#vagina hat

[femalewarrior222]

Darcy Lewis is the Only One That Should've Been Naked in the Thor Movies

[nomaishuttle]

ACCIDENTALLY GRABBED HIM WITH MY KEYS RHIS MORNING SO HES JUST BEEN TRAPPED IN MY POCKET ALL DAY SRY GIRL...

[caughtinanotherworld]

Der Fall der Fälle: Psychos, Perverse und die Missgeburten II

Du lässt nie los, wiR auch nicht. Ich kannte dich in- und auswendig. Wir kannten einander so wie Seelen einander nur einmal im Leben kannten. Du brauchtest mich, du warst mittellos, bedürftig, mein persönlicher, auserwählter Sozialfall im StudEntEnwohnheim, weil wir sehr viel imaginären Fensterkontakt hatten. Wollte dir schon Lebensmittel kaufen, weil dein Korb bei einem von mehreren Einkäufen relativ lEer war. Ich häTte ihn als Belohnung richTig gefüllt, da hätte ein anderes Leben auf dich gewartet. Wandgeflüster. Schizophrene Liebe. Langsame Internetverbindung und generell Langeweile, wenn keiner Bock auf gegenseitiges Eier kraulen hatte. Manche nennen es Belästigung, aber wir denken doch es waren selbst eingeredete gut gemeinte Sorgen. Manchmal bist du extra an uns vorbeigelaufen, als ob es der einzige direkte Weg zur Bahn war. Ne, ich denke du wolltest unsere Aufmerksamkeit. Dann bist du gerannt, war dir wohl zu verrückt, ich denke du wolltest demzufolge noch mehr Aufmerksamkeit? Wir haben dich doch gesehen. Wirklich gesehen und zwar als das was du WiRklich biSt. Wir haben dich doch beobachtet, wie ein persönlicher Fall. 24/7, selbst das was wir nicht verstanden haben. Plötzlich hat alles Sinn gemacht, selbst wenn es keinen Sinn macht. Du bist schizophren, du bildest dir Sachen ein, du leidest an Lügeritis. Deswegen hast du uns auS VerSehen des StaLkings bezichtigt und selbst als du dachtest du bildest dir wirklich alles ein, konnten wir& Missgeburten dir immer wieder beweisen, wie krank manche sein können. Wirre Worte sind nichts. Deswegen mussten wir weiter folgen, um zu beweisen wie wir nicht folgen. Ungewollte, gewollte Zufälle. Nebenbei mussten wir dann noch harte Arbeit leisten, indem wir überall erzÄhlen mussten, wie sehR du an deinen mentalen Problemen leidest. First of all, wie dein Doppelleben aufgedeckt wurde, nachdem du uns jeden Tag reingelegt hast, obwohl wir jeden Tag durch die Wand miteinander kommuniziert haben. Von Marzahn und deiner dunklen Crack Vergangenheit in der Platte muss ich gar nicht erst anfangen. Deine FAssAde ist gefallen. Ja, deine reblogged posts auf Tumblr.com (nicht wie diese faux schizophrene Version mit text posts) hat uns geholfen dich zu anAlysiEren. Du wolltest von uns beobachtet werden, du hast uns abgehört, du hast immer simuliert und reagiert, um uns zu gefallen. Ja, wir waren keine Perversel, wir waren nur harmlos interessiert. Dann haben wir jedem gesagt, wie gut wir uns kannten, wie oft wir uns durch Fenster gesehen haben, durch Köpfe, wie gut wir deine FamiLiE kannten. Du warst 25 und hast zum ersten Mal gemerkt, dass du halb Mensch und halb Psychopathin/Alien bist und dich plötzlich illegal in Deutschland befindest. Einmal zu lang angeguckt und du hattest plötzlich einen Nervenzusammenbruch, weil hässlich. Wir mussten uns zusammenfinden und alles zusammentragen. Rennen hilft nicht, wenn Ratten dich finden wollen, von den Bissen kann man sich nur schwer erholen.

Wir hatten nichts miteinander zu tun, aber wir haben dein Leben aufgedeckt. Es wurde nur problematisch, weil du dich geweigert hast zu tun, was wir uns vorher ausgedacht haben. Dabei dachten wir, wir können Puppenspieler spielen und die PupPe hat nicht gehorcht. Gedankenkontrolle. Unsere Missgeburten im Haus waren hin und weg, besser als gegenseitiges Eier kraulen und die braunhaarigen Bratzen etc.. Du hast nie RiChtig HAllo gesagt und dich geweigert dich in die angenehme Hausatmosphäre des Führers zu integrieren. DiE jUngs, also wir harten Kerle, genau wie die krassen Typen Mitte 30 und älter, waren von unseren wirren Ausscheidungen sehr begeistert, sie haben uns danach unsere Arschlöcher geleckt. Mysterie wurde aufgedeckt. Du hast uns alle ignoriert, weil du Angst vor Männelkontakt hast, weil du ganz verklemmt und schüchtern warst. Ein kleines Mauerblümchen, zu haarig für Körperkontakt, einfach keine Oberweite und wahrscheinlich früher ein Mann. Du durftest nie mit Männeln spielen und musstest immer mit Omi häkeln und durftest das andere Geschlecht nicht angucken. Dann hast du so getan als ob nichts passiert ist, weil es in denial angenehmer war. Alles ok, bis du diEsen fAke AnwaLt von Wish bestellt hast und dann war es vorbei. Wir mussten unseren Ruf retten, da wo es noch geht. Wir mussten die anderen vor dir retten. Wir mussten es selbst verbreiten, bevor du oder andere es verbreiten, aber je weiter es geht, desto mehr haben wir uns selbst verwirrt.

Nächstes Kapitel. Du hast alles gefaked. Ich bin durch meinen Vater befähigt worden und zusammen mit meiner Freundin Paul Belästigung, mussten wir dir auf den Grund gehen. Schlimmer als wannabe Detektive und Polizisten, sind echte Polizisten die dich stalken oder generell alle in deiner Nähe, so viel Aufwand für nichts. Pure Gänsehaut. Hast du schon Angst? Wir mussten dich orten und zwanghaft aufsuchen, um unsere Theorien zu beweisen. Du warst unser auserkorenes Opfer, du hast an deinem Verstand gezweifelt und währendessen wurden wir immer geiler. Als ob man mit einem Kind spielt, machT bestiMmt alles was man sagt, lässt sich ohne zögern leiten, mental langsam und zurückgeblieben, auch wenn man es nicht erwartet. Kamst noch nie in den Genuss in der Nähe solch blauen urdeutschen BluTes zu sein. Bist bestimmt von allem begeistert, hast noch nie mit Messer und Gabel gegessen, noch nie Geld für Hygieneprodukte gehabt, konntest dich noch nie richtig waschen. Ja, wenn du zur Arbeit gehst, komme ich mit. Dann sage ich du bist arbeiTslos oder arbeitest zu WeniG Stunden füR meinen Geschmack. Dann beauftrage ich meine eigene Behindertenwerkstatt, die die dich belauscht. Selbst das was sie nicht verstehen, nachts stehe ich dann vor deiner Wohnung, im Nebenhaus nebenan und ortE, was du mAchst. Wie ein eifersüchtiger, schizophrener Freund. Im Busch vor deinem Haus, zwei Regale weiter im Supermarkt, auf der anderen Straßenseite. Wir puzzlen und puzzlen und jetzt stimmt das Bild, was wir weitergeben. Du bist komplett mittellos, du hast dich stark übernommen, wohnst hier mit zu vielen Leuten auf engen Raum, hasT uns AlLE angelogen, wohnst mit Rentnern in einer Zweck WG, bist vor ein paar Jahren vom Dorf zugezogen, holst jetzt deine Jugend nach, beStimmt mit fresh 19. Teilst dir dein Zimmer mit deiner Schwester, wohnst offiziell nicht da und musst den ganzen Tag draußen verbringen. Hast noch einEn Minijob neben deinem anderen Minijob angefangen, um dich über Wasser zu halten und raubst regelmäßig örtliche Supermärkte aus. Der eine Minijob war Vollzeit Psychopathin und der andere ist Männerraub, mit deinem haarigen, gelben Körper. Deinen Abschluss hast du nie geschafft, bist immer nur hingefahren, um Klopapier zu klauen. Deine Schwester muss nebenbei noch Zigaretten verkaufen, du auch, nachdem du ganzen Tag haarige BildEr im Internet verkaufen musstest. Meine Freundin Paul& ich hatten recht, auch wenn ich mittlerweile die Kontrolle über meine Behindertenwerkstatt verloren habe. Gaben gegen Infos. Deswegen musste einer immer wie ein zurückgebliebener Gecko an der Wand vom Nebenhaus lauschen, wie notgeile Schizophrene, weil der Schirmherr sie verlassen hat. Oder dir auf Arbeit auflauern, manchmal waren wir es selbst, mAnchmal haben sie unTer meiner Führung gEstalkt. Ändere die Geschichte, wo es geht. Dachtest du wirst verrückt, huh?

