was revealed in a lusting dip, the pink of the material dipping over your chest in a deep 'V' and cinching in the small of your waist and flaring at the hips. The amount of flesh revealed beneath the material held such contrast to the innocence of your eyes. 

“F-F-F-...” he huffed, sucking on his bottom lip and feeling himself spill over into his hand, spurting ropes of hot, sticky cum against the underside of his desk, “...Fuck.” He rocked his hips in time to the spurts, feeling his eyes begin to prick with the similar sting of tears each time he tainted your image in this way. 

Hot rolls of his glassy tears spilled from his eyes and trickled down his cheeks into his quivering lips. Sobs escaped his mouth, sniffing back the heavier cries as he placed your image back into the manila folder and shut the crease closed. He placed his head over the cardboard exterior and his shoulders began to shake with sorrow. 

“No wonder you don’t like me,” he muffled between his whimpered sobs, “I’m fucking pathetic.” 

Rosinante “Corazon”

He sprung up from his bed and immediately stomped over to his bathroom with shock written on his face. He ran the shower, remaining unblinking and appalled at himself as he stepped beneath the pelting water. 

“Silence,” he whispered, clicking his fingers beneath the water and creating a rotund, soundproof barrier within the small cubicle and immediately balling his fist and slamming it against the damp ceramic. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He growled at himself, clenching his eyes shut and haunted by the image of your body using his face to grind and shake on his tongue, “C’mon, Rosinante. You’re a marine, you’re a spy, you’re a double agent, you’re the son of a celestial dragon, you’re-... you’re-...” he looked down at his cock, his shame washing away with the hot water and pooling at his feet before swirling in the drain.

“...-You’re in love?” he tilts his chin to the side as his heart hammers heavy within his chest, “In love with an assassin sworn to kill the likes of you without a second thought.” He huffs, lifting his head in the air and allowing the scorching liquid to hammer at his face. Shaking his hair, the drops cling to his golden locks and coat his forehead and eyes with the damp curls. 

He brings up his hands and cards them through his hair, staring up at the circular shower head and pouting. The drops do nothing to stifle the smoldering embers in his heart, the image behind his eyes are only of you and your smile. 

Drawing his mind back to your encounters of the past, he was touched that you had learnt to sign with your hands to speak and translate for him at meetings to save time and paper. Those signs he loved seeing you flutter at him to entertain him at social galas, the humor of your risque commentary you give him with simple gestures of your hands with a completely straight face. 

Your kindness in such a dark place had been refreshing, especially considering your title of Doflamingo’s favorite assassin led him to assume you were just as horrible as his brother was. He viewed your smile as a gift, your offer of a dance as a blessing, and the protection of your constant rapid dexterity to manage Doflamingo’s temper, and maintain your standing effortlessly, had him immediately targeting you for unintentional aid in his private cause. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, hanging his head and shifting the water to pummel at his neck and shoulderblades, “Shit,” he shook his head and thumped at the shower wall once more. His hand slipped on the condensation, sliding to the side and propelling his forehead to beat against the tiles with a slick ‘thud,’ prompting him to hiss out a curt: “Ouch!”

After showering, drying himself off, dressing and painting his signature smile over his cheeks, he began the soft trudge into town with his hat clasped firmly over his head. A embroidered card with his heart written within the contents, a bouquet of dark red el ceibo, large and soft pink roses, and several sprigs of yellow calafate, and the promise of potentially spending a night together, was propelling him to approach the training room you took.

Knocking twice on the doorframe beside the door, he witnessed you in your training garb pummeling into a hanging boxing bag with your hands bound in wraps, and your ankles strapped. Noticing the knock, you curled your head up at him and offered him a soft smile. 

“Corazon,” you halted the swinging of the bag by pressing your hands against the material, “Something the matter, sir?” He noticed your inquisition, your brows immediately furrowing in confusion the moment you looked at his hands. Gulping back his courage, he held out his gifts and darted his apprehensive, hazel eyes between yours.

“Cora…” you look to his hands and back to his face for further explanation, “What are you doing?” He triangulated his brows up, silently begging you to take the flowers and the card from his outstretched offering. You slowly reached your bound hands toward him and claimed the flowers and card from him without tearing your eyes from his. 

Placing the flowers and card on the bench where your bag was, you looked down to his hands and back up to his eyes before narrowing your pointed gaze up at him. Rosinante physically stuttered with his hands, thankful his Devil-Fruit silenced the soft whimper from fleeing into the air. You waited patiently for further information from the tall, silent Donquixote brother, folding your arms over your chest and pointing with your eyes down at his hands once more. 

Rosinante sighed, his hands moving in fluid gestures to depict his thoughts with his fingertips and palms, “I wanted to give you something nice, tell you how I feel about you, and ask if you’d allow me the opportunity to see where we go. If you’re receptive to my advances-.” Stepping towards him, you press your hands over his wrists to halt his flurry of rapid gestures.

“Why are you doing this, sir?” you hush your voice into a low whisper, darting your eyes between his and seeming to panic, “I-... We-...” you trail off, your hands gripping him painfully hard, “...Please don’t do this, Corazon.” 

His own eyes widened in panic, unsure as to why you’re gripping him so hard and seeming to reject him so harshly. Glancing down at your eyes, looking to your lip, your hard mask began to shift as he mirrored your expression. He kicked the door to the training room closed behind him, motioning the both of you out of sight of the den-den-snail in the corner of the room. He held his middle finger with his thumb: uttering a simple word, “Silence.”

Shock wrote itself on your face the moment he spoke and maneuvered you around the room with poised elegance and ease. He gulped back his nerves, uttering a simple few words: “Code: 0-1-7-4-6, Rosinante. Based at Headquarters under Fleet-Admiral Sengoku. Current rank: Marine Commander. Mission: find the ope-ope-no-mi, and stop my brother’s insanity from plaguing the masses. Four years serving under cover.” 

His lip quivered as he darted his eyes between yours, and hoped his assumption was correct. You gulped your own hesitation, clenching your jaw at his admittance before speaking your own. 

“Code: 3-0-1-3-7,” you whispered your name beneath your breath, hardening your resolve further with your brow creased firmly, “Based at sea under Vice-Admiral Garp. Current rank: Marine Captain. Mission: keep Doflamingo from gaining too much dominion over the other warlords, and maintain the status quo as his most trusted assassin. Seven years serving under cover.” 

Rosinante huffed out a sigh of relief, his shoulders physically dropping as if a weight had been lifted from its perch against him. Your lips twitched up in a soft smile, looking between his eyes and releasing his wrists from your grip. 

“You can talk,” you nod at him, huffing out a small agitated laugh, “This whole time, you’ve been making me talk for you by translating ‘sign’ for the others here, and you could talk the whole damn time.” 

“I didn’t make you do any of those things,” he reached up, tucking your hair behind your ear and leaning down towards you with a soft expression, “And I like hearing you talk for me. My words sound prettier spilling from your lips.” You laugh at him, shaking your head and reaching up your hands to his fingers once more. 

“What made you break?” you asked him, darting your eyes around his painted lips and his pointed blue markings beneath his left eye. He gave you a crooked smile, caressing your cheek gently before parroting back your sentiment with, “What made you?”

“I just-...” you huffed out an exasperated breath and straightened your shoulders, “...I couldn’t lie to you, Corazon. You always felt different, somehow. Special, even,” you laughed in a soft pant, “What gave me up?” He smiled, pressing his golden hair against your forehead and closing the distance. 

“You had that look in your eye,” he crooned down in his deep baritone, shooting tingles up your spine, “The one that I just knew you were like me,” he mirrored your laugh, wrapping his arms around your neck, “And I couldn’t lie to you, either.” 

You nod to him, looking at the flowers and card, and back up at him with a curious look on your face, “What made you do this now?” A warm blush grew over his face, prompting him to suck his lips into his teeth and snicker.

“In the spirit of remaining truthful with you,” he rubbed his nose gently with yours, “I have a confession to make about last night…”

[cozage]

Please, please, PLEASE MAKE A FOLLOW-UP ON LAW ON THE DARE CHALLENGE

😭😭😭😭😭

A/N: Did someone order Law x reader with an extra slow burn??? Oh my sweet sweet anon I love you and everyone else who requested this. This was such a pleasure to write. I truly hope I did it justice and made up for not having a section for him earlier. For those who are new here, this is part two for an earlier headcanon list I did. Check that out first for more context.

Characters: GN! reader x Law

Cw: NSFW. MINORS - DNI. I promise I’ll have so much other content for you to consume, please respect me and my work and keep scrolling. If I catch a minor on my NSFW posts, I will block you (and then you don't get to see any of my writing! So just skip this one.)

Total word count: 4.2k

tag list: @error404-tryagain @jadedrrose @patchofblue @nikos-a-clown @evilunicorns4minions @reader101 @gaynerdnotkid @augustanna @uchihabbynic

Push and Pull

“Y/N-ya, what the hell was that?” You could hear the frustration in his voice follow after you as you dashed out of the room and retreated down the hallway. The game was finally over. The moment Shachi released you from your place on Law’s lap you had made a beeline for your room. 

“N-Nothing!” You keep moving, feeling heat rise to your face at the thought of your earlier flirtation attempt. Shachi may have been the one to force you to do it, but it would have been a lot better if you hadn’t fumbled it so badly. 

Law quickly caught up to you and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back from your escape. He spins you around to face him, and he towers over you. His face was contorted with such anger that you instinctively shrank away from him.

“Did Shachi put you up to that?” His face had softened some and you could tell he was attempting to control his voice, but his anger was apparent. You hesitated, which was enough of an answer for him. You could feel his grip tighten on your wrist, and you resist the urge not to squirm away from him again. You want to be far away from him and his rage, which now appeared to be centered on your crew mates. You could hear their laughs echoing from the common room, and Law glared in their direction.  

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” he says, still facing the common area. You start to respond, wanting to let Law know that it wasn’t a big deal, but he’s already dropped your wrist and is striding back to the common room. A dark aura is rolling off him as he heads towards the crew, and you turn on your heels and bolt to your room, thankful for an escape.

--

You make yourself scarce over the next few days, and the captain seems to be doing the same. You stay locked in your room, and he stays locked in his office. The only time you interact with Law is over meals, and you catch yourself glancing over at him several times throughout those moments. A few times you glance over to catch his golden eyes staring back at you, and you both quickly look away, praying nobody else caught you all. 

You and your captain have been doing this strange dance of avoiding each other and catching stolen looks for three days before the crew decided to step in. 

--

At lunch on the third day, Ikkaku hunts you down to pull you into your room. “You should wear something super nice tonight!” She’s already sifting through the clothes in your drawer.

“What? Why?” You start picking up the clothes that Ikakku has tossed on the floor, but she’s oblivious to your efforts, which irritates you. “Do you mind not making such a mess?”

She ignores your request, still shifting through your belongings and mumbling to herself. “Not a lot to work with here but I’m sure we can find something.”

“Hey-stop that! Ikakku, what is this all about anyway?” You’re throwing your clothes back into the dresser as fast as she’s throwing them out, frustration growing with every shirt you have to refold.

Ikkaku doesn’t offer much explanation. “It’s for the captain.”

You stand there staring at her, dumbfounded, until a stray shirt is thrown at your face. “What’s for the captain?” You finally ask.

Ikakku moves onto the next drawer and keeps digging through your clothes, unfazed by your question. “You gotta dress to impress, sweetheart!”

“Why would I do that?” Your voice comes out choked, and you know your secret has been found out. You still can’t find the will to move, even though your friend is continuing to demolish your room.

Finally, your words catch up to Ikakku, and she turns to face you. She stares at you a long while, as if she’s trying to decide if you’re even worth explaining her motives to. After a few long seconds, Ikakku laughs. “Don’t try to deny it, dear. I know you’re head over heels for him.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. She says it with such confidence that you know there’s no point in denying it. Ikakku always had a sixth sense for these things. “How long have you known?”

“I’ve had my suspicions for a little while, but you made it pretty obvious during game night. At this point everyone must know.” There’s something extra in her voice that sends you over the edge. She said her words so condescendingly, as if she pitied you and your circumstances.

“Get out! Get out now!” You shoved Ikakku out the door and slammed it behind her, refusing to come out until the dinner call. You feel so humiliated, though you’re not sure why. Your cheeks still turn pink at the thought of that night, which was the last time you had talked to your captain in three days. It felt like Shachi and Ikakku had ruined your entire relationship with the captain because of that stupid dare, and now they were trying to meddle in your life even more.

--

You were late to dinner because of Penguin. He was trying to get you to put a nicer outfit on, which led to a big fight and left you in a sour mood. By the time the two of you got there, only two seats remained. One next to Shachi, which was obviously meant for Penguin, and one next to the captain, which was obviously meant for you.

Everyone’s eyes followed you as you took your place next to Law, but nobody said anything. You could see Ikakku and Shachi silently questioning Penguin over your outfit choice, but he simply rolled his eyes and waved it off. A few members exchanged glances, and you could feel that someone was waiting for something to happen.

“Sorry for being late to dinner, everyone.” You finally say, trying to sound genuine.

“Shall we eat, then?” Law spoke to the crew, ignoring you and your apology, and you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

You didn’t have much of an appetite, and you weren’t in the mood to talk to the man who you had spent the past few days avoiding, so you occupied your time by pushing your food around on your plate. You tried to take a few bites every now and then, but you weren’t making much of a dent on your food.

“Y/N-ya.” The voice made you freeze. It was the first time your captain had spoken to you since game night. Your eyes shifted over to your captain, but when you made eye contact with him, they darted back to the peas on your plate.

“Are you feeling okay?” There was a calculated levelness in his voice. You go the sense he was asking as a doctor, not as a captain or a friend. 

“I’m fine.”

You could see his eye twitch in irritation, but his voice remained calm. “If you would like something else to eat-”

“I don’t.” You interrupt, not giving him the chance to finish his sentence. The other conversations at the table start to die down, and you’ve become painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on you now.

“Captainnnn,” Shachi called to the man next to you. “How about you give Y/N some of your food?”

You’re not sure why, but something snaps inside of you. He’s using that same condescending tone that Ikakku used with you earlier, and the anger that has built inside you over the past three days finally explodes.

“How about you go straight to hell, Shachi?” You say, slamming your fork down onto the table. You see everyone’s mouths fall open in shock, including your captain’s, but you don’t care anymore. You storm out of the room and back to your cabin, furious with the position you’ve allowed yourself to be put into because you have feelings for some guy. You lock your door to avoid unwanted visitors, but nobody tries to come talk to you anyway.

--

“It’s not my fault that they want to rip off each other’s clothes!” You freeze as you hear Shachi’s voice call out in frustration from the kitchen down the hall. You hadn’t seen them-or anyone- since dinner last night, and you were hoping to avoid everyone while you ventured to the kitchen for lunch today. You had even waited until far after the normal lunchtime to lower your chances of running into someone, but it seems you had waiting too long and now you had stumbled upon the people who were cooking dinner tonight.

“Hush!” A feminine voice scolds at the man in a low hiss. Ikkaku. “Someone is going to hear you.”

“I don’t care if they do hear me!” Shachi shoots back. “Everyone on this damn ship can see it except them! It’s been painfully obvious since game night! The way they avoid each other now, the glances over dinner, and now all this hostility!?! I knew the captain would be pissed at us, but  now…”

He trails off, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks when you realize it is you they are talking about. You stay frozen in the hallway, praying that nobody comes around the corner and catches you eavesdropping.

“Listen,” Shachi continues, now in a full-blown rant. “Captain told me that he liked Y/N! And Y/N told you the same thing, right? What were they expecting us to do? Of course we’re going to meddle in that! We’re the most meddlesome people on the ship! They wanted us to intervene! And we did and now they’re avoiding each other like they have some kind of plague and I’m so tired of it!” He pauses for a beat. “We should just tell them.”

Your hand flies up to your mouth to stifle a horrified gasp and Ikkaku speaks in a deadly serious tone. “We are not doing that, Shachi. Neither of them would ever forgive us.”

“I know, I know.” Shachi seems to have calmed down a bit. “It’s just frustrating to watch. And now they’re both upset with us. I just want them to be happy.”

“As do I. Come on, let’s make dinner,” Ikkaku suggests, trying to change the subject. “We’ll figure out a way to make them forgive us and each other. Until then, we’ll just count their awkward glances.”

“The record is eleven, you know. Eleven times they made eye contact and then quickly glanced away from each other. Just at one dinner!”

So they had noticed the looks you and Law had been sharing. In fact, the more they talk, it sounds like they had been actively watching the two of you. It seems like it was a sort of game to them. They were able to recall most of the ones that had happened over the previous nights, chatting quietly and laughing at the exceptionally embarrassing ones.

There was no way you could face them after learning this. There was no way you could face anyone on the ship. You wanted to go hide in your room forever. You retreat back down the hallway the way you came and quickly rounded the corner to return to your room.

You crashed into someone as you turned the corner, too in a hurry to notice them until it was too late. You’re about to let out a small squeal of surprise when a hand covers your mouth tightly. Panic sets in for a moment, thinking someone may have stowed away on the ship, but when you see equally wide golden eyes staring down at you, you feel a twinge of relief.

A different kind of panic sets in, and your heartbeat starts to pick up. Suddenly, you’re painfully aware of how close you are to your captain; how his tattooed fingers are still gripping around your face, holding your mouth shut.

He must realize it too, because his face begins to tint with pink, and he releases you from his grasp. He holds a finger up to his lips and looks around the corner to see if anyone is watching, but Shachi and Ikkaku are still chatting in the kitchen, and nobody else is in the hallway. He takes your wrist and silently leads you away from the kitchen in the direction of his office.

You can feel your heart rate accelerating in your chest with every step closer to the captain’s quarters. Based on his reaction, you weren’t the only one who had heard Shachi’s and Ikkaku’s conversation in the kitchen. A part of you wanted to run, to find a way to put as much distance between you and your captain as you could on this small ship. But you let him lead you down the halls, too afraid to say or do anything else but follow him.

He didn’t look back at you the entire time you walked through the halls. His pace was fast, and at times you struggled to keep up. He quickly opened the door to his office and yanked you inside, looking back in the hallway once more to make sure you weren’t followed before closing it and locking the deadbolt firmly.

“What are you-” You had begun to question him, but quickly lost your voice when he started towards you with such intensity.

“Shachi and Ikakku, were they telling the truth?” His voice is harsh and rough when he speaks to you. You could hear the disbelief in his words, and you knew for a fact that he had heard them in the kitchen. He was towering over you with an intense gaze, and you were doing your best not to cower away from him like before.

“What-”

“A yes or no will do.” He takes a step towards you, and you instinctively step backwards, pressing your back against a random bookcase behind you. He had you cornered now, and your stomach ties into a knot as you look up at him. You feel so small, trapped here in his office with him. There’s a hungry look in his eyes, like a predator when they’ve found their next meal. He’s a little terrifying, yet you can’t bring yourself to look away from him.

“Y/N.” He prompts again. He didn’t add the normal nickname to it, which was a solidified sign that he was pissed. You didn’t normally find your captain intimidating, but since game night he made your hair stand on edge. You’re too embarrassed to admit your feelings for him, not while staring straight in the eyes like this. You finally break away from his gaze and stare at the floor, too ashamed to answer.

But your captain wants your full attention, and Law’s index finger tucks under your chin and guides your face back up to meet him, beckoning you to look him in the eyes again. You resist at first, but eventually give in, locking back into his honey irises.

He leans down, only centimeters from your face. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your lips as he exhales. His breath is hitched and shallow, warm as it brushes against your skin.

Your knees feel weak with him so close to you, and think they might give out any second. The electricity between the two of you is palpable, and you wonder if this is what it means to be alive. You are suspended in this moment only with him, completely isolated from the outside world and everyone in it.

“Was it the truth?” He whispers the question softly this time, and now you can sense a trace of hope laced into his words. You open your mouth to respond, but your words fail you. He looks down at your lips, waiting, and you do the only thing you can. You nod.

That’s all he needs. His lips crash into yours with such force that you have to take a step back to steady yourself, but you stumble against the bookcase. Law’s free hand wraps tightly around you to help you stay balanced, and he pushes you back against the bookcase for more support. Inked fingers trace your jawline and cup your cheek, pulling you closer to him while he leans further into you. There’s been far too much distance between the two of you recently, and he needs to make up for lost time.

You wrap your arms around his body, digging your fingernails into the back of his shirt as you pull him against you, showing him how much you want this-how much you need this. His tongue flicked across your lips and a soft moan escaped your mouth as your lips parted, granting him access to you. He dives in without hesitation, eager for his first taste of you.

His hands trailed down your back, sending shivers throughout your entire body. He reached your waist, and you could feel him hesitate for a moment, unsure how much further to proceed. You press against him harder, encouraging him further, and your hands move upwards, wrapping around his neck to pull him into you more. Your fingers twisted around his midnight locks, tugging at them gently.

His lips finally release from your mouth, and you gasp for air while you have a second to breathe. Both of his hands slip under your ass and he lifts you up, your back still against the shelf for assistance. Your legs wrap around his body, pulling him into you.

He kissed your jawline, and then slowly made his way down to your neck. The sensation of his tongue swirling and his lips sucking on your sensitive skin made you pull at his hair harder, shoving his mouth further into your nape. You had to bite your lips to stifle a moan, and he gave a dark chuckle against your skin.

“Come on now,” he teased, nipping at your neck a few times. “Moan for me, y/n-ya”

You didn’t immediately oblige, and he was quickly growing impatient. His lips continued to suck at your skin with such ferocity that you were sure his marks of passion would be displayed there later. He gripped your ass tighter and pushed his groin into the opening between your legs. You could feel his hardened cock through his jeans grinding against you, and you couldn’t hold your words in any longer.

“Fuck, Captain!” You had tried to keep quiet, but the moan rang out loudly against the silent room.  Either Law didn’t care about the level of your voice, or he liked it. Judging by the way he thrust into you again, you would guess the latter. Your fingers dug deeper into his locks, pure ecstasy running through your veins now. You wanted to ride this high all the way to the end with your captain, and you continued to call out his name every time his bulge rubbed against you in the perfect way.

Law abandoned your neck to return back to your lips again, muffling your moans with his mouth. He continued to grip your ass tightly and push into you, and you could hear books falling to the ground behind you as his pace began to pick up.

“Errr, Captain?” The voice came from the other side of the door, distorted and concerned. In shock, Law pulled away from you and your hand flew to your mouth in horror, both of you frozen in place.

The door jiggled, and your eyes widened at its movement. Thankfully it stayed shut, locked earlier by the captain.

Law’s eyes stayed connected with yours. He kept you against him, refusing to put you down. “What is it, Bepo?”

“Is everything okay, Captain? I was coming to tell you dinner is ready, and I heard some commotion as I-“

Law cut him off before he let Bepo’s rambling go on too long. “Everything is fine, Bepo. Thank you. We will be at dinner soon.”

Your eyes widen at him, and he realizes his mistake too late.

“We?”

Law curses under his breath and you smile at his uncharacteristic slip up. You can only thank the stars that it’s Bepo summoning him and not anyone else on the crew.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Bepo.” Law corrects, and you can hear Bepo’s feet padding away down the hall without further commentary.

You start to unwrap your legs from around his waist, but he grips you tighter, refusing to release you just yet.

You giggle at him and place a quick kiss on his nose, and in shock, his arms loosen from around you. He releases you, and you hop down happily. All the tension between you two has finally broken, and the air feels lighter now

You do a quick check in the mirror nearby, and attempt to fix the things you can control. You use your fingers to comb through your hair quickly and smooth your shirt, trying your best to make yourself look presentable. Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about the welts that are already forming on your neck other than pull up your shirt collar and hope for the best.

“Go ahead, I’m going to clean up and then I’ll be there.” Law bends down to pick up his hat and places it back on his head. It must’ve fallen off at some point, though you’re not sure when. He waves you on, bending back down to begin collecting the books you’ve scattered across the floor.

You start to think that you’ve done something wrong or he’s ashamed to be seen with you, and you feel that familiar pit forming in your stomach.

“Save me a seat,” he calls to you as you exit the room, and your fear instantly melts away.

You walk into the kitchen to find that most people have already congregated around the table. A few people look over to see you come in, and your eyes find Shachi. You smile at him politely, trying to start the process of making up for your outburst yesterday. His eyes glance down to your neck, and you watch as his eyes grow wide. He mutters something to Ikakku and Penguin, and you look away before you become more embarrassed.

You take a seat, and a few minutes later Law walks in and sits next to you. He’s sitting extremely close to you, his leg pressed against yours. You try to avoid the looks Shachi is sharing with the rest of the crew.

