#The monsters can be any of the cats really | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oooohno · 2 years ago

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There are not enough words to describe how much I enjoyed reading this!!!

GOD’S LONELIEST CREATION ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: as head of the mothman study you’ve devoted countless nights to observing your subject from behind the glass. you liked to think those many months spent together contributed to a sense of camaraderie, but time is merely a cradle gently lulling you into false security— and shouta is nothing if not patient.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader (mention of ovulating), monsters + cryptids au, mothman aizawa, implied monster hunting, captivity, cryptozoologist reader, possessiveness, dubcon to eventual enthusiastic consent, oblivious reader, monsterfucking, mating behaviour, breeding, mentions of size difference (he is 7ft; called ‘little human’ +‘little flame’), vaginal oral sex + tongue fucking (reader receiving), multiple orgasms, non-human genitalia, oviposition (reader receiving; but no belly bulging), unprotected vaginal sex, *slaps roof* you can fit so much plot in this porn!!

wc: 7k+

Tucked away into the seam between Shizuoka and Musutafu is the UA Cryptobiology research centre. In the eyes of the public it was an extension of the nearby UA University and largely harmless. Cryptids kept there are not advertised, atleast, not the living ones.

The building is huge. An architectural giant, and a stain on the natural landscape. You’ve worked there for years yet still find yourself struck by just how foreboding it looks. Head ducked, you slip past the thin crowd protesting by the security gate, staff card hidden in the sleeve of your shirt.

While they are few in number their voices are loud and accusing. You flinch at the vitriol as you try to reach the scanner. There was a small earthquake in a nearby prefecture a few days ago which was the likeliest reason they had gathered here.

On days like this you couldn’t help the thought that no amount of scientific research would wipe away the countrywide consensus on cryptids. Very early on in your career you came to understand why your superiors lied about the live subjects. If these people knew the truth they could probably birth a calamity all of their own.

Unfortunately it is not only the monstrous who are a target. You lock eyes with a guard standing by the gates and slip your keycard into the shallow of your palm. Nodding in acknowledgement, he places the whistle hung around his neck between his lips and the moment you swipe in he blows, hard.

The gate clicks and unlocks with a short beep that is drowned out by the noise. You walk through and quickly push it closed behind you. Thank you, you mouth over to him, scurrying across the lot toward the main doors. He offers a flippant wave in return.

You enter the mouth of the lobby. It is a wide dome shaped room with high ceilings that houses most of the lecture rooms, and acts as a junction to other parts of the facility. Looking up, you can see each floor twisting into a spiral.

Centred is the reception desk; large and circular to make room for five staff members to be seated at any given time. Yamada is there today, dressed with his shirt cuffs pushed to the elbow, waist length hair braided up into a ponytail. He leans dangerously far back in his chair and twiddles a pen between his fingers. Your unease falls away at the familiar sight.

“Yamada,” you intone sternly. A grin pulls at your lips when he startles. The wheels on his office chair squeak as he rights himself. Wide sheepish eyes land on you and narrow in disbelief.

“Don’t do that,” he pouts, dragging himself closer to the desk, casting another nervous glance toward his coworker. “Bully! I could’ve broken my neck”.

“Then you would’ve thanked me for the two months paid sick leave”.

Yamada smirks, peering at you above his yellow tinted lenses “…Touché”.

You rest both arms on the countertop and lean over, holding a hand out to receive the sign in sheet. “You have a good weekend?” you ask, falling back into idle pleasantries while you skim over the names already on the register. Hatsume Mei. Huh, you think. She’s early.

“Kan and Kayama dragged me out drinking,” Yamada admits tiredly, massaging two fingers to his temples and closing his eyes, opening again to glare at your huff of laughter. “Sure love laughing at my misfortune, don’t’cha? I think you’re spending too much time with those ghouls”.

Signing your name in the next blank row, you give a brief glance at the watch on Yamada’s wrist to mark the time. “Comes with the territory,” you murmur, amused by the whine in his voice, setting the pen and register down on his desk with some finality. “Seen Mei today? She signed in already”.

“You bet. That girl is hard to miss,” he slides the sheets toward his front. “Speaking of…” you turn at the amused hum. His pen is pointed left like the needle of a compass leading directly to a familiar figure. Hatsume is clutching her clipboard with a tenuous grip as she scurries through the lobby, pink hair bouncing on her shoulders.

Her gaze finds you and she perks up. You lift a hand to return a wave as she beckons you frantically. It’s not entirely uncharacteristic of her. Hatsume was the rare type— she loved this job. Any small change or news could garner this reaction from her.

The excitable exclamation of your name draws the attention of the people around you, though the intern remains entirely unperturbed, almost tripping over her feet to get to you. “Mei,” you smile, instinctively stepping forward with arms held open in case she stumbles. “What’s all the noise about? Did something happen?”

“Food!” she pants heavily, grasping your forearm for balance. Her eyes are wide and beseeching as if the word alone was enough to explain her enthusiasm. It doesn’t.

Slow, you repeated, “…Food?”

The band keeping her hair tied back loosens while she nods. “It’s the mothman. He’s not eating!”

“He’s not…” you blink. “Oh!” The realisation trickles in, and you find yourself gripping onto Hatsume’s arms with bruising pressure as it washes over you. Your cheeks ache and she mirrors your grin.

Yamada clears his throat, interrupting before you have the chance to speak. “What’s so great about that?” he asks. “Wouldn't that be a sign that he’s sick or something?”

“No,” you breathe. Energy buzzes lightning-quick under your skin. Restless, you begin to shake Hatsume where she stands, and the two of you laugh in astonishment. “It means he’s hoarding!”

“Hoarding?”

“Mothman cryptids will take food back to their nests for their partners but,” the burst of joy dwindles, then. You worry at your bottom lip. “But… previous observations show that this behaviour should come after they’ve met a potential mate”.

“You think we should be worried?”

“I think it’s unusual”.

Hatsume doesn’t wilt. She shrugs your doubts off like water to a duck’s back, bouncing on the balls of her feet and handing over the clipboard. As always, the notes are verbose but organised. Detailed down to the very last time stamp.

There, written in pen, it states that at 11:58 the mothman was seen hovering by the food hatch. It clarified that there were no signs of aggression or posturing. Shouta was simply waiting. Shouta never waits. At 12:00 his usual weekly meal was given and instead of consuming it immediately as he normally would, Shouta gathered the food to his chest and took flight.

You’re rushing off toward the cryptid wing before Hizashi can press any further. Hatsume is at your heel, her quick light-footed steps echoing through the corridors.

The mothman enclosure is immense. Space is required— most cryptids can grow up to seven feet or above, and their wings even taller. Separated from your observation deck by a thick, bulbous glass window, you needed to crane your head just to catch a glimpse of the ceiling, which remained mostly covered by a canopy.

Flora covers the entirety of the forest floor. The foliage is so dense that sometimes seeing further is impossible, which in turn makes your job that much harder; but it’s worth it, for the sake of Shouta’s comfort. Unlike your predecessors, you strongly advocated for him. You viewed him as an individual, another sentient being with autonomy, and thought building a good foundation of trust could only lead to better data overall.

The facility is vastly different to the outside world. Blacked out nest boxes were placed around the area, hidden away for him to choose from however he pleased, as well as broad net columns where he can rest. Your team was instructed to begin adjusting the seasons months ago. Gradually, the temperature was changed to mimic fall. The fauna acclimated, dousing the otherwise dark and dreary forest in a warm colour palette.

Tawny leaves perched loosely on branches like a flock of goldfinches. Camouflaged behind them are two red dots emitting an unblinking glow. It is very unlike him to be this close to the deck so early in the evening. Waiting for more food, maybe. You note that thought down. You see his eyes follow the movement of your pen and smile.

Mothman cryptids are bipedal winged humanoids. They have always been notoriously aloof and difficult to study. Catching them outright was nigh impossible. They’re a highly intelligent species, and very sensitive to their surroundings. Your best bet was to inflict injury first and capture later when an infection set in.

Shouta was different from the start. So unlike his kin that you sometimes wondered if the research collated about him was permissible. He had been wounded badly by nearby collectors and managed to escape, but rather than relocate, he entered the facility of his own volition. You’d heard the stories. An eldritch being prying open the doors, thick steel bending like paper, the employees paralysed with fear, rendered unable to do anything except kneel under the intense pressure of his glare.

They had been so frightened that the shivering malachite bundle in his arms almost went amiss. A Peryton fawn matted with blood. Director Yagi supposedly spit blood of his own when he noticed.

Shouta never left after that.

Everyone figured the rumours were exaggerated. A mothman wouldn’t surrender itself for the sake of another, not even it’s own kind. That is the universal truth— all cryptids are incapable of empathy. Their sole purpose is to serve as the herald of death, and death bringers did not save life. They took it.

While you knew that to be ostensibly untrue it will never matter. Monster hunting was a tradition practiced for millennia. Accepting that they might be capable of emotion would cast doubt upon such practices. More than anything humanity needed justification for their wrong doings; condemning something as monstrous only renders such violence as heroic.

You, however, had a fascination with them since you were a child. Those unanswered questions and curiosities are what led you to cryptozoology, and ultimately, into cryptid behavioural research. Having Shouta’s care handed over to you was a dream come true.

Shouta was averse to people and made that known; keepers could be found petrified by the feeding hatch, trembling in place for hours if they weren’t careful. Which is why your superiors were greatly pleased by his reaction to you.

You couldn’t confidently say he liked you— could a mothman like anyone? But the cryptid was, at the very least, intrigued by his new handler.

Within the first meeting you recorded vocalisations that were previously undiscovered. Soft chittering and clicks, surprisingly pleasing to the ear; it had a hypnotic quality to it that could almost lull you to sleep. The common denominator was you— rather, Shouta only ever made those sounds when you were visibly anxious, and you often toyed with the notion that he was attempting to soothe you.

You tried not to indulge in such hypotheses as not to cloud your judgment. Humans had a bad habit of anthropomorphising the things they cared about. Countless cynics argued that animals do not love, they simply form attachments to those that provide for them. Shouta may only treat you better because you are the first human to show him sincere respect but that didn’t matter.

Whether your place in his life was just that of a nuisance or not, you cared for him and his wellbeing all the same. That’s what made this so invigorating— not only answers to questions that plagued your field for centuries, but the real possibility that your subject might finally have true companionship.