WIr hAtten rEchT. Du haltest weiter daran fest, du simulierst und rEagiErst, um deinE Fassade aufrecht zu erhalten. Jetzt hast du wieder angefangen zu atmen und zu simulieren, damit wir reagieren. Damit andere dich sehen und auf dich und deinen Betrug reinfallen. Du kannst machen was dU willst, wir kennen unsere WahrheiT. Guck mal wie brav die neuen Abnehmer gefressen haben. 😏 Wir mussten fast nichts machen, haben uns einfach darauf verlassen. Papl und seine Gang Bang Freunde und seine Mutti Züge bei der Kripo waren begeistert. Plötzlich lauerten dir Hyänen im selbst erstellten Konkurrenzkampf auf, wollten dich beißen, Zähne sind immer wieder rausgefallen. Sahen immer wieder gleich aus, manchmal erwartet man es von bestimmten Berufsgruppen im bestimmten Alter einfach nicht, sehr komische Vorlieben, sehr fragwürdig. Die konnten sich auf Arbeit und privat endlich besser fühlen, endlich überlegen. Faltenhunde und die Kollegenmatratzen, besorgte Bürger, Naziköter, Hobby Spanner, Schwangere und verblödete Assi Schlampen, verschmähte Muttis oder überschminkte, langhaarige Mannsweiber. Die untereinander geteilte Öko „Krankenpflegerin“ 😉/ Polizisten Groupie/Escort Sandy im Freundschaftskreis, auch unter den verheirateten und die ehemalige Freundin von Naziköter Bauer. Unfruchtbare, die die Gebärmutter Witze nicht lustig fanden, weil ihnen deswegen kein Ring gegeben wird oder weil ihr Ehemann nach der Ehe das Ufer wechseln musste. Weberwiese & Freunde, inklusive Besorgte Bürgerin 1, irgendeine Maren, die nicht mal wie gewünscht von Kripo Tristl & Kötern geteilt wurde, wie Mutti Vivi, Mutti Birgit, die Gang Bang Mutti, Mutti Larissa etc.. Dabei hätte Maren sogar ne Diät für ihn gemAcht, aber Gewicht ist ihm mittlerweile eh egal, hauptsache du siehst aus wie sein Hund oder hast schon mehrmals gestillt. Maren war gAnz LangE abwechselnd verliebt, hat sich eigentlich nach Kindern und Ehe gesehnt, abEr kEiner von DeN Jungs wollte. Statt als Kommissarin zu arbeiten, stalkt Maren lieber fRemDe Frauen& co, wie eine liebeskranke Liebesrivalin, wieder zu viele ZuFällE. Die Kripo hat die krassesten Weiber geschickt. Und fast 40+ Jahre alte, stramme, KonServative. Die, die gerne ein paar heiße 18/19 Jährige Schülerinnen oder Azubinen knallen, hauptsache nicht die Partnerin. Und katholische Ehemänner mit Nutten in Hotels. Sogar Schwabbel Bianca etc. und die Bereitschaftsmuttis werden unter den krassen Frauenhelden geteilt, teilweise mit besseren Bizeps als sie selbst. Auch die letzten Omis auf Arbeit werden mitgenommen, wie die Aasfresser. Und wenn sie untereinander nicht gerade die gleichen Frauen teilen und auf die gleiche verrückte Mutter steigen, die verzweifelt Aufmerksamkeit sucht, dann stalken sie aus InTEresse, spiElen allmächtige Spanner, weil du ja wieder richtig viel Interesse hattest und versucht hAst in Kreise zu kommen, in denEn du nichts zu suchen hattest. Hast als Ehefrau kandidiert, aber ganze Zeit geLogEn. Du bist wie eine mögliche ausländische, gefundene Nutte bei einer Razzia, die verzweifelt vErsuCht an GelD zu kommen und die jemand nach dem Einsatz versucht hat mitzunehmen.

Bist der ausländische Antichrist, wieder irgendwie simuliert, um jemAnden zu angEln und reiNzulegen, egAl wie unbewusst, egal wie oft er auf dumme Assi Schlampen reinfällt, also immer dann wenn die Auswahl immer kleiner und schlechter wird und er an den gleichen Weibern lecken muss, wie seine Freunde. Immer abwechselnd, egal wie viel Geschlechtskrankheiten. Aber wenn man jeden Tag mit solchen Leuten rumhängt, mag man den Geschmack. 🤢 Du wolltest bestimmt wieder schauspielern, um im wunderbaren Kreis der Besorgten Bullen & Faltenmatratzen aufgenommen zu werden, daMit siE besser von dir denken, weil es ganz wichtig iSt, was sie von dir denken. Stattdessen einfach ihre gemeinsamen Affären beleidigt, nachdem sie nur hArmLoses InteressE hatten. Bisschen Spaß. Wolltest wieder sozialer Aufstieg spielen, aber hast gefaked und bist von der Leiter gefallen. Spielst immer Spiele. Die Polizei hatte noch nie härtere Kommissare. Es gab noch nie schlimmere Fälle und VerdÄchTige und mehr Probleme in Berlin.

Ja, ist alles privat, voll komisch wenn jemand alles wiederholt, was man aufschnappt. Voll weird, wenn Leute einen auS Interesse stalken. Voll unangenehm, voll fragwürdig. Dann muss man aber auch echt nicht so sensibel sein. Wir musSten kAum was machEn. Unsere Missgeburten hatten sich schon übEr unsere (erneut) aufgedeckten Lügen gefreut. Wie wir uns und der Welt, oder denen die sich dafür interessieren, bewIEsen hAben, waS du bist.

[whoiskt]

Remember that time after Trump got elected there was "Women's March" events all over the world standing up for bodily autonomy and reproductive rights but because a lot of the women were wearing hats that looks like vulvas, all the online communities deemed it uninclusive and problematic? Not denying that many of the cis people protesting at the time had some more learning to do themselves, but looking back on that now in a time where trans and reproductive rights in the US are at a low, I can't help but feel maybe that wasn't handled so well.

[ajarofpickledtears]

unrelated

and some fun German stuff

[cys-fic-library]

Nighttime Affairs (The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x Reader)

You and the Ghoul, Cooper Howard, have a complicated relationship with each other. One which involves him paying you some nightly visits when he passes on by that little home of yours out in the lonesome wasteland.

Warnings: 18+, smut, vaginal sex, fingering, bit of orgasm denial, bit of dirty talking, creampie, biting (its cooper i dunno what you expect, he's going to bite you), oral - reader receiving, complicated relationship, bit of yearning/pinning, fluff, cuddling, kissing, splash of angst, not beta read

Pairing: The Ghoul/Cooper Howard x gn!afab!Reader (reader's gender is never mentioned but they do have a vagina)

Wordcount: 4256

a/n: made the smut a bit angsty at the end there by mistake. whoopsie daisies. Anyway, like it says above readers gender is never mentioned. But they do have a vagina (because I have a vagina, and I want to fuck the ghoul). Nothing about reader's chest is ever mentioned either. Also I usually write fluff/non smut fics, and only tend to post that. I have written smut before, but this is just my first time actually sharing some of it. So like ;-; Okie dokie? okie dokie.

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics (much love j ❤️)

Nights in the wasteland were always a deadly affair. All sort of creatures made themselves known—both human and non-human alike—never having the friendliest of tendencies. It was why you always made sure that your windows remained boarded up. Double checking the door of your home to be firmly locked, before finally making your way to bed.

You always kept a gun hidden beneath your pillow as you slept. Easy to grab in case of a break in. Acting like a sort of safety blanket. Hoping that such a comfort would help you sleep soundly, though most nights you still found it difficult. Restlessness haunted you. Plagued your mind. Never truly able to rest easily—not with danger lurking around ever dark corner. 

 Sometimes that unease proved helpful. Such as tonight, while on the brink of sweet slumber, there had been a shift in the room. The sound of worn floorboards creaking jolting you awake. It wouldn’t be the first time some wanderer had tried to get the jump on you in the middle of the night. 

Hand quick to grab your gun, you point it at the new body in the room. Adrenaline pumping in your veins. Heart on edge. Ready to fire at a moment's notice. 

“Easy there sweetheart.” 

Your tired eyes blinked. Once. Twice. Trying to clear away your sleep clouded vision enough to properly comprehend the familiar figure currently standing in the center of your tiny room. 

“Cooper?” 

The Ghoul grinned at you in the darkness. Hazel eyes almost seeming to shine from the moonlight that managed to filter in. His head had tilted to motion to the gun in your hand. An amused hum leaving him. “Bit of a rude way to greet your guests.” 

“Wouldn’t call you much of a guest.” You lowered the gun and rubbed at your face with a sigh. “More of a nuisance if anything.” 

“Aw, your words wound me darlin’.” His words drawn out and mocking, as he feigned being hurt, before he had turned from you to continue removing his gear. Setting it all wherever he liked in your room. Acting almost as if he owned the place. Not a care in the world that he was currently invading your home uninvited. Again. 

You could only seem to roll your eyes as you watched him. “What are you doing here so late?” 

“Oh just passin’ through.” The Ghoul said with a casual hum. Pulling out his own gun, its barrel glinting just as his gaze had earlier, before he set it on your nightstand. The tossing of his hat onto your bedpost quickly following. “Needed a place to stay.” 

It hadn’t been a question. He wasn’t asking. Never really did when he chose to invite himself into your home. It used to scare you way back when you first met the Ghoul. You never knew if the next time he came would be the one where you met with a bullet. 

But you learned quickly that Cooper only ever did what he felt he needed to. Wouldn’t take the life of someone he found to be useful. He didn’t kill pointlessly like that. Everything had a reason with him. Even if you couldn’t quite see it at first. 

“Well why don’t just make yourself at home then.” You grumbled. Annoyed. A bit more bite to your words then usual. Though it hadn’t seemed to phase him in the slightest. 

“Already on it sweetheart.” 

You glared at him, but he continued to barely pay any mind to it. As you went to put your own gun back beneath the pillow, you had laid down again. Rolling to face the wall, and letting out a tired breath, as you tried to settle. Let the exhaustion claw at your mind and allow your eyes to flutter close. Trying to ignore him just as he did to you. “Just don’t make a mess.” 

The Ghoul hadn’t replied. Which had been a surprise. He always seemed to have something to say. But there was none of that. Instead there was only the sound of more shuffling in the room before the bed finally shifted with his added weight. Pulling you back from the brink of sleep just enough, as he joined you among the tattered sheets.

 Your bed was cramped. Meant for only a single soul, and yet that never seemed to bother him as he fit himself in how he liked. It didn’t take very long for you to feel the press of his cool body against yours. An arm finding itself around your waist, as lips sought out your neck and trailed over your skin. 

“Sleeping.” You said. Quiet. But still you shifted. Legs parting ever so slightly. An invitation you knew he wouldn’t refuse. 

You allowed him to take what he wanted—his true reason for being here—and he did so greedily. Without any ounce of hesitation, bare fingers smoothing down and slipping past the waistband of your pants into their front. Immediately finding the prize he wanted. Your breath hitching as they ghosted over your clit. Teasing. 