Dinner starts out casual, everyone attempting to ignore the elephant in the room. You were chatty with your crew mates, and everyone began to relax more. It finally felt like the crew dynamic was returning to normal again.

Halfway through dinner, you feel a hand rest on the top of your thigh, and you resist the urge to look over at your captain. You can feel his thumb lazily rubbing in circles, and electricity starts through your veins again.

After a few moments his fingers reach down, gripping your inner thigh and giving it a squeeze. You have to bite down on your lip to avoid showing any outward signs of his advancements. You snap your legs shut and attempt to continue your conversation with Clione, ignoring the hint of a smirk dancing across Law’s face.

He pushed further into your inner thigh, massaging it slowly. Continuing his taunt, he spreads his fingers closer to your core and flexes his fingers against you. You shift away from him, and he gripped your thigh harder to prevent you from completely leaving his grasp.

He leans close to you, whispering so only you can hear him. His voice is low and thick with desire. “Do you want to finish what we started?”

Your cheeks burn as he releases your thigh and gets up from the table, not waiting for your response. You wait a few moments before deciding to follow him.

“Thank you, Shachi.” You look at him and pause, and you can feel a sense of understanding pass between you two. “For the meal.” You add in, for sake of appearance.

You get up and walk out of the room, and Law is waiting for you outside. He grabs your hand and leads you back towards his office once again. You’re uncertain of what lies ahead, but it’s better than where you’ve been.

“Thank FUCK!” You hear Shachi scream from the kitchen, and the crew joins in with a chorus of laughter. You found yourself agreeing with them, grinning to yourself as the captain pulls you along, hand laced in yours.

[sl4sh3rsub]

art the clown hcs (nsfw: mdni)

art the clown x reader (AFAB, AMAB, FtM, MtF)

warning: so so much. unhygienic behaviour, p in v + anal (all unprotected - pls stay safe irl), creampies, fingering (receiving), overstimulation (receiving), dubious consent + cnc (with art), noncon (with [sometimes intoxicated] victims + art, not with reader), art is mute, reader is put on display and used as bait for art's activities, art makes his own snuff?? idk but there's sexual stuff with dead bodies + art in the same vicinity, masturbation, blood kink but lots of blood in general, gore, mentions of injury and giving injury (not on reader), public sex/exhibitionism, oral (giving + receiving), rimming (giving), period sex, cumrag, sexual photographs taken of/for reader, art goes commando, scarification, art is a switch - if only to commit to the bit, fear play (empty guns, dull knives), bondage (reader receiving), cum eating, somnophilia, shoe humping, cum tributes, feet stuff mentioned, musk kink, corruption kink mentioned?, mtf section mentions art performing an orchiectomy

a/n: kinda edited. he's so nine inch nails/orgy coded and the movies are so scary that i chickened out rewatching parts of terrifier 2 pls forgive me :3 the first dot point is to set the mood, sorry but it gets right into it

READ THE WARNINGS this one's very intense - please, if you think this might be too much for you or just uncomfortable, skip this one.

order: general hcs first then amab + afab then ftm + mtf, different sections = different content n tried not to repeat much

_ _ _ _ _

general hcs

art will put on a home video of him torturing and toying with someone while you're held between his legs - he wants to have a fun little viewing party for his recent exploits! he toys with your hole, teasing you as his cock ruts into your lower back. the sinister clown ignores the thrashing of your legs as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of your poor, tired body. the only time he lets up, giving a break from his constant stimulation on your sweet spots, is when he pauses to mimic a wave or jolly dance in the video he's showing you. the way your slick arousal thins and connects his fingers whenever he waves at the screen would be comical if your head wasn't so fuzzy from the constant edging. he loves tormenting people but the methods for you are a bit more... delicious

whenever he comes home injured, he patiently sits propped against a wall as you tend to his weeping wounds. judging by the ripped clown suit and gashes littering his skin, it was evidently a rough night. he doesn't bother to tell you that he will heal at abnormally fast speeds, he just loves the sight of his blood smeared on your skin. while you bandage art up, the gauze ends up giving him more coverage than his shredded suit - he meets your gaze with a sly grin as he thrusts up into your hand, showing what he has to offer. you'll have to ignore the drying blood all over the two of you, as he rushes to pull your face into of his lap to let out some pent-up energy :<

he's always so playful whenever you both get down and dirty, whether it's pulling surprised expressions whenever you cum, dragging his finger down from your lips to your throat to shush you or flick your nipples only to giggle at your surprised face

if art is not in the mood to trudge home alone after a rampage, he'll text you an address to meet him at. to no one's surprise, it's always a laundromat. he loves to fuck you in the empty establishments while his clothing is in a washing cycle - after all, it would be rude to get your clothing dirty while he's taking you from behind over a dryer. he pays extra attention to getting off and finishing inside you as a way to wind down from a wild time, his creamy release dripping onto the floor. guess you'll have to bust out the mop on shaky legs while art cheerily dresses himself and patiently waits for you on the bench next to the window - he can't help but admire his special person and be proud of how he made them come undone

his favourite way to wake up is to have his throbbing cock in your mouth, his gaze half-lidded as you work your hand along his length and envelop him with your soft lips. art is addicted to you sloppily gagging on him, spit and precum drooling down his balls. his huffs of pleasure gracing your ears are the sweetest part of any early morning

whenever you finish giving art head, kiss his tip softly after swallowing, making sure to slurp up his cum from dribbling down his shaft and he'll trace a heart on your forehead with your tears from gagging on him. if you meet his gaze as you catch your breath, he'll quietly shush and tut at you in reassurance while you rest your cheek against his bare thigh, petting your hair

the clown likes to play a game where he captures male victims he's focused on, strips them down, then ties them up in a row and gags them. he makes them watch as he pleasures you in front of them, spread on display as he mocks them and their tears, all while you come undone on his cock and fingers. he punishes the one that gets hard first (away from you, of course - he drags the guy to the next room to deal with later). art puts you on display in front of the remaining men, dons a shitty wig and red lipstick then slowly jerks off the softest person as they gradually get more aroused at the sight of you playing with yourself and moaning for art to fuck you. art is overall most turned on by other people watching you without touching what's his - he loves showing you off and feeling proud that they could never pleasure you like he could :3

art fucks you against the windows of buildings he's snuck into - he loves giving an eyeful for his potential victims and he's not above tempting them into the building he's camped out in with the false promise of joining in

he has certain hand signals for you to bend over, drop your pants or get on your knees. it's not in an intimidating dominant way, it's simply out of necessity as he cannot verbally order you to do anything in the bedroom

your pleasure is not the priority all the time - art's main goal is for him to feel good, however he may realise that certain things make you squeeze his cock perfectly and as a result, your orgasms are a coincidental byproduct of his lust

art is a sucker for being balls deep inside you when he cums but he also enjoys painting your sloppy hole - an excellent view, plus there's so much to scoop up and finger deep back inside you

whenever he cums, art's tummy tenses and his thighs spasm as his eyes roll backwards. his chest shudders as his breathing gets shaky, needing to grab onto something to steady himself. his cum itself is generally thick but whenever you remind him to drink water, it'll get very thin and watery. it's important to note, his cum colour fluctuates between a regular milk colour and pitch black goop

art the clown freeballs in his satin costume, just hangin out for the sake of convenience and simplicity - if he's needing to piss, rub one out or get undressed to sleep, why should underwear be in the way? he's an absolute pervert, so he loves you seeing his dick whenever you look at him

force him have a shower - not even a bath, the water would get dirty too quick. caked layers of metallic blood and dirt don't help anyone's general scent and if he's around you a lot, you don't want a smelly clown trailing you and in your general vicinity

he wanders around naked after he takes a hot shower, when his costume is drying and his painted neck is waiting to be properly touched up. expect to see his bare dick twitch while you stare in shock, mouth hanging open at his blatant lack of shame in his nudity. the same thing applies to whenever the clown suit has a hole in it - at this point it's any excuse to be in the nude and flaunting his body around, the tapered tip of his cock always pulsing under your bashful eye

art carves his name into you - or something like 'art was here', 'art's art' or 'art's toy' - but you get to choose where! in his mind, it's like a collaborative effort :<

he's addicted to your warmth and tightness, so be ready to have his pasty cock buried in you whenever there's nothing to do. he'll pull you onto his lap while bunched up and all tense, pull down your underwear and spit on his length, slowly sliding into you as his muscles release all tension. he's practically a limp puddle once he's deep inside - he's comfortable enough to nap like this and will cuddle you until you feel the same way. the bastard will occasionally toot his horn to scare you into clenching around his softly throbbing dick

his love language is physical touch - his hand is always hovering near your hip, ass or lower back and he pats your cheek or kisses your temple if you've been good, petting your hair as you doze off next to him. his version on an 'i love you' is a warm palm cupping your face as he intertwines his body with yours, your muscles relaxing as you lean into his heat

the clown always, always leaves deep bites and bruises all over your body. prepare to have painkillers at every single meal, because he makes sure you're aching and bleeding when he's done with you after a rough day

as he doesn't make you participate in his meals of flesh and rubbish, expect to have his victim's homecooked leftovers, as well as pizza and other take-out regularly - all with a little extra salty glaze ontop <3 he's a romantic after all and still wants a small part of him inside you no matter what, that way you're never really lonely - his warmth settling in your tummy and also leaking from between your legs

art marks up your neck with his tongue and nails, leaving crescent moons and maroon roses etched into your skin like a morbid necklace. although he's not happy that you don't heal abnormally fast like he does, your shudders as his cold nails trail over your tender flesh spark a warmth within his gut and a glint in his eye

art chokes you so often that his hand is practically your necklace. he likes the control he's able to exercise subtly with a squeeze of his fingers and you don't mind the comforting pressure of his thumb skimming over your pulse. be sure to wash his gloves often thought - whenever you drool or have given him head and his hand then takes its place around your throat, the remnants of the fluids often soak into the material clinging to his palms. eventually, it'll make his skin tacky with dried cum and spit, stuck to the threadbare gloves

his guilty pleasure is having you ride him and take control, with zero regard for accidentally overstimulating him - sure he could breed you of his own volition, in his own time, but he's your toy in that moment with no control. the coincidental creampie being fucked deeper and deeper in you makes a shiver run down his spine. he's willing to be a pliable doll for you to mould into a quiet fuck toy to play with. be sure to hold art close and comfort him after you take control and he'll do the same back after he's been rough

art gets his hands on incredibly dull knives and empty guns with no magazine, especially pistols, and brings them into your sexual life. he loves the fear in your eyes as he trails the blades down your chest, tracing your nipples and thighs but the clown is especially turned on by making you suck the barrel of a gun - pretty eyes glittering in panic and arousal. he makes a game of rigging a shotgun with tripwires - if you shift too much while he trails his tongue down your body or thrash as he makes you cum on his face, the threat of the trigger being pulled gives you a rush of adrenaline that makes your eyes roll back, vision fading white. his gun fixation is not limited to just that - some other ideas he's been cooking up include you being fucked by a dead cop's handgun while humping his clown shoe, as well as you christening each new weapon he creates during his tinkering sessions

if he's desperate to jerk off, he'll do it wherever - ready to get it over with even if he ends up rubbing one out next to a dead body or in the middle of a public park. if he returns to you with dirty gloves and semen drying on the wrist, don't ask what happened because his mimed description of events is never pleasant

art sits on your face and gets off with his fist while you fuck him with your tongue, lapping at his hole. he tosses his head back and pants very softly, thighs trembling as he grinds himself on your face - bonus points if you let him pull back and fuck your mouth with his cock for a bit before returning to suffocate you between his asscheeks

he loves licking your skin everywhere. absolutely everywhere. he loves the taste of your salty sweat and warmth, feeling powerful having your pulse race under his tongue. if you fuck him, stuff your fingers in his mouth and his eyes will roll back in his skull

art suspends you with chains and rope, teasing you until you're begging to be fucked. his deft fingers trace your curves and edges, flicking and pinching your nipples, inner thighs and ass as he manically grins with a clear cock print in the front of his suit. he only maneuvers you to take his cock once you're dripping spit, tears and arousal onto the cold floor and screaming for him

as art knows you belong to him, sharing you with another man gets him going like nothing else - he'll eiffel tower you with a restrained captive, urging you to choke on the stranger's hardening dick as he fucks you so deep you're gasping for air and seeing stars. what's gonna happen, the guy survives? fuck no, he's already practically giftwrapped at death's doorstep just from becoming art's captive. why not make the last few hours of his life enjoyable and more than fulfilling - if the poor sod is willing, you could even keep him for a night or two as a pet

if you have genital, nipple piercings or even a septum done, art will dangle a little bell from each hoop. it immediately brightens his day to hear the little jingles whenever you're bouncing on his dick and he can't resist flicking them to make you jolt or smacking your ass whenever you walk near him just to hear the sweet soft tinkle under your loose clothing

art cleans up each basement/house he temporarily stays in, with a designated bed to fit the two of you and ensures there's a bathroom and basic laundry attached for your comfort - he notices you tend to avoid his being in his proximity whenever he gets too smelly. he may also move in with you for bouts of time - provided you have the space - but also camps out at his usual haunts and drags you along to hang out with him! the poor clown hates being lonely :(

he might go on a walk with you and toy with you - he gets off on watching you panic as he whips his dick out in public and gestures for you to kiss it, rub your face over it and worship him, hard or not. the control he holds over you and the headrush of power, combined with your submissive gaze aimed up at him, makes his growing affection and attachment towards you grow stronger

he brings you human organs and shitty handwritten poems - 'here's a heart but i wanna be the one pumping inside of you <:o)' or 'i could call you this esophagus the way you swallowed me so well last night >:)'

he has a collection of picture frames in his hideout because he takes photos of you and sticks them in nice frames - who needs playboy magazines when he can make tributes to you? you can tell which one is his favourite, with the crusty sludge stuck to the glass and wood protecting the flimsy picture

art definitely wants a footjob every now and then, every once in a while. it means he can tie up your hands while you get him off AND he still has two hands to play with you - a win win situation all around. he's not really into it strictly because it's feet, he just gets off on the thought of corrupting you more with such a taboo action

he has a love-hate relationship with piss too - he loves to have you obediently under him as he showers you with piss and cum, corrupting you a little more each time he marks you with his smell, but he hates because it masks your natural scent which is one of the few things that makes his head spin

if you get anxious or restless, he always has a cold body nearby.. oh you want something warmer? feel free to suckle on his soft cock or his sac while you cuddle his leg and fidget with the cloth of his pantleg

although he's gotten a lot better at regulating his personal hygiene since you met him, he doesn't always clean himself up - the musky and tangy stench of blood, sweat and grime permeates his suit until he scrubs clean

art loves it when you do filthy things for his pleasure, like sniffing his armpits while humping him or rimming him with his sweaty balls resting on your nose, making your brain go dumb

_ _ _ _ _

amab hcs

whenever art is thinking about being away for a few days to camp out at a certain location, he'll grab himself a clean rag and dedicate an entire night to getting you to cum on the cloth as many times as possible. it wouldn't be a pair of underwear from either of you - he hates wearing any type of clothing under the suit, even if it's your cum stained boxers - so it'd have to be a ripped piece of cloth from an old clown outfit. he'll jack you off and fuck you while holding it over your tip and even gag on your cock until the flimsy material is coated and probably permanently stained in your spend. he just wants a keepsake for the road and why not make it imbued with memories of the two of you enjoying yourselves? his own little cumrag to remember what he has back home, something special to return to!

art will ask you to be bait for him - either through stripping down sensually and pressing your bulge and ass against the windows of art’s current setup to entice horny, often intoxicated, onlookers late at night or indulging catcallers and inviting them to get it on with you back at the designated building, caressing their chest and crotch as you both giggle and meander inside. the clown always has your back and would not let you get hurt by the strangers at all, but the bait portion of his plan is extremely important to lull the victims into an optimistic headspace for them to ignore the shady setting

art craves the sensation of you throbbing under his tongue, the feeling of your pulse as you leak your pleasure all over his lips and the heavy musky taste slips down his throat

he'll get you a cute, sparkly plastic ring from a gachapon machine down at the arcade and fake proposes to you! later in the week, he'll break into a sex shop and bring home a matching cock ring (he's a romantic)

art has an obsession with your balls - nipping at them, having them slap against his chin or nose bridge as he messily takes as much as he can down his throat, you name it. expect greasepaint at the base of your cock and staining your pubes

he scrapes his nails down your back whenever you fuck his tight ass, pale cock bobbing and leaking everywhere. he adores marking up your back with the red ridges of broken skin as he cums all over your chests, shooting warmth up and splattering it on your flushed neck

if he's on top and riding, he'll put all his weight into choking you while he bounces up and down on your cock, eyes glinting with pride at your gasped thanks whenever he pulls you back from the brink of unconsciousness

_ _ _ _ _

afab hcs

art is obsessed with you whenever it's 'that time of the month' - you can barely get away from his wandering hands and quiet presence. he drops everything the moment you reach for your favourite snacks and heat pack, drags over a dark towel he keeps on hand for you. ever since he learnt that orgasms help relieve cramps and pain, he has felt a lot less selfish for wanting to ravage you while you're tender and bleeding. he has numerous photos of his bloodied cock framed by your ass cheeks or your warm cunt and he often takes videos on your phone of his length throbbing and oozing copious amounts of pink cum <3

art has an addiction to taking upskirt pictures of your puffy pussy imprint against your thin, practically see-through panties, still slick despite your embarrassment. his guilty pleasure is taking the pics when his cum is leaking from your hole, soaking the fabric

art will ask you to be bait for him - either through stripping down sensually and pressing your chest, ass and pussy against the windows of art’s current setup to entice horny, often intoxicated, onlookers late at night or indulging catcallers and inviting them to get it on with you back at the designated building, caressing their chest and crotch as you both giggle and meander inside. the clown always has your back and would not let you get hurt by the strangers at all, but the bait portion of his plan is extremely important to lull the victims into an optimistic headspace for them to ignore the shady setting

art pretends to talk and communicate with your cunt - acting out gestures as if holding a conversation with your clit while slowly coaxing you to cum and even gesturing at you to shush if you try to interrupt the important moment

eats devours pussy like a demon, a man starved. no hesitance and no restraint, he’s the type to suckle open mouthed kisses to your clit and fucks your dripping hole with his abnormally long tongue. nipping at your folds as he coaxes you to the edge with just a finger, tongue swirling in your slick as you cum - he is sloppy in his work but enthusiastically diligent with the cleanup, not a drop gets past his mouth. greasepaint might stain your thighs afterwards but it's a small price to pay for a talented clown's best efforts

art will find pretty lingerie for you to wear for him, parading around his hideout, making sure you know how hard he gets at your nipples and pussy covered delicately in lace

he flicks and circles your clit while you sleep, cumming all over your pussy before putting your panties back in place. he loves leaving little presents like that for you when you wake - a fuzzy head and a sticky and throbbing mess down there, strings and globs of cum connecting your thighs and the flimsy, soaked material

_ _ _ _ _

ftm hcs

art has never had a handsome toy with a self-lubricating hole before - his fascination with your t-dick leads to endless nights of him experimenting on you with his mouth, fingers and cock to see what makes you tick. his favourite pastime is suckling on your tender dick while he pulses his fingers against your cervix, your whole body jerking from sensitivity as his deft fingers circle your sweet spots

art will ask you to be bait for him - either through stripping down sensually and pressing your chest, ass and boypussy against the windows of art’s current setup to entice horny, often intoxicated, onlookers late at night or indulging catcallers and inviting them to get it on with you back at the designated building, caressing their chest and crotch as you both giggle and meander inside. the clown always has your back and would not let you get hurt by the strangers at all, but the bait portion of his plan is extremely important to lull the victims into an optimistic headspace for them to ignore the shady setting

he keeps a pair of your slick-stained boxers in his ol' bag of tricks, a little keepsake for his on-the-go orgasms - he's a sniffer for sure, securing it over his face so both his hands are free to use on his dick as he gets off to your scent

he scrapes his nails down your back whenever you fuck his tight ass, pale cock bobbing and leaking everywhere. he adores marking up your back with the red ridges of broken skin as he cums all over your chests, shooting warmth up and splattering it on your flushed neck

eats devours boypussy like a demon, a man starved. no hesitance and no restraint, he’s the type to suckle open mouthed kisses to your cock and fucks your dripping hole with his abnormally long tongue. nipping at your folds as he coaxes you to the edge with just a finger, tongue swirling in your slick as you cum - he is sloppy in his work but enthusiastically diligent with the cleanup, not a drop gets past his mouth. you both tiredly giggle after he's done - the face paint around his cheeks and lips is hopelessly smudged, especially after he licks his lips and grins at you. guess he'll have to redo it later, no harm done <3

he fucks you so hard and bruises your cervix to the point where you can only moan his name and whine when he properly pulls out and gives you water with a heatpack and blanket, genuinely scared he went too rough on your insides. if your legs fail after such a long night, he'll throw you over his shoulder or pick you up like royalty and use his inhuman strength to carry you around

_ _ _ _ _

mtf hcs

art the clown is thrilled to have a pretty toy with parts he's familiar with! his fingers nudge your prostate as he suckles on your tip to draw out your sweet noises. he takes you down his throat with ease, tongue lapping at your base - the combination of art's deft fingers working your hole and his hot throat clenching your length brings you to the edge embarrassingly fast. he's always had a thing for seeing his black lip paint smeared on your balls

art has an addiction to taking upskirt pictures of your bulge imprint against your thin, practically see-through panties, slick from your precum drooling and sticking to the fabric despite your embarrassment. his guilty pleasure is taking the pics when his cum is leaking from your hole

he insists on battering your prostate until you're shooting blanks - he never lets up on your poor hole until you're fully spent and your head is empty with only his name on your pretty lips

art will ask you to be bait for him - either through dressing up prettily and then stripping down sensually and pressing your bulge, chest and ass against the windows of art’s current setup to entice horny, often intoxicated, onlookers late at night or indulging catcallers and inviting them to get it on with you back at the designated building, caressing their chest and crotch as you both giggle and meander inside. the clown always has your back and would not let you get hurt by the strangers at all, but the bait portion of his plan is extremely important to lull the victims into an optimistic headspace for them to ignore the shady setting

he scrapes his nails down your back whenever you fuck his tight ass, pale cock bobbing and leaking everywhere. he adores marking up your back with the red ridges of broken skin as he cums all over your chests, shooting warmth up and splattering it on your flushed neck

the clown loves to have you dolled up in lingerie and parading infront of him, bulge and hard nipple pressed against the soft and dainty fabric. his cock gets visibly hard at the sight of you and his head spins at the sensation as you shyly offer to help with his urge to take you then and there

if you're desperate for gender-affirming surgery, art will hone his skills in surgery and sterilization to safely give you an orchiectomy - pun intended. he'll practice and go through the motions for weeks if it means you are happy and he gets to care for you

_ _ _ _ _

thanks for reading. lmk if you liked it, i'm writing this at 5am. if i got anything wrong, don't hesitate to tell me.

stay safe.

_ _ _ _ _

@stonerinthelonlycorner

[tofuxtea]

𝟑:𝟑𝟗 𝐚𝐦 | 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — art the clown x gn!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — fluff, you paint art’s nails!, autistic!reader, lowkey just tooth rotting fluff, cuddles, autistic rambles (me fr whenever i Know Stuff) part 2 to this (i hope tumblr will let me link it, if not it’s titled Small Cuts!)

the next time he saw you, you weren’t sleeping.

the rest of miles county was, art made sure of that when he crept through your unlocked back door. you were lying on your living room sofa with your back to that door, focused on the front door. the one he’d used last time. in your lap was the bee plush from last time, stained red in some spots where he had held it.

on your head you wore bulky headphones, likely noise cancelling because when art slammed the door to test the waters, you didn’t even flinch. he rolled his eyes. how unprepared you were. ironically, while you were waiting for him, too.

he debated taking your head off with his rusted cleaver. actually doing it this time. he had no great excuse not to, but his curiosity got the better of him and he ended up planting himself right behind you to knock your headphones off.

it was playful. it only startled you for a moment, thinking your pet was jumping on your head, but you grinned when you saw the black and white clown smiling down at you. he waved his fingers almost flirtatiously, accepting the stuffed animal you once again thrust against his chest.

again, shock overcame him and he was partially upset that the familiar rush of adrenaline right before the kill of a lifetime never came. but he took the little bee and made him dance in your face, booping your nose once more.

“do you like him?” you asked. the sound of your voice looked like it scared him, like he wasn’t expecting it. “you can keep him. i named him beet.” you were pretty soft spoken despite the excitement that radiated off of you.

art eagerly nodded and hugged the stuffed animal to his chest rather theatrically. he pointed to your sofa, particularly where your legs were draped across the cushions, then at himself.