Your mouth twists as your thoughts drift, imagining the smell of decay percolating in one of his nest boxes now that he was hoarding. Shouta could eat anything within reason if he needed to, but his preferred diet was on the bitter side. Rotted fruits and the like which had a more acidic, sour taste to it, though he could be partial to dry pantry food in the hotter months.

Mothman have been known to feast on flesh, too, in desperate times. Though it is rare for them to acquire the taste for human meat; too mild and too rubbery.

If he truly is readying for a mate then he would soon need more food, materials and bedding. The foliage worked as a foundation but you’re aware mothman cryptids liked to weave silk or cashmere into the structure for the young to cling to and eat.

That gives you pause. Your grimace curls into a wide, exuberant grin, that you immediately shield behind the clipboard. We could end up with babies this year, you think. The first to ever be bred in captivity— a near impossible feat.

Shouta’s antennae are fluttering. Their movements fracture the stillness of the canopy and make known his position. You stare long enough for the dark blob amongst the trees to sharpen into a solid silhouette.

A mothman has a wingspan of around thirteen feet. These measurements aren’t entirely accurate, because Shouta refused to allow anyone to touch them, but the sheer size was obvious at a distance even where they remained tucked to his spine, cocooning him in darkness.

They are covered in loose tiny hairs acting as scales for insulation, while creating intricate, iridescent patterns along the inner forewings that can only be seen in moonlight when open— a gift saved in hopes of wooing a mate. Maybe you’d finally get a glimpse this year.

“Hey big guy,” you call out. Your voice jostles his wings and beckons him forward. Shouta balances himself on a thick cedar branch directly across from the observation deck, a rare sight. He is magnificent in the artificial daylight.

Hatsume releases an awed breath behind you. “Gah, he’s always so responsive to you! I’m jealous!”

Shouta barely acknowledges her presence. His attention is steadfast, pinpointed to your every move; unblinking, lest you disappear from vision. “Don’t take it personally. He’s just known me longer, is all,” you demurred, turning to her with a reassuring smile.

But she is seeing beyond you. The hair on the nape of your neck prickles and suddenly a sinistrous shadow stretches across the deck. Mei flinches back reflexively and you daren’t look back. What was ephemeral fear in her features blossoms into wonderment.

Then, a tapping sound that echoes in your chest. It is careful and somehow that makes it all the more daunting. Brushing off the unease, you pivot on your heel, coming face to face with Shouta. Both wings have hunched forward to create a cocoon of darkness, his pale face barely visible.

Another tap, accompanied by a smooth rumble. His large hand is pressed up against the glass. You step closer and his wingspan widens just a fraction. The light reflects in his eyes. He is right in front of you, so contrivedly real-looking that it feels like it must be fake.

Call it curiosity, or stupidity, or an amalgamation of the two. You outstretch your arm. The pane feels cold where your body presumes warmth. You align your palm with his and it swallows yours, fingers splayed open, still unable to reach the width of his hand.

“Hi there…” you exhale, having to crane your head to hold his gaze. Shouta’s jaw shifts as he clicks his teeth and you are reminded just how impressive a mothman cryptid’s hearing is. “You’re acting all out of sorts, huh. Want more food for the nest, right?”

Dark talons leave marks on the thick glass, hairline fractures stemming from point of impact. His gaze darkens. Hatsume gasps when he shakes his head and you can’t blame her. Cryptids rarely communicated directly with handlers.

“No?” you repeat, brows pinched into a frown. Then, to yourself, “Nesting materials, then? Already? But it can’t be, surely”.

The choice is a difficult one. Every potential mate your team introduced Shouta to throughout the years has been adamantly rejected. There was never an effort to impress or prove himself. He either flat out ignored them or attempted to kill them. You want to enable his new behaviours— to encourage it, even — but there was no mate yet.

Pseudocyesis comes to mind. Though this situation is far different, you wondered whether something in Shouta’s environment had triggered these instincts.

The rich baritone in his purr vibrates against your hand. His eyes blink slow and beseeching, full of apparent hunger, emitting that dewy red glow. Distantly, you register the dull scratch of pencil to paper. Rambling whispers fall from Hatsume’s mouth as she writes, documenting everything the way you taught her to.

“I think,” you begin, tongue heavy in your mouth. Your throat feels dry and the implication behind your next words stings. “I think he wants me to go inside his enclosure”.

A sane person would immediately put their foot down and tell you no. Director Yagi himself would try to talk you down. However, Hatsume Mei is a far cry from sane. She barely considers her own safety, let alone yours.

“What for?” she chimes impatiently. “I noticed he has been keeping an eye out for a specific person all morning— it must’ve been you. Do you think he could really be sick like Yamada said? Since he’s humanoid we can test if our medicines work on him!”

“Mei,” you interrupt, your voice cutting through her exuberance. She shrinks somewhat and you feel bad for being so sharp with her. “No, I’m not sure if he’s sick. And no, our medication only works to an extent. The dose needs to be dangerously high and cryptids burn through it faster than it can be replaced”.

Shouta observes the interaction. The tension in his wings looks ready to snap, and the feathery fingers of his antennae have started to shiver. You take in the sight of your overlapped hands once more and step away, clenching it into a fist at your hip.

“Anyone who goes into a cryptid’s den doesn’t come out,” Hatsume comments, tone uncharacteristically somber.

“I trust him,” you reassured, leveling the mothman with a contemplative stare. He ducks into the fluffy plumage around his neck and glares. “Mostly”.

Hatsume snickers. The weight in your chest lifts and you smile at her. She’s still young. Too young to bear any responsibility for what might happen.

“Something is telling me I have to go in there. It’ll keep me up at night if I don’t,” you continue, adding emphasis with a pointed finger. “This was my idea and mine alone. Do not send anyone in after me. Capiche?”

She gives a mock salute, “Yes boss!”

Each wing with a cryptid enclosure has a staircase leading from the observation deck to a feeding room. You descend the stairs, too aware of Shouta’s stare, which followed until you were out of sight.

The room is dull. Devoid of natural light, furnished only by three large chest freezers and a closet full of linens. There is a hatch the size of a shoebox that can be pulled open to safely deposit food through, and adjacent is a vault door reinforced with steel and concrete.

You open the closet and parse through the fabrics. Admittedly a long shot as far as ‘I come in peace’ gestures go, but the only thing you can think might help. Silk slides petal-soft between your fingers and you tuck it under your arm, joined by another cashmere blanket, smooth and noticeably light.

The vault door requires both a code and a staff card. You input the code and swipe your card. The affirmative beep pierces through your equilibrium. Shouta is not harmless. But you are, and you’re hoping he knows that.

A loud click echoes into the feeding room. You grasp the handle and take one last steely inhale before heaving, struggling with the incredible weight. You curse the door as it groans on its hinges, alerting everything nearby of your arrival.

Mothman feast on anything. Vegetation and flesh, fresh or rotted, but legend always spoke of their hunger for misery. They coveted disaster and fed on it, babe to breast, and somehow grew hungrier the more they swallowed.

You step into the enclosure. The door shuts with a loud foreboding slam and locks automatically.

Shouta does harm to those who would harm him. He feasts on fruit. On cereal and rice. You’d watched him suck through ten packets of coffee jelly, but never misery. If anyone were to ask you, you would tell them that Shouta conjured the very opposite of misery.

You remind yourself of that repeatedly until your thoughts coalesce into white noise. The earth is soft beneath your boots. Something darts through the treeline, gone in a blink, and you feel the hair on your arms stand on end.

Easing into the surroundings, you cautiously call out to him, “…Shouta? You here, big guy?”

A low hum resonates throughout the trees. You feel it more than you hear it, almost like a caress. It coaxes a familiar warm feeling into the pit of your stomach, willing all tension from your muscles until the blankets pinned to your side unfold, falling onto the ground.

A coronal mist has set in, orchestrated by a chattering sound you know well. Your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin. It’s harder to breathe now. Shaking, you try to advance. Your body is quickly paralysed by the innate urge to flee.

Shouta’s presence echoes throughout the brush and sinks it’s claws into you— throbs under your skin in time with your heart. But if you ran, would that make his blood sing? Would he interpret it as a challenge to prove his worth, or a rejection for which to kill you?

The air is temperate. That perfect balance between cool and humid. Lush oranges and yellows branch out into every corner. Light bleeds through the thinning canopy, the ground dappled with sunspots. This isn’t such a terrible place to die.

You don’t hear or see him. Like before, you feel him first. Fear washes over you and steals your breath. Shouta is at your back, shaping himself to your body in a way that boasts how large he is in comparison. You stay stockstill while he touches you, nosing gently at your throat.

Finding your voice, you croak his name. An eldritch purr shudders through him and he grasps at your hips, pulling them back against him. You exhale at the obvious press of his cock to your back. Those soft chitters you had come to love drown out the panic that follows your realisation.

You were the intended mate.

Death stands behind you, arms cinched around your middle, mouthing along the nape of your neck like he loves you. The line between instinct and desire is deceptively thin. You wonder if Shouta knows the difference, or if he equates love with the heat of your blood spilling into his mouth, seams undone by the touch of his lips.

Your legs collapse beneath you, hitting the floor. A grubby applause from the dirt dances around your knees. Shouta accepts your dead weight as though it were nothing, his wings enveloping you both in an abrupt darkness.

Minuscule scales shimmer and reflect the glaring bioluminescence radiating from his eyes. Before you is a sky soaked crimson and blood spattered stars. “Is this…” you start, voice caught in your throat. It should be harrowing. People would call it a depiction of hell. You call it beautiful.

Shouta tucks his nose into your jugular with a warm hum and you feel sharp teeth protruding beneath his lips. Neck ruffle tickles soft against your skin, keeping you tight to his torso, enough that you think he could consume you whole. He’s pleased. You can tell.

Laughter bubbles up in your chest. It’s as if you are a teenager again, sneaking out with someone to see a clear starry night. The moment is incredulously human.

A mothman does not bare his wings to anyone but his mate. Even in flight they are too fast to be seen. You are so enamoured by it that you don’t notice the shift in gravity until the force on your body lightens and your stomach drops.

You squeak. Frantically clinging to his shoulders and turning your face into his neck, Shouta makes a sound suspiciously like laughter. Your body sways in his arms as the too-corporeal trees rise to meet him. What you cannot see you listen out for; leaves rustling, groaning branches, any sign to indicate where you’ve landed.