“Then sleep.” Lips caressed your ear. His breath hot on your skin. Rough hands had molded you into his liking. Feeling yourself growing wet beneath his fingers all too quickly, as two of them slipped into your heat at first chance. “Don’t bother me, none.” 

Desire bloomed inside you. Arousal coiling tight. He left marks where he could. Harsh kisses that had teeth grazing your skin. Fingers moving inside of you to pull any sound from your lips that he could. Touching you in ways that had you burning, as if you would be engulfed in flames at any second. Toying with your body and purposely bringing you so close to the edge without ever actually bothering to send you over. 

“Stop teasing.” You had shifted again. Trying to provide more space for his devilish hands.  Moving yourself against him to seek the feeling you so desired—that last bit of pleasure that he denied you so easily, and would continue to do so. 

“I thought you were sleeping.” His words had a teasing tone to their depths, as he nipped at your skin. Pressing himself closer. Grinding. His own arousal hard against your hip. Just as worked up as you were it seemed. But somehow still not nearly as desperate. 

“Was trying to.” You sighed out a moan. Leaning impossibly close into him. Hand gripping at his wrist tight as he worked you. Letting his touch consume your very being. “Hard to sleep with someone messing around in my pants.” 

The Ghoul chuckled. “Well let’s fix that then.” 

And suddenly his hands were slipping away. 

You felt your eyes open at the loss of him. Hadn’t even realized they were still closed until that moment. You had gone to protest. Reaching out in the darkness to try and stop him from leaving. But he hadn’t gone far. He had moved you to lay fully onto your back before you could really react. Your pants and underwear removed by him in an instant. Lost to the dark depth of your room's floor. Not to be seen again until morning light. 

The Ghoul loomed over you. Eyes amused, and hands gripping your thighs. He spreads your legs out for himself wide. Exposing your arosural bare before his gaze into the open room. Fitting himself comfortably in between. Almost like there was nowhere else he belonged in the world. Ready to devour you whole. 

And what was worse is that you’d gladly let him do so too. 

“Fucking filthy thing you are.” He had whistled as he looked down at the debauched display he had made of you already. Fingers moving below to run along your dripping lips. Sending another shiver of pleasure up your spine. “You’re soaking and yet I’ve barely done a thing.” 

You couldn’t help but squirm a bit beneath him. He hadn’t bothered to remove any of his own clothes, save for the jacket and gloves he must have tossed somewhere in your room. He never really did remove his clothes when fucked you. Couldn’t remember anytime you had even seen him without a shirt. 

At first you thought he had been shy over his predicament. He wouldn’t have been the first ghoul you met to have struggled with the change after all. But that had been a foolish thought, because Cooper Howard wasn’t ever shy. It was just another thing he couldn’t be bothered with. 

It wasn’t worth it to him to remove, simply put. Probably even still had his boots on at the moment. Trucking sand and only god knows what into your bed. You’d usually lecture him for it. But like with many things tonight, he wouldn’t give you the chance. 

Before you knew it he had leaned down to put his mouth on you. Sucking at your clit. Lips and tongue working you in all the right places. Fingers gripping your thighs to keep you open for him. Devouring you whole, almost like he had been starved for days. 

It didn’t take much of this for you to be brought to that edge. It had been so long since you last saw him—last had him—and his skillful tongue had your orgasm approaching rapidly. Your one hand fisting the sheets below while the other reached for his scarred head. Pulling him in impossibly close. Trying to keep him there. But true to his nature just as you felt those sparks begin to fly he stopped. Lips leaving you and letting your pleasure fall. Hot breath only fanning over your soaked folds. 

He did this often. Riled you up to the point of breaking. Allowing your pleasure to grow high before sending it crashing down again suddenly. Denying that bliss you always found yourself so desperate for when with him. 

Most nights you were brought to tears by it. Begging him to let you have that sweet release. Frustration with his teasing at its peak. Tonight you did not beg or plead though, not yet at least, instead you sat up to lean onto your elbows. Insult for him at the tip of your tongue, ready to lecture him for all he was worth, but any complaint you had quickly died in your throat.

 The Ghoul had bit your thigh. Hard. Whether to silence you, or just because he wanted to, you didn’t know. You just gasped. Trying to pull away, though his hands remained firm. Fingers digging into your skin almost too harshly and holding you in place. Only finally pulling back just enough to swipe his tongue over the mark he left. 

You had winced from the pain, the mark aching, but despite it your arousal only seemed to course through you still. Stronger even. “That was just mean.”

“You like when I’m mean.” He smirked as he sat up again to overlook you. Your blood still staining his lips. “Besides, you’re supposed to be sleeping. Remember?” 

“Yeah and who’s fault is it that I’m not?” 

“No idea what you mean sweetheart.” The Ghoul had let go of your legs then. Leaning back onto his knees to free himself. Belt unbuckling to pull out his aching cock. Squeezing himself briefly before guiding it to your drenched hole. Teasing at your folds.  “Just here enjoying what was given to me after all.” 

It was quick the way he entered. No ceremony or grace. No time to say another single word between you two. Barely gave time for you to gasp again. Sending a shock through your system. He didn’t wait. Thrusts downright filthy as he took you all for himself. Both of your moans and heated breaths filling the room. The air suddenly feeling suffocating and hot. 

Your hands had gripped at his forearms, hoping to ground yourself and failing miserably, all while his own fingers dug into your hips. You tried to meet his own cruel thrusts, but the rhythm he had set  was unrelenting. Pleasure all too consuming. He was right. You liked when he was mean. Liked how rough he was—enjoying how he just took and took from you. He filled you in ways that you knew ruined you for anyone else. And yet still you loved it all so very much. 

You were getting close again. Could feel your peak just at the horizon. Waiting to burst. You moved your hand. Fingers desperate to finally bring yourself that last bit of pleasure to send you over the edge that you’ve desired all night. The one he’s been denying you all evening. But of course he notices immediately. Knocking your hand away before you get any chance. 

“Not yet.” 

You all but whine at his words. Almost pathetically so. Tears finally prickling at the corner of your eyes from being denied by him once again. “Cooper.” 

“You know the rules.” He thrusts a little more roughly as if to punish you. A warning. “You take what I give you.” 

“Please.” 

“Look at you, the mess you are.” He groans out at your begging. Eyes burning hot with desire. Thrusts still unwavering.  “You’d let me do whatever I want to you if it meant I fucked you, wouldn’t you?” 

He had chuckled as you could only seem to nod. Clinging to him. Any kind of words from your lips caught between gasps and moans. You were so overwhelmed. The air was too hot. Everything felt too much but too little at the same time. And it was all because of him. The Ghoul who seemed all too good at taking you apart piece by piece. The mess you were was his fault, and he knew it—reveled in it.

 You could never seem to get enough of him, and he knew it too. He could give you everything or nothing, and you’d still thank him for each little bit of it. He was the same. Even if he would never admit it. He always needed more of you. Both of you were addicted to the other. Needed to feel him just like he needed to feel you. Like a chem neither of you could shake. Didn’t want to shake. 

Cooper’s thrusts had begun to grow sloppy now. His breathing more ragged. Hands squeezing your hips so tightly you were sure to bruise by morning. Your head was swimming. Drowning in the pleasure and losing it in the feeling of him. Mind too far gone to think of anything else. A mere mess of moans and gasps, as tears streamed down your cheeks. So close to unraveling at the seams for him. All just for him. 

When he reached his end he didn’t give you any kind of warning save for a low moaned fuck. Making sure to thrust into you deeply. As far as he could go. His cum filling you to the brim as he did. It was only then when his fingers found your clit again. Rubbing the nub in harsh brutal circles that finally sent you crashing over as well. Ripping your orgasm from your body like he was owed nothing less. 

“There you are, take all of me.” He groaned out as you squeezed and clenched around him. Breathless. Eyes watching how you came undone. Making sure to take in every bit of you that he could as you lost it beneath him. “Come for me darlin’.” 

Your nerves felt on edge as the pleasure wrecked through your system. Body shaking while you could only seem to cling to him tighter. Hands fisted into his shirt and your legs squeezing around his hips, trapping his form to yours all while riding out your orgasm. 

It wouldn’t be until the high began to dwindle where your mind would begin to clear again. A gentle throb at your core. Your body relaxed in his arms, limbs growing heavy, and breath beginning to return. The night's air starting to feel cool against your heated skin. 

He hadn’t pulled out yet. Just stayed inside with the mess he made, as you both came down from your pleasure. Your oversensitive walls still clinging to his softening cock despite how completely wrecked you felt. Eventually you had almost felt sticky laying there—covered in your own sweat and grim. You tried to move away. Trying to free yourself from his grasp, but the hand he still had on your hip stopped you. Squeezing gently. 

“Cooper-” You had begun to question him, eyes fluttering open and looking to Ghoul who still hovered above, but found yourself unable to finish when you finally met his gaze. Breath and words caught in your throat all over again. 

Intense. Soft. There was a strange feeling that swarmed there in his eyes. Something you weren’t quite used to seeing from him. Something you just couldn’t place. It surprised you when he leaned in. Made your heart flutter—stomach flip—as his lips found yours. 

The Ghoul rarely kissed you, and when he did it was rough. All teeth and bite, just like everything else about him, but this kiss wasn’t anything like that. There was an odd softness to it. So gentle, and unlike anything you had ever shared with him before, but it was good all the same. Left your heart feeling like it was going to fall out of your chest right then and there.  

 It had all been fleeting though. That fluttering feeling. That sweet kiss. Lips pressed to yours only for a moment before they were gone again. Like it had never happened in the first place. Just another piece of memories from him to add to your imagination. Never to be addressed. 

There wasn’t a word spoken between you as he finally pulled out from your sensitive walls. The touch of his body—his hands—leaving you, as he moved to settle at your side again. He didn’t look your way, but you couldn’t help lull your head over to gaze at him. Still stuck in that dreamlike feeling. Watching. Quiet as he leaned over the bedside to rummage around in his bag. Pulling out the vials you had seen him take so many times by now. 

