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eoieopda · 1 year

Text

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.”

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind.

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intently up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you.

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright.

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response.

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you.

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you.

You don’t reciprocate.

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope.

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk.

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so.

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple.

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw.

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access.

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?”

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat.

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…”

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it.

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound.

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life.

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic.

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.”

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you.

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed.

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist.

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him.

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you.

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before.

Christ.

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you.

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you.

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”

2K notes · View notes

slutfactory · 1 year

Note

FR. I want him to watch me fuck him from every possible angle. Kinda like mirror sex, but without the mirror ig? Growling and barking rn.

Can I be the 🏴‍☠️ anon?

yes you can. <3 here, have a mini drabble lol.

buggy the clown mini ! | cw. buggy w his head and body separated, reader's gender/genitalia is not disclosed but was intended to have a dick (can possibly be seen as a strap?), rushed n not proofread.

“see this, buggs?” you ask as you held the pirate's legs apart, fucking him—or his body, rather—in a full nelson. his head sat on a nearby table, where he watched as you had your way with him. “look at how much you're twitching..” you nudged his cock with a finger, to which his entire body jolted lightly in your hold.

buggy looked up at you for a moment before his eyes flitted to the side, then back at you. he didn't know where to look. watching you pound him was a little humiliating, but possibly making eye contact with you was equally embarrassing. he wanted to retort like he usually did but was afraid his voice might betray him. though, he wasn't exactly doing a good job of silencing his moans anyway. not with you pounding him like a pornstar.

you tightened your grip on buggy's thighs. “c'mon, baby. stroke yourself for me.” the clown hesitated, but obeyed, fisting his cock with vigor he didn't even realize he had. with all the stimulation, he couldn't help but let out a whine. “good boy. feels good, hm?” you purred.

a broken cry of pleasure was all you got in response. and it was all the response you needed.

#💿 slutfactory cds #top reader #dom reader #top!reader #dom!reader #top male reader #dom male reader #seme male reader #one piece smut #sub character #sub one piece #buggy smut #one piece x reader smut #bottom character #gay

2K notes · View notes

cyberm4n · 7 months

Note

May I request a bit of Lucifer with a plus sized reader who has a breeding kink? 💕

thank you so much for this request anon it has plagued my brain /pos as someone who's midsized and VERY gay i think the plus sized ladies need more love in fanfic. i hope you like it, im not 100% happy with the writing but lmk and ill change it up :)

cw: smut, breeding kink (duh), mentions of daddy kink but it's not rly used, reader is described as plus sized could be midsized ig, cum eating?? it's not like DIRECTLY mentioned but it kinda happens??, reader is overstimulated cause lucifer wants to make her a mommy, not proofread well

other: im on vacation and working through some requests so please know your request has been noted! ill probably come out with some more alastor/reader/lucifer sometime in the next couple of days.

■ for starters, i firmly believe that he's the kind of guy to LOVE chubby girls

■ like he loves how soft you are

■ if you're laying in bed with him you better expect for him to be all over you

■ no matter what you wanna wear he thinks it hot. seeing you confident is his biggest turn on and he loves it when you are feeling your best.

■ put on some low rise jeans and that man is on his knees for you

■ safe to say this man is 100% your number 1 supporter and will hype you up no matter what

■ if you're taller than him, literally no issue. like have you seen the height difference between him and lilith?

■ look he's a guy who knows how to handle anyone of any shape/size/gender

■ he's been around since the beginning of humanity this guy knows how to fuck

■ we all know he's a munch

■ i feel like he'd be the kind of guy to be REALLY into thighs

■ like you'd be laying in bed and he'd start kissing down your body, his hands running over your curves

■ paying special attention to your lower belly before moving to your thighs

■ he likes going down on you but if you at all want to ride his face he's 100% in

■ i feel like if you hadn't asked he'd definitely have suggested it before

■ the kind of guy to like pull you down on his face

■ he wants you to SIT dammit

■ the breeding kink tho.

■ i feel like he'd already have a daddy kink but the breeding kink just adds to it yk

■ he thinks you look absolutely divine when his cum is leaking out of you

■ but on days he's particularly feeling the breeding kink, he 100% shoving his fingers in you after he pulls out.