When his wings retract the shadows do not recede. You’ve been brought to a dark place. A few metres above your head there is a long slit of light bleeding into the lofty space. You’re distinctly reminded of a grave. That thought makes your heart thump hard against your rib cage.

A calm tenor breaks the silence and you refocus on the figure above. Red eyes bleed into the darkness. Long black hair drapes over his shoulders and blends into the light fluffed ruff of his neck, reminiscent of a scarf that extends down his chest and back into his large wings, which he has tucked closely behind him.

Broad feathery antennae flicker on top of his head, so distinctly insect-like, but his body and hands are startlingly human— it would be, if not for the black tipped talons that grew from each finger and toe.

“Are you still frightened?”

You realise you’re being cradled with deliberate care, as if you might shatter. He treats you like this is the first time he has ever met another living thing. There is barely any pressure behind the claws curled at the base of your neck. All you can think is that he’s warm. Soft. Guided by wonder, inhibitions lost in a concussive fog, you reach up to cautiously touch his face.

Shouta had multiple nests. The team before you took over had planted cameras in all of them only for their recordings to be destroyed, pieces left strewn by the food hatch. It agitated him, thus you respected those wishes. But in doing so you also cut off any means of behavioural observation.

This meant you knew of them, but nothing more than that. You had no idea which nests he actually used. You had no idea how he spun them, or what they looked like from the inside.

What you have been lowered into is not a grave, though it is deep and narrow. The bedding yields, padded under your back, emanating the smell of upturned earth and petrichor.

This is his primary nest.

Your tongue feels too thick for your mouth. “You can… you can speak?”

A black tipped finger hooks into the collar of your shirt. You feel it sharp like a knife's edge, and the fabric rips with barely any pressure. Shouta snorts. And then, “Your kind is strange. Presumptuous,” he traces over the swell of your breast. “And soft”.

There’s only intent to satiate his curiosity, but you feel something dangerously warm coil low in your belly. The broad, feathered antennae atop his head curl toward you, almost prehensile in nature, as if they can sense it.

“You can’t,” words fail you as his tongue glides over your pulse. “You’ve never spoken before. You can’t blame me for being surprised”.

“That wouldn’t be logical,” he murmurs. You exhale shakily as his teeth nip gently at your lobe, pressing what could be a kiss to the shell. “It’s not as if your primitive ears would be able to hear me through the glass”.

The baritone of his voice frissons down your spine and you find yourself clenching your thighs. Shouta braces over you until he is all there is— and you are all he sees.

You argue fruitlessly in attempts to maintain self control, “We could’ve talked through the speakers”.

“We could have. But then the other humans would know this part of me,” he replies plainly. “Is that what you want?”

You’re a little embarrassed by the immediate ‘no’ that rolls onto the tip of your tongue. You bite it and let your silence answer for you. A disservice to your team and to your research— you seek truths and yet the truth is you are secretly happy that this is yours and yours alone.

Shouta huffs. He brings your foreheads together and your knees part reflexively to make room for him as he settles between them. The shine in his eyes has dimmed into a simmer. It reminds you of a pyre after the fire has burned; the glowing ash left to cool overnight.

“If I had not played along and acted beastly you wouldn’t have paid attention,” he continues. You tremble as he slots against the cradle of your hips, a suggestive pulse felt between your legs. The size of his body forces your legs wider around his waist. His cock is heavy and the heat emanates through your work pants. He doesn’t move, and he waits.

“You…” you’re breathless when it hits you. “You could’ve left all this time”.

He rises slowly at your words and tilts his head, beckoning you to continue. There is an unwavering composure about him that leaves you uneasy. You got the sense he knew your thoughts before you voiced them.

“You stayed and cooperated with our research. Even though… Some of them treated you like an animal. You could be anywhere but here”.

Shouta gives a disapproving chitter. The sound devolves into a hum. He settles a large hand on the top of your head and leans back into your space, uncomfortably close, as if to impress the answer upon you. “Here is where I am supposed to be”.

He’s not a monster, just something that wants to belong.

Your hand smooths over his cheek to his hair, the other guiding his palm to your chest where your heart sits. He squeezes at your chest, curious. Gentle fingertips brush the antennae rooted in a crown of thick black hair. The sweet resonant purr surges and you watch the touch shudder through his body in awe.

Your blood sings, reacting to his desperate call with a burst of exhilaration. A thought crosses your mind— had it been you he was chasing, or this feeling?

Was this how it felt to be a predator?

“Here. With me…” you rasp, wetting your lips as your eyes fall to his mouth. Shouta smiles and you have to temper the urge to touch his teeth. “I’ve worked here for a long time. Why wait until today?”

“Courting takes time. And though I was sure of you I knew you weren’t ready,” he rasps, rocking up against your sex. A gasp catches in your throat and his antennae flutter in response. “I can smell that you are now”.

“Smell?”

Shouta hums an affirmative. “All creatures have a cycle. Your body changes over the weeks,” the hand over your heart descends to your stomach, resting above your waistband. The repetitive stroke of his thumb is doting, almost. “Soon you will be ovulating”.

You are torn between horror and amazement. The craving to write this down was insatiable. Truthfully it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Shouta could know that— he was finely tuned to his environment. That was the entire purpose of chemoreception.

Regardless, that knowledge instills a sense of vulnerability in you. The scales felt tipped entirely in his favour and there was nothing you could hide from him. It was equally liberating and frightening.

A quiet trill pulls you from your thoughts. He must pick up on your anxiety, because mothman crowds you back against the nest and you sink further with a weak smile, your fingers threading into his fur. Wildflowers and long grass borders your periphery. You hadn’t much chance to appreciate his hard work in the dark.

“Shouta,” you faltered. Perhaps you should be more concerned that giving yourself to him was never a question. “Are you sure it’s me you want? I’m just a human”.

“I see that,” he stated dryly. “But you are my little human. My mate. This is not up for debate”.

Memories surrounding your tentative relationship over the years come to the forefront of your mind. How purposeful and gentle he was, the obvious preference for your company, his willingness to share his secrets and weaknesses just to see you satisfied.

The pregnant pause is mistaken for hesitance. Shouta brings your hand to his throat, inner wrist tickled by the plumage. Soft hair trails up his neck and thins by his jaw. Behind him, his wings unfurl and stretch. Pushing the heel up to his jugular, you feel six deliberate clicks. The rhythm of each is individual, some pitched and others deep, and the silence between is different in length, almost similar to morse code.

“What did you say?”

“Your name,” he rumbles.

There is underlying significance you aren’t privy to, yet you feel it all the same. You meet his gaze. Skin feverish, breathes coming quicker. Your hips twitch helplessly and he bites back a croon.

“Okay. Touch me, ” you slowly coil your arms around his neck and bring him into an embrace. He goes doubtlessly, engaging you with knees settled either side of your hips.

Shouta cuts your clothes off carefully and with ease. The simple hook of a talon and they tore like thin paper. His tongue, long and tube-like at the tip, glides between your breasts, flicking over your nipples and watching with fascination. It’s as though the roles have switched. You are the subject now.

You laugh breathily as he nuzzles into you, palming at your soft stomach. Shouta works his way down your body, giving a curious churring sound as more of your body reveals itself. He tears away your pants, but rather than discard them, he tucks them into the borders of the nest.

The air feels good on your skin, cool where it kisses your arousal. “Hold yourself open for me,” he says. “I want to taste you”.

An overwhelming wave of embarrassment washes over you as he guides your hands to the back of your thighs, ankles hooked over his broad shoulders. Pressure behind his claw-tipped fingers, Shouta gently pries your folds apart to demonstrate his wishes. “Like this”.

You moan, bear down on his tongue at the first lick as it glides over your clit, a shudder rolling through your body at the threat of his teeth. He descends again and again with bottomless yearning, no longer hunger, rather like an elastic compulsion pulled impossibly taut.

A pleased chitter vibrates against you. His wings extend and shudder, looming above like tapestry. “So good,” he breathes in, shameless as he noses along your cunt. “So warm. You smell even better than usual”.

The muscles in your thighs clench as the narrow tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You push down into your heels with a weak cry of complaint and he obliges, gently pushing inside you.

Your breathing falters. “Sh—Shouta,” you croak, reaching down desperately to grasp his plumage the deeper he sinks. It feels never ending, flexing and twisting experimentally as he draws out, still keeping his lips pressed up against you.

Gradually he builds a rhythm. Observing raptly from his place between your legs, his gaze never strays, gleaming when your hips buck into his mouth. It’s his expression that spurs you on— that rapt, intense desire.

Shouta stretches you on his tongue, the obscene slick sound of saliva echoing throughout his nest. The tension low in your belly coils, taut, and you feel it pulse. Your toes curl and you let out a loud, broken moan that sounds like relief.

“Don’t stop. Feels so good,” you keen, balancing right at the crest. Shouta’s pace grows anxious the closer you get, his big hands palming at your thighs, talons pinching skin. He forces them wider as he presses his weight into you with a long groan. “Yeah. That’s it, make me cum. Oh fuck—!”

A moment passes without air, yanked under by the force of it. Your body wrings tight and the tension snaps. Undone, loose at the seams as he takes you through the aftershocks quaking through your body.

You return to yourself, registering the quiet hum reverberating in your skull. Shouta nuzzles your sensitive clit before making his way up your torso. He smells like sex. His ruff, chin and cheeks are wet with arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he licks over the seam of your lips, and shivers when they part to meet him.

The kiss is strange; not quite a kiss, more a press of mouths. You suppose it can’t be helped with teeth like his. His effort is far more endearing than it has any right to be.

Brief fatigue washes over you and settles into a giddy afterglow. The black spots in your vision dissipate. A short, soft chitter comes from his throat. The noise is familiar— they’re exactly like the sounds he would make when you were anxious.

“I’m okay, Shouta. You— You’re a bit too good at that,” you reassured, taking his face into your palms and feeling it in his cheeks when he smiles. The shifting wings behind his head draw your attention as they flutter. He’s near enough for you to reach out and stroke them.

They’re breathtaking. The texture is unlike anything you have ever felt before. You pause at his squirming, “Does it hurt?”

He huffed a laugh. You think that will never get old. “It doesn’t hurt”.

“Feels nice?”