You still hadn’t a clue to what they were really. Knew it kept him from going feral, but beyond that you knew nothing. Which is how he liked things typically. He never told you too much. That’s just what it was always like between you two. You hadn’t even known his name till quite recently. 

It was during one of the last few times he had visited, if you recalled. Between moans and bated breaths. Pleasure so close to reaching its peak when he first told it. Cooper. You still remember how desperate he sounded. Caught off guard by the unfamiliar tone from the Ghoul you were beginning to know so well.  Name’s Cooper darlin’. And you’d never forget the way he practically crumbled to pieces as you said the name back. Soul exposed to you in ways you never thought possible with him. 

Honestly, you didn’t even think he had a soul until that moment. 

The Ghoul hadn’t been back for months after that night. For reasons you could only guess at. There was a point where you didn’t think he’d ever be back to seek you out again. But of course he was always full of surprises. Almost half a year passed until you saw him again at your doorstep. Acting as if nothing had happened since last, like he hadn’t been gone far longer then he ever had before. Familiar bite and taunting words greeting you fondly. All back to his normal self—or what was normal of him to you at least. 

“Cooper?” 

He inhales the chem. Doesn’t pay you any mind in the slightest. Which is fine. Doesn’t stop yourself from shifting closer to him. Allowing for one of your hands to trail up his chest. You feel him pausing briefly at your touch, and your eyes meet his as he glances your way. He’s unreadable as he gazes at you, hazel eyes holding yours for a mere second, before they’re focusing back to his life saving vials. 

He doesn’t go to stop you though, so you take the chance to tuck yourself into his side. Head resting on his chest. Your eyes feeling heavy once more as you do. But still you don’t sleep yet. Not when you know how little time you have left with the Ghoul. So instead your fingers draw shapes over him, and play with the button of his shirt he still never bothered to remove. 

“Thought I told you to fuckin’ sleep.” His voice brings you away from your thoughts, as he finishes up with his chem. Sounding almost annoyed, probably was, he’s not one for showing much bouts of affection after all. Doesn’t even really like when you’re clingy either. But somehow that still doesn’t stop his free arm winding itself around your waist. Holding you close.  

“Cooper…” 

“Sleep.” The Ghoul’s voice had been quiet but firm. He had pulled his hat from the bedpost to wear again, tugging it to rest over his closing eyes. “Some of us got shit to do in the morning.” 

You didn’t bother to point out how he had been the one disturbing you up till this moment. There was no point in arguing with him though. He wouldn’t listen—a stubborn bastard through and through. 

Not that you could find a good reason to do so anyway. Especially not with how your eyes kept trying to flutter shut, or how comforting it felt laying there in his arms. Listening to his breathing. His very subtle heartbeat somehow loud to your ears. 

When sleep finally took you it would be peaceful for once. Something about knowing the Ghoul was there made you feel calm. Even though you knew that it should have been the opposite. He was deadly. Could kill you in a second. But somehow that hadn’t bothered you in the slightest. Not anymore, at least. Instead it made you feel at ease.

 Safe.

The sun would be barely rising as you woke to the early light. Gentle rays illuminating your small room in a warm orange glow. You had stretched, yawning, before naturally going to feel for the Ghoul that had invaded your home last night. His spot had been empty, of course, long grown cold now that he didn’t occupy its space. 

He never stayed for long. Any night he spent with you he was always gone before you ever had the chance of waking. It’s just how he was. How things were meant to be between you two. You had understood since the very beginning, all those years ago when first taking him into your bed. 

And yet still your fingers ran over the spot. An ache settling in your heart. You knew there was no reason to be sentimental. There was no reason to miss something that wasn’t truly yours. But there was a part of you that did. A piece of you that wanted more than this—wanted what you couldn’t truly have for yourself. 

The Ghoul, Cooper Howrad. You wanted him. More than just for sex. His heart, his soul. You wanted it all. Every piece of him. Craved it even. More than you ever desired something in your entire life. That thought of being his, and him being yours rattling around in that silly little heart of yours. 

He’d never allow it. 

Sighing, you pulled your hand away from his spot and sat up. Wincing. You had almost forgotten about it. The bite mark he left on your thigh still painful. Carefully you looked it over. He hadn’t taken a chunk out of you. Thankfully. Just left you looking like some sort of chew toy like he usually did. 

It wasn’t worth a stimpak. Not like you’d ever consider using one anyway for such a minor injury. It would be a waste otherwise, and being wasteful out here meant death even on a good day. 

Sometimes you wondered if that was why he marked you up so much. As if he knew you wouldn’t bother to heal them so quickly. You wondered if he enjoyed knowing that your body carried signs of him for days. Bites and bruises like some sort of possessive claim. Every mark from him a reminder of just who exactly had left them there in the first place. 

You doubted it all the same though, he probably just thought it was fun to bite and mark you up. Probably did it to everyone he spent the night with. You were sure there were others. Even if he’s never said so, you weren’t dumb enough to think otherwise, as sad as it made you to think about sometimes. 

Leaving bed, your morning would end up being the same as any other. You’d get yourself ready, tidy up the room, and eat what little food you had. After you’d work the day away. Maybe even head into town for a little bit before heading back home. The simple mundane routine so natural to you now that it went about like clockwork. Doing what you needed to survive before the sun would fall again. The moon taking its place easily in a sky painted by shining stars. 

And as you’d lay in bed once more. You’d look out to the wasteland through those cracks in the boarded window. Wondering if he’d show, eyes searching for any kind of sign of him. Waiting—hoping—for the Ghoul to arrive again. 

But of course, he wouldn’t.

[luxthestrange]

TOKREV Incorrect quotes#58 Not the one-

Maid Cafe!Y/n... that's it Y/n is a maid who works for lousy minimum wage and they're the one other maid/butler go-to to deal with scary hooligans... You gonna see why-

Sanzu: Excuse me, Maid*Snaps his fingers at them* Dude-

Maid!Y/n: Hi, what can I get you?~

Sanzu: We need some-*Stops as You snap their fingers in front of his face*

Maid!Y/n: Is that annoying? *Snaps* Is that obnoxious and rude? *More snapping around his face* Would you find it distracting if someone did that to you while you were working?-Oh wait!, you don't have a job, I'm sorry~*Snickers at him*

Mikey: Damn dude, they burned you*snorts as they look at the menu*

Maid!Y/n:OH-No, Low budget Rapunzel, do not think we are on the same team, We have nothing in common, I wear knit hats when it's cold out, you wear knit hats because of Coldplay- You have tattoos to piss off your dad, my dad doesn't know he's my dad- And finally, you think this *Snaps fingers again at his face* is the sound that gets you service? I think this *Snaps at him again* is the sound that drys up my vagina/bussy~

Sanzu & Mikey:...

Sanzu: The other maid disappeared, the Russian one, We need horseradish

Mikey: Please...

Maid!Y/n: That ladies, is how you treat a maid!~

[turtletaubwrites]

My Pretty Little Thief

Thank you @wallachianblood for this request! The idea and prompts were so cute, and I had way too much fun with it 😊🔥 I hope you enjoy it!

Pairings: Ace x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2004

Ao3 Link

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

Summary: Ace knows where he left his hat. But when it's not there, he hunts it down, only to discover the culprit. How can he convince the thief to return his precious hat?

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Swearing, Smut, Established Relationship, Nipple Play, Cunnilingus, Penis in Vagina Sex, Unprotected Sex, (Wrap it up y'all), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Just a bit of, Rough Sex, Temperature Play, Playful Sex, Teasing, Kind of Mention of Public Sex, (Ace just wants people to hear), Creampie, Maybe tiny Dacryphilia? (you have one tear that he thinks is "cute"), Pet Names, Fluff and Smut

A/N: I adore this man!! This one just feels super sweet and playful to me. Enjoy!

“I swore I hung it up here,” Ace muttered to himself as he scratched his head, holding up a towel around his waist.

He recalled taking off his hat, hanging it on the door, and heading into the showers. 

Narrowing his eyes at the empty hook, he yawned before heading to his quarters. 

I know I didn’t leave it in here…

His room was a bit of a mess, and Ace sucked his teeth at the sight of the clothes on the floor. 

He knew it couldn’t be down there, but he had to check, annoyance building the longer his hat wasn’t in sight. 

Keeping one hand on his towel, Ace got to his knees, leaning down to check under his bed.

“Ahem.”

Ace tensed, flipping around to see his door close, but his eyes were only on you.

You.

“Bam, got ya,” you said, mocking his voice as you pointed finger guns his way. You brought a finger to your lips, blowing imaginary smoke his way.

Ace’s eyes raked over your bare skin, loving the way your breathing hitched when he watched you. All you wore were cowboy boots, a belt around your waist, and… 

“That’s my hat,” Ace teased, just a hint of threat in his words. He sat on the ground, leaning his back against the side of the bed. 

“Are you sure? I think it looks better on me.”

“Oh,” he asked with a laugh, shaking his head at you. “Why don’t you come a little closer, and I’ll take a look?”

You bounced on your toes for a moment, giving him the cutest fucking smile before shaking your head.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Trust me,” Ace questioned, mock outrage given away by his shit eating grin. “You’re the thief. Guess I’ll have to take it back from you myself.”

He loved the look in your eyes when you watched him stand, leaving the towel on the floor. The way your eyes widened every time his cock sprang loose, as if you could never get enough of him. 

You held your finger guns out to ward him off, but he just grabbed your wrists, leaning down to kiss your fingers.

“Bam,” you breathed, shooting a fake bullet against his lips.

“Oh no, you got me!”

Ace cried out, falling to his knees as you giggled, his warm hands sliding up and down on your thighs. 

“Looks like I’ll have to take you down to get what’s mine.”

Your laughter turned into a gasp as he pushed your back against the door. 

He wrapped one hand into the belt at your waist, holding you firm, then spread your thighs with the other.

“My hat does look pretty good on you from down here, sugar. But I’m still gonna take it from you.”

Your reply was cut short by the press of warm lips against your core, his tongue dipping into your wet folds so fast you felt dizzy. 