■ gotta make sure you stay full

■ he can't help it he just loves you so much he wants to see you swollen with his child :(

"darling just one more for me please" he breathes out, sweat dripping down his body as he tries to coax another orgasm out of you.

he had been feeling in a bit of a mood tonight, and when you came into his office with those shorts of yours on he couldn't think about anything other than breeding you.

so here we are, laid out on his desk, and him hovering over you. your legs ache from trembling so hard, and every orgasm makes you practically blind from how long he'd been going at it. his cum leaks out of your hole, he'd been dumping load after load in you, and now he's shaking too.

he's gotta fill you up though, he'd love nothing more than you carrying his love. he feels that pit is his stomach tighten, and he gently rubs your clit. "gonna be such a good mommy," he'd coo, feeling you turn to putty in his arms.

when the time comes and he crashes over his orgasm, spilling deep in you once more, he's careful to stay locked in for a little while, but he's peppering your face with kisses.

"you did such a good job ducky" he murmurs, rubbing soft circles on your hips. until he'd pull back just a little to watch his cum leak out of you again, utterly spent.

when he finally completely pulls out its not long until his fingers make their way in you, "shh baby i know, but i gotta make sure it takes" he'd whisper to you as you squirm away from him.

he tsks a little shortly after, his fingers slowly withdrawing. he plunges thumb into your mouth, "suck" he says firmly, which you do, of course. cleaning off his fingers so good for him.

he pulls his hand back, it returns to your side, and you whine as you feel his fat tip press against your hole again, and he coos down at you, folding your legs up to your knees. "cmon missy, we can go one more time right? you can go again sweetheart" he says as he eases his cock into you again.

safe to say, he's dumping loads of his cum in you until he's shooting blanks.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer smut #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #request #plus size reader #mid size reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer

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angelbarelywrites · 6 months

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♡ slashers scenarios | y’all accidentally adopt a kid (part 2)

♡ fandoms; House of Wax, Hannibal (TV)/Silence of the Lambs, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Vincent Sinclair, Bo Sinclair, Hannibal Lecter

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; parenthood, kidnapping, mentions of violence. basically don’t tell these guys you want a kid ig

♡notes; another sparse selection but i don’t think Billy Lenz is allowed within 100 yards of a school so it is what it is

also I hate how much I’m starting to love Bo oh my god

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Vincent Sinclair

> he’s a nurturing man- to his brothers and you

> hell he babies Jonesy too

> even so, he’s shocked when you mention offhandedly that he’d make a good father

> he denies it vehemently

> even as the golden child he grew up in hell

> no way he’d know how to do any of it right

> but you just gently laugh and shake your head, insisting but not pressing it

> it makes him think

> and think and think

> he didn’t know much about kids, but you’d be a great parent

> and you wouldn’t lie to him- maybe he’d be at least an okay father

> families don’t come through often

> and when they do, Lester leaves them be

> if they ever get to Ambrose on their own, the town stays off- none of the Sinclairs want anything to do with harming children

> but mistakes happen, and Bo is freaking out

> a little girl with dark hair and bright blue eyes was sleeping in the back of a car while he took care of her parents, and he didn’t realize until far to late

> she’s maybe 3, and awfully scared and quiet- but when they bring her in the house she walks right up to you and Vincent

> she hugs your leg and finally smiles when Vincent kneels down to show her that Jonesy is a nice dog

> Bo is in shock when you volunteer to adopt her, but Vincent is in quick agreement

> she’s nonverbal, but you look through her family’s things to find out her name - Lilly Henson, or something to that affect .

> Lilly Sinclair has a much better ring to it anyways, doesn’t it?

Bo Sinclair

> he’s the type that if you mention that you want a kid to this man, he asks what color

> he is endlessly devoted to you

> and while he never wanted a kid before, he’s always so insistent you make him a better man

> so some snot nosed brats would complete the picture perfectly

> he’s not super serious about it, not really

> you have plenty of time to plan for a family

> and he’s the type to want biological children if possible- he’s so used to white picket fence suburbia-type ideals

> when a car pulls up to the gas station, he stops when he sees the infant car seat in the back

> he’s about to tell the parents to move along- but then he sees the second matching one

> something - probably his overinflated self worth - tells him he’d be a much better father to twins that these chucklefucks

> and you want a kid anyways! would two be much better

> they’re not identical- he’s not not disappointed by the fact, but they’re still adorable

> a boy and a girl a bit over a year, with big brown eyes and infectious giggles

> he’s beyond proud when he strides in with them

> “daddy’s home!”