“Too nice,” he says, stroking your hips. Lifting your hips, you grind lightly over his cock. You swallow, noticing how much it had grown, now completely unsheathed. Shouta reflexively chases the feeling, bucking up against your sex. You both hiss at the sensitivity.

Timidly, you ask, “Can I see?”

He nods.

The size is daunting. His cock is curved, long, but more notably it is thick. Fleshy in colour and hot, leaking a clear liquid over your hand. Ribbed around the shaft, the slight bumps slide under your palm as you bring your fist up to the narrowed head. No spikes. Good. If you met God you’d thank him.

It is crowned by sensitive skin, not unlike a human’s, but in gently pulling it back you find it reminds you more of an ovipositor. Shouta’s rumbling deepens, head hung between his shoulders. Drapes of long dark hair fall to curtain his face. His antennae quiver in place, wide red eyes looking back at you.

You feel yourself ache with unfulfilled arousal. Pressing your thighs together does nothing but tease. Shouta watches you guide his cock to the apex of your thighs, his chest heaving as you glide him through your wet folds, drenching yourself in his slick.

The cryptid pushes into you with a gentleness that is almost terrifying in its intensity— so out of place for a supposed harbinger of suffering. “Careful, little human,” he rasps, an ever present humming in his chest.

A pleasant tingling sensation begins to spread throughout your abdomen, relaxing your muscles, like sinking into the soothing heat of a hot bath. You’ve long shut off your avid questions, rendered thoughtless and pliant by the pressure. “Oh,” you exhale, struggling to keep your eyes open. He’s barely halfway in.

Shouta pulls out slowly and rocks back in, repeating the motion as you open up to him. You crane your head, jaw slack as you moan, reaching out to the immense silhouette above you. Everything about him is big. It’s all you can notice. He’s taking handfuls of you, kneading the fat at your thighs, hooking around them and pushing your knees toward your chest.

“Look at you,” his voice is thick and trembling. You whine, watching the way you swallow around him, clit swollen and twitching. “Perfect,” he rasps, the mix of your arousal dampening the fur around his base. He pulls out again, tantalisingly slow, and your legs start to shake.

“Shouta,” you choke, not knowing what it was you were asking for. He gives it to you anyway, rocking forward in one harsh movement, setting a pace that splits you in two. You can almost feel his cock is in your throat; touching parts of you you didn’t know existed; carving out space for himself and making a home of it.

The earlier mindfulness is gone. Shouta sets a divine pace. He shifts on his knees, gripping at your waist with his talons pressing into skin, pulling you down onto his cock. Praises have dwindled into a language you cannot understand, but you recognise those six successive clicks— he’s calling your name, over and over.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ah. What is—?!”

The hypothesis is reaffirmed by the sensation of him stretching you further, widening inside you, inflating as something pulses through his shaft, abandoning his body and slipping into yours. Your mouth falls open as heat prickles across your skin and what feels like a second orgasm crashes over you. You’re left suspended in a free fall that never seems to end.

It feels too good to panic about. Sperm packets or eggs or both— whatever they are, they’re smooth, cooling where they gather inside of you, and right pushing up against your sweet spot. Tremors wrack through your limbs and Shouta appears no better. His upper lip curls, wings fully presented and twitching.

Weak, you wrap your arms around his head and cradle him to your chest. Your fingers brush over the apex of his wings and with barely any exertion, he slams you back onto his cock, a loud groan drawn from his chest. His pelvis slaps against your clit and in a moment of lucidity, you feel the ground rise to meet you.

Rigidity bleeds from your muscles as you cum again, soon replaced by a wave of exhaustion. You grimace at the uncomfortable bloated feeling in your belly. Shouta is muttering, antennae curled and brushing the swell of your cheeks. You can hear his voice. Muffled, as if you were under water, “You did well, little flame”.

Thinking aloud, you mumble, “What if they don’t take?”

He nudges your chin, gathering you into his arms to cocoon you both, “I’ll make sure they do”.

#please tell me there’s an emotional support group for this story #bc I desperately need one!#I’m consumed by an immense need to be chosen as a monster’s one true mate 😭#when he called reader ‘but you are my little human. my mate.’ -> I will never recover from this scene!!!#ALSO the Tarzan - Jane moment where they touched their open hands should have indicated reader that they were in love LMAO #also I really liked how parts of his canon personality shone through #like the coffee jelly & that he saved a hurt peryton fawn #also the cocooning with his wings remind me of him sleeping/ hiding in his sleeping bag #also I think it’s so funny that he kinda played reader the entire time LMAO #like not showing certain sides & playing this role of the monster so reader would keep paying attention to him 😈#AND don’t get me started on the sex!!!!!#him chittering reader’s name the entire time made my heart stop for a moment #like I could feel it skip a beat before going into overdrive #I was already obsessed with your cat-hybrid aizawa & your merman aizawa & this is just any other perfect story 💗#nana’s bookclub ☕️#ALSO I cackled when I read the author’s notes #‘*slaps roof* you can fit so much plot in this porn’ is so funny

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rafey-baby · 2 months ago

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What would sensitive!reader do without older!rafe protecting her from the invisible monsters in their home?

18+ mdni!

c/w: mostly fluff, her being scared & rafe comforting her while also being a menace, teeny tiny bit of angst regarding their age-gap, use of daddy (once)

wc: 1.7k

unfortunately won't be watching a single scary movie this halloween cause she's literally me but happy kinktober & spooky season xx

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She’s not exactly sure why she agreed to watch the new horror film Rafe’s friends wanted to see at a Halloween themed gathering he’d dragged her into. She wasn’t even the biggest fan of his friends, which is why she didn’t want to go in the first place.

However, when he’d mumbled a honeyed “It’s no fun without you and don’t wanna leave my girl alone on Halloween” into her hair, she’d reluctantly agreed; not one to refuse him of anything when he looked at her with that specific softened blue coloring his eyes.

And there was also the prospect of making him happy that finally made her melt into his wishes.

And she wanted to like his friends, she really did. But it wasn’t exactly easy when they kept bragging about their accomplishments and how much money they had every opportunity they found in such an arrogant tone, it made her roll her eyes when they weren’t looking.

Luckily, she could at least converse with their partners who were always fun company to sip wine with and giggle about anything and everything. And along with the warmth of Rafe’s gaze flickering over to her every once in a while, as he talked with his friends and coworkers, she was actually beginning to enjoy herself.

Up until the point when someone suggested they watch a movie.

“You sure you wanna watch this? S’okay if you wanna go home, could come up with something else to keep us entertained…” Rafe had murmured into her ear with his arms around her on the couch the whole group had settled down on.

He knew how paranoid she could get; how easily she’d turn into a scaredy cat who once couldn’t sleep alone for a month after sitting through an entire scary movie in the cinema.

And she truly doesn’t know why she didn’t just tell him she wanted to leave when the film started playing on the big screen of Topper’s television. She was going to, but when her eyes flitted over to him bringing a glass of whiskey to his lips in a carefree manner; she didn’t have the heart to ruin his fun because he seemed to be enjoying himself. After all, it wasn’t often he let himself relax due to his hectic work schedule packed with tedious meetings and whatnot.

And on top of that, she’s already self-conscious over the age-gap between her and Rafe; sometimes gets a headache over the notion of him meeting someone more mature one dreadful day and deciding he doesn’t want to play house with her any longer.

After all, his friends were all getting engaged left and right, while she still holds the title of being his girlfriend. And even if she isn’t sure she’d be ready for marriage quite yet, she’s still slightly upset that he’s never even so much as mentioned the matter.

And she's not sure if it's because she's younger than him and he assumes she doesn't want a ring on her finger too soon or if he simply just doesn't want to make things too definitive with her.

Nonetheless, it's something she's been thoroughly overthinking and mulling over recently, even if she knows it doesn't benefit her in any shape or form. Apparently, her mind just likes to always have some topic to ruminate over and obsessively worry about, or else it'll have too much free time.

Therefore, she can admit that she didn’t want to appear as a big baby who couldn’t stomach anything even remotely scary (she really couldn’t). And was it such a crime to not want to make a scene in front of all his friends?

That’s why she ends up meekly nodding her head and assuring him she was fine — which he didn’t entirely believe — but smiled nonetheless at the fact that she was willing to get out of her comfort zone for his sake, before pulling her closer to his side.

However, when the white letters of the end credits finally rolled after a few gruesome and eerie hours later, she was anything but fine.

Her weakened frame is trembling and she’s entirely too jumpy even after they’ve said their goodbyes and stepped past the threshold into the safe haven of their home.

“Told you we should’ve just left,” he tuts at her when she flinches at the October wind rustling the autumnal foliage outside the window.

“Rafe, what was that?” She squeaks out when she hears another sound coming from outside — presumably their neighbor — however, there’s always the possibility of it being a serial killer simply waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“What was what?” He huffs out a chuckle in amusement, causing her to pout.

“This isn’t funny. I’m scared,” she whines, heart beating faster than ever along with her breathing unsteady.

“I know you are. Shit, forgot why I don’t let you watch scary movies,” he shakes his head, padding over to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water; her feet immediately running after him.

“Hey, hey. I’m right here, yeah?” He laughs tenderly when she practically glues herself to his big and comforting arm with how tightly she’s hugging it against her chest.

“Promise you’re not gonna leave me alone?” She blinks up at him with her pupils dilated, nervous.

“It’s past midnight. Of course, I’m not leaving, I’m exhausted. Let’s get ready for bed, yeah?” He suggests calmly, managing to placate her some with his appeasing presence. Although the spine-chilling scenes still play behind her eyelids with every blink.

She follows him to the bathroom and he tries not to laugh when she insists on staying there even while he’s peeing.

“Want me to check under the bed for monsters?” His sickly-sweet tone is a stark contrast to the annoying smirk plastered on his face when they pad over to their bedroom after brushing their teeth.

“Ray…I’m being serious,” she scowls.

“So am I?” He feigns confusion with a furrow of his brows.

Before she has the chance to complain about him being mean, he’s already crouching down on the floor and poking his head under the bed into the darkness he’s braved himself to submerge into. And she’s far too curious not to peer down as well, however, she can’t really see a thing from behind his broad shoulders.

Suddenly, he lets out a loud gasp — making her jump back and nearly trip on her feet — before his breathy giggle follows soon after.

“That’s not funny,” she grumbles as exasperation drags her lips downwards.