“oh, yes,” you shifted over to allow him to sit down. he bounced on the cushions, admiring how comfortable they were. then he set little beet aside and poked at your headphones. his blue eyes looked to you for permission.

you nodded and helped him put them on, holding his little top hat while he listened to your music. you glanced at your phone to see what he was listening to. “oh, i love this song. dead man’s party by oingo boingo. do you know oingo boingo?” you asked, pushing the headphones back off of one of his ears. he shook his head, clearly enjoying your choice of song. “it’s nice, right?”

he listened as best as he could to your aimless rambles about the band and the music and how the lead singer was the singing voice of jack skellington from a movie he’d never had the interest to see. you hugged your knees to your chest and watched him. rather, his hands.

he held the headphones to his ears, giving you a good view of his dirtied hands. his gloves were pristine white but his fingernails were crusted with dirt and the remnants of something red. you moved slowly as to not startle him and tapped his arm, gesturing for his hand. reluctantly, he allowed you to take it onto your knee.

he stared at you while you observed the state of his nails. they were a good length, so he likely clipped them and didn’t bite them. you held a finger up and disappeared upstairs for a while. when you came back down, you had two handfuls of equipment. scrubbers, lotions, bottles, nail polish.

“may i see?” you asked, the products laid out in your lap.

it was intimidating. this was a typical setup before he burned someone alive with acid and skinned them. who was to say you wouldn’t do the same?

but you hadn’t yet.

so he stretched his arm out to you. he placed his hand in your lap while you scooted closer, draping your legs across his lap with his permission. the song eventually changed and he zoned out to concentrate on the new one, rocking to the rhythm of it.

you wet his hand with some oils after removing his glove and rubbed it in before going in with a little brush that got rid of the dirt and flecks of paint. then you filed his nails and prepped them for black polish that you painted on with precision. when you finished one hand, you waited for him to give you the other.

he admired the job you did, smiling and pointing at his nails. you nodded along. “do you like it?” he gave you a thumbs up with his free hand, waving his wet nails around to dry faster. “be careful, or it’ll ruin.” you praised his carefulness.

art patted his lap, helping you comfortably onto his legs so you could easily do his other hand. you repeated the process, narrating it to him this time. a few times, you had to tell him to hold still when he’d get carried away with the music.

when both were finished and dry, you helped him put his gloves back on and giggled at how excited he was by the new little makeover. he hugged you close, wiggling you around like a kid with a stuffed animal bigger than itself.

he was quite comfortable to sit on, and he allowed you to for the next couple of hours while you talked about each song that he listened to. he appeared to like your music taste. “this is my monthly playlist.” you informed him when he started to click around on your phone. he went to several different playlists and tapped on random songs until settling on one he liked.

“korn? i didn’t see that coming.” you shrugged. you very quickly got to rambling about facts you knew about that band. after a bit, you started to grow tired and curled up against him, resting your head on his shoulder. it was getting pretty late but you didn’t want the moment to end.

art reached over and grabbed beet, placing him in your lap. he knew you were close to gone when your chatter began to die down. he had to admit, he liked hearing you talk. it was certainly a pleasant change from screaming and crying.

he didn’t mind when it came to a stop and you had melted against his chest with steady, soft snores. subconsciously, your arm had loosely wrapped around his torso. it was odd. normally if someone managed to get this close to him, they wouldn’t be breathing anymore. yet here you were, sleeping so soundly in his lap.

with his manicured hands, he scooped you up and walked you upstairs to your bed. he placed you down gently and tucked a spare plushie into your arms. you didn’t stir.

he left your headphones on top of your coffee table beside your phone when he took his leave, alone with a little note that read: ART :)

lowkey based on a fanart i saw where he had black painted nails ugh i love him so much im fully convinced i’d get through to him and he’d be my bestie (let me be crazy pls) + i feel like he’d be so patient with autistic ppl (still delusional) yippee

[viiiiiiiiiin]

How they confess their love for you !! PT. 2

Includes: Shanks , Buggy , Roger , Rayleigh , Shakky , Smoker , Tashigi , Mihawk.

Pt. 1 , Pt. 2 (Here) , Pt. 3

Masterlist

Red Haired: Shanks

He's been with many women , men , and people in between. Hookups , bar dates , etc. He never thought he'd actually catch feelings for one of his flings until he met you.

You were surprised to join his crew (since it was all men) , but you proved to be a great comrade.

He loves how headstrong you are , how captivating you look , how you battle , and so much more.

He became increasingly more obvious that he was head over heels for you , as pointed out by one of his conversations with Mihawk himself.

One night , during a celebrating , the crew was mostly drunk , eating , or dancing. Shanks was one of the drunken pirates laying around.

He was hanging out near you. You watched him since you weren't drunk and wanted to make sure he was okay.

While he rested his head in your lap , he told you how beautiful / handsome you are to him. While you processed his words , he continued about how he much he loves you.

But he vaguely remembered saying those things in the morning. Mostly because you were there , laying beside him.

Buggy the Clown

He was oblivious to his feelings for you.

When you joined up with him , he felt as if he was on top of the world because of having someone strong like you on his side.

Eventually , he fell head over heels for you. It was extremely obvious. He had a huge soft spot for you , would only listen to you , would turn red around you , would yell at you less , etc.

He couldn't even tell until Alvida brought it up to him. She told him that what he felt was love and he FREAKED out.

He's never been in love before. He doesn't know how to handle his emotions and such , so he tries to distance himself from you to make the feelings fade.

But they only grew.

One day , you brought some food to his room. You wanted to see if he was okay. You didn't bother knocking since he knew it was you.

You placed it on his desk and sat near him to check in on him.

That was a mistake.

As soon as you did , he blurted out a bunch of nonsense. The only thing you caught was that he was in love with you.

You told him you felt the same and surprised the fuck out of him.

Pirate King: Gol D. Roger

He was also oblivious to the fact he was in love with you , but his entire crew knew.

Even Buggy and Shanks knew.

Rayleigh talked to him about it and Roger admitted that you did make him feel weird. Though , he never thought anything of it. He though you were just his closest companion.

Rayleigh told him that he was in love with you and he should just tell you.

And he did.

As bluntly as possible.

He didn't even sugar coat it.

He just straight up told you on a random day while you two were hanging our.

It shocked the fuck out of you , but you told him you felt the same.

That same , handsome smile that's always on his face grew.

His entire crew was in SHOCK.

They knew how he felt , but they didn't expect him to confess like this.

Dark King: Silvers Rayleigh

He's a very wise man. He's the righthand of the pirate king , so he has to be (also because Roger is a bubble head who runs right into danger with a smile on his face).

He knew. He knew the second that his heart skipped a beat around you. He accepted it and observed you silently.

Like Robin , he finds out your hobbies and stuff you like.

When he finally decides its the right time to confess , he gets you some flowers and confesses to you on a beach island you his landed on.

You were shocked. You never expected the DARK KING himself to be in love with you. Especially because you felt the same.

You told him you felt the same , and he embraced you. He held onto you for God knows how long , but you both enjoyed it.

Former Empress of Amazon Lily: Shakuyaku (Shakky)

Like Rayleigh , she is very wise. That's why she runs a rip - off bar . . .

She realized she was in love with you almost immediately. It was obvious because she fell into the same illness that those before her did.

The Love Sickness.

She was obsessed with you and would flirt with you at any chance she got. She would do anything she could to turn your face beat red.

She knew what embarrassed you and what flustered you.

She used this and asked you to be her significant other , seemingly joking. This happened at her bar.

You asked if she was joking and she shook her head while smiling.

You agreed and she resigned as the empress of Amazon Lily.

You moved to Sabaody to be with her and run her bar with her.

White Chase: Smoker

Though he seems gruff , he has a massive soft side for G5 and his comrades. That includes you.

In fact , he had a bigger soft spot for you. You got away with more shenanigans , you got to hang out with him more , etc. G5 and Tashigi noticed.

He didn't , but they sure as hell did. They would tease poor Smoker about his little crush all. day.

Any chance they got , they would hook you guys up. On an island ? You twos re going together. Gotta run some errands ? Smoker and Reader can handle it !

Eventually , his feelings grew unbearable.

One evening , when you two were dining together after a battle , he blurted out his feelings.

After realizing what he did , he looked away in shame.

But you held his hand and told him you felt the same.

Though you two are together now , G5 still teases him about you.

"Captain" Tashigi

It was obvious to literally everyone , even Smoker.

She's always so nervous around you. She stumbles more often , her face is always pink around you , etc. She even works harder when you're around ! (She wants to show you that she's strong)

Even you noticed.

G5 teased her about it and did the same thing they did to Smoker. They would hook you guys up as much as possible.

Eventually , you just confessed your love to her because you knew she wouldn't do it. She told you she felt the same and you two got together.

Hawkeye: Dracule Mihawk

He could tell as soon as it came up. He's a smart man.

Since you started living with him , he knew it would most likely happen. However , he wasn't exactly sure how to tell you.

He decided to ask Perona about her opinion. Upon hearing his feelings for you , she freaked out and cheered for him.

She gave him a BUNCH of tips , pointers , and stuff like that. She told him to surprise you with flowers , dinner , and stuff you liked.

Which he did.

He brought you to the Baratie , the place famous for its food. He knew you liked that place because you grew up around the owner.

He took you there and let you go crazy with whatever you wanted to order.

At the end of yalls little dinner date , he handed you a black rose and informed you of his feelings.

With dead eyes. Like , he wasn't even nervous.

You were though.

You turned red but told him you felt the same.

He was very happy , even if he didn't look it.

He brought you back to the castle and ended the night with wine and reading (with you , of course).

[cloudzoro]

Fate | Buggy x reader x Shanks ♡

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

genre: smut, nasty nasty smut (minors dni) and a tiny little bit of fluff at the end

pairings: buggy x reader x shanks

wc: 13.3k

cw: fem!reader, bartender reader, semi public sex, a lap dance, a LOT of dirty talk, biting, piss kink, omorashi, so much oral, jealous!buggy, buggy is actually really sweet, brat tamer shanks, spanking, pussy slapping, spitting, some parts are dialogue heavy, buggy's detachable dick, shanks lowkey has a clown fetish, squirting, overstimulation, aftercare, love confessions

masterlist | one piece masterlist

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Your childhood friends, Buggy and Shanks, both found your bar around six months ago and have been hooking up with you ever since. The connection the three of you have runs much deeper than mindless sex so you finally get them in the same place at the same time so you can fuck like animals and confess your love.

a/n: I'm so fixated on buggy right now i literally can't think of anything else

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You're just starting your evening shift at your bar when a familiar hat and blue pigtails comes sauntering into the building.

“Hi, Buggy,” you call, and your old friend wanders up to the bar with a grin on his face.

“Hi, sweetheart. We’ll have whatever you got. We're celebrating tonight,” he says. You nod and signal to one of your security guys to go down to the basement and get the big barrels you're not strong enough to carry. You don't need to worry about any trouble at the bar when Buggy and his crew are there, though you worry that one day he'll be here at the same time as the actual pirate whose protection you're under.

The small island your village is on is under the jurisdiction of red-haired Shanks. Your mayor hasn't officially accepted Shanks’ offer yet. Still, you have a feeling that with all the business their pirate crew brings to your village—buying from your local farmers and frequenting your bar—he'll formally accept when Shanks returns from his next voyage. The lack of permission from your mayor doesn't matter to Shanks; he's ultimately just using this island as a base to place you under his protection.

You, Shanks, and Buggy were all on the same pirate ship as youngsters. You'd been impossibly close, inseparable at all times. After they'd had a falling out at the site of your former captain's execution, you'd refused to pick a side, and Shanks had taken you with him so he could drop you off at a quiet island where you leave your pirate life behind you.

However, after Shanks and Buggy had made a name for themselves, your history of piracy had worked its way into your present. Shanks had been the first to find you, having been the one to drop you off, and wasn't surprised to see you now owning and running one of the bars in your village. He'd walked in by himself and jokingly asked if your bar was pirate-friendly. Your security guy was about to launch forward but was stopped by you, who had called his name and ran around the bar to launch yourself into him. He hugged you back with one arm, and you welcomed his crew into your establishment. Your staff were on their best behaviour that day and respected you more after finding out you were close friends with one of the emperors of the sea.

Buggy had accidentally stumbled upon your bar but was beyond shocked to see you. He had initially threatened your village, but upon receiving a smack and stern talking to from you, he gave up embarrassingly quickly and asked politely to frequent your bar. You allowed him, glad to see him alive and warned him that you were under a different pirate’s jurisdiction. You ordered your staff to be hushed about the pirate being Shanks, so you don't scare off Buggy.

Since then, they'd been coming to your island intermittently, competing with each other without even knowing. Shanks knows there's another pirate who sometimes docks up on your island, and Buggy knows another pirate is trying to lay claim to your land, but neither of them knows it's the other. How they've avoided each other for this long is a mystery to you.

“Hello? Sweetheart?” Buggy's voice draws you from your memories, and you look up at him with a smile. What're you smiling at? You weirdo,” he says, reaching over the bar to flick your forehead. One thing both Buggy and Shanks never grew out of was their childish teasing. Buggy, in particular, likes to wind you up. Whenever you would tattle to your old man, Rayleigh, about the boys teasing you, he would insist that it was because they had a crush on you.

“Nothing, Buggy. I was just reminiscing about the old days,” you say. He rolls his eyes and calls you a sentimental fool. Buggy turns his attention to the bar behind you. He detaches his hand from his body and reaches for the top-shelf whiskey. He's too much of a lightweight for it. You know that much, so you snatch it back and scold him for using his power to rob you of money. You never realised how differently you view your ‘lovers’ compared to everyone else until your staff asked how you have the balls to tell them off and flirt with them, fearing losing a limb for messing with an emperor. Buggy begrudgingly listens; you're the only person he can't bring himself to argue with. He can tease you and wind you up until the cows come home, but if you look genuinely upset, he fills with guilt immediately.

Your security guy comes back with a barrel of cheap booze and helps you set it up. You start to serve it up, beginning with Buggy and then calling over his crewmates. You ensure everyone is served before returning to cleaning glasses and steins to ensure you're on top of things.

Buggy keeps a keen eye on you as you move around the bar, busying yourself with odd jobs. You can feel the clown watching you, and you feel your skin heating up. Your friendship with Shanks and Buggy has always been more than platonic, especially now that you're all grown adults and you own a bar. They're always sneaking you off on breaks or taking you home after to fuck you. They're very different in the bedroom; Shanks is confident and in control, whereas Buggy takes care of you, but ultimately you're in charge. Buggy’s an emperor of the sea now, so you're curious to see if that's helped his confidence. Insecurity usually had him doubting himself in the bedroom, leading to him easily bending to your will for a bit of praise. He appeared to be more sure of himself when he walked in, so you take that as a good sign.

You're focused on the bottles behind the bar when you feel a tug at your skirt. You look down to see a hand creeping under your skirt. The hand slides around to squeeze your ass, and you turn around to see Buggy, handless, staring at you. His hand works its way to the front and slips beneath your panties, collecting your wetness on his fingers. You want to scold him, tell him off for touching you in public, but the predatory grin he's giving you right now is turning you on so bad. Typically, if you told him off, Buggy would drop to his knees and ask to eat you out as an apology, but you're curious to see if his boldness can translate into something more dominating.

You ask your friend to cover you while you go on a break. Buggy follows you as you round the bar and go through the back door to the staff-only area. He wasn't subtle about it. You know most of his crew just saw him go in here.

Buggy catches up to you when you're near a staff storage room, and he attaches his hand back right in time to push you into the room and turns you around to back you up against the door. He immediately attaches his lips to yours. His kiss is heated and messy, hot tongues pressing against each other. Buggy’s hands come up to squeeze your tits through your top, and he drops his kisses to your neck. You were thankful he had come in without makeup tonight, so you don't have to explain to your staff how your neck ended up covered in red lipstick. It happened to you once and was embarrassing for both of you, so you appreciate the consideration. He drops to his knees, kissing your thighs, and as his hand reaches for your panties, you stop him.

“Bug, wait. My break is only ten minutes. We don't have time for all this.” You say, pulling him up by his hair. “Just fuck me properly”, You whine, pulling him into a kiss. He lets you guide it before you get tired of messing around. You want to see how his status as an emperor and newfound confidence has changed the way he fucks you.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks, turning you around and grinding his hard cock against your ass.

“Yes, and I want you to fuck me hard. You're a Yonko now. Where's all that power and aggression?” you ask. Your teasing question works; Buggy's voice is barely above a growl when he responds.

“You wanna see my real power?” he asks, punctuating his question with a slap to your ass. This is exactly what you've been waiting for with Buggy. You nod, and he turns you back around again. He doesn't look mad. There's no dark glint in his eye, and he just looks excited. You know Buggy, he'll never be a hard dom, but you just want to see more control from him, and that is exactly what he's showing. “I need words.”

“yes. I want you so bad.” Buggy smiles at your consent, leaning against the storage cupboard wall. He pushes you down on your knees and undoes his belt and trouser button.

“If you suck my dick for me right now, I promise I'll take you back to my ship and destroy your tight little pussy” You nod and waste no time reaching up to free his cock from his trousers. Buggy laughs at your eagerness. He doesn't receive this kind of sexual attention much, so you tend to fluster him, though he's not letting it show tonight. When you finally get his hard cock in your mouth, he moans embarrassingly loud. He throws his head back, staring at the ceiling as you work him into your mouth. He's all too aware of the fact that he'll cum down your throat the second he makes eye contact with you. “What would people say about you if they opened this door to see you on your knees for a pirate captain? And an emperor, no less,” he says, hips bucking into your mouth slightly as he gets closer to his orgasm. “What would Shanks say if he saw you like this?”

You moan around his cock at the question, and his hips stutter forward, breaking his rhythm. His cock harshly hits the back of your throat, and you gag slightly, pulling off of him. He uses his grip on your hair to pull you back to his cock. You want Shanks and Buggy to fuck you together more than anything. He's never spoken to you like this before, making you gush.

You slip a hand between your legs as you take his cock back into your mouth. Buggy finally looks down at you and groans when he notices what you're doing.

“Are you really touching yourself to the thought of red hair catching us?” he asks, scoffing. “I bet a horny slut like you would want him to join in” You know, Buggy's just as attracted to Shanks as you are, and you feel his cock twitching in your mouth at the mental image of sharing you with him. It doesn't take him much longer to cum. He cums down your throat and helps you wipe off any stray drops of cum that missed your mouth. He pulls you into a kiss as you tuck him back into his underwear and zip up his trousers for him. Buggy almost looks embarrassed at how quickly he's cum, but he quickly gets over it when he realises how turned on you are.

“I'm the boss here, you know. I can cut my shift short if I want to,” you say, pulling him in for another kiss. Buggy feels a stirring in his stomach when he kisses you. It's been happening for years; he chalks it up to being impossibly horny and refuses to look further into it. You go back into the bar and tell your staff that your shift is over, and you trust them to lock up. As you walk back to the Big Top with Buggy, he tells you stories about what he's been up to since he last left your island.

Buggy brings you onto his ship and down to his captain's quarters. As soon as you're in his space, the door is swung shut, and Buggy all but pounces on you. He pulls you into a rough kiss, walking you to the middle of the room. You occupy his thoughts all day, every day. He fantasises about your pretty self putting on a show just for his eyes. He sometimes wants to ask you if you can dance and see if he can ask you to give him a private performance. He’s finally got a chance to fulfil multiple of his fantasies at once, so he doesn’t hesitate in taking it. He pulls away, breathing heavily. He sits down on his throne, which has been pushed up against a wall, and leaves you standing in the middle of the room.

“Take it off for me, give me a show,” he says, leaning back. “make it flashy.”

You start with your top, taking care to remove it slowly. You feel one of his hands squeeze your tits. You whimper at the stimulation, and Buggy laughs. You carefully push your skirt's waistband over your hips until you can drop the garment to the floor. You turn around and hook your fingers in your panties, pulling them down your legs. You go to kick off your heels, but Buggy's hand grabs your ankle to stop you.

“keep ‘em on,” he says. You turn back around to look at him and see he's shirtless, hair down, palming his hard cock through his trousers. You notice he's become more like Shanks now that he's trying to take control. His hand grabs hold of yours so he can drag you over to where he's sitting. He pulls you to his lap so you're straddling him. He guides his cock to your entrance and kisses your neck and shoulders as you take him to the base. “ride me, baby,” he growls.

You obey, lifting your hips upward and slamming them back down. You both moan at the way his cock feels dragging against your walls. Buggy soaks in your pretty noises as his fingers dig into your hips to guide you.

You lean down to capture Buggy in a kiss, tilting your head to avoid his cute nose. Kissing Buggy always feels like you're unravelling a secret; the big scary clown pirate emperor is really just your silly man who wants to take good care of you. You feel close, and you start to drag your hips, grinding down on him. You whimper into the kiss, prompting a laugh from Buggy, who uses his grip on your hips to hold you in place while he fucks up into you.

“I'm gonna cum”, you moan, dropping your head to his shoulder.

“Yeah? Go on then. Make a mess for me”. All it takes is a few more thrusts to reach your high. Buggy watches intently as your orgasm crashes over you. He groans as you scratch at his back. He manages to hold off his orgasm as you come back to your senses. “Can you give me another one?” he asks.

“Didn’t you promise me you were going to destroy my pussy?” you say, pulling him into another kiss.

“I did, didn't I?” he says, before moving forward and laying you down on the fluffy rug spread across the floor. He's on his knees, hovering over your body. He pushes his cock into you again, groaning at how sensitive you both are. He braces himself with his elbows on either side of your head, and then he starts to fuck you properly. He grunts in your ear as he fucks you down into the floor. His cock fills you up so well that it is almost embarrassing how you whimper about it. Buggy loves the rush of adrenaline he gets from fucking you. How you cling to him and whine about how good he feels makes him feel like he could do anything. Your hands fly to his hair as he rearranges your insides, and he moans as you harshly tug at his hair. “That's it. Let me know how good I'm fucking you.”

Your second orgasm hits you like a freight train. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder as you gush around his cock. His orgasm follows closely behind, and he bites down harder as he fills you up with his cum. He tries his best to fuck you through both of your orgasms, and when your walls finally stop pulsing around his cock, he slips out of you carefully. He cleans you up with tissues and then carries you to his bed. He changes into pyjamas and then climbs into bed with you.

“Stay here for tonight. I'll take you home in the morning,” he says, moving a piece of hair out of your face. Buggy is not typically so affectionate with you after you sleep together; he’s never mean to you, but he’s never this soft. It makes you wonder what's changed.

“Are you leaving tomorrow?” You ask, cuddling up to his chest.

“Nope, we still have one more day here.”

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Buggy returns to your bar again the next night. He’s doing his usual routine of staring at you, drinking less than all of his crew and waiting to get you alone so that he can fuck you. He’d reminiscing about his previous trip to the island after you’d left the ship that morning, and he’s been having shameful thoughts about trying a specific gross kink with you. You and Buggy had hooked up before. You're no stranger to his wilder kinks, but there's still one that he's been keeping from you up to this point. He thinks he's finally got you comfortable enough to try it. He's been trying to buy you drinks all night, but you've insisted on being a good little bartender and drinking water instead, which was his plan all along. You don't realise Buggy has only had one drink, wanting to stay sober for what he's going to do with you tonight.

He overhears you complaining to one of your coworkers about needing to piss, and his cock twitches in his trousers as he thinks about the night he saw you piss yourself.

It had been an accident; you'd been out drinking with him, and there wasn't a toilet around, but you didn't want to go outside, so you had to try and make it to the next bar without pissing yourself. You were almost there when you felt it start to come out. You made a run for it, and Buggy followed you to guard you. However, he didn't turn around to check for onlookers. He just shielded your body from view with his own. He was too busy staring at the puddle you were making on the floor as you pulled your already-wet underwear down so you could go in the alley. It should have been gross, but he couldn't look away. He couldn't stop thinking about burying his face between your legs.

He hears you ask your coworker to cover you so you can go to the bathroom, and she denies you, saying you close in ten minutes and asking you to hold it. The way you whine in response reminds him of how you whine to him when he teases you. He turns around, facing you. You're standing behind the bar in little black shorts, a crop top and heels, driving him insane. He's grateful for your bar's questionable short and all-black dress code.