> he thinks you might actually kill him this time

> but then Charlotte - the girl based on what’s embroidered on her blankie, reaches for you and you melt

> you’re still scolding him as you happily take Theodore too

> but he knows you’re beyond thrilled

Hannibal Lecter

> he’s always wanted a successor

> quite frankly it never had to be his child - or a child at all

> he thought about taking younger serial killers in the making under his wing more than once

> to teach them the art of culinary cannibalism and the finer points of flaying people

> but it’s far too dangerous - especially with you around

> you’re the one thing that trumps his egomania

> so he lets it be for the time being

> but one day, he takes on a special case at work

> a young boy who recently lost his parents very violently

> he’s in kindergarten, and expresses most everything through his rather advanced drawings

> you don’t interact with his patients- even though he works from home you’re pretty skilled at dodging them

> but on the way out that afternoon the little boy- Peter, his name is, runs out before his social worker and smack dab into you

> she apologizes on his half profusely but you’re so sweet with the boy

> you pick up his dropped drawings and comfort him- he’s quite upset he may have hurt or angered you

> he gives you a huge hug and Hannibal can see the fond, parental look on your face

> after that it’s quite simple to draw up the paperwork

> he’s already in foster care, and it only takes a few false documents to make the courts think that Hannibal’s custody is the best place for little Peter

> you learned long ago that it’s best not to question how or why Hannibal does something when he gets like that

> and either way you’re content with your new little family

#slashers #slashers x reader #slashers x you #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #house of wax #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal #silence of the lambs #cw kidnapping #cw mentions of death #jonsey sinclair

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4nicolas · 1 month

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ROCK PAPER SCISSORS

———————————————————————————————————

satoru gojo x male reader

-you and gojo were trying to decide where to eat but he insisted you picked, obviously you didn’t care so instead suggest a game. satoru agrees but puts his own twist on it.

cw - kissing ig, they’re kinda gay, gojo is bad at flirting

wrd ct - 1600+

this was made with male reader in mind but I don’t think the gender is specified.

this takes place during the hidden inventory arc before suguru geto left.

—————————————————————————

the streets of tokyo weren’t ever this busy, I mean yeah obviously they were busy, but today as the people of japan walked the streets you and satoru can’t help but feel cramped. the two of you were practically pushed up against each other, shoulder to shoulder.

the two of you had just got back from a mission at an elementary school, easily exorcising the curses that lie dormant there scaring the children both you and gojo were starving. who knew saving people could be so tiring!

wanting to get out of the crowd gojo grabs your hand attempting to pull you somewhere secluded, which was difficult because there were not only people in front of you but also surrounding you.

you could feel gojos growing annoyance as he shimmed in between men and women with you being dragged along behind him. you could hear gojo muttering small apologies as he practically shoved these people aside.

it felt like an eternity before you made it to an empty alleyway. “oh yeah, real smart bringing us to a creepy, dark alleyway, satoru” you poked at him. “aw cmon, you’re with the strongest sorcerer, no need to worry babe.” he smiled at you, and you couldn’t help but stare at him.

you felt your cheeks warm up a bit at the stupid pet name he used even though you knew it was a joke. he used those dumb nicknames on you all the time, you should be used to it by now, right?

shaking away your thoughts you zone back into what satoru was saying. “anyway, I doubt anyone would try and mug us or shoot us or whatever criminals do.” you shrugged at him, he was probably right but still, you could never be too cautious.

gojo suddenly clapped his hands together, grabbing your attention even more as if he already didn’t have it. “now, back to the matter at hand, where do you wanna eat?”

gojo started naming places, waiting for you to say one of his listed options. he was counting on his fingers and already listed surrounding eateries. you lack of response made him look up, blinking a couple times before waving a hand in front of your face.