“I’m sorry, baby. You jus’ make it so easy,” he approaches her with an apologetic expression that doesn’t come off as all that empathetic when he’s fighting off an amused grin the entire time.

“C’mere, yeah?” He coaxes her before tugging her into his strong arms; not letting go even when she tries to pull away since she’s still mad at him.

“This one really got to you, huh?” He murmurs into her hair before beginning to soothingly rock back and forth when she finally halts her pursuits of escape.

A faint hum is the only response she grants him.

“Don’t remember you being this scared since we went to that haunted house with your friends last year, remember?” His warm chest rumbles in a pacifying manner in tandem with his words.

“How could I forget,” she huffs out.

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t wanna watch it? You know I wouldn’t have minded leaving,” he speaks softly.

“I don’t know…just didn’t wanna seem like a baby in front of your friends,” she sniffles.

“Since when do you care what they think? You hate them,” he argues with a lopsided smile when he releases his hold on her in order to unzip his jeans and change into something more comfortable for the night.

“Hate is a strong word,” she defends herself as she pulls one of Rafe’s old t-shirts over her head and tries to focus on his familiar scent still lingering on the worn-out fabric instead of the imaginary monsters lurking behind the windows.

“Is it?” He graces her with a lighthearted narrow of his eyes.

“Fine. I don’t like them but they’re your friends, which means that I want them to like me,” she mumbles out.

“Don’t really give a shit if they like you or not, which they obviously do. Think a little too much since you can’t help but be the sweetest angel even to the people you hate,” he grumbles out as he walks over to close the bedroom door.

“And honestly, would much rather just stay with you than those pretentious idiots. Next time you wanna go home, just tell me. Don’t want you lying to me, okay?” He says with something sincere sparkling in the lagoons of his eyes.

“Okay,” she promises when suddenly, he switches the lights off with a click, causing her muscles to tense.

“Ray, why would you do that?” She sounds alarmed; inhales and exhales growing labored because the bedroom is now pitch black and there could be anything hiding in the murky corners of the room since she can’t even see herself.

“Shh, calm down. I’ll protect you, yeah?” He croons, before he’s guiding her under the covers with a big hand on the small of her back; following shortly behind her and tugging her flush against his steady chest.

“You’re safe with me. Daddy’s not gonna let anything happen to you, alright?” His saccharine murmurs reach her racing mind and offer it momentary rest on the soft petals of his tranquil voice.

She hums against the skin of his neck as her eyes begin to slowly adjust to the darkness surrounding them; the dingy shadows crawling along the walls appearing less and less threatening by the second when she’s in the warmth of his protective embrace.

“Want your stuffie?” He asks, knowing her all too well.

“Mhm,” she nods against him before he’s reaching a hand behind the pillows because somehow her stuffed animal always manages to end up in the most peculiar of places. At this point though, he already knows where to look since he’s usually the one who has to locate it for her.

Nowadays, she doesn’t need it too often since she has Rafe volunteering to be her own personal teddy bear, but whenever he’s working past midnight, she likes to hold onto something that brings her comfort because she isn’t particularly fond of the idea of sleeping alone.

He soon offers her the plushy lamb and she gives him a grateful smooch against his cheek along with a muffled ‘I love you’.

And that night, he lulls her into dreamland with a warm palm resting on her tummy and his mellow breathing placating her distraught mind.

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obsessivevoidkitten · 1 year ago

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Animal Farm: Tuesdays

Three Yandere Dog Men x Gender Neutral Reader

CW: Noncon, knotting, nonhuman genitals, cum swallowing, spitroasting, biting, male harem, dog men, reader fucked silly, general yandere behavior, licking, scent marking Word Count: 555 (The next long awaited installment in my farm series. I hope you all love it. <3 I did not bother having this beta read, sorry for any mistakes. The original fic can be found HERE along with the links to the other installments)

You were still tired from the thorough orgy that the harpies had given. At least they provided you with plenty of gentle aftercare. But now it was Tuesday. And that meant that you were the property of the dog-men. Another day in the endless cycle of being a cumdump for horny monster men. You really dreaded time with the dogs. They always ended up biting the hell out of your neck. You entered the small cabin that the dog men inhabited and one of the cat men, Lionel, came stumbling out with a dazed look on his face and cum dribbling down his thighs. Good… maybe that would mean there urges were already taken care o- Your train of thought was interrupted when you were thrown on the bed by the most assertive of the three dog men, the one that had the ears and tail of s German Shepherd, Thorn. His claws slid under your waist band and partially pulled down to reveal your hole which he lapped at like a treat. “Fuck, I have been waiting a week for this farmer~” Apparently breeding Lionel did nothing to quell the desire to bury their knots in you. When he got tired of fucking you with his tongue he slid his dick in to the base, the bone in it jabbed you painfully until it mercifully swelled to full size. The stretch was only mildly uncomfortable. After bringing you to climax his knot inflated in you and kept the two of you tied with him periodically humping gently to enjoy the sweet friction against his knot as he plied you full of his hot seed. He gave your neck a quick bite before sliding out of you and then before you knew it one of the other two, this time the husky-like dog man, Corr, was slamming into you. But the third, Len, the fluffy one that had the features of a Newfoundland, couldn’t wait his turn. So while Corr was busy breeding your overstimulated hole Len took it upon himself to slide past your soft lips. The smell of his musky cock filled your nostrils as his nuts slapped your chin with every thrust. You whimpered and moaned lustfully into his cock as Corr started to knot you. Corr bit you on your shoulders and back as he began the long process of slowly depositing cum in waves into you as dog men did. Your body shook as you came again, but you started gagging a bit as Len knotted in your mouth. His dick twitched periodically as it sent another wave of bitter cum down your throat, leaving you no other option but to swallow. If you thought you were done you were sorely mistaken. Thorn had gotten hard again and plunged his cock right back into your now cum-lubed hole the second Corr had pulled out of it. A few hours later, when the fuck fest was finally done, the dog men all turned very loving and gentle. They licked you clean of their seed and bathed you, but they rubbed your clothes with their scent before allowing you to get dressed again. They spent the rest of the day feeding, cuddling, and caring for their little mate who was too dazed and tired from all the sex to really do much.

#yandere terato #yandere teratophilia #yandere #yandere harem #male harem #yandere male harem #yandere farm #yandere dog men #yandere dog hybrids #yandere boyfriends #yandere male x reader #x reader #male yandere x gender neutral reader #My OCs #My OC Corr #My OC Len #My OC Thorn

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steddie-as-they-come · 5 months ago

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everybody talks

i could not tell you what this is. i wrote it all in one sitting. enjoy or whatever

It starts with the graffiti.

Scribbled in thick, permanent marker across the boys' gym lockers.

STEVE HARRINGTON FUCKS EDDIE MUNSON

The custodian tries half-heartedly to scrub it off, but he only manages to get about a letter and a half off the locker before his shift is over. It's back up by the next day anyway.

Half the school is walking on tiptoes around Steve, waiting for him to blow up and demand a manhunt for the culprit.

The other half is snickering and laughing as he walks by in the halls.

Steve doesn't give two shits. He holds his head up high and walks onwards, ignoring the laughs and the kissy noises. He needs to graduate. He needs to not get eaten by a terrifying monster from an alternate reality. More pressing things happen to Steve Harrington than grade school graffiti.

Until he turns the corner and sees Eddie Munson glaring furiously at his closed locker.

He doesn't speak to him. Even if the graffiti isn't a big deal, there's no need to add any fuel to the fire.

Eddie finally steps forward and wrenches open his locker door. The crowd milling in the halls begins to laugh.

Papers spill out, dozens of them, cascading over the floor and burying Eddie's shoes. One slides all the way to Steve's feet.

He looks down automatically.

There's an atrocious drawing of two stick figures bent over each other. The one on the bottom has two lines of curly hair, while the one on the top has a singular swooping line of graphite.

Great.

Steve swiftly scoops it up and crumples it in his fist, shoving it in his pocket. He'll toss it out later.

As he hustles past Eddie, steadfastly not looking in his direction, he thinks he hears Eddie mutter, "Every class period."

Steve turns a corner, and the train wreck that is Eddie's locker is gone.

He slides into his seat, knowing the band girls who sit in the back corner of the classroom are whispering about him, but finding he couldn't care less.

The teacher starts class.

He reaches into his pocket and slides the crumpled paper between his fingers, over and over.

Steve raises his hand. "Can I go to the bathroom?"

The teacher nods and waves him away, and Steve scrambles out the door, rounding the corner.

Eddie's still there, kneeling by his locker, trying to scoop up papers.

Steve kneels next to him. "Hey."

Eddie jumps like an alley cat that's been spooked. Steve could swear his hair starts bristling, puffing up.

"Your majesty," Eddie finally says, glaring back at the pile of paper like Steve'll disappear if he doesn't look at him. "To what do I owe the pleasure."

It's not really a question.

Steve answers it anyway. "Came to help," he says simply, picking up a piece of paper that has EDDIE MUNSON X STEVE HARRINGTON written on it in bold letters, surrounded by stupid little hearts. "After all, my name's on half this stuff."

"How kind," Eddie said. "Keeping me distracted while your buddies key my van or something?"

Steve reels back. "Huh?"

"I'm not dumb, Harrington," Eddie says, crumpling up another sheet of paper. Steve can barely catch EDDIE HARRINGTON on it before it's balled in Eddie's fist. "I get this is a prank or whatever. I just can't understand why you'd involve yourself with me. The King and the Freak."

"'Cause I'm not the King anymore." Steve says, standing to drag a nearby garbage can closer. It's already half-full of papers. "You sure don't listen to gossip, Munson. Billy beat my ass and I lost every friend I had. So. I think it's a prank on both of us."

"Oh."

Eddie, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, shuts the fuck up. Steve had seen people lose their meals to his impassioned school cafeteria rants, but it only takes Steve Harrington to shut Munson's infamous mouth.

Wait, that sounds wrong.

They keep cleaning in silence - relatively. Steve starts balling up the papers and tossing them at the trash can, unable to stop himself from hissing out a yes! if he makes the throw.

"Impressive," Eddie says dryly. "Can you do this?" He raises one hand in the air like he's about to take a pledge, and in the other he folds and rolls a slip of paper until it's shaped like a joint.