After ushering the Buggy pirates out of the bar, you rush through your cleaning and leave your coworker to lock up. You step outside the bar and are met with Buggy waiting for you, leaning against an opposite wall. He's watching the way you walk over to him with a grin on his face. You're wobbling, desperate to piss, and trying to hold it in. You're fidgeting, and it makes Buggy laugh. You scold him, which he pays no mind to before lifting you over his shoulder and carrying you to your home, which isn't far from the bar.

As soon as he's in the door, he puts you down and watches as you run towards your bathroom. Like the predator he is, he lures you into a false sense of security by encouraging you to go to the toilet while he puts your stuff down. However, when you get to the bathroom door, you're greeted by one of his hands holding it closed. You try to get it to let go, but it's no use. Buggy is stronger than you. You scream Buggy's name in anger, and suddenly, his hand is joined by the rest of him.

“Can I help you, sweetheart?” he asks, feigning ignorance and moving his hands to your hips now that his body is blocking the door.

“Please move, Bug. I need to go so bad. It's not funny,” you whine, nearly in tears from the pressure on your bladder. Buggy pulls you into a messy kiss, and when you pull away, he expects to see you glaring. Instead, you're looking up at him with teary eyes and the cutest little pout. He wants to ruin you. “I need the toilet,” you whimper.

“There's one right here,” he says, patting his thighs, and you immediately stop struggling in his grasp. You look up at him in bewilderment.

“That's not funny.”

“I'm not joking,” he responds, leaning down to kiss your neck. “If you think it's too gross, I'll move, but I want to feel you let it go so bad.” He groans into your ear before resuming his kisses. He can tell you're thinking it over.

“What about the mess?” You ask, voice shaky and unsure.

“I'll clean it up.”

“Okay,” your voice is small and desperate, but having your permission launches Buggy into action. He lifts you and carries you over to the guest bedroom that he sometimes crashes in when he's docked here. He dumps you on the bed and helps you strip down to your underwear. Your hands instinctively fly between your legs to cup your pussy, but Buggy is quick to swat them away. He grips the back of your thighs and pushes your legs up towards your chest. Buggy leans down to kiss your stomach, leaving red lipstick marks in his wake. You moan as you finally start to relieve yourself. Buggy leans back, gaze fixed on your cunt.

“Yeah. That's it, baby. Let go for me,” he encourages as he watches you make a mess of your underwear, the sheets, and his trousers. You almost hate how good it felt. Buggy leans down to kiss you, but it's a kiss full of aggression and desperation. “That was so fucking hot,” he growls into the kiss.

He pulls away from the kiss to stare at you, from his makeup all over your skin to your soiled underwear; he wishes he had a camera on him right now. He reaches down and pulls your underwear off, tucking the soaked fabric into his trouser pocket to take with him when they depart from your island. Your exposed pussy has him drooling, and then he hears you whimpering for him to do something other than stare at the mess you made. He can tell the embarrassment is starting to creep in, so he leans back down to your face, shushing you and kissing your lips. He savours the kiss, knowing you probably won't kiss him for the rest of the night after what he's about to do.

Buggy drops to his knees on the floor and drags you closer to the edge of the bed. He then dives right in, licking and sucking at your pussy. He buries his tongue in your hole, moaning loudly at the taste. He'd fantasised about doing this to you for months, but none of his dreams come close to how it feels to have you with him right now, indulging in his dirtiest fantasy. He drags his long tongue back up to your clit and suctions his mouth around it, flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud. You're so close to cumming, and with the relief you've already had tonight, you feel tears start to pool.

“Please, Buggy. I'm so close,” you moan, bucking your hips up into his face. Buggy's hands hold you in place as he sucks harshly on your clit as pushes two fingers into you. You moan and arch your back as he fingers you open. His tongue feels so good, and the extra stimulation of his fingers has an orgasm washing over you easily. You moan Buggy's name as tears roll down your face. He's completely focused on drawing your orgasm from you. He licks at every drop that leaks from your sweet pussy.

When you've calmed down, Buggy rises to his feet. He stares down at you like he's staring at his last meal. Your makeup is just as smudged as his. Your skin is covered in remnants of him. You're a vision of pleasure, panting and drooling as you come down from your intense orgasm. Buggy commits the sight to his memories. He towers over the bed, reminding you of how big Buggy is.

“You ready for me?” he asks, detached hands groping your body. When you nod and give him permission to fuck you, he grins something evil. He attaches his hands and manoeuvres you up the bed so your head is against the pillows. He wastes no time pushing his cock into you; if you haven't woken up the neighbours yet, then you definitely will when Buggy starts to thrust his hips. “You look so pretty under me,” he coos. “I should take you to sea with me so I can fuck you on my ship every day,” he says. You know you're close; you feel the tension building inside you. Buggy knows it, too. He can feel your pussy clenching down around him. Right as the tension is about to snap, Buggy pulls his cock out of you, stopping your orgasm in its tracks. You cry out in frustration.

“It's okay, I got you. I just need you to turn over for me,” he says, helping you turn onto your hands and knees. He slowly pushes his cock back into your waiting pussy. He slides a hand over the skin of your back, and then he pauses. He spots the mark on the back of your shoulder. It's a love bite Shanks had given you during your last hookup a few days prior to Buggy arriving. “Who else are you fucking?” he asks, filled with rage. You want him to continue, but you're unsure how he'll react to hearing Shanks' name after all this time.

“Bug, listen-” He doesn't listen. Buggy’s insecurity and the feelings for you he's mostly ignored have risen to the surface. He drapes his whole body over yours to speak directly into your ear.

“If you want to cum, you better tell me who else has been inside of my woman” His voice is low and threatening, and it has you gushing and clenching around him.

“Shanks,” You say, trying to move on Buggy's cock that's still inside of you. Buggy goes completely silent, not growling and panting like he had been seconds ago. It's like his rage has been quelled.

“red-haired?” he asks in shock. You nod the best you can while being squished underneath him. You're expecting another spell of rage, but you feel Buggy's smile against your skin instead. “you promise it's only us?”

“Yes, Buggy. I promise. Now please make me cum” you whimper. Buggy gives in immediately, rutting his hips against yours with reckless abandon. If anything, he's more passionate and determined to make you cum after finding out you've also been with his self-declared nemesis.

“Cum for me,” he says, voice easily cutting through your moans. Your body obeys him without question, slamming face-first into your orgasm like you were made just for him. He cums along with you, pulling out and spilling over your back. Once you've both finished, he reaches for the tissues you keep on the bedside table and wipes his cum off your back.

He then carefully picks you up and carries you to the bathroom, setting you down on the toilet seat. He starts running the shower. As he waits for the water to heat up, he brushes his teeth and tongue with the spare toothbrush you keep for him. He jokes that you can kiss him now and laughs when he looks down at you to see you puckering your lips. He indulges, pressing an overly dramatic kiss to your lips. He tries to calm his heart when you laugh at his silliness, but he can no longer deny his feelings. To distract himself, he ushers you into the shower so he can clean you up properly. He's got both of you clean and in your bed within no time.

He lies next to you in bed, indulging himself in the domestic side of you despite knowing he's got to leave for another voyage tomorrow. He lets you press kisses all over his face and ask him questions about his adventures that he's more than happy to fill you in on. After a while, a comfortable silence fills your bedroom, and Buggy thinks you're finally going to fall asleep so he can leave. He's not quite so lucky; amidst the silence, you raise a hand to cup his cheek and say something that makes his heart feel like it's about to burst out of his chest.

“You're so pretty without makeup, Bug” He's not used to these kinds of compliments, and he buries his face in your neck, grumbling at you to ‘shut the fuck up and go to sleep.’ You listen, giggling as you get comfortable against your pillows.

You hear Buggy call you the most precious jewel on the grand line and realise he must think you’re asleep. You don’t have the heart to wake up and embarrass him so you keep your eyes closed as you take in his sweet compliments and confessions he could never say to you whilst awake.

When you wake up, Buggy is gone from your bed. You check the guest room to see new sheets have been put on the bed, and you look out the window to see your soiled sheets freshly washed and on the line. You smile to yourself as you go downstairs to make breakfast for yourself. Both of your men now know you're sleeping with both of them and if your calculations are correct - and all goes well on their voyages - then both of your men will return to your village on the same day.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A few days pass, and your shifts feel boring without your pirate men bothering you the whole time. You had taken to dressing up a little more for work just in case one of them comes back early and walks into the bar while you're on shift.

Tonight, you're wearing a black minidress and thigh-high boots. You know you look good, having spent 10 minutes staring yourself down in the mirror before leaving the house. Neither of your men showed up at the bar. You'd heard whispers about a pirate ship docking up and gotten your hopes up. You swing open your front door, sulking over the lack of your not-yet boyfriends. However, when you wander through the door, you notice a tall figure blocking the doorway to your living room. At first, he startles you, but you give him a warm smile when you finally realise who it is.

“Hi, Mr.Beckman”, you say, offering him your hand, which he presses a kiss to. He informs you that his captain is waiting for you in the living room, and then he takes his leave after apologising for invading your privacy. You tell him he's welcome anytime and thank him as he leaves your home, leaving you with the red-haired man you find sitting on your sofa.

“Shanks!” you yell, surprised that he's come home a day early. He stands up to catch you as you run into his arm. He picks you up and spins you around, leaving a kiss on your forehead. “You're early”, you point out.

“We were ahead of schedule, and I wanted to see my girl,” he says, pulling you in for a proper kiss. “this dress looks so good on you”, he groans into the kiss before pulling back and asking you to do a twirl so he can check you out properly. He whistles lowly as his eyes take in every inch of your body, all dressed up for him.

“I wore this for you. I've been waiting for you to come back. Why don't you come see what's underneath it?” you say, guiding his big hand under your dress. When Shanks finds his path to your cunt, unobstructed by any panties, he laughs. He moves his hand from your dress, smoothing down the skirt of your dress and then lifting his hand to your chin to tilt your face towards him.

“As much as I want you to give me a proper welcome home, I need to talk to you,” he says, pecking your lips and sitting on the sofa. Shanks pats the space next to him, and you sit down, tucking yourself into his side. “I heard rumours kicking around that my sweet girl has been getting cosy with another pirate”, he says, and you roll your eyes at him, partially because he won't be mad when he finds out who it is and partially because you're not exclusive with either of them.

“It's Buggy,” you say, swinging a leg over Shanks to straddle his lap. His momentarily stormy expression relaxes when he hears the name of the third party in your trio.

“Buggy?”

“I know, I was surprised too. It's like fate is trying to keep us together. I've always belonged to you guys,” You say, grinding your hips down over his hardening cock. Neither you nor Shanks have ever been shy about how you feel about Buggy, but he was always too prideful to admit his feelings. Shanks is smiling now that he knows you haven't been disloyal to him. “he'll be back tomorrow if everything goes to plan,” you say.

“I'd bet you'd like having us both together, wouldn't you, baby?” he teases, bucking his hips upwards and knocking you forward into his chest. “you'd like to take both our cocks in this slutty pussy” The addition of Buggy, though he's not physically there, has ignited Shanks. He's launched into action, talking filthy in your ear as you grind your bare pussy over his crotch. “But you'll have to deal with just me tonight. Is one cock gonna be enough to fuck my greedy girl?”

You nod frantically, adjusting yourself so that you're grinding against his thigh. He chuckles at your eagerness and guides your hips over his leg. You ride his thigh as he leans back into the sofa cushions and watches you. He keeps his hand settled on your hips as you drag your pussy over the muscle of his thigh. Shanks notices you're getting close to an orgasm and tightens his grip to stop you from reaching your high. You whine in protest, and he can tell you're about to start complaining, but he cuts you off himself.

“I want to taste your cum”, he says, pushing you to stand up. He laughs as you stand on wobbly legs. He tugs at the bottom of your dress, signalling for you to take it off while he removes his clothes. He pauses between removing articles of clothing to watch you shimmy the dress down your pretty body and kick it off. Seeing you naked is better than any treasure Shanks could find at sea. Once he's naked, he lies back against the sofa and then beckons you back over to him. “take a seat”, he instructs, helping you straddle his face without falling off the couch.

You lean forward, taking a testing lick at his cock as his tongue makes contact with your pussy. He wastes no time shoving his tongue into your hole and licking at your walls. You moan loudly as you begin to take his cock into your mouth. His cock is thick, and it tests the stretch of your pretty lips. Shanks moves his tongue so your clit, licking and sucking at it as you start to bob your head.

You're both laser-focused on making each other cum. Shanks suctions his mouth around your clit, flicking his tongue over it as he makes out with your pussy. Considering he only has one arm, his grip on you is steady as he holds you in place. You try your best to take his cock as far as you can, and when you take him to the base without choking, you feel the vibrations of his moans against your pussy. Shanks is always vocal, letting you know how good you are.

You start to struggle when you get close to your orgasm. You can't focus on sucking him or bobbing your head while you're moaning and whimpering.

“OK, baby. That's enough,” he says, squeezing your thighs to keep your attention on his words. “Just let me make you cum”, he says, pulling back down to his face once again. His grip is sturdy and keeps you steady as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. He loudly cleans up every single drop from your cunt. Your tense, shaking muscles don't phase him as he holds you in place. He only lets go once he's sure you're done.

Shanks helps you up before standing up and grabbing your hand, letting you pull him through the house and into your bedroom. He lifts you with one arm and kisses you before planting you onto your bed. He tells you to lay back against the pillows, and you follow without question. Shanks climbs onto the bed, sitting on his knees between your legs.

“You're so beautiful”, he says, staring at your naked body so intensely that his gaze has you shifting in discomfort.

“stop staring at it and just fuck me” you whine. Shanks looks up at you with a dark grin that reminds you of who you're dealing with. You've had your soft, warm welcome home, and now it's playtime. Shanks is far more in control than Buggy; riling up Shanks isn't as easy. A little bit of attitude and lack of manners is a good start.

“You wanna tell me what to do, princess?” he asks, you know it's a rhetorical question but you answer anyway.

“I'm not telling you what to do. I'm just giving you a heavy-handed suggestion,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him. He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but you know he's enjoying it; his cock is hard and leaking. He uses his strength to turn you over onto your hands and knees. Once you're in position, he lands a smack on your bare ass, making you gasp.

“How's that for heavy-handed?” he says, massaging the area he had smacked to soothe it.

“More”, you sigh, “Please, Captain”. He groans at the title. You had taken to calling him captain in the bedroom; it is his official title, and it's a reminder of his strength and power. He obliges, giving you a few more swats on the ass before rolling you back over so you can lean your head against the pillows.

“Do you misbehave for Buggy too, or are you a good girl for him?” he asks, leaning over to look into your eyes. He knows your answer is going to annoy him when he sees the cocky smile that settles on your face.

“It's neither. Buggy is a good boy for me,” Shanks laughs, not at all surprised by your confession. “Although he did take charge last time, I guess being a yonko boosted his confidence,” you said, smiling while remembering your most recent time with Buggy. Shanks is still looking at you with his eyebrow raised. “And I was good as gold for him”, you tease, tangling your hands in his red locks and pulling him into a kiss.

“You can behave for other men, but you can't help yourself with me," he says, pressing his fingers to your mouth. You obey his wordless instructions and take them into your mouth. Now that you're gagged, Shanks can speak without backtalk, and your pussy drools with every word that leaves his mouth. “I was going to be nice; fuck you nice and slow and make love to you, but you just can't help running this bratty mouth. I missed my sweet girl and her perfect pussy, but now I have to deny myself to teach you a lesson.” he pulls his fingers from your mouth, waiting to hear a quiet “sorry, captain” from you.

When you apologise, he presses his thumb against your clit and rubs in circles, chuckling at the way you moan out and open your legs. He pushes two spit-soaked fingers into your hole and warns you to keep still as your hips buck up into his hand. You try your best to stay still as Shanks, who holds an unbothered expression on his face, plays with your pussy. He rubs your clit with his thumb while he fingers you. Having one arm has aided with his fingering skills. He hasn't set a rule on volume, and he never has; in all the punishments he's given you, he's never cut off your ability to tell him how good he makes you feel. He's too enamoured with your voice to gag you for more than two minutes. You moan and whimper and beg for him to speed up. The stimulation he's providing you with feels so good, but it's not enough to send you over the edge.

His cock is red and drooling precum. You know he's as desperate as you are, but he's holding himself off.

“Don't you wanna feel good, Captain? I can jerk you off,” you say, reaching out towards him. He shakes his head, pulling his fingers from your cunt only to slap it, fingers smacking harshly against your clit, making you yelp. You're so close to cumming.

“thought I told you to keep fucking still”, he growls, returning to his task of slowly fingering for you. He looks up at your face, expression faltering at the tears starting to pool in your eyes. “Just be good for me, sweetheart,” he says, his voice softening. His cock twitches when he hears you say an obedient “Yes, Captain.”

He speeds up his fingers, fucking you right close to the edge and then stopping as he feels your walls start to spasm around his fingers. Having your orgasm ripped away from you prompts the tears to start falling. Shanks leans down to kiss away your tears, whispering about how pretty you look. You know what he wants to hear.

“I'm sorry, Captain. I promise I'll be good,” you beg. Shanks smiles softly, pressing his fingers to your entrance. “Please, I need to cum. I promise I won't be a brat.”

Shanks cuts off your begging by kissing you, messily pushing his tongue into your mouth. He pushes his fingers back inside of you and thrusts, curling them against your walls.

“Cum whenever you want,” he says against your mouth, intimidating demeanour gone and replaced with your sappy, loving man. You cum with a cry of his name, legs attempting to close around his hand. He works you through it, cooing at you as you gush around his fingers. He pulls his fingers from your pussy and licks them clean as you regain your breath. “tastes so fucking good.”

You watch him intently as he spits onto your pussy and uses his cock to spread it between your folds. You're still sensitive and the feeling makes you twitch. Shanks smiles at you as he pushes his cock inside you, pressing kisses on your face as you whimper at the way his cock stretches your pussy. He starts to thrust, making you arch against him. Your hands reach up to his hair as he sloppily makes out with you. When he pulls away from the messy kiss, you whine his name.

“What is it, princess?” he asks. You wordlessly open your mouth, tongue lolling out. Shanks doesn't need to be told what you want. He spits into your mouth, whispering praises as you swallow. “See what happens when you're a good girl for me?” he says, kissing you again.

Shanks is committed to making you cum, hips laying heavy thrusts as his cock all but splits you open. His lips trail over your skin like a fountain pen on paper, signing his name in invisible ink. His voice has your mind reeling. You feel delirious. You're close already, and Shanks can tell.

“Wait for me, baby. I'm almost there”, He groans, feeling the first signs of his own orgasm. You're not sure if you can hold off any longer, and you tell Shanks as much as your nails cling to his back muscles. He gives you permission to cum, and you fall right over the edge along with him. Your pussy spasms around his cock, milking him for all he's worth while you gush around him. He says something to you, but all you can make out is your name. As you start to calm, Shanks stays inside you, laying his full body weight on you.

“you wanna know something, baby?”

“hmm”

“I've been in love with you since we were eleven,” he says like it's nothing. You go to protest, but he cuts you off to continue. “Buggy is too.”

“This is just the pussy making you talk crazy,” you say, too tired to deal with Shanks's bullshit.

“Nuh-uh. Bug and I used to talk about it whenever you went crying to Rayleigh that we were picking on you.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“We found our way back to you, didn't we? Do you really think we'd be using this tiny island in the middle of nowhere as a base if we weren't obsessed with you?” He says, hand-drawing patterns over your skin.

“Whatever. Just pull out and go to sleep” You huff, and Shanks does as you ask, gently pulling out of you and rolling onto his back. He waits for you to roll over before tucking himself against your back, pulling flush against his chest. He presses a kiss to your shoulder and lets you get comfortable. Just as he's about to drift off, you softly call his name.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks.

“Say I do love you back; what would happen?”

“Honestly, not much. We'd just be official. We can stop acting like this is just sexual. If Buggy can man up and admit his feelings, we can admit nothing between us was ever casual, and it was always supposed to be this way,” he says matter of factly. You nod, turning over in his arm so you can Bury your face in his chest.

“Good night, Shanks.”

“Good night, Baby.”

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The next morning, Shanks follows you around town like a lost puppy, shadowing you as you buy groceries for the bar. He helps you carry the bags back and even helps you put away your bags when you get back. He can't help but sneak kisses between tasks, not being discreet about your feelings for each other. He's also more antsy than usual; he's sticking close to you, looking around like a meerkat and absentmindedly playing with the fabric of your top when he isn't carrying something for you.

“Are you okay? You're not usually this antsy,” you say, pressing the back of your hand against his forehead like you're taking his temperature.

“I'm just keeping an eye out for Buggy” It's kind of sweet how desperately he wants to include Buggy.

“You'll hear him before you see him,” you say, making Shanks chuckle fondly. “And that probably won't be until later tonight. When he docks up here, I usually don't see him until my shift,” you inform him. Shanks nods, chilling out with your words.

A couple of his crewmates are already drinking in your bar as you clean up, so you're ready to open. Shanks’ men are nicer to you than Buggy's. Beckman is always a gentleman; he's even played security guard for you several times, kicking out patrons who wouldn't take no for an answer. When you ask Yasopp to lift his feet so you can sweep under his table, he swings his boots onto the chair opposite him with a sharp salute and a “yes, ma'am” that has you rolling your eyes.

In comparison, Buggy's crew aren't as welcoming. His business partners have never caused any problems when he's brought them in. Crocodile and Mihawk were initially intimidating, but you won them over with your selection of wine and the knowledge that you were once an apprentice of the pirate king. Alvida was happy to have another woman to talk to after being stuck with Buggy for so long. Outside of those three, his underlings had been rather cold, and you've occasionally had to shut down the bar due to their rowdiness. You dread the two crews meeting tonight and hope the relationship between the captains can enforce an amicable atmosphere between the crews.

Your coworker comes in to complete the opening and leaves you to get ready in the staff room. Your outfit consists of a black mini skirt and a matching black top. You've already done your hair and makeup, and you know Shanks is going to have a hard time keeping his hands off of you until Buggy shows up.

As you walk back into the bar, your heels clack against the wood floor. You get a few whistles from Shanks' crew, and you're all but ambushed by the red-haired man himself, who basically corners you against the bar. His crew are no strangers to the affection between you and Shanks, so once they're done teasing their captain, they leave you be. Shanks wraps his arm around you, complimenting your outfit choice.

“Do you think you can behave yourself until Buggy gets here?” you ask as Shanks' hand cheekily slips beneath your skirt. You're suddenly reminded of Buggy doing the same thing to you with his hand. You roll your eyes at the similar tastes of your men.

“I don't know. You look good enough to eat”, Shanks growls, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek with an embarrassingly loud ‘muah’ noise that has your coworker fake gagging behind the bar. Shanks reluctantly lets you go and takes a seat at the bar. He watches you busy yourself with refilling his crew's drinks while you both wait for Buggy's arrival.

You don't have to wait long. About half an hour into your shift, the door swings open and Buggy storms in. He's by himself, meaning he probably saw Shanks through the window and sent his crew away. He's also red in the face - whether from embarrassment or rage is unclear.

“SHANKS” He yells, the top half of his body flying over to where Shanks is sitting while his legs run to catch up. Shanks looks up at Buggy fondly, and memories of your time together as a trio come flooding back as you observe them. Buggy screams something about Shanks embarrassing and betraying him, which Shanks merely laughs off. Buggy pauses mid-rant when his eyes land on you. “Hi y/n”

“Hi, Buggy,” you smile back, leaning over the bar to pull him into a kiss that clearly shocks him as it almost knocks his hat off. Shanks tilts his hat back onto his head and kisses Buggy's cheek, making him so flustered that you can practically see the steam radiating off him.

“Why don't we take our girl home and have a real conversation?” suggests Shanks. Buggy, unable to respond coherently, just nods, and Shanks tells you to get your stuff ready. You apologise to your coworker on the way out, who simply says she already knew this would happen. You and Shanks animatedly talk about the past while Buggy is uncharacteristically quiet, interjecting with his own point of view every so often. When you enter your house, you sit on the sofa, leaving your men to sit on either side of you.

“Why do we have to talk,” Buggy grumbles, tugging at the fabric of your skirt. “Why can't we just tear this off you, fuck you and then talk another time.”

“Because I don't want any problems between my favourite guys,” you say, batting your eyelashes at Buggy. Buggy gives in embarrassingly quickly, looking up at Shanks, who's bearing a similar expression to you. Buggy's heart squeezes as the feelings he's spent years suppressing rise to the surface.

“I'm not sure what I did to make you hate me,” says Shanks, but Buggy cuts him off.

“I don't hate you. I never hated you. I was willing to follow you through hell. We were supposed to find the one piece together, but then you changed your mind. I felt betrayed”

“I'm sorry, Buggy. I really am.” Shanks says, reaching across you to caress Buggy's cheeks. Buggy leans into the affection, making you smile warmly.