“hello? earth to F/N?” you looked at him before speaking, “oh I don’t really mind where we eat, you can pick.” gojo hated when people said that. you knew this but still didn’t pay any mind to it.

satoru deadpanned you. you laughed at his reaction before sighing, “no but seriously, you can choose.” uhhmmm… no? he can’t. suguru chose last time, he chose the time before that and shoko chose the time before that. so it’s your turn.

he shook his head, almost in disbelief how you forgot the turn system. “it’s your turn.” “what?” he deadpanned you again. “the TURN system. you know where we all choose on different turns. and since suguru, me and shoko have went recently, it’s you turn.” he poked your chest, satisfyed with his response.

you laughed at him, “you actually keep track of that?” satorus silly habits always made you laugh. this reminded you of the time he got mad at principal yaga for assigning a mission to you and suguru when it was “clearly his turn to go on a mission with you” suguru didn’t care what happened and yaga eventually gave in to his demands, not wanting to wind him up even more.

satoru looked offended, “uhh, obviously I keep a track of it. how else will we know whose turn it is?” he was acting like this was common knowledge. you laughed again causing satoru to bounce back, “well how would you decide, F/N?” he crossed him arms over his chest.

you looked at him, contemplating what you would do, and as if a lightbulb went off in your head you snapped. “I know. I would probably just use the classic rock paper scissors. you know, winner picks.”

satoru squinted at you, seemingly dumbfounded by your choice of words. his arms drop to his sides and sighs, exaggeratingly so. “fineeee. i guess, we can do rock paper scissors.” you were about to be shocked by how easily satoru gave in before you heard a “but,”

you raised your brow at him. “-but best to three, loser pays, winner decides, AND-“ oh boy. “-every time we draw the same sign, we have the kiss.” now you really were shocked. your eyes widened at his sentence.

while you were still unable to respond, satoru slyly smiled. enjoying your look of shock and what he thought was flustered but he wasn’t sure. instead of responding you nod, “okay, alright then, best to three.” you raised your fist to your palm and satoru grinned.

he put his hand up to his palm opposite of you before he started counting down. three. two. one. you threw out scissors and looks at satorus hand to see rock. he beat you in the first round.

the both of you went again, going on the count of three before drawing out paper. you look up, seeing satoru also had paper. before you could react satoru chuckles, “well… you agreed to the rules F/N.”

satoru steps closer, inches away from your face. you can feel your body betraying you by making your face and the tips of your ears red. satoru stood in front of you, waiting for you to initiate the kiss.

hesitantly, you moved your face even closer to his, feeling his breath on your lips before closing the distance. the kiss was very short. basically just a peck. you backed away getting even more flustered.

you tried to hide it by jokingly wiping your hands across your lips. satoru simply watches, a shit eating grin on his face at your reaction.

“I mean it wouldn’t have hurt if the kiss was longer but.. whatever!” satoru smiled at you, his eyes creasing in the corners before putting his hands back up.

“it’s still 1-0 you know.” satoru spoke slightly dragging out the ‘w’. you raised your hands back up, getting ready to play again.

three. two. one. you threw out rock, satoru had scissors. 1-1.

satoru frowned for a moment, almost disappointed in the round. you thought nothing of it and continued on.

you both got ready to play again, putting your hands up. three. two. one. you had paper, satoru had rock. you won again, 1-2.

you began to felt nervous almost expecting there to be another tie that forces you to kiss gojo. the two rounds went by fast but all you could focus on was the quick kiss you both shared.

trying to shake your thoughts away, you raised your hands up, meeting gojos. three. two. one. you drew scissors, satoru drew rock. 2-2.

satoru hadn’t spoke in the past couple rounds instead focusing on his hands. you wanted to say something but nothing came to mind, instead you did the same as him, looking directly at your hands.

three. two. one. you looked at your hand seeing paper, and nervously looked up at satorus. rock. you had won, which meant you chose and he had to pay. which satoru saw as a win, he already wanted you to choose and planned on paying.

you let out a small breath you didn’t realize you were holding, looking back up to satorus gaze. he’s staring behind you. you turn around, not seeing anything before turning back to see satoru a few inches away from you, similar to when you kissed.

you both stayed silent, simply breathing before you broke the silence. “well I guess I won.” gojo smiles, glancing at your lips. “yeah, guess so.”

you went to back away from gojo but before you could even turn your head, his hand grabs your wrist.

not expecting the contact, you jump, looking at him. “what’s up with you today, man..?” you question him in a joking manner. he stays silent, observing you.

satoru sighs, dropping his hand from your wrist, disappointment crossing his features. he puts his hands in his pockets as you stare at him.