Steve chuckles. "Nope." He takes the fake joint, and it comes undone in his palm, revealing the same crude stick figure couple from earlier.

Right.

Steve had forgotten what they were doing here.

Evidently, Eddie had too. He looks down at the drawing, then snatches the paper from Steve, tossing it in the trash, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

He scoops the last of the papers into his arms, dumping them in the trash can. "You can go back to class," he tells Steve, settling down with his back against the locker.

"What are you doing?" Steve says, slightly caught off-guard by the dismissal.

"Seeing if those pricks will try to do it again." Eddie says, folding his knees up to his chest. "They do it all the time. I think there's a jungle's worth of trees just being used to make shit for my locker."

"You're just gonna guard it?" Steve asks.

"Sure," Eddie says, picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. "What else have I got to do?"

Steve plops himself down next to Eddie. "I'll guard with you," he says stubbornly.

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, like Steve's particularly slow. Steve's gotten that tone of voice a lot in his life.

"Yeah." Steve says. He parrots, "What else have I got to do?"

"You're just gonna fuel the rumors, dude." Eddie says. "My name's mud around here. You know that damn well."

"Sure," Steve shrugs. "But it hasn't been half-bad hanging out with you, and I don't care what these jackasses think of me anymore. Bigger things to worry about."

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the students pass by, their whispered comments and curious glances bouncing off the duo. Eddie taps his fingers rhythmically on the ground, humming a tune Steve doesn't recognize but finds oddly comforting.

He reaches into his pocket to feel the small paper, then tugs it out. Is it dumb that a stupid drawing is making him think about himself this much?

"Hey, Eddie," Steve starts, hesitating. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Eddie says idly.

"How do you... I mean, when did you know you were gay?" Steve asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie's expression turns to one of suspicion, but he answers anyway. "I guess I always knew, deep down. But I really figured it out in middle school." He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye. "Why?"

Steve bites his lip, considering his next words carefully. "I think I might be... different too. I mean, I've only ever dated girls, but lately, I don't know. I feel... something."

Something means he worried for weeks when Billy beat the shit out of him because suddenly all these feelings were tugging at his brain. Feelings for people like Eddie Munson.

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. (What? Steve's not looking at his lips. Huh?) "Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High, might not be straight? Now that's some gossip I'd actually pay attention to."

"Shut up," Steve mutters, but he's smiling too. "I'm serious."

"Well..." Eddie trails off. "We can try it out?"

Steve's heart skips a beat. "Huh?"

"We can try it out." Eddie repeats. "But, uh," he leans close, his breath ghosting over the shell of Steve's ear. "Just so you know, I prefer to be the one on top."

Weeks later, the school is overtaken by a new kind of graffiti. Papers plastered to every surface, a spiky handwriting (usually used to write setlists and D&D character sheets) adorning each and every one of them.

EDDIE MUNSON FUCKS STEVE HARRINGTON

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #slightly suggestive #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #stranger things #don't ask i don't know. fucking enjoy #also i normally don't give tumblr fics titles but like. i did not want this to show up in my notes as 'steve harrington fucks eddie munson'#so everybody talks it is

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usernameforaboredcat · 1 year ago

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Little Babies

It was just like any other day, how could it get so wrong and now your boyfriend is an itty bitty little kid. You still love him of course, how could you not when he looks so cute and tiny!?

I read @trafalgarvivi story and I couldn't help but love it and want to add to it. Hope you don't mind babes, if you want me to take this down I will just ask <3

Luffy

Luffy as a child wasn't any different from how he is as an adult. Still fun, cute and hyperactive as always. He'll probably be bouncing off the walls when he's in a nursing home.

You can't help but giggle and squeal at the sight of your tiny captain, who's just looking back up at you with big eyes. "What?". He asks. You squeal again as you drop down to his height, still being taller than him. "Awhahaaawww you're so adorable! Do you want anything to eat?". You ask the tiny boy. "YEAH!". He cheers, throwing his arms up in the air excitedly. You giggle as his energy and pick him up into your arms, taking him to the kitchen.

Sanji was already annoyed that you where feeding into his terrible eating habits and babying him so much. But he's just so cute! And Sanji couldn't not listen to you, even if you are taken he's still attracted to you.

You'd spend the whole day playing with him, doing what ever he wanted whenever he wanted. Luffy much preferred this side of you, you where less bossy and so much cooler like this.

Sanji

When I tell you you cried when you saw your sweet handsome as a kid, you where balling your eyes out. Not because he wasn't his tall fine ass self, but because he's just so God darn adorable in your eyes. Cuddling him close to your chest, cooing and giggling while calling him the most cutest and most beautiful boy in the world. Not like he minded it, he loved your undying attention.

He spent his time as a kid clinging to your side, resting on either your chest or lap while getting absolutely babied by you. He never realizes how much power he had until you saw his cute little self.

And oh the power he had over that Swordsman, Sanji could practically get away with murder and you'd back him up. He'd purposely piss Zoro off just to have him pick him up and yell at him, only for you to come to his rescue. "HOW DARE YOU YELL AT HIM! HE'S JUST A BOY! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU YOU AWFUL MONSTER!". And Zoro would be left speechless, only eyeing the disgusting smirk across Sanjis face.

Him still being Sanji it didn't stop him from being a little pervert, only getting stopped when you'd have to push him away and remind him "You're still a baby, baby. If you want anything like that you'll have to wait till you're an adult again". Even if he did cry, that doesn't change the fact of hey you're still an adult and he's a little baby. But he waited, just so he can still enjoy the baby treatment.

Zoro

Zoro had always been a cheeky little fucker, easily getting into fights or starting some sort of commotion. You had to pick him up by the collar of his shirt and carry him away like a mother cat when Sanji picked a fight with him. He really didn't want to deal with being small and weak, so he just tried to sleep it off while he waited to get back to his tall strong self. He much preferred his older body anyway, he was strong and could protect you after all. He also knew that you really liked his muscles.

And he did try to just sleep it off, finding a little spot in the sun to sleep, eventually you coming over and using your lap as a pillow. He may be a tiny little mans, but he's still your boyfriend that you love to take care of.

Later that evening he'd awoken to his head on your lap, you sleeping while sitting upright. "Stupid woman". He mutter, getting off and walking to your shared bedroom. He'd grabbed your pillow and a blanket, dragging them out. He'd slowly pushed you to lay your head on the pillow and threw the blanket over you, crawling under next to you to get spooned by you.

The crew found this little soft side of Zoro cute, although he kinda always had a soft spot for you. I mean you two are dating after all, he wouldn't be dating you of he didn't have that soft spot.

Ace

He'd always been sorta glad that he grew out of his stinky attitude he had as a child, what his didn't know was that if he got turned back into a child his little goblin mode was activated. You'd be running all over the ship, picking him up and hugging him while he flailed around. Not only is he now kid Ace, but he's kid Ace with devil fruit powers.

You'd have to pinch him by the cheek, getting an annoyed look from your little boyfriend. "I know you're having fun, but please baby don't burn down the ship". You'd requested him. He'd just blush and nod. "Fine". He puffed out. "Thank you, darling! I promise that you'll be a good boy". You giggled. His face went more red. He was 50/50 about how you treated him. 1. He was being babied by you. 2. He was being babied by you.

He's a strong brave buff mans! He doesn't need to be babied by his girlfriend. But he did like you just taking care of him, also being a little fuckass. He was aware of the jealous on board, a few of the other pirates being jealous that he was dating you. He used this knowledge, cuddling comfortably into your chest.

When lunch time rolled around, he was sitting on your lap with his head against you chest, getting spoon fed by you. The other men looked at the now young Ace when angry glares. When you're not looking he'd flip them off and poke his tongue out.

Sabo

You'd be lying to yourself if you didn't think that Sabo is a very pretty man. You find him beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, you'd literally preach to the world about how your boyfriend was hand crafted and sculpted by Gods!...But...we hasn't exactly the most...cute...child.

He looks up at you compleatly lost as you're covering your mouth, loosing your shit laughing and crying. "What? What's wrong?". He asked, worried for your health. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but..." You looked at him with tears in your eyes. "You glowed up so much". You whimpered out, now back on the floor and rolling away. "ARE YOU CALLING ME UGLY?!". He yelps, you roll away faster. Then he started to cry, thinking that you didn't find him attractive anymore. Yes, you made your poor boyfriend cry.

You spent the rest of the day babying him and making it up to him, reassuring him that you find him so handsome as an adult. He tried to go to Koala for back up, but she ended up joining you in the crying and laughing. He's definity going to give you the silent treatment when he gets his old body back.

You just held him and hugged him for the rest of the day, him still being angry and grumpy at the fact you insulted him. "Don't worry Sabo, you're not ugly ugly, more like ugly cute! Like a kitten with the big sad depression eyes!". You tell him, but he pouts and turns away, crossing his arms. "Oh come on! You grew out of it! You're literally the pretties man I know". He looks up at you with tears in his eyes. "I am?". "Of course!".

Law

You just looked down at him with utter confusion. "Are you suuuur-". "THIS IS THE 7TH TIME YOU ASKED! YES IT'S ME LAW! TRAFALGAR D. WATER LAW!". "...But are you sure?". Little Law looks NOTHING like how he does as an adult, like who in the hell is this kid. Not only did Law have to deal with your stupid ass doubting that he was actually you're boyfriend, but also dealing with his crew laughing and cracking jokes.

He eventually convinced you that it was him by him telling you your birthday, your favourite snack, drink, crewmate that wasn't him (Bepo), book, the names and birthdays and zodiac signs of everyone in your family. The FINALLY did you back him up, yelling at his crewmates who where making fun of him for being young. "HOW DARE YOU MAKE JOKES AT HIM! HE'S A LITTLE SWEET BABY!". Meanwhile he's looking at his crew with empty dark eyes. Yeah...sweet.

It felt weird for him to ask you for help, especially when it comes to reaching for stuff. "(Y/n)". He yanked on your clothes. "Yes darling?". "Can you grab me a rice ball? I'm hungry and can't reach". You squealed and happily held the rice ball down to him. "Of course!".

He's the one who's supposed to help you, standing behind you and reaching for something on a high shelf, giving you a cheeky smirk as you'd puff out your cheeks and take it from him. But now you're giggling with stars in your eyes as you reach and hold things down for him. After lunch he's fixing this issue.