You felt him chuckle against your skin as you wobbled, and he gripped your belt harder, forcing your hips where he wanted them. 

“Such a brazen thief, I wonder what kind of punishment you deserve.”

He watched you moan and writhe, pressing yourself up against the door. 

“Who knew criminals could taste this sweet?”

He swirled his tongue around your clit before sucking it between his teeth. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder as he shoved his tongue into you as deep as he could go. 

“F-Fuck, Ace…”

“Oh, is my little villain already sorry? Ready to give me what’s mine?”

A cute whimper left your throat, but all you did was shake your head. 

He grinned, then sucked your clit back into his mouth. Then he made his tongue warm, and warmer, and hot, until you yelped, trying to pull away from him. He stopped the heat, but he didn’t let you escape, yanking on that belt while you squirmed. 

“Can’t take the heat…”

Ace teased you, pulling back to kiss your thighs. He looked up at your pretty face, your skin all flushed for him. 

He stood, pressing you against the door, his cock twitching as it traced against your skin. 

“You wanted to be a cowgirl, huh, baby?”

He grabbed your hands again, kissing them while you caught your breath.

Pulling one hand away, you pointed your finger at his heart with another breathy ‘bam.’

Ace let out a surprised, and joyful laugh. You were always so fun, so beautiful, so free. And you always seemed to want him. 

He lifted you up, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, twisting your fingers into his still damp hair. 

He had planned on taking you to the bed, but when your wet cunt rubbed along his cock, he lost all rational thought, head leaning forward to moan in your ear. 

Your back hit the door again, and you felt the wood groan from the weight. 

“Wait–”

Your eyes rolled back as he rubbed his length along your clit, covering himself in your need for him. 

“Ace…”

His head was buried in your neck, breathing in your scent, and the sound of his name on your lips was everything. 

He lined himself up, holding you against the door. Slowly pushing into your tight, wet pussy, he moaned softly as your body clenched around his with every inch. 

“Ace,” you moaned, this time your voice was high and strained as you fought to stay quiet against the door.

“My pretty little thief,” he rasped in your ear, thrusting so fucking slowly into you. 

There was no better feeling than sinking himself into you, hearing your soft breaths, feeling your frantic heart. 

The aching pressure building in you made you shake, and you were clawing at his back as you tried to stay up, and stay quiet. 

“Please,” you stuttered, moaning again as he tilted his hips up into you. 

���Alright, cowgirl.”

Ace finally took you away from the door, fingers digging into your ass as he slammed you onto him a few times before walking to the bed. 

You had already lost. The hat was about to fall off your head from the way you twitched for him. 

You gasped as he climbed onto the mattress, standing on the edge as he turned. With his back to the bed, your eyes widened at his mischievous smile.

“Wait, Ace, don—“

“Hang on to my hat, gorgeous.”

“No!”

You grabbed his hat at the last second, hand pressing it onto your head as he let himself fall backwards onto the bed.

He laughed as he kept a firm grip on your hips, luckily keeping you in place as you fell.

But even with his effort to keep your body still on his, the slam onto the mattress made you both cry out.

You were reeling from the force of his cock, hitting so deep as you bounced onto the bed.

“Ace!”

You slapped his chest, still panting, trying to breathe.

He couldn’t help the laughter that burst out of him at your blown out eyes, your outrage diminished by the desperate way your mouth hung open. 

“Go on then, cowgirl. Take me for a ride.”

You let out what had to be a growl, pressing your hands down on his chest as you tried to fuck yourself onto his thick cock. 

With all that he’d already done to you, your body was limp and shaking. You rolled your hips, running your fingers along the muscles of his stomach, his chest, playing lightly with his nipples until he let out a breathy laugh. 

You gained some leverage, digging your boots into the bed as you started to lift off of him until just the tip of his cock was sunk into you.

Then you dropped down on him, your aching cunt sucking him in, the intense heat of his body filling you up.

“Your cock feels so good, Ace. I need you inside me everyday, baby.”

Needy whimpers left his throat, until your legs turned to jello, and you couldn’t keep up the pace.

“My pretty little cowgirl can’t ride? Do you want me to show you how, darlin’?”

“Mmhm,” you moaned, eyes heavy lidded as you nodded. 

“Ya gonna give me my hat back if I make you scream on my cock, princess?”

“Fuck, please, Ace.”

He thrust up into you abruptly, reaching a hand up to touch your beautiful face. He brushed away a cute little tear as you pressed your face against his warm hand.

“That didn’t sound like a yes. Guess I’d better not make deals with thieves.”

He stopped every movement, your own movement falling limp without his support.

“Wait, yes, please! Please make me come on your cock, I swear I’ll give your hat back.”

He rubbed his thumb over your drooling lips, smiling when you didn’t hesitate to suck it into your mouth. 

“There’s my pretty baby. Hold on tight.”

You gripped his chest again as he dug his heels into the mattress. He held the belt tight on your waist, using it to fuck up into you harder and faster than you were expecting so soon, and you let out a small, but filthy scream.

He kept thrusting as he laughed, so fucking pleased to watch you unravel for him.

“Already screamin’ for me, huh, baby? Looks like I get my hat back now.”

He sat up, pressing your bodies together as he rocked into you on his lap. 

Your faces were so close, breaths mixing as he teased raspy words in your ear.

“You look really good getting fucked in my hat, darlin’. You like getting in trouble, don’t ya?”

All you could could was moan, high and desperate. He could tell you were so close to that edge, and he needed it, needed you.

“You want me, baby?”

His question had you clenching on him harder, and he moaned while you answered.

“I want you so bad, Ace. I want you to fill me up. Fuck, please come inside me, I need you.”

His fingers dug into your thighs, body fighting not to give into your words that very second.

“Give me my hat back,” he said in a growl, watching your body shiver at his demand. With shaky hands, you lifted his hat up, your hair so adorably mussed, then set it on his head while he kept gently pushing into you. 

“Good girl.”

He flipped you onto your back, wasting no time. He pressed your thighs toward your shoulders, hunting for that spot that makes you melt.

You came almost instantly, knuckles shoved between your teeth as you tried, and failed, not to scream. 

Ace didn’t care if anyone heard. He loved that everyone knew how much you wanted him, loved hearing you scream his name.

He would have told you not to hide it now, but the sight of your sweet body, writhing underneath him, was too much. 

“Fuuckk... Coming, princess.”

“Ace!”

He used the belt like a handle again, shoving as deep inside you as he could. 

You milked his cock of every fucking drop, his come filling you, a wave of liquid heat inside you.

You were limp as he pressed slow kisses on your chest and face. Finally, you made little whimpers and squirmed as he pulled out of you. His eyes almost rolled back at the sight of his come spilling out of your messy little cunt.

“How’s my pretty hat thief?”

You hummed, a contented smile on your lips making him want to do this everyday. To make you feel good everyday. 

“I think you killed me,” you laughed, voice weak as you reached your hand up to touch his cheek. 

“I could never kill my little criminal,” he teased, kissing your lips so softly as his eyes melted into yours. 

“I love you too much.”

You pinched his cheek, face flushing as you grinned, the sight of you stopping his breath for a moment. 

“I love you too, Ace.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I would like to take him home and protect him from the world, pretty please??

Tag List: @shewrites02

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

[finniestoncrane]

Date, Digger Style

KTJL!Boomer x Fem!Reader, word count: 6k hi i am sorry, this was supposed to be like. a lil silly thing about what a first date with george might be like. and it ended up being 6k words. i just want him so bad it makes me look stupid quite honestly and i am ok with that 💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: sleazy behaviour, groping, tongue kissing, just the tip and then not just the tip but agreeably so, lots of physical affection, reader has tits and a vagina, reader is referred to with feminine pet names, descriptions of a gross kitchen, also let's pretend that he's always a lil bit drunk so his drunk driving seems like the normal state of things. he's a villain. he's allowed to break laws lmao (and it's fiction, so i'm allowed to decide what alcohol does to him)

Sitting on the edge of your sofa, you took a quick look at your phone to check the time and to see if you had missed any messages. Nothing. Not even a quick courtesy text with "on my way" typed hastily, or auto filled. You'd been sitting there for twenty minutes already, with no sign of George. If this was what he considered a good start to your first formal 'date' then you two were perhaps too different after all to make this work. He was laid back, to a flaw. Horizontal. And you were more organised, at least more so than George Harkness.

Just as you began typing out a message, you heard the tell-tale screech of the tyres on his van, followed by the rumbling of the engine as he put the brakes on and came out of the creaking door. The sharp buzz at your door was enough for you to know your suspicions were right, and without answering it, you headed downstairs. At the door, you could see Digger, picking at his teeth and tucking the stray strands of hair back under the rim of his hat before he noticed you and struck a pose, goofy smile plastered onto his face.

He moved to grab you when you met him on the steps leading up to your building, but you dodged him, spitting his nickname at him.

"Digger."

"Aw, are you mad cos I'm late? You're not some bloody princess, I think you can wait five minutes!"

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty, the- Twenty!?"

His eyes were wide as he looked to you, and you offered a solemn and unimpressed nod in response.

"Fuck... alright, that is a bit much. This'll be worth it though, I promise."

Raising an eyebrow, you silently questioned that. You'd known him for a while now, skirted around the conversation, flirted constantly, but turned him down at every offer of a date. And now, when you had finally agreed and given in to his constant pestering, he was going to show up late and not even dressed differently or in clean clothes? You weren't sure it would be worth it. But, if all else failed, you could always count on him to make you laugh, or at very least conjure up a smile. And despite wanting to still maintain an exterior of disappointment, you could feel the corners of your mouth lifting as he opened up the passenger door and gestured to it with his arm, bowing low.

"M'lady, your carriage awaits."

As you stepped up and into the front of the van, the smell was the first thing that hit you. Stale beer, sweat, and about five other scents just indistinct enough to elude your keen nose. Trying not to think about it, you turned to grab your seatbelt and noticed, out of the corner of your eye, that the back of the truck was filled with empty beer cans and bottles, piles of clothing, some dirty and some clean. And in the middle of it all, a mattress, some pillows, and a scattering of sheets.