“what’s wrong?” your voice comes out in a joking manner but you both knew it wasn’t a joke.

satoru looks you in the eyes before looking up. “nothing, just thought you would’ve gotten the hint from that, but turns out not.”

you still weren’t quite grasping what he was saying, clearly stated by your confused look.

satoru sighs even louder than before and looks back at your face. “do I really gotta spell it out for you?”

you blink, once, then twice. trying to piece together what he was saying. how he agreed to play the game if there was a chance to kiss you, the way he frowned when you didn’t tie, the way he looked at you. hell, the way he’s currently looking at you.

as if tiny cogs were turning in your brain you suddenly felt like the dumbest person alive. satoru gojo was flirting with you. in his own weird way yeah but he was still doing it.

the stupid pet names, lingering glances, constantly wanting to be around you. you understood now that gojo liked you.

still staring, satoru started to walk past you but before he could you grabbed his wrist. “thanks for making me feel even dumber than I already am satoru.” you mumble, seeing him turn to you, face still before turning into a smile at your realization.

“well, actually you figured it out faster than suguru thought you would’ve.” ignoring his words you pull him towards you, smashing your lips together.

this kiss was longer than before, way longer. it went on until the two of you had to take a breath. satorus arms wrap around you, yours finding their way from his arms to his face before shaking your head.

“did you say suguru thought I would’ve took longer to figure it out?” satoru laughed, the two of you separating before making your way out of the alleyway.

“it’s a long story, in fact we can talk about while we eat. speaking of which where are we eating?” gojos hand held yours as you walked, unsure of which direction to go in unless you named where you were going.

“oh right.”

—————————————————————————

yoo no way, nick made his first post. how crazy is that. anyway i’m having jjk brain rot rn and really wanted to write. here’s something I threw together real quick. hope someone enjoys it.

#gojo satoru x male reader #gojo x male reader #satoru x male reader #satoru gojo x male reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x male reader #jjk x reader #jjk #fanfic #idk man they’re gay #what am i doing?#i love gojo #gay #mlm

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msmk11 · 3 months

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My T**s Ruin the Outfit

Poly!Marauders x non-binary!reader (short fic)

CW: Gender dysphoria; angst: fluff; hurt/comfort

Summary: Your boyfriends find you having a melt down about clothes. But really, it’s not about clothes at all.

Author’s Note: I’m not sure how this idea came to mind, but once I thought it, I had to write it. Since I go by she/they the struggle to find gender affirming clothes is really hard sometimes 😭 especially with tits. So ig this is really self-insert heavy, but I also hopes it brings comfort to those who feel similarly.

Remus was less than pleased to find you sprawled out on the bed, face down in the pillows.

“Dove, what are you doing?” he sighed, “You know we need to leave in ten minutes.”

“I’m not going,” you mumbled.

Remus assumed today of all days was when you decided to be a brat, and he was not going to have it. Tonight was supposed to be the first time in months that your entire friend group was going to be able to get together. Between Mary and Lily, Marlene and Dorcas, Regulus and Barty, and you four, it was nearly impossible to make plans. But, by some miracle, tonight was the night, and Remus was not about to miss out because of your attitude.

“Dove,” Remus said with a low, warning tone, “I’m not gonna say it again.”

You only grumbled out another no, and Remus felt his patience wearing thin. Just as he was about to force you up and moving, James wondered into the room, looking particularly delectable in one of his faded rugby shirts that hugged his biceps, and blue jeans.

Though James was occasionally oblivious, he immediately noticed Remus’ tense jaw and your distressed body language.

“What’s going on here?” James asked carefully.

“Dovey here insists that they’re no longer going with us,” Remus said gruffly.

James looked at Remus confused. Out of everyone, you had been the most excited for this night. While you loved your boys, you also dearly missed your best friends- Lily, Mary, Marlene, and Dorcas. You had been chattering excitedly for days about all that you four needed to catch up on- old gossip, haircut advice, and some of your shared favorite musicians.