“Whatever. Can we get to the good stuff now? we'll handle all the emotions later.” Buggy says as his detached hand grazes Shanks’ crotch. “Besides, I think our princess wants some attention.” Shanks turns his attention to you, laughing at the pouty expression on your face. He is not done revelling in the fact that he finally has his two favourite people in front of him, so Shanks pulls Buggy in for a kiss that Buggy reciprocates with a quiet moan. They're clearly happy to have each other back, so while they kiss, you lean in and push Shanks's coat off his shoulders, pressing a kiss on his neck as you do so. When Shanks pulls away, he has a smear of lipstick around his mouth, making both Buggy and you laugh.

“You want some lipstick too, baby?” he asks, pulling you in for an enthusiastic kiss. Your teeth almost clash with how much force he puts into the kiss. It reminds you of how Buggy kisses you. It feels like he's overwhelmed and trying to pour some of his feelings onto you with his tongue, which he pushes into your mouth. You feel Buggy's mouth pressing against your neck as his hand plays with the front of your skirt. Buggy also lifts his head when you pull away from the steamy kiss. You can see how hard Shanks is, and you're sure Buggy is no different.

“There's more room on my bed than on here,” you say, starting to stand. Shanks also rises and lifts you over his shoulder. Buggy leads the way to your room, though Shanks is more than familiar with the layout of your house and lets one of his hands fly over to your ass. Your skirt isn't long enough to cover your whole ass in this position, so Buggy takes the opportunity to squeeze and grope your ass. You're thankful that Shanks is sturdy enough to be unphased by your squirming. Shanks drops you on the bed, leaving both of the men towering over you at the edge of the bed.

“There's still one thing that hasn't been addressed”, Says Shanks, twirling Buggy's hair around his finger. “Our insatiable girl has been fucking us for months behind each other's backs” You go to defend yourself and remind them that you were never exclusive with either of them, but Buggy's hands grab at you and pull you to sit up at the edge of your bed.

“You're right. I think she should have to answer for her actions. Any flashy punishments in mind?” Buggy asks. Shanks thinks it over for a second, picturing in his head all the positions both he and Buggy could put you in.

“You know how sensitive she is”, says Shanks and Buggy nods, more than familiar with how receptive you are to his touch. “I say we give her exactly what she wants; make her cum over and over again until her pretty body can't take anymore.” He says. It almost frustrates you how well they know you. Overstimulation is easy to achieve with you, and it's the perfect punishment that involves getting their dicks wet.

“I say one orgasm for every month she was hiding us from each other. When did you start seeing us, sweetheart?” Buggy asks, using his hand to keep your eyes on him. You know you can't lie. You started seeing Shanks first, and he's fully aware of how long he's had you back.

“Six months”, you say, your voice quiet. You're not even sure if you can handle that many orgasms, but you're willing to try. Both men start to strip as Buggy gruffly tells you to do the same. You're completely naked, and the two men are both in their underwear. Shanks instructs Buggy to sit up against the pillows on your bed. You do as you're told, as Shanks tells you to sit between Buggy's legs and back against his chest.

When you're in position, Shanks lies on his front, pulling you slightly down the bed so he can get a better angle to lick at your cunt. He shoves his tongue into your pussy, eating you out with vigour. He drags his tongue back up to your clit, lapping at it and then sucking at it. Your back arches away from Buggy as you cry out in pleasure. Buggy reaches up to play with your tits, adding to your stimulation. Shanks pushes two thick fingers into your pussy, as he all but makes out with it. Your fingers tangle in Shanks's beautiful red locks, similar to how he's tangled up in your heartstrings.

“Talk to us, pretty girl. Does that feel good?” Buggy asks, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth. You frantically nod, and Shanks's tongue sends shockwaves through your whole body.

“Feels amazing”

“You gonna cum?” he asks, and you nod again, gasping out a yes as you feel the familiar stirring in your stomach. “You hear that, Shanks? She's gonna cum”

Shanks waits until your moans start to shake and then pulls away, slipping his fingers out your soaked cunt and over your shoulder into Buggy's waiting mouth. Having your orgasm ripped out from under you has you crying out and writhing in Buggy's arms. Buggy's unbothered by your whining as he sucks your juices off of Shanks’ fingers. He moves his arms down to wrap around your waist. The sigh has Shanks palming himself through his underwear. Shanks looks down at you, heart softening as your eyes, wet with frustration, blink up at him. You're not being bratty today, something that surprises him. You're far too excited to have both lovers in one place to act up now.

“I said we'd give you six orgasms. I didn't say we'd give them to you easily,” says Shanks, making Buggy laugh in your ear at the way you groan. You should've known the punishment would go further. Shanks leans back down to finish his meal but stops short of actually pressing his mouth to you to tease his fingers at the entrance to your hole. You beg him to do something, eyes screwed shut in frustration. Both men coo at your desperation. “I would if only I had something a bit thicker to fill up this pretty pussy with,” he says, holding his hand out to Buggy, who grumbles something about Shanks being annoying. You can feel that Buggy’s hard cock is no longer pressing against your back, and when you open your eyes, it's in Shanks's hand. “Open that pretty mouth and stick out your tongue”, he orders.

When you open your mouth, Shanks spits onto your waiting tongue and lays Buggy's cock down on it. You hear Buggy hiss at the sensation of your tongue against his cock. Shanks spits over Buggy's cock, using his tongue to spread the saliva. You can't believe how turned on you are by this. You didn't even consider using his power in the bedroom like this. Buggy is whimpering in your ear; the sound only makes you wetter.

“Stop teasing. We're supposed to punish her, not me,” says Buggy. Shanks apologises and pulls away, instructing you to suck Buggy's cock. You obey, egged on by the praise Buggy throws at you. Shank's pulls Buggy's cock from your mouth and pushes it into your hole. Both you and Buggy moan. Shanks's eyes are fixed on where Buggy’s cock is stretching you out. He slowly starts to move, and Buggy's grip on you tightens.

“How does she feel, Bug?”

“Warm. So fucking tight,” Buggy moans. Shanks leans down to continue his earlier task of licking at your sensitive clit. This time he doesn't stop licking and sucking until you're sent over the edge. Buggy is close too but holds off the best he can while your pussy clenches around him. You moan their names as Shanks stays in position between your legs, licking you through your high. When he finally sits up on his knees, he pulls Buggy's throbbing cock from your pussy and holds it up to your lips.

“Be a good girl and finish him off”, Shanks says, whispering encouragement as you accept it into your mouth.

“Fuck, Shanks let go of it. Hold her head in place,” growls Buggy. Shanks listens, moving his hand to get a firm grip on your hair, holding you in place as Buggy starts to face fuck you. You can feel Buggy clinging to you, telling you how good your mouth feels. It doesn't take long for Buggy to cum down your throat, and you do your best to swallow the whole load. Some drips from your mouth, which Shanks is quick to clean up with his tongue. Buggy's cock goes back to his body while Shanks helps turn you over so that you're straddling Buggy. Buggy immediately pulls you into a messy kiss as Shanks sits back to appreciate the two of you.

“You're both so pretty” He coos.

“You red-haired idiot, don't say things like that”, Buggy whines, obviously flustered.

You let Shanks guide you to the middle of the bed and bend you over, shoving a pillow beneath your hips for comfort. You hear Shanks ask Buggy to hand over his belt; moments later, your hands are secured behind your back. Shanks, who's now removed his underwear, slides his hard cock between your folds. He teases your hole, pushing his tip in and then pulling away. He waits a second to take in your pretty noises before giving in to your whining and pushing his cock. He's been hard since he saw you at the beginning of your bar shift, so it's a miracle he doesn't cum as soon as he feels your pussy wrapped around his cock. He lets out a moan that has both you and Buggy drooling from how good it sounds. Shanks starts to thrust and tells Buggy to watch how well you take his cock.

Buggy, who's tying his hair out of the way, looks up at Shanks, who tells him how pretty he looks. Buggy hasn't adjusted to how sappy Shanks is and flushes completely red. Instead of answering, he just pulls Shanks into an aggressive kiss. You can hear the sounds of their kisses behind you, and the sound makes you gush around his cock.

“You feel so fucking good”, groans Shanks, reaching, running his hand down your back to grip your hair and pull you upward against his chest. Buggy moves on the bed and is now in front of you. He kisses you and reaches a hand down to rub your clit. You moan into Buggy's mouth as he speeds up his fingers. “You're squeezing me so hard,” says Shanks, heavy thrusts jolting you forward.

You cum as Shanks ruts into you, chasing his own high. Your cries of pleasure make it difficult to kiss you, so Buggy moves his mouth to the crook of your neck, cooing praises into your skin. You hear Shanks behind you moaning and cursing, dangerously close to the edge with the way your pussy walls clench around him. He cums with a shaky groan, filling you up with his cum. He relinquishes his grip on your hair, chuckling fondly as you slump forward against Buggy. Shanks massages the sore area with his hand, giving you a moment to breathe.

“How many orgasms have you had now, pretty girl?” asks Shanks.

“Two”, you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face.

“Good girl, make sure you don't lose count.” Shanks and Buggy both guide you to lie on your back, and Shanks tells Buggy to hold your legs open. Buggy does as he's told, holds your legs spread, and pushes up your chest. Shanks grabs hold of Buggy's hair and pushes him down between your legs. “Clean her up for me.”

Buggy nods as he sticks his tongue inside of your cum filled Buggy. Shanks watches as Buggy eats Shanks's cum out of you. Buggy is eager to please as he licks at your cunt. It took him a while to get the hang of eating you out when you first started hooking up, but now he has an understanding of your body that no one else has. He works you over with his tongue, your post-orgasm sensitivity pushing you to the edge quickly. If you're this sensitive already, you dread to think how you'll feel after the next few orgasms you've been promised. Shanks looks from Buggy's face to yours and immediately recognises how close you are. He tells Buggy you're near and to make you cum now. Buggy pays extra attention to your clit as you attempt to buck up into his face. He holds you down as his tongue sends you over the edge and straight into an orgasm.

You writhe as you cum, drenching Buggy's face. Buggy remains unmoved, tongue still working at you even when you start to come down again. In fact, Buggy doesn't let up at all when your third orgasm quells; he pushes two fingers into you, ready to send you into a fourth orgasm. You're ascending from one plane of existence to the next as Buggy has the next orgasm building so quickly after your last. Every nerve in your body tingles and an odd feeling settles in your lower stomach.

Shanks looks on in awe; watching his two fated mates so animalistic has him too enamoured to even worry about his hardening cock. He's sure the way you're crying out for them is disturbing your neighbours, but he doesn't have it in him to care. Shanks watches as Buggy adds another finger. The pleasure is so intense that you shift up the bed, instinctively searching for something other than the sheets to grip. Shanks moves his hand from Buggy's hair to your face, caressing your cheek and running his thumb over your lips.

“Don't run from it, princess. Let Buggy make you cum” he says, voice soft. As if on cue, you're launched into another mind-blowing orgasm. It takes a second to register that you're gushing all over Buggy's face because Buggy seems completely unbothered by it, continuing to work you through your high and prolong your orgasm. Your body feels momentarily numb as you arch off the bed, shaking as you soak the sheets beneath you. Buggy finally relents, shifting back onto his knees, wiping his face with the back of his hand and messing up his makeup. You notice the way his face, neck and torso are dripping with your juices. You feel panic rise at the fact you've just squirted everywhere, but Shanks immediately stomps it back down by pulling you into a kiss.

Once you're rolled into a spot where you're not lying in a pool of cum, you get a glance of yourself in the mirror and almost recoil in shock. Your hair is messy, and your face is covered in smudged and transferred makeup. Your body is littered with remnants of lipstick and hickeys. When you look up at Shanks and Buggy, who look equally roughed up, they're staring at you with fondness in their eyes. You can't believe the men above you are looking at you with such hunger when you look this much of a mess.

“You're so beautiful,” says Shanks. Buggy's lipstick transferred onto your face almost makes it look like you have messy clown makeup on, and it causes a stir in Shanks’ crotch that he takes note of for future reference - maybe he’ll ask you to dig in Buggy’s makeup bag. Buggy is kneeling next to him, leaning on his shoulder to catch his breath. Most of his makeup is gone, having been transferred onto you and Shanks, but he still looks radiant to you. He has a smile settled on his face, a soft, content smile you don't see often from him. It makes your stomach warm to know you have this level of connection with two people. “Do you want to stop? We can stop if it's too much. Four orgasms is alot,” says Shanks, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he observes your ragged breathing. You frantically shake your head, immediately having an answer for him.

“I don't wanna stop,” you whine. You might be sensitive, but you crave as much of them as you can get. “Please. I want more,” you beg. You move your exhausted body to kneel in front of Shanks and push him down to lie on his back. Shanks easily does what you want him to, lying back but using his elbow to hold himself up and watch you.

You crawl on top of Shanks, straddling his hips and stare down his torso, examining the canvas on which you and Buggy have made art; bright red lipstick and shiny lip gloss cover his neck and chest. You don't waste any more time, grabbing ahold of his hard cock and guiding it to your hole so you can sink down on it. You feel Buggy's presence behind you and pull him closer to you so he can help guide you down. Buggy tells you to bend forward so he can join in. He grabs a bottle of lube from the night side table, spreads it over his fingers and pushes two against the tight rim of your hole. You gasp and clench around Shanks, who groans but is careful not to jolt you. Buggy works you open with his fingers until you've had enough and beg him to fuck you properly.

“Please put it in. I can take it. I need it so bad,” you beg, knowing Buggy would give it to you anyway. Shanks laughs from beneath you.

“Weren't you all fucked out from four orgasms like ten minutes ago?” He asks, amused by your sudden eagerness. “I didn't know you had crazy stamina,” he comments. Neither did you. Buggy pulls his fingers out of you and lines his cock up with your ass hole. His hands grip your hips, a steady presence as he pushes inside you.

You let out a strangled moan as they're both bottomed out inside of you; you've never been this full before. The three of you take a second to breathe, and in the silence, it hits you: you're physically connected to the two people you love most. You've always been theirs, always connected with them beyond romance, and always believed that your very livelihoods are intertwined. You're overcome with a feeling of genuine love.

“Please move. I need you so bad,” you whimper. Your heightened emotions have tears building in your eyes that don't go unnoticed by Shanks, who looks over your shoulder at Buggy and signals him to start moving. Both men begin to thrust, and it feels so good you find yourself clawing at Shanks’ chest. Shanks’ cock twitches inside you at the thought of the marks that will be left behind. The feeling of both men filling you up quickly overwhelms you, and the tears spill down your cheeks.

“Oh, pretty girl, you're crying for us. Does it feel that good?” coos Shanks. He reaches his hand up to wipe at the tears. Buggy’s lips trail your shoulder blades as he whispers praises into your skin. Your legs start to shake, and you can barely support yourself. You're about to cum again, and both men can feel it.

“You feel so good, sweetheart. Your ass feels amazing,” moans Buggy. “Cum for us. I know you want to,” he says, hand reaching around to rub your clit. Your hand intertwines with Shanks’, and you pin it down to the bed by his head, squeezing his palm as you approach your orgasm. Shanks tries the best he can to fuck up into you harder, planting his feet on the bed for leverage.

Your orgasm is intense, and you sob about how good it feels as you lose your balance and slump forward to bury your face in Shanks’ neck. Shanks and Buggy continue their movements, chasing their orgasms. You barely have time to recover before you cum again, holes spasming around your men. Your vision goes white, your body goes numb, and you gush all over Shanks’ torso. Buggy is next to follow, teeth sinking into your skin as he fills you up. Then Shanks cums with a pretty moan before stilling inside you. You all stay in this position; naked, connected and in a sticky mess of cum and sweat. You're on the verge of passing out, so Buggy is uncharacteristically gentle as he pulls out, shushing you when you whine at the feeling. Buggy helps Shanks lift you off of him, and then the pair of them get you over to the guest bed so Buggy can clean you up. Shanks strips your bed and prepares your sheets for cleaning first thing in the morning. Buggy finishes cleaning up the mess of cum between your legs and over your hips and starts to wipe at your makeup that was ruined by his own cosmetics. Shanks returns to the guest bedroom and leans against the doorframe to watch the intimate moment between you and Buggy. A smile settles on his lips as he watches Buggy steal a kiss while wiping your makeup off.

“Ready for bed, you two?” he asks as Buggy throws away the wipes. Your bed is only a double, so the sleeping arrangement ends up being you fully on top of Shanks, resting your head on his chest. Buggy tucks himself into Shanks’ side and rests an arm over you.

“Love you,” you mumble as you drift off. Buggy doesn't respond, as he is too flustered. Instead, he kisses your temple and lies back down to you in slumber.

“I love you too, baby. I love both of you,” says Shanks before closing his eyes.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You wake up with your whole body feeling sore and drained of energy. You're noticeably alone, but you can hear the hushed voices of your lovers. You roll over to see them standing by the window, engrossed in conversation. Shanks is tucking Buggy's hair behind his ear, and Buggy looks like he’s been crying. You can’t see Shanks’ face, but imagine his expression must be similar.

“What are you guys talking about?” you ask, sitting up. Both men turn to you, looking startled. They hadn’t expected you to be awake yet. Buggy quickly wipes his tears, and Shanks wanders to the bed, sitting beside you.

“We were just clearing the air. You know that a lot happened between us, and Buggy and I were just working out our share of issues so that we could move forward with each other,” he says, leaning in to kiss your forehead and lips. Buggy hasn’t moved from his place by the window. “How are you feeling?” he asks, voice soft and deep.

“I’m okay. I feel sore, though,” you say, pouting at the two men who are the cause of your physical exhaustion. They both smirk at your pouty face, knowing damn well that you had asked them to wreck you.

“That's cute, baby. I didn’t mean that, though. I meant, how do you feel about our relationship?” Shanks clarifies. He calls Buggy to come and sit down with the two of you.

“I want to be official - no matter what happens, I'll always be yours - but how will it work? If you’re working towards being king of the pirates, you can't keep coming back here, or you’ll make no progress,” you say. Shanks nods, looking towards Buggy. The sombre atmosphere lifts as a smile splits across both of their faces.

“We spoke a bit about that earlier. It won’t be safe for you to stay here. If info about you gets out and other pirates try to go after you, you need to be somewhere we can protect you. So we think it would be good for you to come with one of us.” Buggy says, pausing to gauge your reaction. It’s been a long time since you’ve been on a pirate ship, but you have always been pretty good with a sword. Part of you feels nostalgic about being aboard a pirate ship again. Buggy and Shanks are both emperors so no matter who you went with, you'd be safer.

“If I do go with one of you, then what about the other?” you ask, not wanting anyone to be offended that you didn't pick them.

“Then we’ll keep in touch via den den mushi and letters. I'm sure we’ll also cross paths on some islands,” says Shanks.

“It’s been a long time since I've been part of a pirate crew, but I think I can go back if it means being with you”, you say, finally wearing a smile to match those of the men sitting next to you.

You still have a few days to think over and choose who you go with, so for now, you hold out your hands and insist one of them, who ends up being Buggy, carries you to your bathroom so that you can shower together. Shanks stares at you both with hearts in his eyes, and Buggy whisks you off to the shower.

“C’mon, red-haired, our girl needs us”, he calls from the bathroom, and Shanks appears in the doorframe moments later to see you seated on the counter while Buggy turns on the shower. You’re still naked, having not been clothed after last night, and Shanks walks over to you to stand between your legs. He leans in to press little kisses all over your skin, which you interrupt by pulling him up for a kiss.

“You two better behave in the shower, or I'll kick you out”, you say, gently scolding them for all the work they put your body through the night before. You glare at both of them, and Buggy rolls his eyes, pushing back the shower curtain so Shanks can lift you and place you under the water. Both men join you and are delicate as they wash you. They don't apologise for any marks left on you; they're pretty proud of them, but they leave little kisses on them as a thank you for bringing them back together. You had previously thought you’d been fated to a life behind that bar until the universe got your boys back to you. This feels right; it feels comfortable, and you believe in soulmates more and more as every moment passes.

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thanks for reading!!! reblogs/comments are much appreciated! ♡

tag list: @bloodfixnd

pls drop a dm or ask to be added to the taglist (if you to be tagged in one specific character list just let me know!)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[first-edition]

if you still take requests and ofc if you're willing to, could you please do a one shot of sandor clegane x f reader with lactation kink? like they're married & he survived (post got) and have children - type of scenario?🤍

OFCOURSE omg. Firstly thank you to @dat1angel aka my bestie for helping me figure this out as I’ve never wrote a lactation kink fic before but it was fun.

MINORS DNI

Cw- pinv unprotected, fem reader, pregnant reader, lactation kink, consumption of human milk, Husband a wife ,mother and father , with little plot, not proof reader sorry for any error as usual i write this shit at 3 am usually lol.

I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!

Sandor holds your waist as you grind against him. His cock has been buried in your cunt for over an hour and just being able to watch you riding him is enough to keep him hard and cum better than he ever has.

You’ve had the greatest honor in giving him two sons both of which are old enough to be riding thier own horses and exploring the village under the supervision of the guards you have at the castle and that is where they are now. Exploring the village as the festival goes on.

You’ve become pregnant with sanders third child only a few months ago your belly every growing as you prepare to give birth once again. Sandro cannot help the fact that he is utterly obsessed with your plump state. How you flesh grows softer and your body becomes rounder in support of the little life he helped create inside you.

Any chance he gets he. Has you strip and dance for him the new baby fat perfectly giving you more curves than before. Even now as he groans under you his large hand grips the flesh of your waist once in a while giving your apple ass a slap causing your cunt to clench around him as you jump.

You open your eyes only to see him lustfully starring back at you his hand exploring your sides feelign every inch of you. His actions and look of adoration makes you smile but that smile fade when you feel liquid secrete from your breast your face reddens as cover your chest gasps about to get off your husband in embarrassment.

But he grips you still and sits you looking you square in the eyes before he runs his thumb over your hardened nipple taking your breast into hand.

“Fuck…we cant let this go to wast now can we.” He speaks before dipping down and licking the liquid off. The sweet taste of your milk coating his tounge as he moves to the other.

He groans as he sucks on it wanting more. You moan out as he then turns your both over so he’s on top only to pull his lips away for one second to being fucking up into you relentlessly your tits begin bouncing up as he does.

He grips one and massages it causing more milk to seep out. He quickly laps it up and does the same with the other. Somehow keeping control as he roughly fucks you. Drinking up your sweet nectar. You clown at him and moan out as he continues to stimulate you.

“Fuck you taste like gold!” He groans deeply continuing to feast.

“Ah-ah s-Sandor i-“ you trail off as your toes curl and your pussy clenches. The sensation of your orgasm washed over you in shock causing your back to arch only giving your husband better access to your breasts.

Moments later his thrusts falter and hes cumming up in you making sure you get all of his seed despite being currently pregnant.

You pant as you stay in place for a moment. Sandro comes off your boob with a light ‘pop’ you look to him as his lips and chin are coated in a sheen as he licks off the access. You glance down at your chest seeing it littered with mini bruises from his rough suckling.

You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him too you kissing his lips deeply tasting your own on him. And fuck he was right.

You do taste like gold.

MY REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN SEND A NOTE IF INTERESTED.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Everbody Loves a Clown | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual ? )

Word Count: 5956

Warnings: Canon violence, canon gore, coping with parental death, clowns lol

A/N: Special treat since the first episode was kinda short! Happy reading, everyone!

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The only light in the middle of the clearing in the woods came from John’s wrapped, burning body. You stood wordlessly between Dean and Sam, watching as the pyre burned to ash. Dean stared silently while his brother fought tears.

It felt so odd to have spent so much time looking for John— a man you'd only met in passing during a hunt a little over a year ago— to now be standing in front of his burning corpse. It almost felt anticlimactic if you detached emotion completely from your situation.

On the very real and guttural side of things, though, you knew that having spent so little time with John after looking for him for almost a year was going to take a horrible toll on his boys, especially your Dean.

Sam spoke for the first time in hours. “Before he.. before... did he say anything to you? About anything?”

Dean refused to look at you or his brother, but said, “No. Nothing.”

An obvious lie.

***

Over a week after John’s funeral, you were watching Dean work on his car at Bobby’s. Bobby had been nice enough to let the three of you stay with him while Dean got the Impala back in working order.

Selfishly, every time you looked at Dean, you wanted to come right out with your feelings. Although, he was grieving, and you did not want to take advantage of his vulnerability. You wouldn't want your relationship to be born out of such a terrible tragedy.