"Do you live in here?"

"Don't worry about it, babe."

Before you could ask him any follow up questions, he pulled away from the kerb with a stuttering acceleration, and carelessly pulled into traffic. After a few minutes of teeth grinding, life-threatening driving at high speed, he pulled off the main roads and began taking back streets.

Granted, you didn't know where you were going yet, since Digger was insistent on keeping it as a surprise, you still assumed that after ten minutes of nothing but roads dotted with potholes and routes plagued by speedbumps that it was surely quicker to have stayed on the main route until you were closer. However, it became clear that there were intentions behind this path after all, when you turned to question George about the route and found him quickly glancing from the road to your chest, smiling wider every time a bump jostled your body, causing your breasts to jiggle. With a heavy sigh, you turned to look out of the window, concealing the smile that threatened to give away your façade. There was no way you could let him know how oddly flattering you found his constant gawking, that would be a nightmare.

When the van stopped at a red light, you spoke, still looking out of the window, to try and get Digger to tell you where you were going.

"I just would feel better knowing how long we've got left to drive is all."

He reached over to you, placing his hand on your thigh and pressing his fingers and thumb together, squeezing the ample flesh.

"Listen, don't worry about it, we're almost there."

His palm pressed down and skimmed further up your leg, and as you turned to catch his eye, hoping to at least shame him into not continuing his bold heavy petting, you were instead met with his lopsided, careless grin. With one hand on the steering wheel and one permanently on your thigh, he continued driving for another ten minutes, until you were well on the outskirts of the city. When the van finally stopped, you could still hear the tinny rumbling and sharp clinking of the empty bottles and cans bashing around in the back, feeling like it had shrilly inserted itself permanently into your head. But once you had stepped out of the van and the fresh air, plus the odd stench, hit you, you could hear yourself think clear enough to know that you were definitely beginning to regret this decision once more.

"Told ya we wouldn't be much longer! We're here!"

"Where is here?"

"About twenty minutes outside Gotham."

"Digger."

He slapped his hand on your back and pulled you into a side hug, dragging you along as he walked towards the door of the flat roof building with broken neon lights that stood in front of you.

"Ah, come on babe! Get a sense of humour, or you'll always look fuckin' miserable!"

You weren't sure if he could hear your sighing over the sound of the gravel as you made your way to the front door, and he definitely couldn't hear the louder second one you let out when you got inside. The one that was cut short when you realised you could taste the smell that lingered on the air.

Taking your hand, an oddly gentle move from Digger. The moment was gone quickly when he smacked your ass as he ushered you into the dingiest looking booth at the back of the bar.

"George, really? Here?"

"Yeah, babe! This place is great. Cheap beer, good food. I promise, you just gotta trust me, alright?"

Taking a quick look around the place told you otherwise. But there was just something about him you found hard to say no to. Which you imagined would land you in much bigger problems later on, but for now, potential food poisoning and a hangover of the worst order seemed like a fair risk for what would no doubt be a fun night regardless. It always was with George.

"Aw, I know that face! You're on board! Right, I'm gonna go to the bar and get us some drinks and food."

"I don't know what I want though, I haven't looked at the menu."

"Don't have to, I'm getting us the usual. You'll like it, tr-"

"Trust you, yes, I know."

With a wink, he slid out of the booth and you watched him make his way to the bar, leaning on it with his oh-so-cocky attitude as he ordered for you. And when he sat back down, he slid a pint in front of you and began chugging at his own. Looking over the tip of your glass as you sipped, you tried to get a glimpse at the kitchen. From what you could see, it looked like the kind of place that might give any decent health inspector an aneurysm. The chef's clothes were dirty, the walls were a stained yellow colour that seemed as though it was dripping down the walls, and every surface had a strange assortment of crumbs and stains on it. But still, you persevered.

And still, when the plates were slammed down on the table in front of you by the uninterested waitress, you were optimistic. Because you were determined to have a nice time. It was likely that which annoyed you the most of all, because the moment you bit into the greasy sandwich you didn't care in the slightest what kind of health hazard it was prepared in. You just wanted more.

"See, told you it was good."

Nodding in agreement, mouth too full to speak, you swallowed down the rest of the sandwich, although by the time you had finished it and your accompanying beer, Digger was already onto his third pint, and the sandwich was but a memory. Until he burped and you could smell it on his breath, something he found hilarious.

"Lighten up! You try, give it your best shot."

"I'm not having a burping contest with you, George. We're on a date."

"Yeah, but you're on a date with Digger. Way more fun, far less stuffy. Go on."

You mustered up the best you had to offer, cheese and beer and lettuce the most noted flavours in the air you expelled. Closing his eyes for a moment, Digger reached out across the table and took your hands.

"That was, without a doubt... the most pathetic fuckin' burp ever. We gotta get you another drink!"

Before you could say anything, he was already shuffling out of the booth and shakily making his way back to the bar. A bad decision being made and you couldn't really stop him. He could handle his alcohol, definitely, you'd seen him do it a number of times before. Digger could put away what might kill a lesser, for want of a better word, man. But it didn't make him any easier to be around. You'd already found yourself flushing hot, cheeks darkening, a heat building in your stomach with each lingering touch or flirtatious stare. So far this evening, you'd almost kissed him twice. It wasn't going to be any easier to prolong what you felt was the inevitable if he got far too drunk and became his usual, handsy self.

Of course, that's exactly what did happen. One more pint in and Digger was all over you in the booth. He'd leaned in at first to say something to you, speaking over the noise of the bar, close to your ear, his arm reaching up and around you and pulling you close and then keeping you there. As his fingers stroked at your shoulder, the other hand fell to your thigh, periodically squeezing it between his fingers and thumb. And every time you got distracted by how far up your thigh he was snaking his palm, fingers splayed out, pinkie grazing over your crotch, his other hand would pull your attention away as his fingertips skimmed over the top of your breasts.

It was difficult to try and hold him off. You were both tipsy, or at least you were tipsy, Digger seemed to be wasted. No good decision could come from that. But the way he touched you, the way he smelled as he leaned in, sweat, cheap body spray, acrid beer, it was intoxicating. If you'd been any less sober you might have leaned in then and there in the booth to kiss him, tasting the alcohol on his tongue, letting him put his hands all over you, anywhere, anywhere. But luckily, before you could make what you knew was a mistake, he sat back and laughed, one loud and sharp 'ha'.

"I fuckin' love this song, babe! C'mon!"

Before you could argue otherwise, you were being dragged out of the booth to join Digger on the tiny dance floor in front of the band. The song was difficult to dance to, at least you had assumed, given the heavy rock riffs that underlined the inaudible, high volume lyrics. But George wasn't deterred. It was almost endearing, how horrendously embarrassing he was, standing there with his air guitar, throwing goat horns at the band as he bounced on the spot. Cute, nearly. But mercifully cut short as the song ended.

"Aw, just as I was finding my groove."

You smiled at him, rubbing his shoulder in sympathy, biting your inner cheek as you felt how strong he was, impressed by his muscular arm as you let your hand slip down to graze over it.

"A real shame, George. Let's go back to- "

The band started up again, this time, a slower song, one that lent itself well to the kind of 'end of prom' vibes all young lovers were hoping for. And before you could finish your suggestion of heading back to the booth, Digger had pulled you close, his arms around your back, falling to your waist as he swayed back and forth. It could have been dancing, it could have been the uncoordinated shuffling of a man who had one too many beers, but either way, you leaned into it, allowing your head to rest against his chest while you placed your hands, linked together, at the nape of his neck.

It was almost too romantic, in its own, strange way. The dim lights, the other couples around you, the unique twang on the guitars, the stench of the greasy food, and the way George kept his hips, his crotch, pressed tight to you as you leaned against him. Not particularly from a storybook romance, but perfect all the same. You'd known this would happen. One date, and you were already falling for him. Not because of anything he'd done, but because deep down you knew you had been into him, since almost the moment you'd met. But you'd fought it, because men like George Harkness, you assumed, weren't the kind of nice boy you dated.

But here he was, holding you, swaying you, sighing softly as the music swelled. Granted the movements weren't exactly graceful, but they were surprisingly fluid, as though he might be good at dancing when he was sober. Yet another surprise for you to learn about, but obviously not right now. He was trying though, his hands at a respectable height, his head leaning on your shoulder. Every so often, he nuzzled into your cheek, placing a soft kiss to it when the notion took him. And when the song finished, you could hear his words clear, spoken gently into your ear.

"You wanna head out?"

You weren't sure if that was "out" as in "get some fresh air" or "out" as in "let's head home, yours or mine" but either option seemed good. The last remaining bit of sun and a soothing breeze might be enough to sober George up before you brought him back in for more dancing. And if it didn't, you were happy to take him to your place for a coffee, nothing more. Although, you were potentially considering letting him sleep on the sofa. You couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to nurse a hangover in the back of his van.

Outside, finally able to breathe without choking on the stench or the thickness of the air, you watched as Digger shielded his eyes from the sky. His stumbling stopped, and he began walking with his usual confidence, almost sobering up immediately in the light of the day.

"Christ! Still pretty bright out here..."

"Yeah, it's not that late. You tapping out early, George?"

"Nah, nah. Not at all! If I've got you for the night, then I'm havin' you for the night. C'mon, I know a place."

Admittedly, and strangely enough, you really hadn't had enough of him yet. It was one of the few things you agreed on, actually. This was supposed to be a date, you'd set aside the evening for it, so you were keen to make it last as long as possible. You couldn't let George know that, though. Keeping the upperhand seemed to be key with him, so you offered him a reluctant smile and rolled your eyes dramatically.

"Well, I suppose so."

Stepping up into the passenger seat of his van you caught him smiling back at you, knowingly. You weren't kidding him, he wasn't as stupid as he seemed at first pass, but he was kind enough to let you keep up the ruse. It didn't stop him getting a little dig in at you, however.

"Are you sure? If you're not keen I can take you home, babe. Wouldn't want you to be bored or something."

"And where are you planning on taking me that isn't boring, then?"