#one piece x reader #one piece law x reader #one piece ace x reader #one piece luffy x reader #one piece sanji x reader #one piece zoro x reader #one piece sabo x reader #luffy x reader #sanji x reader #zoro x reader #ace x reader #sabo x reader #law x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #portgas d ace x reader #trafalgar d law x reader

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sweet-as-an-angel · 6 months ago

Text

Pyramid Head! König

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Size Difference, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Dubious Consent, Tummy Bulging, Cockwarming, Kidnapping, Imprisonment, Squirting, Mention of Gangbanging, Sadistic! König, Degenerate! König, Breeding Kink, Profanity, Implied Fem Reader, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Pyramid Head! König is a SEX. PEST. EXTRAORDINAIRE.

He pursued you relentlessly until he finally caught you, literally picking you up by the collar of your shirt like you were a wet cat and taking you home with him.

Pyramid Head! König treats you as his own human pet. He dresses you up in clothes he finds on his travels, brings you little trinkets for you to play with and look at, tries petting you without crushing your body beneath his mammoth strength.

He treats you like property in other regards, too. Typically of the breeding variety.

Pyramid Head! König’s sex drive is really something to behold. Just ask any of the monsters roaming around Silent Hill and, if they could, they’d tell you what a degenerate he is – how insatiable and relentless he can be.

Pyramid Head! König uses anyone and anything for his own pleasure if he’s horny enough. And, lucky him, he now has you at his side 24/7.

Pyramid Head! König is absolutely massive compared to you and he makes no effort to hide it. He picks you up and uses you as his own fleshlight, holding you about the waist and spearing you on his cock, pumping you up and down the shaft while growling beneath his veiled mask.

He cares little for your cries. In fact, they seem to spur him on.

Pyramid Head! König is absolutely fascinated by the shape of his cock protruding from inside your stomach. Sometimes, he’ll make you sit on him just so he can press and prod at the outline, his dick stiffening at every clench, cry and moan you make while your body acts as unwilling shelter for his cock.

You swear you can even see the outline of a vein and the pulsing of the tip. Feel it inside you like a second heartbeat.

So it’s no surprise to anyone that Pyramid Head! König is a big cockwarming fan. Literally the biggest.

Pyramid Head! König can make you sit on his dick for hours before he decides to use your body as little more than a cocksleeve and starts pounding into you.

When he cums, it’s thick and fast. He holds you in place while he fills you, watching your stomach swell with his cum as if he were filling a balloon.

Even when you whine and tell him it’s painful, that you feel as if you’re about to burst, he doesn’t let up. He’s far too enamoured with the bloating in your middle to care what you think.

Pyramid Head! König’s favourite thing to do is, when he’s completely emptied himself inside you, press down on your stomach and hear you cry out. God, nothing makes him feel or act more feral.

Nor does anything compare to sight or the feeling of his seed squirting out of you and spraying across his butcher’s apron when he presses down on your stomach, forcing hours of carnal pleasure from your body as if to purge and prepare you for another round.

Pyramid Head! König wears those stains like a badge of honour.

If you ever displease Pyramid Head! König, he shackles you to a corner and cums on you for days at a time, repeatedly, until you’re literally almost drowning in a pool of his cum.

He doesn’t care that he’s practically shooting dust by the end of it; the sight of you drenched and crusted in his semen makes the cramping in his hand and cock more than worth it, to see you so utterly humiliated and his.

Pyramid Head! König doesn’t let you wash it off until he deems you worthy of such a privilege. And when he can finally wrangle his libido back into some form of order, regardless of how minimal that may be.

More often than not, he ends up licking you clean before you can go in search of soap and water. With what appendage, you have no idea. All you know is that it’s long, wet and slips out from under his mask like a tentacle, relinquishing you of one bodily fluid in exchange for another.

Despite Pyramid Head! König’s possessive demeanour, he isn’t above enlisting the help of other monsters and manifestations to get his point across.

If ever you do something to royally piss him off, he’ll actually bring a monster (or two, or five) to you – those he can control with his influence – and make them fuck you.

Pyramid Head! König enjoys seeing you in pain when you’ve wronged him. Especially when, as he pulls you out from the mound of flesh and forced orgasms, he appears as your hero. Your saviour.

Only to use you again as he always does. As he always will.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad X

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ozzgin · 7 months ago

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I really hope you continue the eldrich God story. I may or may not have become obsessed with the idea, and i think it's actually really funny and I also just love the idea of a God being in love with a human.

Also, I love your writing and art! I hope you're doing well!

Yandere! Eldritch God x Detective! Reader

Based on this prompt and this meme. You're sent to a remote island to investigate a string of murders, and end up with a horde of cultists and their Lovecraftian God who is very much obsessed with you. Don't worry, he just wants to help you with your case!

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, tentacle tomfoolery again

[More Monsters]

The island checks all the boxes for a stereotypical shady place: the grimy boat captain who talks in riddles and vague warnings, the constant fog, the tavern filled with rumors and fears, the bizarre statue of a creature with tentacles. You were expecting most of it, save for their patron God being a literal monster.

Soon after your arrival, you discover that you’re being followed by men in dark robes. Could it be related to your case? A little alcohol-aided interrogation, and the locals confess to you about the existence of a cult. The dots begin to connect.

Unfortunately for you, whatever theory is cooking up in your mind couldn’t be further from the truth. The patron Beast of the land has been watching you from the moment of your arrival. He’s rather intrigued by your nonchalant city attitude, your stubbornness, your lack of any sense of danger. Thus he demands that you’re brought to his lair.

A game of cat and mouse. You are now convinced this said cult is responsible for the murders, so you delve deeper into their secrets. At the same time, the men put all their efforts into chasing you down. The Lord's wishes are their command; for how long can you outsmart sheer numbers?

At last, they succeed. You’re dragged over, cocooned in thick rope. “My Lord, we’ve brought you the sacrifice”, one cultist proclaims victoriously. Sacrifice? The ancient creature gazes at the men with utmost confusion. He frees you from your restraints with a mere point of his tentacle appendage, and proceeds to lecture his devout following for treating his special guest with such shameful brutality. Everyone blinks in disbelief, you included.

What the hell is this, some beastly romcom? Once everything is cleared up, you dust your knees, stand up unceremoniously, and tell the cosmic deity you’ve no time for idle gossip. “There’s a criminal running free and it’s my task to stop it”, you bark. Aha, that’s the very same attitude that got his nebulous heart pumping with curious desire. He cannot explain the maddening interest he’s taken into you. The monster releases a monotonous hum, causing you to jolt in surprise. The cult leader gasps. “He…he wants to help you solve the case”, the man concludes, defeat in his voice.

“Does it have to be all of you?” You whine, clicking your tongue at the sight. It’s the morning after the godly encounter, and you’re greeted outside your room by the cult leaders and their monster. “I can’t be discreet with a dozen monks after me. Not to mention…” your eyebrows furrow. “What on Earth is he wearing? Is that a detective hat and a mustache? Are you mocking my job?” You demand, glaring at the eldritch beast and his ridiculous disguise.

“Excuse me, I’ll have to ask you to quiet down”, an employee suddenly interrupts. “You and the gentlemen over there.” You stare at him incredulously. Can he really not see he’s facing an enormous, tentacle monstrosity? You swear you can discern a grin forming across the creature’s amorphous, unholy features. Alright, you’ve been convinced. What now?

As a child, Sherlock Holmes was one of your favorite books. You'd flip through the pages and daydream about your own future as a detective, though your little fantasies never included Watson as a cursed entity of a thousand tentacles. The eldritch creature seems to be more interested in you than the case itself. Eyes always fixated on your movements, tendrils creeping around you, never leaving your proximity.

Why would he need to look elsewhere? He can already tell how things will unfold. He is, after all, the God of this land. He knew your wanted culprit had been hiding in a sealed room right under your nose, as you dusted for footprints and scribbled hurried notes. He knew the underground tunnel had deadly traps, which would have normally put your investigation to a swift end. "Kind of suspicious to leave his trail unguarded like this", you mumble in deep thought. The cosmic God smiles.

He wouldn't dare ruin your fun. Consequently, he only interferes when your safety is involved. As annoyed as he is by the criminal's persistent attempts to kill you, he doesn't want to steal your grand capture. Besides, he is very much content with the current circumstances.

As the two of you follow along the dark passageway, you clear your throat, lips pursed awkwardly. "Uh...Thank you for dealing with the obstacles", you finally say. The monster pretends to ponder your words. "Hey now, don't play dumb with me. The conveniently deactivated bombs? The mutilated guards clumsily stuffed behind the door? I am a detective, after all."

You feel a thick tendril wrapping around your arm, and you turn to glance at the creature. His eyes of spiraling depths regard you intensely. A voice suddenly echoes in your head; is he trying to communicate with you? Deep, resounding, and imposing. "I am looking forward to our next case."

"Next case? Sorry pal, I work alone-" your throat clenches involuntarily. Somehow, your innards are flooded with a particular kind of certainty, dictating an ironclad truth: you do not have the option to refuse. You sigh, exasperated. "Fine! Have it your way. At least skip the fake mustache", you beg, then pause. You slap a second tentacle that has made its way under your shirt. "And avoid groping me when I'm thinking. You interrupt the little gray cells at work." You tap your temple to prove your point, and the eldritch God bows lightly. Of course.

He'll refrain himself until you're off work, Detective.

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bitchimasnake-sss · 4 months ago

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Hey so can we get some zoro, law, kid, and Luffy (because why not) with bratty!reader (I think Luffy in this situation would be interesting)

i wish i could write kid. i wish. but i cannot. it saddens me deeply every night and every morning and all the hours in between. but other than that, you've got it chief 🫡 enjoy your filth mwuah <3

🌙thinkin' about: the monster trio, ace n' law! vs BRAT!

ALEXA PLAY THE ENTIRE BRAT ALBUM BY CHARLI XCX. 'S TIME FOR A BRAT THEMED POST. [NOT PROOFREAD, OKAY? OKAY.] cw: pussydrunk men. bratty reader. nsfw thoughts include: idk man they fuck you, so, penetration, fingering, cunnilingus, blowjob, they're very cock(y) hahaha. MDNI OR YA BETTER SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN TONIGHT. m.list

🍒monkey d. luffy: doesn't that excite ya?