However, you would continue to be there for him however he needed, even if that meant sitting next to him in the hot sun silently for hours and handing him a wrench every once in a while. You knew better than to ask if he was okay. You’d lost your father, too and knew he wouldn’t be okay for quite some time.

At first, he’d barely tolerated you sitting next to him. He fought you on everything you tried to do for him, but you got him to shut up after a few days. You knew he knew what you were playing at, and you could tell he appreciated it nonetheless.

Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as well-fortified against his emotions. You could hear him crying in the next room almost nightly, and it broke your heart. But you would rather Sam cry than build himself up against negative feelings the way his brother did. He was more into the touchy-feely-hug-it-out therapy style, and you were more than happy to give that to him. These boys needed you to be strong for them, and you would happily do so for as long as they needed. 

“How's the car coming along?” Sam asked, approaching you and Dean, who was under his car. You sat next to where his boots stuck out with a tool box in your lap.

“Slow,” Dean responded.

“Yeah? Need any help?”

“What, you under a hood? I'll pass.”

“Need anything else, then?”

Dean rolled himself out from under the car and stood up above you. You looked between Dean’s face, set in hard lines, and his brother’s puppy-dog stare. “Stop it, Sam.”

“Stop what?” the younger brother asked innocently.

“Stop asking if I need anything, stop asking if I'm okay. I'm okay. Really. I promise,” Dean scoffed.

“Alright, Dean, it's just—” Sam took a deep breath. “We've been at Bobby's for over a week now, and you haven't brought up Dad once.”

“You know what? You're right. Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug, and maybe even slow dance.” You knew the bite in Dean’s voice was all a mask.

“Don't patronize me, Dean,” Sam returned. “Dad is dead. The Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this, and you're acting like nothing happened.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say something, all right? Hell, say anything! Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long buried underneath this damn car.”

“Sam, let it go—” you tried, but Dean continued to talk over you.

“Revenge, huh?” Dean chuckled humorlessly. “Sounds good. You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But you know, if we do finally find it— oh. No, wait, like you said. The Colt's gone. But I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? So you know the only thing I can do? Is I can work on the car.” He got back down under it.  

“Well, we've got something, alright?” Sam crouched down next to you and handed you a cell phone. “It’s what I came out here to tell you. This is one of dad's old phones. Took me a while, but I cracked his voicemail code. Listen to this.”

Dean pushed himself out from under the car again and sat up next to you as you played the voicemail. “John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn, you know I can help you. Call me.”

“That message is four months old,” Sam explained.

“Dad saved that chick's message for four months?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam nodded.

“Who’s Ellen?” you asked. “Any mention of her in your dad’s journal?”

“No. But I ran a trace on her phone number, and I got an address.”

***

You and the boys ended up taking one of Bobby’s beat-up minivans to the Roadhouse Saloon; the address Ellen’s voicemail led to. 

“This is humiliating. I feel like a fuckin’ soccer mom!” Dean groaned as he parked the car.

“It’s the only one Bobby had running, dude,” you reminded him. You followed the boys into the purposefully dilapidated-looking building.  

“Hello? Anybody here?” Dean asked loudly. No response ever came. All you could hear was a fly buzzing and a light popping. You caught sight of a man passed out on the pool table facing away from you. 

“Hey, buddy?” Sam said. He turned back to you and Dean. “I'm guessing that isn't Ellen.” He headed into a back room to look around. You walked a little ahead of Dean, only turning around when you heard him say. “Oh god, please let that be a rifle.”

You whipped out your gun and turned to see a pretty petite blonde holding a cocked rifle to Dean’s back. “No, I'm just real happy to see you. Don't move.”

“Hey!” you said. She looked to you, but didn’t move her gun from Dean’s back. “You shoot him, and you’re dead,” you told her.

“Well, he moves, and he’s dead,” she replied.

“Ladies, Ladies, please,” Dean smirked. “You know, you should know something, miss. When you put a rifle on someone, you don't want to put it right against their back. Because it makes it real easy to do…” He turned around fluidly and grabbed the rifle. “That.”

The blonde punched him square in the nose and took back the rifle. You cocked your pistol, catching her attention. 

“Sam! A little help, please!” Dean said. 

“Sorry, Dean, I can't right now. I'm a... little tied up.” Sam walked out with his hands on his head and a shotgun pointed at the back of him. An older woman walked out holding it. “Sam? Dean? Winchester?” she said.

“Yeah…?” Dean said.

“Son of a bitch,” the woman muttered.

The blonde spoke up next. “Mom, you know these guys?”

“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester's boys,” she answered, lowering the gun and laughing. “Hey, I'm Ellen. This is my daughter Jo.”

Jo lowered her rifle as well. “Hey,” she smiled.

“Oh, we’re just supposed to be cool now?” you remarked, still pointing your gun at the blonde.

“(Y/N), cool it,” Dean warned. You did as told and slowly lowered your gun, still stand-offish. 

“You're not gonna hit me again, are you?” Dean asked Jo. 

Ellen handed him a small towel filled with ice. 

“Thanks. You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?” he asked as he took it from her.

“Well, the demon, of course,” she stated as if it was obvious. “I heard he was closing in on it.”

“What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?” Dean snarked. “I mean, who- who are you? How do you know about all this?”

The brunette scoffed. “Hey, I just run a saloon. But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once.”

“Oh yeah? How come he never mentioned you before?”

She looked down and softened her voice. “You'd have to ask him that.”

“So why exactly do we need your help?” Dean questioned.

Now you wanted Dean to cool it. “Relax, man,” you warned.

“Hey, don't do me any favors. Look, if you don't want my help, fine. Don't let the door smack your ass on the way out. But John wouldn't have sent you if—” Ellen stopped suddenly. “He didn't send you.” She looked frantically between Dean and Sam. “He's all right, isn't he?”

Dean refused to look at her, but Sam answered instead. “No. No, he isn't. It was the demon, we think. It, um, it just got him before he got it, I guess.”

Ellen looked sad. “I’m so sorry.”

“It's okay. We're all right,” Dean replied.

“Really? I know how close you and your dad were.”

“Really, lady, I'm fine,” he growled.

“Dean, relax,” you urged him quietly.

Sam continued the conversation with Ellen. “So look, if you can help, we could use all the help we can get.”

“Well, we can't. But Ash will,” she smirked.

“Who's Ash?” you asked.

“Ash!” she called.

You turned to the man on the pool table as he jerked up and flailed up. “What? It closin' time?”

Sam snorted. “That’s Ash?”

Jo hummed. “Mm-hmm. He's a genius.”

You looked at her, skeptical. 

“Sit, please,” Ellen said, and she and her daughter moved around the bar opposite you while you slapped a folder down in front of Ash. He sat across the bar from you.

“You've gotta be kidding me, this guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie,” Dean remarked.

Ash grinned drunkenly. “I like you.”

“Thanks,” the older brother smiled, seeming slightly confused by the drunk.

“Just give him a chance,” Jo urged.

You opened the folder and pushed it toward Ash. “That’s about a year’s worth of John’s work. See if you can make heads or tails of it.”

Ash shook his head as he looked through the papers. “Come on. This crap ain't real. There ain't nobody can track a demon like this.”

“Our dad could,” said Sam.

“There are non-parametrics, statistical overviews, prospects and correlations, I mean, damn!” Ash’s cadence made you giggle. “They're signs. Omens. Uh, if you can track 'em, you can track this demon. You know, like crop failures, electrical storms— You ever been struck by lightning? It ain't fun.”

“Can you track it or not?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, with this, I think so. But it's gonna take time, uh, give me—” he thought for a moment— “fifty-one hours.” He got up to leave, but Dean stopped him. 

“I, uh, I dig the haircut.”

He waved his hair around dramatically. “All business up front, party in the back.”

Jo walked around Dean, flirting a little. You could’ve killed her. 

He offered Jo a polite smile, but you apparently were not doing a good job of hiding your jealousy.

“Easy, tiger,” Dean chuckled, shooting you a smirk. 

You could practically feel Jo checking Dean out. 

“She’s looking at you like a hunk of meat,” you replied, talking through your teeth. 

“What, you mean, like you do?” he replied, smirking.

“I do not!” You paused at his deadpan look. “I mean, sometimes, maybe, quite possibly, but not right now.”

He nodded. “And you know, I, uh, I appreciate that.”

“Do you really? Sounded like you had a gun to your head when you said that,” you giggled.

He looked back at you sincerely. “You know I do.”

"I do just have... one question, though," you said, unable to stop the words coming out of your mouth due to the sudden, subtle flirting coming from Dean.

He nodded for you to continue.

"I'm assuming you pieced together what I was gonna tell you back at the hospital," you trailed off.

Dean nodded again, the ends of his lips tugging upward.

"You're not... freaked out?"

He shook his head, still smiling. "Opposite of freaked out."

You could feel your cheeks heating, and you looked down at the bar in front of you. Dean's chuckle was music to your ears despite the way it spurred on your embarrassment.

Then, Sam approached you and Dean. “A few murders, not far from here, that Ellen caught wind of. Looks to me like there might be a hunt.”

“Yeah. So?” Dean asked.

“So, I told her we'd check it out.”

***

Dean continued to grumble about the “stupid minivan” the whole way to your next hunt. Sam did research as you scribbled in your journal. Helping the boys was a task you wouldn't give up for anything, but it was beginning to bring up some negative emotions and memories for you. Journaling was helping to calm the storm inside you.

“You've gotta be kidding me. A killer clown?” Dean scoffed.

“Yeah. He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces, actually,” Sam responded.

“And this family was at some carnival that night?”

“Right, right. The, uh, Cooper Carnivals.”

“So, how do we know it’s not some psycho in a clown suit?” you piped up.

“Well, the cops have no viable leads, and all the employees were tearing down shop. Alibis all around. Plus this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course,” Sam explained.

“Well, I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?” Dean mocked.

“Oh, give me a break,” the brunet muttered.

You smiled but refused to make fun of him, because “everyone is afraid of something.” 

“You’re scared of clowns?” you asked.

“Yeah, he still busts out crying whenever he sees Ronald McDonald on the television,” Dean told you.

“Well, at least I'm not afraid of flying,” Sam deadpanned.

“Planes crash!”

“And apparently clowns kill!”

"Boys—!"

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean mumbled. “So these types of murders, they ever happen before?”

“Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus, same M.O. It happened three times, three different locales,” the younger Winchester explained.

“It’s weird, though, spirits are usually bound to specific locales, y’know,” you said. “So how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?”

“Cursed object, maybe,” Dean suggested. “Spirit attaches itself to something and the, uh, carnival carries it around with them.”

“Great. Paranormal scavenger hunt.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Well, blame Sam. It was his idea. By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job.” Dean threw a look to his brother.

“So?”

“It's just… not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt.”

You eyed Sam strangely, too.

The younger Winchester softened. “I don't know, I just think, this job, it's what Dad would have wanted us to do.”

“What Dad would have wanted?” Dean turned his face to Sam.

“Yeah. So?” Sam challenged.

“Nothin'.”

***

You and the boys decided to join the carnival after the second family had been murdered to get a closer look at the happenings during the carnival. “Friends close, freak-shows closer,” Dean had said.

When you entered yet another tent in search of the show’s organizer. You found a man throwing knives at a target; all landing near but not quite on the bulls-eye. 

“Excuse me, we're looking for a Mr. Cooper; have you seen him around?” the older brother asked.

The man turned around and pulled off his sunglasses. “What is that, some kind of joke?” 

“Oh. God, I'm— I'm sorry,” Dean said.

“You think I wouldn't give my teeth to see Mr. Cooper? Or a sunset, or anything at all?”

Dean whispered to you, “Wanna give me a little help here?”

You shook your head. “Not really.”

“Hey man, is there a problem?” a voice interrogated from behind you. You turned to see a very short man in a red cape.

“Yeah, this guy hates blind people,” the knife-thrower said.

“No, I don't, I—” Dean’s gorgeous smile was doing nothing to help him in this situation.

“Hey, buddy, what's your problem?” the short man scowled.

“Nothing, it's just a little misunderstanding.”

“Little?! You son of a bitch!” The man went to charge Dean.

“No, no, no, no! I'm just— could somebody tell me where Mr. Cooper is?”

You and Sam snickered.

“Please?” you asked. 

The short man looked up at you, and his gaze softened. “Sure, sweetheart, follow me.”

“Thanks,” you smiled, looking back at the boys. 

Dean’s jaw was clenched for a reason you weren’t quite sure of. When you asked, he said, “Just don’t like anybody else callin’ you that.”

You smiled lopsidedly. He could be really sweet when he wanted to be.

Mr. Cooper met you at the door of his office and invited you in. “You three picked a hell of a time to join up. Take a seat.”

You looked at the available seating options, and Dean motioned for you to take the normal of the two chairs. You obliged, and Dean stood behind you, forcing Sam to sit in the obnoxious pink chair with a giant clown face on it. He sat on the chair hesitantly and refused to relax into it. 

“We've got all kinds of local trouble,” Mr. Cooper continued.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first. So, you three ever worked the circuit before?”

“Yes, sir, last year through Texas and Arkansas,” Sam responded.

“Doing what? Ride jockeys? Butcher? ANS men?” 

“Yeah, it's, uh, little bit of everything, I guess.”

Mr. Cooper eyed your group strangely. “You three have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?”

“Nope,” Dean grinned. “But we really need the work. Oh, and uh, Sam here's got a thing for the bearded lady.”

“You see that picture? That's my daddy.” The showrunner pointed to a black and white picture on the wall of a man in a fedora in front of a ferris wheel.

“You guys could be twins,” you pointed out. 

Mr. Cooper smiled thoughtfully. “He was in the business. Ran a freakshow. Till they outlawed them, most places. Apparently displaying the deformed isn't dignified. So most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That's progress, I guess. You see, this place, it's a refuge for outcasts. Always has been. For folks that don't fit in nowhere else.

"But you three? You should go to school. Find a couple of girls. Marry this one, maybe.” The man gestured to you. “Have two point five kids. Live regular.”

Dean went to say something, but Sam leaned forward, his eyes serious. “Sir? We don't want to go to school. And we don't want regular. We want this.”

You turned to him skeptically, as did Dean. 

Mr. Cooper told the three of you to return in a few hours for training, which you were a little surprised by the suddenness of. 

“I guess they really are desperate,” you said as the three of you left the carnival holding your uniforms to go change into. 

“Were you serious?” Dean asked his brother.

“What?” Sam furrowed his brows at him.

“That whole, uh, I-don't-want-to-go-back-to-school thing. Were you just saying that to Cooper or were you, you know, saying it?” Dean pressed further at his younger brother’s hesitance. “Sam?” 

“I don't know,” he replied.

“You don't know? I thought that once the demon was dead, and the fat lady sings ,that you were gonna take off, head back to Wussy State,” Dean deadpanned.

“I'm having second thoughts,” was all the younger brother answered with.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think. Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job.”

Dean stopped Sam. “Since when do you give a damn what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam.”

“Since he died, okay? Do you have a problem with that?”

Dean’s voice hardened but remained sarcastic. “Naw, I don't have a problem at all.”

***

Later that day, you returned with the boys wearing a bright red “Cooper Carnival” jacket to begin your “janitorial job.” You were waiting for Sam or Dean to call you to tell you when to meet up with them for further investigation.

Before you had gotten a call from either, you noticed a little girl tugging on her mother’s jacket. “Mommy, look at the clown!” She pointed at something off in the distance. 

You followed her line of sight only to see nothing.

“What clown?” the mother asked. “Come on, sweetie, come on.”

You called Sam immediately. “Hey, dude. I got something.”

***

The three of you then chose to stake out the family’s home that evening. Dean had just relayed to you how the blind man overheard him calling Sam about the case and had to tell him you three were writing a book about the supernatural.

“Dean, I cannot believe you told Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown,” Sam snorted.

“I told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown. I never said it was real,” Dean argued. He pulled a gun and cocked it. You jumped over the seat and shoved his arm down. “What are you, nuts? You’re gonna get us busted.”

“Oh, and get this,” Dean continued. “I mentioned the Bunker Brother's Circus in '81 and their, uh, evil clown apocalypse? Guess what.”

“What?” you and Sam asked.

“Before Mr. Cooper owned Cooper Carnival, he worked for Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager.”

“So you think whatever the spirit's attached to, Cooper just brought it with him?” Sam questioned.

“Something like that.” The older brother shook his head and sighed. “I can't believe we keep talking about clowns.”

***

You and the Winchesters had been stalking these poor people’s home for hours now. Well, you and Sam had, at least. Dean, on the other hand, was dozing in the front seat. You shook him awake when you saw a phantom clown appear at the front door.

“Dee, look,” you said. 

He hummed and sat up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He turned and looked at you when he saw the girl leading the clown inside. 

You jumped out of the car and went through the back entrance of the house. You hid around a corner down the hallway from where the little girl and the clown were.

“Wanna see Mommy and Daddy? They're upstairs,” you heard the girl say. At that moment, Sam leapt out and grabbed the young girl who screamed.

Simultaneously, you shot at the clown while Dean cocked his shotgun again. “Sam, watch out!” he yelled. 

The clown leapt out the window, turning invisible as it shattered the glass of the front door.

The parents ran downstairs and began shouting at you and the brothers. You and the brothers dropped the girl and sprinted away, hearing the girl whine, “ Mommy, Daddy, they shot my clown!” as you headed out.

***

A while later, you and the brothers pulled off the side of the road and ditched the crappy van Dean had been driving you around in. You pulled the license plate off the back of the van and stuffed it in your duffel bag.

“You really think they saw our plates?” Sam asked you.

“I’m not taking any chances,” you said.

“I hate this fuckin’ thing anyway,” Dean grumbled. He began to lead you and his brother off the side of the road. “Well, one thing's for sure.”

“What?” you asked.

“We're not dealing with a spirit. I mean, that rock salt hit something solid,” Dean responded.

“Yeah, a person? Or maybe a creature that can make itself invisible?” Sam suggested.

“I don’t know, man, I’ve never heard of a creature like that. And it’s definitely not a person. I have no idea what the hell it could be,” you huffed.

“Did it say anything in Dad's journal?” Dean asked.

Sam cleared his throat and said, “Nope,” pulling out his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” you asked him.

“Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash'll know something. Hey, you think, uh, you think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?” Sam smirked.

“No way,” snorted Dean.

“Then why didn't he tell us about her?” retorted Sam.

“I don't know, maybe they had some sort of falling out,” the older brother shrugged.

“Yeah. You ever notice Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?”

You chuckled, but Dean simply nodded and looked at the floor. 

Sam lowered his phone. “Well, don't get all maudlin on me, man.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean this ‘strong silent’ thing of yours, it's crap,” Sam answered.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, god.”

“I'm over it. This isn't just anyone we're talking about, this is Dad. I know how you felt about the man.”

Dean started walking a little faster. “You know what, back off, alright? Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to.”

Sam caught up with his brother easily. “No, no, no, that's not what this is about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with this. But you have to deal with it, man. Listen, I'm your brother, all right? I just want to make sure you're okay.”

“Dude, I'm okay. I'm okay, okay? I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me!” the older Winchester said gruffly.

“What are you talking about?” Sam questioned.

“I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late.”

“Why are you saying this to me?”

“Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I'm dealing with Dad's death! Are you?”

You looked between the boys and knew Dean was handing Sam a load of bullshit. However, you decided to stow that conversation until you could get him in private.

Sam swallowed harshly, looking upset. “I'm going to call Ellen.” Sam walked a little ahead of you and Dean on the phone.

While Sam spoke to Ellen, you walked beside Dean wordlessly.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to act like I’m a bomb about to go off,” Dean said.

You looked up at him. “I’m not. I just thought you’d appreciate a little silence instead of me asking you to ‘share and care,’ as you put it.”

He nodded. “Thanks.” He intertwined his fingers with yours, allowing you to support him in that simple way. He rubbed his thumb over yours and continued to walk next to you. 

When Sam got off the phone, he turned back to you and his brother. “Wha—” He looked down at yours and Dean’s entwined hands and shook his head. “Nevermind. Rakshasa.”

“What's that?” Dean asked.

“Ellen's best guess. It's a race of ancient Hindu creatures. They appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited,” Sam explained.

“So they dress up like clowns, and the children invite 'em in. Why don't they just munch on the kids?”

“No idea. Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?”

“Well, that’s grotesque,” you noted.

“What else'd you find out?” Dean questioned.

“Well, apparently, Rakshasas live in squalor. They sleep on a bed of dead insects.” The younger brother grimaced.

“Nice,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah, and they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years. Slow metabolism, I guess.”

“Well, that makes sense. I mean, the Carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in '81—”

Sam cut his brother off. “Right. Probably more before that.”

“Who do we know that worked both shows?” You raised a brow.

“Cooper?” Sam replied.

“Yup.” You thought for a moment. “That picture of his father looked just like him. Maybe it was him.”

“Well, who knows how old he is?” Sam added.

“Ellen say how to kill him?” Dean asked.

“Legend goes, a dagger made of pure brass,” the brunet explained.

“I think I know where to get one of those.”

“Whoa, whoa,” you said. “Before we go stabbing Cooper, I wanna make damn sure it’s him.”

“Oh, you're such a stickler for details, sweetheart,” the older Winchester teased you. “Alright, I'll round up the blade, you two go check if Cooper's got bed bugs.”

***

You and Sam followed instructions and went to Mr. Cooper’s trailer. Dean had left the two of you to go find the blind man. Inside the trailer, you didn’t find any bugs he was nesting on. Just a plain, old twin mattress. 

“What the hell are you doing in here?” a voice called from behind you.

You wheeled around to see Mr. Cooper. “Oh, hi! Just the guy I wanted to—”

“Save it,” Mr. Cooper told you. “Get the hell out of here. Oh, and uh, you’re fired.”

You nodded. “I figured.”

You and Sam dashed out of Mr. Cooper’s trailer and over to where Dean had told you he’d be. When you arrived at the blind man’s tent, Dean stumbled out of the door.

“Holy shit, hey,” you said after he’d scared you.

“Hey.”

“So, Cooper thinks we’re Peeping Toms, but it's not him,” Sam explained.

“Yeah, so I gathered. It's the blind guy. He's here somewhere.”

“Well, did you get the—”

“The brass blades? No. No, it's just been one of those days,” Dean sarcastically replied. 

“I got an idea. Come on,” Sam said. You and Dean followed him to the funhouse. As you began to go through, the door slammed behind you between you and the brothers.

“Great!” you groaned. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean yelled, banging on the door. 

“(Y/N)! (Y/N/N), find the maze, okay?” Sam called to you.

“Okay!” you called back. You somehow stumbled your way through the maze and found the brothers. “Oh, thank god,” you sighed.

Sam broke a pipe off the organ a bit ahead of you. 

“Where is it?” you asked.

“I don't know, I mean, shouldn't we see its clothes walking around?” Dean answered. A knife flew right past your head, clipping your ear. “Fuck!”

“(Y/N)!” Sam called. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know, Sam, the thing’s invisible!” You jumped up, reached above your head, and grabbed a lever. When you pulled it down, steam poured out of the vent. 

“Sam, behind you! Behind you!” you heard Dean say. You began to run in the direction of Dean’s voice through the steam. When you arrived at him, there was a bloodied lump of clothes on the ground with a pipe sticking out from its chest. You turned to Dean who was pinned to the wall by two knives on his arm and helped him free himself.

“You okay?” he asked you. 

You nodded as you pulled the last knife out of his jacket.

“I hate funhouses,” he grumbled.

***

You sat next to Dean at Ellen’s bar, and she laid a few beers in front of you. “You kids did a hell of a job.” Ellen nodded at the brothers. “Your dad 'd be proud.”

Sam half-smiled. “Thanks.” He got up to walk over to Ash, and Jo took his place.

“So,” she cleared her throat.

‘Damn, this girl is bold,’ you thought.

“So,” you said.

She ignored you and focused on Dean. “Am I gonna see you again?”

Dean turned to her, surprised. “Do you want to?”

“I wouldn't hate it.”

You rolled your eyes and got up from your chair, heading over to Sam and Ash. You could feel Dean’s eyes on you as you walked away. You knew you had no reason to treat Jo poorly; she was just a young girl with a crush. She had no idea that you and Dean were at all involved. You truly didn’t even know if you and Dean were legitimately involved to begin with.

You noted Ash’s bizarre-looking laptop with exposed wiring and his stack of papers. “Whatcha got there, Pinky?”

He snorted at you. “I’d say I’m a little more Brain than anything, but where ya been? Been waitin’ for ya.”

“What, Ellen didn’t tell you about the clowns?” you asked.

“Clowns? What the fuck—”

You snickered as Dean walked up behind you. “You got something for us, Ash?”