Though Remus’ temper sometimes prevented him from seeing it, James’ cool demeanor allowed him to quickly realize that something was obviously wrong. James gently sat down on the bed beside you and started to rub small, soothing circles on your back.

“Angel,” he asked quietly, “why don’t you want to go anymore? You’ve been looking forward to it for days.”

You didn’t respond verbally, but James noticed a slight shaking in your shoulders. Ever so carefully, James grabbed your hips and shifted you onto your side to face him. Before you could hide away again, James noticed your red, teary eyes.

“Angel,” he cooed sadly.

Remus looked to James with a perplexed expression and mouthed, “what is it?”

“They’re crying,” James mouthed quietly.

All of the tension left Remus quickly and was replaced by worry. He immediately felt guilty for assuming the worst and shuffled over to the bed, assuming a seat on your other side. While rubbing small circles on your hip Remus asked, “Can you sit up for us dove and tell us what’s wrong?”

You begrudgingly obliged, though you remained attached to James as you did so.

“Guys? Are you ready? We need to be leaving no-“

Sirius stood in the doorway, slack-jawed, “DOLLY? What’s wrong?” He immediately rushed to crouch at your feet beside the bed.

All three pairs of eyes looked at you with so much care, each of them comforting you with gentle pets and rubs.

“I- I” you blubbered, “I have nothing to wear.”

That was the last thing any of them expected you to say because 1) you didn’t usually put so much care into your outfits 2) even if you did you didn’t usually get emotional over it and 3) you had more than plenty of clothes to wear- not just of your own but of your three boyfriends’.

“Angel, you have tons of clothes in the closet to choose from. And ours too,” James said gently.

“And if you’re having trouble picking something, doll, you know I can help you pick something out,” Sirius added

This only made you start to cry harder and your three boyfriends shared looks of mixed concern and confusion.

“You just- you don’t understand,” you said through hiccups.

“Then help us to, dove,” Remus told you, “we can’t help if you don’t talk to us.”

You tried to take a few deep breaths, so that you could actually express what you were feeling, “It’s just. None of my clothes fit right on me. At least, not the way I want them too. My tits just, ruin the outfit.”

Realization passed through all of them then. This wasn’t about clothes at all- not really, at least. Almost a year ago, you had come out to your boyfriends as nonbinary. They, of course, were so loving and supportive and tried to help you feel comfortable in your body in any way possible. You’d gotten a binder, bought some new clothes, and changed your hair, but when gender dysphoria hit, there was not much they could do to comfort you.

“Oh sweetheart,” Sirius said with a sigh, “I’m sorry. Did you try your binder?”

You shook your head with a frown, “no. But I don’t wanna wear it. It hurts after awhile.”

James pulled you more tightly into his side and kissesdyour head, “what can we do, angel?”

You only shrugged your shoulders and sighed.

“Why don’t you let Sirius and I choose something for you dove, while Jamie cuddles you. That sound good?” Remus asked you kindly.

“Okay.”

Sirius and Remus got up and disappeared into your shared closet. James, in the mean time, pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around you tightly. He peppered kisses across your face and whispered sweet nothings into your ear, which made you giggle in spite of yourself. After a few minutes, Remus and Sirius emerged, clothes in hand.

“Alright doll, why don’t you try this on?”

Sirius handed you one of your favorite sports bras and the biggest of Remus’ sweaters- in your favorite color too. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t thought to try a sports bra earlier- the next best thing to a binder- but you supposed your emotions prevented you from clear thinking. You stayed in James’ lap while you quickly peeled off the t-shirt you were wearing and wrestled on the sports bra. While it didn’t entirely hide your tits, it certainly flattened your chest a little. Paired with Remus’ sweater, that was much baggier on you, your tits almost disappeared. As you looked down at your fairly flat chest you felt much more at ease. You shuffled over to the mirror and look at your appearance. Though the gender dysphoria was not entirely gone, you felt a lot better than before. And with your supportive, loving boyfriends by your side all night, you knew everything would be alright.

#marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #james potter x reader #james potter x you #the maruaders #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #remus lupin x you #poly!marauders x reader #polyamory #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders fic #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders angst #hurt/comfort #hp fandom #james potter x Sirius black x Remus Lupin

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