❤️who even is monkey d. luffy if he doesn't enjoy a little bit of a challenge? so, go on. try to rile him, tease him, trying to make him bend to your whims and wishes. it's all things he enjoys, afterall. thoroughly, at that. ❤️you scoff, arms trained against your chest as if to tempt him with the lewd display, "like i said, go alone. i don't wanna visit the island with you." luffy grins, something free and boyish, "but it'll be boring without you, y'know that, right?" you try to shake him off, try to really shake off his arms snaking around your waist as he pulls you to him. he face drops down to your pulse, hot n' humid breath dancing against the light heartbeat in a sickening manner. ❤️ his arm tightens around you and his teeth nips against your skin dangerously, as if the captain of your ship was betting his sanity on your next words. but again, don't you love to rile him up? "t'wasn't boring when you were ignoring me?" you huff breathily, trying to push him away with a pathetic shove that just makes him laugh, "that? i was busy this morning, peach." "stay busy with ussop, then. go kiss him while you're at it, idiot." you push him again, trying to rid yourself of your clingy man. he just sniffs in the lingering scent of your sweet shampoo. then sighs into you, "you just love making me chase you, dont'cha?" "okay, then." his voice deepens, as if he just got the answer to your tantrum right now. arms stretching against you to hold you tightly to his chest, picking you up easily just to throw you on the bed, "wha- luffy!" your body recoils against the cushiony mattress as you stare up at the raven-headed boy, but he just grins at your momentarily immobile state, "what? let me make it upto ya, c'mon." ❤️now that luffy has you moaning into the pillow, rutting back into him so very helplessly; your voice worn out from the screaming, your hands fisting unforgivingly against the linen under you and your body aching from his unfaltering movements, he better not hear any more whines from you, brat. "d-did i make it up to, yet?" his voice climbs up a octave, all breathy and high as you spasm around his dick, "s- hah seems like you're having the time of your life— ngh, pretty girl."

🍀roronoa zoro: professional marine hunter brat tamer!

💚don't be fooled, roronoa zoro loves when you get like this. this means you get all pouty, all huffy, all annoyed at all his usual tactics. this means you're gonna try to get back at him until he has your face pressed down into the mattress as he fucks into you from behind. yeah, zoro loves this. 💚"say that again." the swordsman hums, "what was that?" "i said if you love your swords so goddamn much, go fuck 'em instead." and the man rolls his eyes in response, "was training then. i'm here now, aren't i? whatd'ya want, woman?" you huff, averting your sharp gaze from him, "nothing." and he knows this conversation like the back of his hand. the same dialogues imprinted into his head, the same gameplay, the same cat-mouse chase that's gonna end with your pretty, glossy lips wrapped around his cock. 💚"still nothing?" zoro hums, half-serious, except for the fact that he his hips piston into your warm, inviting mouth. your nails dig into his thighs, eyes looking up at him, pleading. and though zoro isn't benevolent, he pulls his erection backwards till it rests heavily against your bottom lip, "think you can speak clearly now? wanna tell me why exactly are you behaving like a fucking brat?" "s-shut up." you hiss and he hums satisfactorily at the rasp in your easy-going tone, "ah," he nudges the tip past your lips and you open just like you were waiting for him to do that, "seems like you need a little more to start sayin' what's on your mind." you hum against his dick. words reduced to nothing but primal sounds as he pushes his hips into your with purpose. he pushes into you as his tip hits the back of your throat so sinfully, and the man above you groans, "a-ah, fuck. forgot how good you take me." 💚he groans similarly, his broad hands tangling in your sweaty locks as he guides you over his cock. his hips snap faster, eyebrows furrowing in sheer concentration and soon enough, the familiar salty liquid slides down your throat. you're spluttering as he pulls his weeping cockhead backwards. as you look up at him; a divine mess of sweat, cum and your tears, zoro cannot help but quip up, "think you can speak now?" "f-fuck... you." you rasp and the swordsman guides you upwards through the iron-grip he has on your hair, "looks like you can't yet, brat. in that case, let me help."

🌊vinsmoke sanji: what if i just shut you up real, real good?

💙vinsmoke sanji was nobody if not a defender of womens' rights and wrongs. he would never even dream to shut you up but oh lord, maybe this one time will be the exception. maybe. 💙"no, i don't wanna." you huff the same sentence out again and sanji swears he almost pulls you to the bed to fuck some sense into you. he tries again, "my love, you gotta eat." "i don't have to do anything you say." you hiss, eyes narrowing at the overworked chef, "don't tell me what to do after flirting with that shopkeeper." "i just made polite chit-chat—" he really tries to defend himself but you roll your eyes, pouting at the same explanation he's given five hundred times over, "save it." ofcourse, what other route did he have other than to remind you with his actions that you were the only brat he was entertain? 💙"believe me now?" sanji mumbles momentarily, parting your thighs with his skilled hands as he experimentally sticks out his tongue to collect your honeydew on the tip, "mhm, divine." "thi-this doesn't get you off the n— hook." your head is thrown back, lips parting as he pulls you down on him completely and delves his experienced muscle into your opening. the cook hums as if he's experiencing nirvana through you and your taste, and you just grind down at him in return. "that's right—" the blonde hums, his fingers digging deeper against your plushy fat on your hips, "let me have it all, darling." "y-you're so lame, s-sanji!" your voice jumps up several octaves as he brings his tongue to your neglected clit. flicking it, he soothes the mean action with a soft lick, completely forgetting if he were to reply you. 💙it isn't till your fourth shuddering orgasm that has sanji drenched under you that you really start begging him to stop, "s-sanji, no." "what?" the man grins, his blonde stubble catching the dew against them as he looks at you, "believe me now?" "y-yes." you nod furiously as your cunt clenches around air, overtsimulated and exposed, "i-i am, i pr-promise ah, ah!" "good," the chef smiles at you so innocently, his thumb gently pressing against your throbbing clit, "let's make sure you keep that promise, love. right?"

🦋portgas d. ace: i want in on it, baby!

🧡see, you think you can be a brat? hah, no way. not while your boyfriend, portgas d. ace exists. see, how can you be the brat if he's playing along with you? 🧡ace coos, his muscular arms tucked behind his head as he pouts, "my baby's not gonna talk to me? why not?" "go ask the other crew-mates, since youmarc-oh." your jaw slacks open, lips falling into an 'o' as ace humps his short-clad pelvis into your core. he smirks, taking in your appearance, "sorry, didn't quite catch that. ask who?" "ace, you asshole! i... ah—" you whine, hips stuttering pathetically over his pelvis as you try to find even a hairsbreadth of friction. the man underneath just seems to enjoy your dilemma thoroughly, though. are you gonna stay pouty n' mad or are you gonna bat your eyelashes down at him and ask him to fuck you?? 🧡seems like the the former. "'m not gonna exp-explain mysel-f! fuck off." your head lolls backwards at his mean thrust against you. you two are in the same position you were hours back; his arms wrapped around your waist, his clothed erection against your wettened patch of cloth, and his unyielding rolls against your wet cunt. wasn't it as brutal to him as it was for you?! "really?" ace's eyebrows furrow and he scoffs, somewhat impressed with your resilience, "pretty, i don't think you understand. i can do this for hours." and from the way he smiles all dopey and satisfactorily, you don't doubt his words. not at all. you huff, erratic eyes falling on the easy-going man under you, "wh-what do you want, ugh?!" "i just want my pretty-" his thumb swipes across your parted, bottom lip, "pretty girl to tell me what she wants without being a bitch about it." "i want nothing." you huff, unyielding even as ace gives you a pointed look. he draws in a sharp breath, eyes hardening with resolve, "okay then, looks like i'd have to fuck it out of you, then." he grins as he shifts your weight and pins you down, "not that i'm complaining, obviously." it's only after he has had you cumming on his dick the third time that you babble out, hiccupping, "y-you're always so busy, ace. i don' like it." "awh, that's it?" the man above you speaks softly even as he presses his fingers together to squish your cheeks, "should've told me, gorgeous. i would've taken care of it way sooner." and maybe, maybe you were imagining things in your delirium or ace has this sadistic glint in his eyes as he says his next words, "good thing i can just make it upto ya, isn't it?"

🪻trafalgar d. water law: not his first rodeo, nor his last.

💜see, technically, you should be grateful that your boyfriend: trafalgar law even put up with you despite his rising blood pressure and headaches. does that mean you'd be nice to him? no. not when being a brat is sooo much more fun. 💜"law-ugh" the two words blend seamlessly as you stare down your boyfriend and he peers up at you through the rim of his glasses, "what now?" "would it kill you to hang out with me, huh?" you huff, taking a seat in front of his desk as you pout at him. you try to bat your eyelashes, only for it to be in vain as the doctor focuses on those wretched paperwork in front of him again. he sighs, "i wouldn't phrase it so strongly, but something like that." "law!" you whine and he almost smiles. almost. "i'm busy right now, i'll see to you later, okay?" "no, law, you always do this!" your hands come down hard on the wooden table and a rattle shakes through the room at your outburst. everything seems just a teensy bit strained, everything except law. he just looks up at you eerily calm, "throwing a tantrum, are you?" "maybe...?" your words stagnate on the tip of your tongue. but as you see law lean back in his seat, the metallic rim of his glasses catching the overhead lighting so maliciously, you smile. bingo. "'s not a tantrum, captain. jus' being honest." 💜 well, that honesty was getting fucked out of you right now. your wrists tied to the arm of his seat, your thighs parted open and his skillful fingers curling within you as your eyes rolled. ugh, that honesty was long gone. "are you done?" law asks so casually, as if he wasn't fucking your gummy walls till you writhed helplessly against the leather, "are you done throwing a tantrum?" "not. a. tantrum." you hiss, trying to sound more put-together than you actually were. and who were you trying to fool? the doctor who could tell from your reddened face and panting, quivering lips just how utterly wrecked you were? "alright, if you insist." law speaks again, unhurried as he pulls his drenched fingers outwards. your essence shines against his long digits as he passes it past your wobbling lips, "guess i'd have to try another way." you hear his belt chime as he draws it open, "ready, brat?"

a/n: tumblr literally posted this halfway without my concern so this is me re-posting it. if you saw that, then, NO you didn't. shut up. go back to reading smut. shhh, it never happened. taglist: @mist-ixx @starlightanyaaa @otkuhotgirl @bokutosbiceps @kingofthe-egirls m.list

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