"Eh... just a little spot I know of. Quiet, secluded. Up that back road to the overlook. But again, if you're not into it..."

"No, no. It sounds... well, it doesn't sound boring, anyway."

Digger laughed, starting up the van which groaned horrendously before sputtering to life. Before he drove off, he turned to you and winked.

"Definitely won't be, it never is with me, babe."

Pulling out of the parking lot, he turned away from the city and onto the quieter roads which led out past the city lines and into the expansive countryside that secluded Gotham from the rest of the world. From the window, you watched the sun slowly setting, clouds turning purple and navy as they pushed in from the sides like curtains on a stage show. You had all the time in the world to gaze peacefully, as George was driving in complete silence, way below the speed limit, focusing intensely on the road. He'd seemed to sober up once you were out of the bar, but you didn't want to distract him while he was doing his best to keep you both alive.

The van bounced along a short dirt trail until it stopped in a small clearing, surrounded by trees on all sides and far above the dim, intrusive glow of the city, which buzzed against the now deep, navy sky. Shutting off the engine, George turned and shot you a smile, eyebrows raised playfully, before he leapt out. He walked quickly to the back of the van and you followed, waiting patiently as he opened the two back doors wide, finally giving you a better look at what had been rolling around there the whole time he had been driving.

There wasn't much you could think to say, being of the opinion that you should only speak if you had kind things to say. From where you were standing, you could definitely tell that you had been correct in your earlier assumptions. This was where he lived. His rolling apartment. Convenient, yes. But it was a long way away from being one of the trendy 'tiny homes' you'd seen. The walls were adorned with four posters in total, all of them the kind of cheap standards you would expect in the bargain bin of some ancient music store, miscellaneous women in very little clothing gazing out as seductively as they could from the airbrushed backdrops. On the floor, there was a stick and poke tattoo kit that looked like it might be the source of several new variants of hepatitis, and it was littered with empty beer bottles and cans, some of which may have been half-full at the point he decided to drive off given how sticky the surfaces looked. And to top it off, there was a worn out mattress. No sheets on it, no sheets around it save for one scruffy blanket. It was covered in stains that you couldn't quite place, which matched the single, dented and almost flat pillow that lay haphazardly to the side.

"You live like this?"

That was what you had wanted to say, but again, your polite nature stopped you.

"Handy to just get in the van and sleep, or get out of bed and go."

George smiled, looking oddly proud of himself.

"See, you get it. You won't believe the amount of people who have been put off by- uh... well..."

He looked to the ground, rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand.

"Not that there's been that many people I've invited into- A-and not that there haven't been any people that have been-"

"George."

You placed a hand on his shoulder and raised your eyebrows, offering him a sympathetic grin. He took the out, thankful that you'd put an end to his suffering, and reached in for the blanket, placing it flat over the top of the bed before offering his hand to you. Taking it, he helped you shift yourself into the back of the van, watching as you got comfortable on the mattress as best as you could, at which point he joined you.

Leaning back on his arms, he looked to the sky, sitting in silence for a few minutes. You had joined him, watching the stars start to sparkle as they became visible against the darkening backdrop. At some point, you realised that he was staring at you, and you wondered how long you'd had his gaze trained on the side of your head. Not on any other part of your body, you noted. He was looking at your face, gazing at your eyes. When you turned, you caught his stare immediately, smiling softly when he blinked and looked away with a cough meant to clear the air of the awkwardness he was bringing about.

Rooting around behind him, he eventually found two unopened beer cans, both of which were loose amongst the rest of his belongings. Keeping one for himself, he passed the other to you. He raised his, tipping his head with a 'cheers' and then cracked it open. You watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, a small trickle of foam slipping past his lips and down his chin. The urge to lean in and lick it off was disturbing, most of all because you felt yourself moving towards him before you even realised it. Settling back down into the strange romance of the moment, you pulled the tab on your own can.

The immediate explosion, the build up of pressure and gasses from the can being jostled around as you drove up the bumpy, dirt track to the spot you now sat in, left you in shock. Your shirt was soaked, completely, and the cool air was already beginning to chill your body. You blinked in shock, watching as Boomer tried to conceal his giggles while he stood up.

"Take your shirt off."

Looking to him, you raised an eyebrow, a look that said "is this really how you're going to make that move?" in a way that he read almost straight away. He began unzipping his blue hoodie, turning from you and passing it behind him, generously, and uncharacteristically, offering you some privacy.

Taking it from him, you quickly made the swap, your body exposed to the cold night air only briefly before you zipped up the hoodie, still warm from Digger's body. You tucked your bra and shirt under the mattress, making a mental note to collect them before you were home, hoping they would be dry. Making sure the zip was up completely, not offering any suggestive cleavage for Digger to hook his ideas into, you settled yourself, noticing that you were smiling. You could smell him on the fabric that covered your body. Beer, sweat, lingering smoke, an acrid smell you couldn't quite place and a sweet one on top of that. As the fabric grazed over you, you could feel your nipples hardening. It wasn't the cold though, it was faint arousal at the way you felt so close to him.

"You done yet, you're only putting a hoodie on!"

"Shit, yeah, sorry."

"I can look?"

He raised his hands, pulling them from his pockets and holding them up to his side, questioningly.

"Mhm, yeah."

When he was facing you again, he let his lips turn into an appreciative expression.

"Looks good. Suits you!"

Thudding back down beside you, George immediately lifted his arm up, wrapping it around your body and pulling you close. You found yourself settling into the hug, a natural embrace, one that made your heart flutter slightly as you let your head rest entirely against him. And then it happened, the moment that secured your confusion about him and his intentions. He sighed wistfully. So deep and joyous, his fingers digging into your arm to let you know you were the reason for the warmth spreading through him.

"It's nice out here, you can actually see the stars. Couldn't tell you what any of them were though."

"Are you kidding me right now?"

He turned slightly to look at you.

"What?"

"What? What are you doing? You brought me up here to look at the stars?"

George narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing in confusion and slight irritation.

"Yeah! I thought it would be romantic!"

"Exactly!"

"Exa-... what?"

"You're so confusing. This whole evening, you yourself, it's not how I thought it would be. I mean, it wouldn't be you without the occasional grope and cheeky wink, but you've been so... You're so... It's weird to see you being so..."

Digger's hand fell to your thigh, a light pressure aiming to calm you down.

"So what?"

You couldn't answer it, because you weren't even able to settle on a definitive answer yourself.

So confusing?

So disgusting?

So gentlemanly?

So romantic?

So hot?

All of that and more.

And when words had failed you, you decided that you'd have to express your feelings another way.

It was less of a romantic, graceful move and more that you sank into him, falling against his body, your lips luckily making contact with his as you both found your way in the kiss. Neither of you expected it, both of you surprised. The tenderness, the hunger behind it. You could taste everything about him, smell him even better than you had when you had put on his hoodie. You expected he was experiencing the same.

Digger fell back, his hands catching your waist as he pulled you with him, both of you laying now on the mattress in the back of his van. His hands pawed, grabbed, skimmed over you, oddly restrained in fact. That was until you shifted yourself up and onto him, straddling his hips and staring down at him, panting heavily as you both caught your breath and took stock of the situation you were now in. His hands on your waist made their way up to your shoulders, your neck, cupping your cheeks as he grinned at you. Watching your face, your expression, for any subtle changes as he let his hands trail back down your front, fingers catching on to the zip of his hoodie and pulling it down slowly, opening it to expose you to him before he cupped at your breasts as you bit your lip.

"Fuck me..."

Digger let out a low groan that followed his short, to the point statement. His fingers circled your nipples, tightening around them as he teased you. His hips bucked up, jostling you, letting you feel how hard he was. You could tell just from that motion that the rumours about how gifted he was had truth behind them.

Bending down to kiss him again, you let your tongue slip past his lips, his own meeting in your mouth. He tasted divine. Sweet, but acidic. Earthy almost, definitely addictive. Everything felt dream like, surreal. Mostly, you assumed, because you were doing something you'd never dream of, something you knew was ill-advised, a little bit silly, embarrassing in the right company. But it was hard to care.

You were quickly brought out of the dream like state however, as you felt Digger's hands between both of your crotches, unbuckling his belt and fiddling with the zipper on his jeans.

"Wait... on the first date? You think you've charmed me enough for that?"

With the smug, self-satisfied grin you had grown oddly fond of, George looked into your eyes as he spoke.

"I think you started this, so it's a pretty good indication of how much I've charmed you."

He winked as he let his fingers tug at the waistband of your own pants, pulling at them as you leaned in to another kiss. Your attempts to stop him, or at least to pretend that was your intention, were put to one side as your body reacted to the feeling of the cool air against your bare skin, his hands, rougher than you expected, holding your thighs, pulling your pants down further until he needed you to move.

"Well... have I charmed the pants off you at least?"

Smiling back at him, you nodded your head from side to side as though you were weighing up his efforts over the evening.

"I suppose you have charmed the pants off me, yes. But... I'm not sure how much further your winning personality has gotten you."

"There's plenty of time for me to catch up, then."

Clumsily, and with very little grace, you shifted and removed your pants, blushing as you noticed Digger watching you intensely, taking note of every movement, every second of you undresssing, as though you were offering him the performance of a lifetime. As you steadied yourself, he hooked his fingers into the band of your underwear and pulled you back to him, landing you flat on top o f his body, your hands on his chest.

Teasing at the band of your panties, he dipped two fingers underneath the fabric, skating over your mound and down to your lips, stroking them gently before spreading them apart. He rubbed one finger up and down, collecting your slick as he licked his lips, desperate to know how you tasted. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he ran them on his tongue, sucking them with his eyes rolling back.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me."

He continued unzipping his pants and pulling them down, boxers included, to reveal his more than impressive cock. At least ten inches, easily, thick, perfect, topped with a tuft of almost flaming red hair. Trying to control yourself, you leaned back.

"What are you planning on doing with that, Harkness?"

He squirmed, pressing his eyes shut and biting his lip before he managed to strain himself enough to speak.

"I just want... I want you... touch it... feel you... something... come on, please!"