“You find the demon?” Sam questioned.

Ash shook his head. “It's nowhere around. At least, nowhere I can find. But if this fugly bastard raises his head, I'll know. I mean, I'm on it like Divine on dog dookie.”

You laughed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world, my rig'll go off. Like a fire alarm.”

Dean reached for his laptop. “Do you mind…?”

Ash gave him a look, and Dean pulled his hand back from the keyboard. 

You smirked a little at the sight. “Ash, where did you learn to do all this?”

“M.I.T. Before I got bounced for... fighting.”

“No way!” you exclaimed.

He smirked at you and took a sip of his beer. 

“Okay. Give us a call as soon as you know something?” Dean said, suggesting to you and Sam it was time to go.

“Si, si, compadre.” Ash took the beer Dean had placed down and chugged the rest of it. 

You followed the brothers to the door. Ellen stopped you before you could leave. “Hey, listen— if you kids need a place to stay I've got a couple beds out back.”

“Thanks, but no. There's something I gotta finish,” Dean said.

***

“So, you get Jo’s number?” you asked back at Bobby’s junkyard. You sat cross-legged on the hood of one of the cars next to the Impala Dean was working on drinking a beer.

“What?” he asked incredulously. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, she obviously likes you. Kid was shamelessly flirting with you, so I just assumed—”

“No, (Y/N).” He put down the wrench he was holding. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Well, okay, I just thought—”

He walked over to you and stood between your knees. He ran his hands up and down your thighs. “I’m telling you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Dean, stop it. You don’t have to come over here and flirt with me just ‘cause I got jealous” you said. 

“I’m not,” he assured you. “Look, we haven’t had a chance to talk about everything—”

“And I don’t need us to. I know you need time after your dad—”

“Would you let me finish?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you muttered. 

“But I have no interest in Jo. She’s layin’ it on a little too thick for my taste,” he smirked.

"I don't know, Dean, your bar hookups always lay it on pretty thick," you reminded him.

"Yeah, guess you're right. But she's not you. So I'm not interested."

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go get some more beer. You want one?”

He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

You headed back inside and passed Sam on the way. You found Bobby inside and began to update him on the situation with the brothers.

“I don’t know, Bobby, neither of them are doing well,” you said. “But it’s Dean I’m the most worried about.”

“Why’s that?” the older man asked.

“He’s just… bottling it up. He wouldn’t even let me sit next to him while he worked on his car for the first week we were here. He’s worrying me.”

“Sounds like Dean,” Bobby nodded. “But I think if anybody can get ‘im to open up, it’s gonna be you.”

You eyed him strangely. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s just… different with you. I think he puts up a bit of a front with Sam. But never with you.”

You nodded. “I’ll keep trying.” You grabbed two beers and again passed Sam as he came back into the house with tears in his eyes. As you approached Dean’s car, you heard slamming metal on metal and Dean grunting. You quickened your step to get to him, holding a beer in each hand. When you arrived, you saw him hitting the Impala’s trunk with a crowbar over and over again.

“Dean, what the f—”

He looked up at you and fought back tears. You put the beers on the car behind you and slowly approached him. You opened your arms to him and wrapped them around his torso, and he finally responded by burying his face in your hair. You could feel him still trying to stifle his tears, but it was clear he was unsuccessful. You let him hug you for as long as he needed to.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[animentality]

Western anime fans are the most entitled crybabies in the world.

They demand jjk level animation for everything and don't care about the real human beings being abused/exploited. They bitch and complain endlessly but have never made anything of artistic value themselves.

"Why can't they just overwork and underpay artists who need to make a living so that I can sit at home all day watching shiny moving pictures dance across my monitor-"

you are a fucking consumer. you are not an artist.

you offer nothing of value, if you are not truly supporting artists and their art. you sit at home in your skidmark underwear and sweaty discount kimono with Cheeto dust snowing from your beard to your lap, and you complain about blue lock or uzumaki or tower of god and say it's the animators who are talentless -

I know this is difficult for you to comprehend, but they have a fucking job to do.

when studios cut corners, they stop paying artists.

artists can usually not afford to work passionately on projects, without being fairly compensated in return.

god I hate Western anime fans.

I swear there's no other group of fans that's more entitled... except maybe kpop stans who expect their favorite band members to never marry, date, or look at anyone else.

also, they're really fucking unfair too.

a normal person wouldn't notice the kind of animation they call "bad."

but they go fucking nuts when a single background character looks kinda whacky or there's some obvious CGI here and there for some background bullshit that you see for .0002 seconds.

complete and utter garbage people. you call anime and manga an art, but you don't support artists?

fucking clowns.

[hoe-for-daddywise]

Art the clown/reader Let me in

⚠️Warning: this fiction contains strong depictions of self harm, blood, drug abuse and graphic details of death. Slight NSFW but not anything major. 18+ Proof read maybe once ⚠️

Word count: 2512

Summary: one bad trip. A fic in which Art shows up during your high and you debate whether he’s real or not.

Just another bad trip, that’s all this was as mismatching colours swirled around your room from blue to green to yellow in a rhythmic dance, pulsating like a kaleidoscope.

So, when the air shifted and your bedroom door swung open, you barely noticed or you were too euphoric perhaps to care. Through the haze of your vision, however, a face emerged, a bloodied clown with black and white face paint and a black dot at the tip of his nose. He smiled, his teeth dirtied and yellow and you smiled back in fascination. “This is new.” You slurred. “I never see faces.”

The clown cocked his head slightly to the side and his smile faded somewhat before his brows raised into a surprised glare, his eyes setting on the new cuts on your arms and then to the blade next to you. He pointed at the blade, then to you, as if to ask if you’d done it to yourself, he never said a word as he sat face to face with you.

“Yes.” You laughed to which he clapped, proud of the harm you’d inflicted. There was something unsettling yet oddly captivating about the clown you believed your brain had conjured, the colours pirouetting around him like they were drawn to him, you studied his every move as he studied yours. He picked up the pill bottle next to you, examined the contents and shook his head as if disappointed.

The clown reached his bloody gloved hand toward the blade that was slick with your blood, picking it up to observe it. With a quick exaggerated motion, his fingers danced over the metal before popping it into his mouth and sucking every last drop of the liquid. A small part of you recoiled in horror, while the rest of you felt a thrill at the sight, excited at the way his eyes rolled back as he enjoyed the taste of you. A small shaky breath left your cracked lips as a heat rose within. He pulled the sharp metal out from between his lips and smirked at you, eager fingers shoving the blade back into your hand, willing you to go again. Complying, you placed the blade to your arm, watching how his nose flared and his lips parted while you cut into your flesh, he practically drooled at the sight of fresh blood mingling with dried blood. You groaned, happy to be pleasing him as you slashed three more times. You held your arm out to him, delighted with your work. The clown silently laughed and gripped your arm tight, pulling it to his black lips, his tongue swirling around the fresh wounds, lapping up every trickle. A small moan left you, earning a startled glance from the clown, his lips shaped in an ‘o’ which quickly turned into an animalistic smile as he pulled away, satisfied, the colours around him fluctuating. You were far too lucid to pay mind to the impossibility of the dream soaked reality you had fabricated to truly appreciate your situation, and the fact that, this clown, however improbable he may seem, clearly cannot be a hallucination.

“Can you see them?” You suddenly ask, mesmerised at the way the clown amplified your surroundings.

The clown tilted his head, unsure as to what you meant.

“The colours, the faces.” You continue.

Art glanced around your room for a second and then shook his head.

“That’s a shame. They’re so pretty.” You giggled. “You’re pretty.” You blush at your sudden admittance as the clown batts his eyelashes and smirks at you, a hand waving you off.

His eyes burnt into yours and his pupils seemed to swirl in your intoxicated state.

He was beautiful, this man was beautiful, even as the colours around you faded to grey to black to white, your trip coming to an end. “I wonder if I’ll see you again next time.” You ponder, leaning closer to his face, soaking in every detail before he inevitably disappeared…but he never did and the usual pain that formed in the centre of your head began to build letting you know that your high was over. That was when a slight panic set in and your breathing became harsh.

“How are you still here?”

The clown silently laughed, pointing his finger at you in mockery.

“Who are you?”

The clown showed his teeth in a snarl as you leaned in even closer, a tentative finger reaching up to touch him on the shoulder. You half expected your hand to go through him like a hologram but as it connected with the padded feeling of a body, you laughed, unsure of what to do next as his hand reached up to your head and patted it.

“What do you want?” You blinked rapidly, the clown simply wagged his index finger side to side as he stood. Shaking legs from your high failed to get you to stand and your body all but began to crash to the floor before the monochrome man grabbed you and steadied you, throwing you down onto your bed. You went to stand again but the clown held a hand out to tell you to stay put.

He crouched down and grabbed your pills, shaking the contents dramatically with a plotting smile.

“What are you doing?” You whisper. “They’re mine.”

The clowns focus unwavering as he disappears out of your room and out of your eye sight. Standing, your clumsy feet tripped over themselves, following him towards the bathroom where he stood over the toilet. Your heart sank as he unscrewed the cap and tipped the bottle upside down, the pills spilling out like small white stones, clattering against the porcelain bowl.

“No!” You scream, rushing forward and into his body. “Stop!” But it was too late, he tossed the empty bottle to the floor and, in a swift motion, pushed the lever down. The sound of rushing water echoed in the small bathroom, your lifeline swirling away.

“Why did you do that? I need them…You-you don’t understand.” Tears well in your eyes as your voice croaked, turning to face the clown who was wiping his hands together as if to say he was finished with his work.

Panic became fear and fear became anger, a storm brewing inside as you lifted your hands and began hitting the clown on the chest, each strike fuelled by the frustration of loosing the one thing you need to survive. “You don’t know what it’s like!”

The clown stood there, his face monotone as he allowed you to project your emotions to him, not flinching once as you continued to whack your palms onto him. You wished he’d fight back, offer some sort of punishment, instead, he held your gaze, curious to see what you would do next, but nothing could have prepared him for the swell of pure sorrow that crashed down on you like a tidal wave as you delivered your last blow to him. Like a flood gate had opened, tears spilled down your face, your makeup melting away as water lines stained your cheeks and a harrowing sound that was alien to you came from deep within your throat. The clown watched as you fell to your knees and gripped onto his satin suit, deflated and utterly broken.

He titled his head and a silent sigh fell from him whilst he crouched down next to you, gripping your face harsh to look at him in the eyes. He offered a small smile, kinder somehow than the ones he’d given you previously, and his dark eyes glistened with an understanding that transcended words, a mute acknowledgment of the pain you were enduring.

Suffice to say, you were still none the wiser as to who this man was, but one thing was clear to you, he didn’t want you taking those drugs any more. “Why?” Your voice trembled as you searched his gaze, desperate for an answer. “You don’t know me, why do you care?”

The grip on your face loosened and his thumb traced the contours of your cheeks, following your tears and wiping them away.

“Who even are you?”

The clown pointed his finger in the air as if he had an idea then his legs took him to your mirror. He took a deep breath, puffing air against the glass, creating a thin layer of condensation that began to cloud on the reflective surface. Reaching his finger to the mirror, he began tracing letters, each stroke slow and careful. Once finished, he stepped back, arms presenting his work with an exaggerated flourish.

“Art?” You recite.

Art nods vigorously, a large smile stretching across his face as he clapped.

“I like it, it suits you.”

He then points at you, as if wanting you know your name.

“Me? I’m y/n.” You blush as he theatrically sits back next to you on the tiled floor and shakes your hand.

“But, Art, you still haven’t told me why you chucked my pills.”

Art rolls his eyes as if frustrated that you won’t let the subject go before pointing at the empty bottle on the floor and holding his hands in a cross shape and then sticking his tongue out and pointing his finger to his mouth. He shakes his hand like he disproves of you taking the pills.

“But what do I do without them now?”

The clown put a hand on your shoulder and pulled you closer to him, your foreheads just touching, his other hand points at himself and then to you.

“What about us?” A million thoughts race through your head, confusion taking over.

He then points at himself again and then extends his palm and pushes it down in the air.

“You’ll stay?”

Art moves his head back and nods at this, seeming excited, hoping you’ll take up on his offer.

“This is crazy.” You laugh. “I mean, thank you but I don’t know you. You let yourself into my apartment for gods sake.”

Art is insistent, however, pointing at you and him again over and over and then placing his hands together as if pleading you. You knew this was mad, and if better judgement had been on your side you would have said no, but, still hazy from you high you said what you never thought you would have, “okay then.”

The clown jumps up to his feet and practically dances around the bathroom. You giggle at this, watching the man you’ve just met who just somehow became your new life line.

“Well, I’ll have to talk to Eliza about it. She’s my room mate. Did you see her on your way in?” You ask.

Art suddenly stops in his tracks and his demeanour shifts, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He lifts his hands to the side near his head and offers a sheepish smile as if to say, ‘oops’.

“What did you do?”

The clown extends his arm out towards your still sitting form, head nodding to his hand for you to take it, which you gladly accept, electricity sparks within you from the contact causing you to blush. Slowly, he pulls you to your feet, making sure you were steady enough to walk, fingers gripping your hips as you swayed lightly. When he was sure you wouldn’t fall, he gently covered your eyes with his hands and walked behind you, pushing you along, a playful gesture that sent a thrill down your spine. You hadn’t realised how tall he was until now, and your body practically pressed against his had you grinning, you could feel the way his heart was beating rapidly against his chest, mirroring your excitement.

Each step you took felt like a dance, swaying in time with Art with his sporadic energy, the unspoken promise of something extraordinary ahead. As you neared your destination, your footsteps stopped and Art paused for a moment, allowing the tension to swell like the crescendo of a symphony. He leaned closer, his lips practically brushing your ear. Your breathing became heavy and your legs wobbled from anticipation all while his hands cascaded down from your eyes and slid down your arms lightly, causing a slight hiss from you as he grazed your new cuts. The sudden feeling of loss of contact from him made you groan as he stepped away from you, your eyes still shut but soon flying open when he tapped your shoulder.

The sight that greeted you took your breath away - a scene that was both shocking and surreal was laid before your eyes and there, Art, the artist, proudly presented his work with a display of his hands and a smile, eyes wide. He stepped aside slightly, allowing you to get a full view of your slaughtered room mate, Eliza, a grotesque tableau of colour and chaos painted your living room. Her insides had been filleted and her once green eyes taken from her skull; intestines and liver spread out for all to see. The only recognisable feature describable was that of her blonde hair which helpless gripped to her torn scalp.

Art twirled on the spot, pointed at the scene and then to himself, sweeping his arms wide as if to proclaim, ‘isn’t it magnificent?’, inviting you to join his twisted revelry.

A laugh left you, a deep guttural laugh that shocked the clown as much as it did you. Why did you not scream? Or cry? Or run in terror? No tears, nothing. Just a laugh that seemed to continue for ages, even as the clown silently laughed and pointed at your dead room mate. The absurdity of the moment settled over you as you found yourself mixed in the magic of his madness. He watched you, clapping now as you clapped with him. Words never came to you, they don’t need to, a wordless array of astonishment was all you could offer as you waltzed over to him and let your lips touch his.

[lussiane333]

The way you write art the clown is so perfect and it's sad there isn't that much content for him yet so thank you for doing god's work 😩 do you have any hc's of him receiving a lapdance from s/o?

Hello! Thank you for your kind words <3

This one took me some time.. 😅 Sorry for the wait, here it is!

I decided to do more slashers so:

Slashers receiving a lap dance from their S/O 🔥

Art the Clown

He's making facial expressions you've never seen before

We all know that our clown boy is a comedian..

He would take the hidden dollars out of his clown suit and tuck them behind your panties and grin like a madman he is

His eyes never left you, and the way you touched him, breathed against his lips and toyed with your underwear, his gaze seemed almost tender like

But when you knelt spread legged down on the floor and looked at him, he's gawking with an open mouth and dilated pupils

He would do anything for you, it's like you hypnotize him every time and deep down he hates it, but it just feels so good..

He wants to ruin you in his own fucked up way so yeah, get ready for a long night afterwards

Bo Sinclair

You want all of his attention and oh boy.. It's yours

The way you leant back on his lap and grinded against his bulge..

Yeah, he'd whip his cock out and jerk it shamelessly as you move your body against him

He's really into this, he loves watching you show off for him

You make him absolutely feral and he feels like a virgin seeing a woman's body for the first time, but he can't help himself

Don't get me wrong, he's really not seeing this for the first time, but he's seeing someone he loves and enjoys it so damn much

You went from between his thighs to sit on his lap, and groping, teasing and whispering nasty things in your ear quickly turned into you riding him in a reverse cowgirl

He has a secret erotic polaroid collection of you

He loves your body, your moves, everything about you makes him crazy

Charles Lee Ray

He would act indifferent at first

Yeah, yeah, you're hot but he has seen it many times before

Still likes it and won't keep his hands to himself, I mean you two love to put on any kind of a show

His biggest weakness is when you nib at his neck and run your nails down his chest, he's humming in approval, squeezing your ass harder

Praises and degrades you at the same time

"You really are the biggest whore I've ever seen"

"Come on baby, show me that I'm right, oh yes"

He wants you all to himself, but he also wants to show you off so he'd surely make you dance in front of a victim and be like:

"You see that? All mine"

"Show them exactly what they're missing on, baby"

His egoistic ass is so proud knowing that he has someone like you

[fanaticsnail]

My Favorite

(Image Source: Artist: Inpolariis)

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,114

Summary: Sir Crocodile has founded a league of highly trained assassins named "The Choirs" - all coded after the nine choirs of angelic influences. You are his favorite: his prized "Seraphim" who's ferocious brutality is only outmatched by your incredible beauty. Not truly knowing if your affection is all an act to continue being paid a wage in berry, he has not made a move of his own aside from calling upon you to sit on his knee of an evening, and have you utter praises into his ear. It is only when the two other members of the Cross-Guild begin flirting does he find his limit being tested. Will he bend, or will he break?

Themes: Boss!Crocodile x Assassin!Reader, lap princess, Croc is in love with you, begrudgingly in love, mutual pining, “I don’t want to fix him, I want to make him worse”, wealth, Cross-Guild dynamics, partial Buggy x Reader, partial Mihawk x Reader, sign language, afab!reader.

Notes: This fic is dedicated to the wonderful @discordantwritings who wrote a beautiful Benn Beckman fic recently. I had to return the favor with some Cross-Guild content, although it became quickly a Sir Crocodile fic. Based on this prompt, because it has a hold over my very soul.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @carrotsunshine @cinnbar-bun @writingmysanity @gingernut1314

The broad right hand of the brutish Sir Crocodile massaged his temples beneath his thumb and index finger. He began rotating them in an attempt to rid the swelling migraine caused by the crackled whines pouring from the lips of his clown companion. Barely paying attention to the whinging words strung into messy sentences, his ears pricked and spine tingled at the knowledge there was another presence within the hollow chambers of the Cross-Guild meeting space. 

Bringing his hand away from his temple, his smirk broke the displeased position of his lips, as his eyes rose to meet with the yellow hue of the gaze of the swordsman. Mihawk narrowed his eyes, no longer processing Buggy’s words as he attempted to locate the source responsible for the expression change of the larger gentleman in front of him. 

“-And I wasn’t the one responsible for that screw up, so I shouldn’t be the one paying for it. Really it should go to the one with the most berry. Who was it again? Between the reptile and the hawk, who has the most-.” Buggy’s voice halted as the shadows split to reveal your presence, stalking closer to the largest man in the room with an aura of silent danger. 

Mihawk reached for the hilt of Yoru, ready to strike your approaching silhouette: armored and cloaked in the darkest black to blend within smoke and shadow. Your hood concealed your face, your facial mask shieling all but the intensity of your eyes smeared in darkened war paint. You made no sound; no tap, no whisper as you wordlessly approached Sir Crocodile.

“Returned so soon, my Seraphim,” his voice purred, leaning back in his chair while placing a thick cigar between his teeth, “Did all go according to plan?” You wordlessly bent your knee, bowing your head to the large gentleman to whom you entrusted your implicit loyalty. His smile drew further up his scarred face, the purple hue of his eyes dancing with a dangerous twinkle at your wordless confirmation. 

“Good,” his voice praised you, reaching for his lighter lying atop the table. You rose to your feet, quickly reaching for the golden object, flicking open the lid and igniting the flint to spark its flame. Sir Crocodile leant forward, holding his eyes firmly on yours as your concentration was fixed on the task of lighting the tip of his cigar. 

He narrowed his eyes, noticing a small smear of red atop the darkened warpaint and streaking down your face mask and onto your leather breastplate. He sighed, reaching into his left hand breast pocket and fishing out a silver handkerchief and passed it to you within his index and middle fingers. 

“Is it yours?” he asked, gesturing to the blood congealed and spattered against your uniform. 

“No, sir,” you whispered with no vocal tone depicted within your silence. He hummed in response, narrowing his eyes as he scanned your body further. 

“Are you unharmed and unmarked?” he asked, his left brow raising in question. You stiffened your shoulders, arching your chin within the air and confirmed with a simple utterance of: “Yes, sir.” 

“Very good, my Seraphim,” he complimented further, inhaling a deep lungful of the nicotine laden cigar smoke, exhaling through his nose. Buggy did not know what to make of this interaction, feeling completely and utterly ignored as Mihawk and Sir Crocodile’s eyes and attention remained fixed on your statuesque figure clad in cloak, leather and dark plated armor. 

Leaning forward, Sir Crocodile ushered you to stoop forward to receive the next whisper of a command parting from his lips for your ears alone.

“I have laid out a new uniform for you to wear,” he uttered intimately, reaching up his left hand with his golden hook threatening to touch your shoulder. “See to it you are bathed, perfumed and clad in the ensemble within the hour,” the tip of his hook brushed with the rivets of your shoulder plate, dragging down your bicep to the inner crevice of your elbow, “And I will have you sat as my trophy upon my knee for the evening, my Seraphim.” 

At that final utterance, he withdrew his hook from your arm and focussed once more on your eyes now depicting a darkness within usually withheld for victims beneath your concealed daggers. 

Bowing to your boss, eyes now closed, you rose from your deep and respectful stoop and paid no mind to glance at the other two members of the meeting space. If Sir Crocodile found no reason to introduce you to these men, you did not deem them important enough to care who they were. Silence followed you as you trailed outside of the room, resubmerging yourself within the shadows and hastily making your way to the suite gifted to you by your boss.

“Baroque Works employee, Crocodile?” Mihawk uttered, his eyes fixed on the exit you withdrew from. 

“A thing of the past, Hawk,” His smirk not leaving his face for each deep inhale of his cigar, “I no longer put my faith in an amassment of bounty hunters to get their hands dirty for my berry.” He took the butt of his cigar from his teeth and pushed the ignited end against the glass tray with his thumb. “No, my faith is no longer spread to the many, but to the few.” 

“How many o’ them you got?” Buggy’s nasally voice chimed in, his brow furrowing and lips curling back in an uneasy smile, “Like twenty or thirty?”

“I have nine,” he confessed, eyes now bored with the conversation and lip curling down into an arrogant snarl, “And that one,” he gestured to the door with his chin, “Is my favorite.”

“Why?” Buggy asked, his voice cracking in a small apprehensive whine at the end of his question, “What does that one do that the others don’t?” Sir Crocodile’s lips curled into a darkened grin, his teeth revealed in the light. 

“You will see.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

After bathing and cleaning yourself of the debris and carnage of the last assignment, you glanced at yourself in your large, ornate mirror. Looking over the new uniform set aside by your boss as it clung to your body, you couldn’t help the pull of a shy smile at the corner of your lips.

Of all of “The Choirs” founded and financed by Sir Crocodile, it was no illusion that you were absolutely and without a doubt his favorite. Your titles held your specialist skills as covert assassins within your roles; each skilled with a unique ability to complete your tasks to the utmost quality. 

Principalitie, Archangel, and Angel were charged with gathering information and relaying it from a great distance. They were to look like civilians; innocent and coy with the ability to blend into a crowd seamlessly. 

The Devil-Fruit users; Dominion, Virtue, and Power, were charged with carrying out tyrannical punishment and wrath without care for the casualties they caused under the utterance of a single command from your hook-handed leader. 

Cherubim and Ophanim, the two of the higher in the chain of command, followed your explicit instruction in covert operations taken either together or separately. They were your trusted confidants, you could even call them your friends if it were not too bold to say so. 

You, his ‘Seraphim’, were silent and embraced by shadows with such flawless success that it was rumored you were born in them. You were lethal with your daggers, your skill with a blade a sight to behold before life was drained from your intended target. The last thing they saw as their breath was claimed by your hand, was the ferocity in your blown pupils and lengthy eyelashes beneath the dark warpaint smeared atop your eyelids. 

Glancing over your features once more, the pale white of the dress held stark contrast to the dark armor you adorned almost an hour prior. While your armor kept all of your features hidden to the world around you, the anonymity shielding you from emphasis on your features; this dress left little to the imagination. 

The deep hook of the backless dress clung low to your hips in an ovular shape, bodice dipping down to above your navel with a thin band of fabric dancing above your cleavage to suture the bust shut with barely any support. The length of the dress halted little below your hip bone on the left-hand side, the right hand side down to the ball of your ankle to allow for the straps of your gold heels to be revealed with each step you took against the floor. 

Your mind begins to wander the longer you stare at yourself in the mirror. This was the most provocative and scandalous item your boss had ever asked you to don. You almost allowed yourself to rush to the conclusion that your boss harbored more than simple favoritism for you, you assumed you were wearing this ensemble to impress a guest with your presence on his lap. 

Silence was nearly impossible with the gold-dipped base of your heeled shoes. Each step you took after exiting your suite echoed in a foreign clack that you were unaccustomed to creating with your foot-falls. 

Immediately upon entering the large celebratory area of Sir Crocodiles casino, you scanned the perimeter of the room for your boss to begin your new role for the night: the princess sitting upon his knee and doting on him with small caresses and whispers of praise within his ear. This was not a role you were exposed to often, but one you did well enough for him to continue asking for you after the first night you played it. 

You would be lying to yourself if you said you did not harbor affection for your boss. Nothing ever transpired between you after you had finished this role for the nights he asked you to fulfill. No brush of lips meeting yours, no writhing while sprawled out beneath him against the green fuzz of the gamblers table. He would bow his head in gratitude to you, his eyes blinking shut out of respect, and dismissing you without a further word. 

Adoration, respect, loyalty, and your wage is what bound you to that man. At each moment he spent with you on his lap, or performing a deadly task for him, your desire grew. You knew, without a semblance of a doubt, that you would cast aside your wage with an instant for the luxury of remaining by his side. You loved him, and it was the only thing that truly frightened you.

After concluding your brief scan of the room, you noticed Sir Crocodile was yet to make an appearance to darken the tables with his brutish figure. However, you smiled upon meeting the eyes of ‘Ophanim’ dressed in a simple waiter's uniform, with her sleeves rolled to her elbows and shaking a steel container filled with ice, syrups and hard liquor. She shot you a wink, gesturing with her chin to wait with her at the bar. 

An honest smile sprung to your lips as you grasped the barstool within your hands, taking a seat atop it and hooking your left knee over your right; the slit of your dress revealing the entirety of your left leg to your thigh. 

Immediately as you began to open your mouth to converse with your fellow “Choir” about her latest mission, your eyes were thrust into an amassment of lengthy cerulean hair. The person seemed to ignore you as their voice informed your friend of his order of a fruit-forward and harsh liquor cocktail with an insane amount of complex ingredients. The products he asked for sounded as if it would split and separate, with the immediate souring of creamy liquid with the acidic elements. 

Grimacing with your lips curled in disgust, the individual turned to meet your disapproving gaze: his eyes widening and breath hitching in his throat. A large, rotund red nose lay central to his features, his dark vest cinching his waist beneath a white shirt and dark trousers. He looked as if he was not comfortable wearing the assortment, as if it was a mask he was given to wear akin to your arrangement set aside by your boss. 

“You are fucking gorgeous,” he stumbled over his words, the syllables falling from his lips quicker than he could silence them within. Immediately your grimace upturned into a smile, forcing a laugh to flee from you at his unbridled compliment. You arched your left brow up, leaning in close to the individual in front of you and tightening his dark tie with your right hand. 

“You are very easy to look at, yourself,” you purred in return, assuming your flirtatious role with ease. You darted your gaze between his two teal eyes, a coy smile now pursing your lips together innocently, “And who might you be, bright eyes?” Your question had his heart swelling, his cheeks filling with a boyish fluster. 

“B-Buggy,” he wheezed, gulping back his words and grunting out a small cough to mask his uneasiness. “Captain Buggy D Clown,” he attempted to meet his elbow atop the bar, missing the polished wood entirely and instead stumbling under the uneven distribution of his weight. As air met his elbow with the heel of his palm capturing his chin, he flew his head down and met it against the wood with a harsh thump. 

Wincing in empathy, you immediately reached forward and claimed his cheeks within your palms and raised him back up to his former stature. You brushed his shoulders, readjusted his collar and checked over the rising swell atop his left temple. 

“Honey, can we get some ice please?” you asked your colleague who attempted to halt her laugh behind her palm, nodding as she retrieved the frosty cubes and placed them within a checkered tea towel. She passed it to you and shook her head, you nodding your thanks at her for the object and immediately reaching for the blunt-force trauma the blue-haired clown brought upon himself. 

“Are you alright Captain Buggy?” You asked him, holding your hand against the towel and pressing it firmly against the rising bruise. He clasped his left hand around your right, leaning into the touch you were providing him and closing his eyes. 

“I like the way your tongue makes my name sound,” he confessed in a breathy gasp. You again found yourself laughing at his words, the melodic ring of your voice stirring something dangerous within the purple hues of Sir Crocodile’s eyes. He continued watching your interaction with Buggy from his place darkening the threshold of the entrance to his casino. 

“What happened, Clown?” A voice called behind him, the curve of a pale shirt clinging to the back of a dark-haired individual you could barely see. Buggy apprehensively turned away from you and lulled his head towards the man with a snarling expression. 

“It’s her fault,” he gestured to you with his thumb, “She was sittin’ on that chair all innocent-like, as if she doesn’t look like walking sex.” 

“Hardly walking if she’s sitting,” the man called over in a bored and disinterested tone, without sparing so much as a glance in your direction. You found him intriguing, but you decided to match his energy and remain aloof to his comments yourself. 

Turning away from the two men beside you, you began moving your hands in a flurry of wordless gestures to your coworker as discreetly as you could.

‘Where is he?” you asked her, watching her hands flicker in response as she continued to attempt to uphold her own persona as bartender.

“Approaching slowly,” she managed to signal to you, before she placed a glass of wine in front of the broody aloof gentleman beside the clown. The corner of his lips ticked at the corner, a whisper of gratitude depicted on his face as he turned to face you with the crystal glass rising upwards. 

The small widening of his honey-coloured eyes told you all you needed to know within his gaze. Your head cocked to the side, your eyes wide and feigning innocence to the best of your abilities. 

“My, my,” he commented, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body from your decorated toes to the follicles of your styled hair, “I do see why you would be the cause for such a stumble.” He expertly brushed the blue-haired man away from you, extending his right hand forward to seek out your own and collecting your four fingers within his grip. 

He raised your hand to his lips, his mustache tickling the knobbed joints of your knuckles before his lips brushed against your flesh. Your eyes turned sultry, not once either of you breaking your eye contact against one another. 

Unable to control the rapidity of the thump within his chest and the dry lump forming in his throat, Sir Crocodile began a stalking approach towards you. How dare they fawn over you. You: his favorite of his Choirs. His angelic muse and harbinger of brutality. 

He knew you would make heads turn with the uniform he laid out for you, but he did not anticipate the primal urge swelling beneath him to pull you into himself and shield you away from their eyes. He wanted you all for himself, in any capacity you were willing to give it to him. He didn’t care that you were paid berry to serve him, it felt real enough for him.

“Dracule Mihawk,” he uttered against your flesh, withdrawing from his stoop and arching his back to puff his barely shielded chest to you, “And you are, my darling?” Before you could answer with your name, you felt a warm graze dancing up your spine. His breath tickled against your skin, tingling your spine beneath his lips as they pressed intent and longing to your flesh. 

On any other occasion, you may have been alarmed by such attention from an individual without seeing their face. The cologne dancing with the whisper of his last cigar floated with each kiss against your skin, informing you exactly who was giving you such a touch. 

He had never offered you this unbridled affection in the past, not allowing himself to give into his craving for you, and you not willing to test your place serving under him. This touch felt natural, his lips continuing to press into you, as you continued to hold your gaze on the eyes of the dark-haired man in front of you. 

Sir Crocodile’s lips found your left shoulder, his purple eyes pulling the swordsman’s attention away from you to meet with your boss as he continued to map his lips up your neck to your jaw. His left forearm circled around your front, the golden hook firmly secured against his wrist collecting your chin beneath the smooth surface. He turned your attention away from Mihawk to look into his eyes through lowered eyelashes. 

He leant forward, drawing your lips against his by the gentle tilt of his hook against your chin. Darting his tongue out to stroke yours, his nose brushed against your own as he circled his jaw to deepen the embrace. Your hands clutched the base of the stool you were sat atop to anchor yourself down for fear of floating to the roof. The hum of his lips in joy had a small moan pull from your lips the longer he was joined against you. 

You felt his right hand brush against your bicep, curling his firm grip around it as he pushed his chest flush with your own with a gentle turn of your body. He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes immediately falling to your rapidly swelling and kiss-bruised lips, slightly smudged paint falling below the perimeter of your bottom lip. Tapping your chin with his hook, your eyes darted from your own gaze against his lips to meet with his purple eyes. 

“My Seraphim,” the rumble of his voice and the small smirk of his lips had your attention hyper fixed and hanging on his every word. You held your gaze firmly affixed to his, watching as he turned away from you and greeted the men in front of you with the nod of his head and the small utterance of their names.

“Mihawk,” the rumble of his voice rubbing within his throat had your spine tingle with anticipation, “Buggy.” He turned back to meet your orbs that had not yet broken from his face, but raked your gaze over his face with half-lidded lashes. Your eyes continued to float in a daze against his lips and flittering back up to meet his gaze. 

He extended his right hand in a gesture for you to take it, you reacting immediately by placing your hand within his larger palm to encircle his digits around it. You allowed him to pull you away from your former position atop the barstool, your heels clicking against the floor as he escorted you to the desired table for the night. Now in the shroud of seclusion, he leaned down and uttered a small apology in your ear. 

“Forgive me,” he began, taking his seat within the plush armchair and patting his left knee with his right. Without hesitation, you gracefully placed yourself atop his thigh with the small flick of your hair, crossing your left knee over your right and arching your back. 

“What sins am I forgiving, sir?” you asked him, feeling the dangerous caress of his hook brushing against your spine and collecting a small portion of your hair within its curvature. Your boss took in a deep breath through his nose, expanding his broad chest beneath his suit jacket. His exhale had a small quake to it, his eyes closing as he basked under your attention.

You reached your hands and began to dance your fingertips against the hem of his collar. Although this was a routine you had practiced with him over man a night on his lap, this touch felt almost forbidden as his brows furrowed. 

“I should not have kissed you like that,” he uttered in a voice below a hushed whisper, “You deserve better than something so public. I desire you-... -for you to be treated as a seraphim I know you to be.” His vocal catch had your attention completely focussed on every word, your body leaning itself further as your hands halted their movement. 

“I am not a seraphim, sir,” your lips were now almost brushing with the shell of his ear, your hypnotic perfume, intoxicating and mesmerizing the larger gentleman the longer your presence remained atop his lap. He angled his head away from you, exposing the side of his neck to reveal the rapidity of his heartbeat displayed against his pulse. 

“And what are you, if not a seraphim,” he whispered darkly, allowing to be disarmed by your presence as he leant into your touch, yet away from the descent of your lips upon his ear. 

“I am your seraphim,” you confessed as your lips grazed against the sensitive flesh of his cheek, his dark hair tickling against your eyes. 

Sir Crocodile was glad he had withdrawn you to a secluded portion of his casino at this moment. He truly did not desire for the other two members of the Cross-Guild to notice how much of a grip you truly had around his heart, but refused to break away from your display of unrestrained physical affection. He knit his brows together, furthering their descent down his face as he processed your words.

“Because I pay you to be,” he uttered, leaning away from your touch and forcing the mask of his arrogance back onto his features. He dropped the hook from your hair, reaching his right hand into his left breast pocket to locate a thick cigar and his golden lighter. Placing the bitten end between his teeth and clamping down on it, he drew the flame up to his lips and attempted to ignite the end. 

“I will return my wage to you,” you uttered quietly after swiping the golden lighter from his hand and reigniting the flame, “I have no need for it when you take care of me so well.” His eyes held an aloof boredom to his expression, refusing to meet with your face as you lit his cigar for him. 

“And if my wealth was taken from me?” He questioned before inhaling the smoke from his cigar, exhaling it away from your face, “If I was to go to prison once more, what then?” Your eyes narrowed, your lip curling up to reveal your displeasure at the question.

“I would claw tooth and nail to free you from your confinement, sir,” you confessed, reaching your left hand forward and collecting his chin beneath your thumb and index finger, turning his jaw for his eyes to meet with yours once more, “And although living in luxury is a welcome experience, I would stand by you regardless.” His eyes depicted his craving for your words to be true, although not believing it yourself. 

He began to open his mouth to speak, silenced by your words cutting through the air like your daggers meeting with the jugular of your foe. 

“You have my loyalty, my blades, and my body at your disposal,” you leant forward further, darting your eyes between focusing on each of his. “Should you order me to jump, I will ask how high. Should you ask me to kneel, I will fall to my knees,” you continued, your grip holding more firmly against his chin, “Should you wordlessly aim your finger at an enemy, I would be a channel of your wrath as I claim their lives for you.” 

Allowing a few moments of thick silence to swell between you, you felt the scrape of his hook trailing itself against your spine, hovering over the soft point of your rib and pressing his point firmly into your flesh. 

“While your words are as beautiful as you are,” he whispered, looking down at the plunging neck of your dress and back up into your eyes, “They are as decorated by the impact of my wealth as your body is in that dress.” You narrowed your eyes at his comment, taking the expression as a challenge. 

Shrugging away from the point of his hook, you rose to your feet between his legs and slowly drew your hands up to the thin straps on your shoulders. You hooked your thumbs beneath the material and began to slowly slip the material over your shoulders and down your biceps. Sir Crocodile’s eyes widened, immediately reaching his right hand and left forearm to halt your hands from revealing more of your flesh to him. 

“What are you doing?” His growl should’ve had your actions stuttering in any other setting, but his rasp had your heart beating in desire in place of fear. 

“I have already informed you that I will be returning my wage to you,” you cocked your head to the side, arching your back towards him and looking down at him under your lustful expression, “Why not start with the dress you claim to despise so much.” The rise of his fluster depicted in his eyes at your words had a smirk drawing up to decorate your lips. 

“What has someone like me done to deserve such devotion from you, my seraphim?” he whispered, his right hand elevating the strap of your left shoulder and securing it firmly in its prior place. You followed suit with your right strap, securing it firmly against your shoulder and leaning further into his welcome embrace. 

He leant his torso closer to you, his broad forearms circling over your own with his fingertips brushing against your skin. You began to open your mouth, confessing your adoration for your boss further upon the tip of your tongue before crudely interrupted by the presence of the blue-haired clown followed behind by the broody gentleman from earlier.

“Are we playin’ cards yet, Croco?” Buggy’s voice hitched as he met with an intimate moment shared between you and Sir Crocodile. Your boss’ hands caressed your skin, pulling you against his torso as he aimed his disapproving gaze over your right shoulder. 

He growled at the interruption, his voice holding more feral animosity than he felt he should. You drew your hand up to claim his cheek in the palm of your right hand, looking down at him with your eyes holding your unspoken answer of lustful adoration at him. His breath hitched as his gaze met with yours, prompting his right hand to grasp the flesh of your back firmer within his spread fingertips. 

“I recall you having barely enough berry to survive the last time we played, Clown,” Mihawk’s aloof tone called from beside him. Neither you nor Sir Crocodile paid either man any mind, too wrapped up in the intimate moment you were sharing holding one another. 

You removed the cigar from Crocodile’s teeth in your left hand, stooping forward and claiming his lips beneath your own. Your nose brushed against his, the kiss as hastily departing in severance of the connection as it did in its descent. He arched his chin up, chasing your retreat with his eyes closed. 

“Shall I get the table ready, sir?” You asked him in a subtle whisper, relishing in the small hum of pleasure falling from the lips of your boss. His eyes split slowly open, remaining half-lidded as he lulled his head on his neck to glance at you. The silver mark splitting his face danced in the illuminance of the soft bar light, his striking features appearing more chiseled under its glow. 

“Please,” he spoke slowly, his tongue darting out and danced as the ‘L’ passed his lips. You raked his hair back over his scalp, replacing the fallen strands in their rightful place, while leaning down once more with a smirk.

“Right away, sir,” you purred at him while returning his cigar to his teeth, watching as he bit the tip with a small snarl. Turning and walking away to collect several items to place atop the green felt for your boss to engage in a game of cards with his two unlikely colleagues, eyes fixed on your back as you exited the secluded area.

“Who is she?” Buggy’s shocked voice cracked out the stuttered question also plaguing Mihawk’s mind. Sir Crocodile relaxed in his chair, inhaling the cigar smoke deeply into his lungs and holding it. Upon it exiting from his lungs, he confessed the place you held within his heart with the utterance of two words.

“My favorite.”

[funnyexel]

Imagine having Makeup Sex with Bruce Wayne

You’re married, he stupidly accuses you of cheating and after much resistance, you finally give in and fuck it out…

“I won’t forgive you easily.” You say sure of your resolve, how naïve of you.

——

“Its not coming off.” You whisper to him in the darkness, speaking about your bra.

“want me to rip it?” He breathes against you and you hum in compliance. The clasps a tearing to his inhumane grip, fabric ripping as well.

“here..” you mutter, “touch me here, please,” you beg him. Tears on the verge of falling from your frustration. Using his finger to lift your chin, he kisses you, his warm lips pressing against yours and increasing the ball of heat. Which blazes through your whole body, a ball of heat and want. Sneaking his hands to your hips, he helps you straddle his lap as his rough palms move over your soft and smooth thighs. The kiss was slow but your moments were hasty, needy, your hand messing up his naturally styled hair as your tongues intertwine in the most sinful dance ever. Trailing the kisses down your chin to your neck, you take a breath and bite back a moan.

“hurry up.” Your voice breaks with the demand, you wouldn’t be surprised if he clowned you the next morning for all the whimpering you’re doing. Before you give him anymore leeway to touch and tease your body more, you slide down his shorts. And he pulls your panties aside in response, ridiculing your hole and pushing two fingers inside.

“you’re…so wet.” He thickly swallows, holding your hips still as he pushes them in and out.

Taking his fingers out you for good he’s hard, using the wetness he collected on his fingers to lube himself up. It not only made his cock strain but it made him twitch in anticipation. Pushing yourself up, he lines himself up with your hole. Resting your hands on his shoulders and sliding down, you stretch out as you sit inch by delicious inch.

“m’slow, baby…slowly.” He lets out in a labored breath, the silhouette of his head leaning back on the headboard. He is always horny, he just controls himself majority of the time. And you, without fail coax him out of his composed nature, turning him into a man with instincts once he gets you alone.

“oh..fuck.” Your breath shudders, hips rocking against him. This is all he wants. You on top of him, moaning and cursing from the pleasure. It makes his night after he spent so many nights cumming in his hand, looking at your sleeping body and wishing it was your cunt. All his anger towards the world disappears when he’s inside you.

Your soft palms move to his hair, so you can pull him closer. Shoving his face in your breasts. Shrieks leaving your vocal cords every other moment when he would push himself into you, deeper than you could ever do without help. He hums, his eyes not leaving yours. Though you could barely stay focused on his eyes, he never stopped looking into yours. Sitting up on the bed as your knees sink in to better hold yourself up, his hand slithers up your back. Making you jerk forward, boxing him in against the headboard and your boobs. Your hands moving from his hair to the headboard.

He mumbles under you and even if you could hear him its just incoherent nonsense he spurs out when he’s pussy drunk. His mouth latching on your nipple and sucking, all the while he is thrusting into you at a shattering pace. You can’t help but roll your eyes, moaning with no restraint.

You try to laugh at how much he’s enjoying this but your face twists at the pulls and pinches happening in your cervix. Breathing his name lowly as you cry out for him.

“bruce, hm’..” Your nails scratch visible marks into the wooden board as you slam yourself down to his balls, squeezing tightly on his cock, relieving yourself. His grip on your hip tightened as he moans, your warmth, sounds and ability of your body overwhelming him. Flipping you feverishly, he huffs over you, a surprised high pitched hum leaving your lips. Hands digging into his shoulder as he rolls his hips into you, then snapping them harshly beginning a rogue pace. Moving one hand to the top of the headboard, you use it as a cushion for your head as you body gets pushed upward.

“hah…my- my head.” Words totally escape you. He grunts, gripping the backs of your thighs and moving you both lower on the bed.

“you’re…” he starts, “so fuckin’..” in between, “pretty..” every thrust. “oh my god-” The moonlight illuminates his shadowy figure nicely, you watch as he roughly grips at his roots. Grabbing one of your ankles, you jump at the suddenness of it but melt into it as he rests it on his shoulder. Doing the same to your other leg. Stopping his rhythm completely.

“what’s wrong..?” You squeak at the pull in your legs, a bit of shuffling going on.

“nothin’…hmph..oh.” He says abruptly starting again, purposely putting all of his body weight on you to mush you into a mating press. Now babble was leaving your lips, a mix of no’s and yes’s, stuttering and stumbling over simple words and most of all whining. So much whining, and sharp breaths.

“yes, m’little wife,” you deliriously smile at the name.

“sorry…sorry..sorry, please! fuck.” you shout mindlessly, your nails finding the nearest pillow to dig into.

“who’s my little wife,” he sighs, grinding into you.

“no..o-oh my..fuck!” you put one hand against his chest, your lungs burning from the strain and gummy walls aching around him.

“don’t make me ask again..” he mutters in your ear, enjoying you cracking under the intensity.

“please…” you beg him, “it’s me-” you recite, giving in, “fuck! it’s me,” you gasp.

“say it” he bathes in your hiss of pain when he bites lightly into your neck.

“i’m your little wife!” your leg shakes against his head and you couldn’t be more ignorant to the pain, “your wife,” you cried out, “just your wife!” to the top of your exhausted lungs.

“..’m gonna cum-“ he rasps, slamming into you, over and over. Whining and letting all the slutty noises leave his lips. Only focused on getting off. Opening your mouth to intake more air, your labored breathing fills the air along with your skin clapping together in applause and his cute whining. Your chest heating up at your bodies moving the bed back and forth. His intimate and broken moans being the start of the end to his barbaric speed. The strength of his strokes increasing.

“ah..oh..shit,” he recites in a chant, swallowing his access spit. His hips sputtering to a stop as a line of curses leave his lips. Hot fluid burning the insides of your body, shooting into you, moaning lowly at the feeling of his hot semen in your cunt. Heavy breathing mixing together in a song of sex. Looking down at your spent body, he takes in your fucked out look. He knows it hasn’t been long but by the looks of it, you won’t last another round. Lifting up off of you, he gives both your legs a rest as he places them down gently at either side of him. Keeping his hands on your thighs to feel the violent shake.

“y-you ass-h-hole.” you hate when you stutter but you honestly couldn’t help it.

Your hands go limp at your sides as you relax, hesitantly reaching down to feel his cum leaking out your plugged pussy and a wet spot on the bed. You’re too surprised and caught up in the fact that you squirted and didn’t notice that he dipped off the bed.

“you okay?” he asks, coming back, wiping your inner thighs and legs. Humming to him, you smile in content. Rolling you on your side, he spoons you.

“Isn’t the bed wet.” you croak and he shakes his head, telling you it was is shirt that’s wet. Lying in the pillows, your eyelids shut as a loud yawn escapes your lips. The exhaustion in your body not helping you ignore the immense butterflies swirling in your abdomen as he rocks you to sleep.

The burn of the morning sun shocks you out your slumber, rolling into open arms, you mush your head into his shoulder. Deep chuckles rumbling his chest as he ruffles the sheets, shielding you beneath his pile of flesh.

“mornin’..” he slurs, his head pounding from the night before.

“good morning.” you bathe in his raspy morning voice, eating up the way his eyes identify all your facial features from the curves and creases of your lips to each darling hair of your eyebrows as if they’ve changed overnight.

Tilting your head up, you force your eyes open, blinking a few times to clear the blur and find his lips. Once, twice, thrice and smiling into the last one.

“how’s your legs.” he smirks at your unamused face, already knowing the answer to his teasing statement.

“you must get off from getting a rise out of me.”

A/n : I literally can’t stop taking huge breaks and its so bad. I’m changing up my formatting for my works if you couldn’t tell. I also might be publishing a Brahms story but then again who knows…

more of my writing