Shuffling forward, teasing him knowingly as you felt his head, his length, against your thighs, you mused out loud, humming as though you were actually considering it, as though you hadn't already made your mind up yet.

"I suppose... this was a pleasant enough date. I could give you something, throw you a bone."

He nodded furiously below you, muttering his words of agreement.

"But! Just the tip. I'm not sure how much more of that I could take. It should come with a warning."

George actually blushed, looking away from you for a moment, as though the comment had genuinely embarrassed him. It did seem odd to you in that moment that he wasn't constantly bragging about his prowess in that area. He struck you as exactly the kind of person who would mention the size of his cock at any opportunity. You wondered if had the effect on others that it had on you. It was daunting, a little bit nerve-wracking. How many of the few people who had made it this far had given up at the sight of it, you wondered.

Most, you assumed, as despite how desperate he seemed to fuck you, he agreed enthusiastically, happy to be offered any opportunity to get as close to you as possible. He was already pulling at your underwear, grasping at it, trying to pull it down before deciding to push it to the side as he lined up the head of his cock with your swollen lips.

Looking directly at you he maintained the intense eye contact as he slid himself between your lips, pushing at your tight entrance slowly, carefully, only allowing his head to enter you. It felt amazing. So good, better than you thought. It stretched, filled you up, and that was ten percent of what he had to give. He hissed, gritting his teeth in concentration, trying his hardest not to move his hips, to buck them, to push himself any further inside of you.

As you balanced yourself, trying to contend with the little of him that was inside of you, he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing it, making you twitch, contracting against him, tightening the grip your cunt had on his head. As he groaned, you couldn't help yourself anymore. You wanted him, all of him. You were willing to risk it.

"God, George... just fuck me."

"Wh-what?"

"Fuck me! Just..."

Realising you might need to take matters into your own hands, you let yourself slide down his cock, each inch stretching you further, a shockwave of pain followed by dull throbs of ache and arousal coarsed through your body, the pit of your stomach feeling pressed, your insides stuffed with him. Llike you were being entirely consumed, enveloped, in George Harkness.

"Christ..."

It was all he could manage with the limited breath he had, his whole body stopping any other function to focus on not letting himself cum inside of you immediatel. The sudden warmth, the tight, wet embrace, the way you leaned back, breasts bouncing as helped yourself to him, riding his cock as he lay back and held your hips. His thumbs, stroking against your skin, where the top of your thighs met your lower stomach, feeling your own desperation as you worked him harder, faster, palms resting on his chest to balance yourself as you took everything he had.

Brows furrowed in concentration, pursuing your orgasm, you wailed as his fingers found their way back to your nipples, teasing them, grabbing at your breasts as you rolled your hips and felt his cock twitching agaisnt your walls. It hurt, but in a way that was delicious, a way that felt like it should be borderline illegal, like most things that provided such a wonderful, addictive experience were. But there you were, enjoying it. Loudly, explicitly. And very publicly. It didn't matter to you, and it really didn't seem to matter to George. You were quite happy to scream it from the rooftops then and there, how much you were enjoying it. Being fucked by Captain Boomerang, as ridiculous as his name always seemed to you. You'd be quite content to tell everyone that he was making you cum, that he was one stroke of his thumb against your erect nipples, one tap of his cock against the exact spot inside of you, from losing all composure.

"George... George..."

"Yeah... yeah, it's good... eh? I'm good."

"Fuck, you are. Yeah. Yes! Yes!"

One final, loud, resounding 'yes' echoed around you, filling the air, bursting through the trees. You imagined that anyone within a five mile radius might have heard Digger coming. His cock, falling from you against his body, still dripping with your slick, still spurting streams of his thick, white cum all over his abdomen, covering his thick pubic hair. His hands, still embedded in your skin, creating deep, red marks where the grip was far too tight, stinging so perfectly pleasantly.

Your own notes of pleasure hadn't exactly been all that much quieter than his own, but still drowned out by the amped up grunting and wailing of George. At least you could hold that saving grace. Allow yourself to cling to that modicum of your dignity.

Because you certainly weren't bothered about any other facets of it, as you slid down beside George on the dingy mattress, curling around his body, hand on his chest, smugly satisfied to know that you had contributed to the stains that would no doubt be a permanent feature.

[halfvalid]

Hey! I was wondering if you could do a live action Zoro smut where it's enemies to lovers (boy X girl). I don't mind how hardcore smut (18+?) but I would love if there was some tension (argument or fight!) 😁

speak teeth

ABOUT

| 18+ | smut | explicit |

alternate title: i need the lord

rating: explicit

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k

description: you and zoro have never gotten along. after a incident in town escaping from marines, you resolve to sort out your issues with unconventional means. (aka sex.)

tags: strawhat!reader, female reader, enemies to lovers, except it's more like frenemies to frenemies with benefits, kissing, kiss to distract trope, no use of “y/n”, reader calls zoro "roronoa", penis in vagina sex, creampie, pwp, cowgirl position

author’s note: thanks for the request! i kind of lost the plot on this one because i'm terrible at writing enemies-to-lovers and there's not much 'lovers' involved in this since i couldn't exactly fit that into a oneshot. hopefully you still like it anyway? i tried my best.

tags make it seem so much worse than it actually is.

Roronoa Zoro did not like you. 

The feeling was mutual, so you didn’t mind the fact, really. Zoro was annoying, with his three swords, and that stupid low voice, and how he never seemed interested in conversation unless it was either about alcohol or beating someone up. You were undoubtedly annoying to him for various reasons not so different in number to your own grievances of his personality. You two didn’t like each other. It was fine. It was normal. 

It was pissing off the rest of the Straw Hat crew. 

In your defense, you were never outwardly aggressive towards the man. You didn’t purposely exclude him from conversations or avoid looking at him if he dared haunt a room you were in with his presence. You just… didn’t speak to him unless spoken to. And maybe you had a tendency to roll your eyes or mutter some insults when he was talking, but it wasn’t that big of an issue. 

Zoro, on the other hand, was a master of discord. He’d killed and hunted so many people it only made sense for him to be, but it seemed he hadn’t skipped his lessons in petty fights either. Because he was bullheaded and a buzzkill and always opened his big mouth when you were around. Those sarcastic remarks of his were common, sure, but when you were in the room they were tenfold and laced with genuine venom. 

You weren’t sure who’d even started the strife between you two. It had been so long that you’d forgotten. While everyone else had seemingly bonded after your journey together, you and Zoro remained firmly in the stage you’d been while trapped in Buggy’s green room—antagonistic. Obviously you didn’t hate each other—when Zoro had nearly died to Mihawk, you hadn’t been happy—but you didn’t get along, and both of you were just fine with that arrangement. 

Nobody else was, though.

And so obviously you didn’t like it when Luffy announced, as you were docked, that you were assigned to scout the surrounding village together. Your lips twisted, but you refrained from saying anything up until Luffy finished his speech with: “And that’s the plan! Any objections?” 

There were head shakes from all around the deck of the Going Merry. You eyed Zoro in the very corner—his arms were crossed, and carefully he raised a hand, just barely lifting it into the air as he motioned. “Why is she coming with me?” 

You bit your tongue, suppressing the irritated sigh that threatened to escape. “Because,” Luffy said, bright as ever, “You two need to learn how to be friends. Think of it as a bonding activity!” 

“I’d really rather go with Sanji,” you optioned, trying to be more civil than Zoro at least. “He could use a hand carrying the stock barrels.” 

“Nope,” Luffy chirped. “It makes most sense for the two of you to be the one to buy the weapons, anyway.” 

“He’s right. You both are the most knowledgeable on the subject,” Nami whispered, though she gave you an apologetic look. You sighed. Zoro opted to say nothing. 

“Fine. Let’s go, Roronoa,” you said, getting up off the Going Merry’s railing to start walking off the ship. You heard Zoro grumble from behind you, but he soon caught up. You said absolutely nothing to each other for the first few minutes of walking, keeping to yourselves until you eventually reached the market. 

“What kind of weapons are we looking for?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder at the man who trailed just barely behind you. “I know Luffy wants backups, but did he say specifically what?” 

“Probably a few guns, maybe some swords,” Zoro replied. “A katana for me. Extra staff for Nami, in case hers breaks.” 

“Right. Nami gave me five-hundred thousand berry. Let’s spend it wisely. No pit stops.” 

Zoro gave you a look. “It’s not like I’m going to slip into the nearest tavern and abandon you. Luffy said we go together, so we go together.” 

“Right.” You turned away so you could roll your eyes in private. You had to appreciate that, at least; Zoro’s loyalty to Luffy at least meant he wouldn’t be a bitch to you if Luffy told him not to, and Nami kept you more or less under wraps too. “Pistols first. Let’s just get two, and save the rest for a sword because those are more pricey.” 

Focusing on business was fine. You could be a responsible adult and not be petty. And it really did go okay for the first half-hour, wherein you bartered one of the weapons sellers down to a reasonable price for two pistols and also picked up a bo staff on the way.

You were just heading towards another district of the town when Zoro slowed to a stop. You glanced over to see what he was looking at—a wall pasted with bounty posters, various pirates plastered on paper with big numbers shouting out their worth. 

“Look, it’s Luffy,” you said, eyes catching a bundle of posters near the top. Sure enough, all six members of the Straw Hat crew were there. You noticed with distaste that Zoro’s bounty was higher than yours.

Zoro tore all of the posters off, and you were almost surprised when he took yours off too. He crumpled them up into balls, about to toss them behind his shoulder before you grabbed them, carefully tucking them away in your bag. “What’s that for?” he asked. 

“So I can shoot darts at your face,” you replied. “Come on. Should finish and get back to the ship before anyone recognizes us.” 

Zoro shrugged, but followed you as you led him to the closest armory you could find. The shop was small and rickety, and a silver bell announced your presence as you entered the building. There were blades of every kind in the shop; you could see a table of knives and daggers, along with a stand full of long swords by the front. Near the back, you glimpsed some hanging rapiers, and—

“Katanas,” Zoro muttered, pushing past you to slip to the back of the store. You sighed, but followed, glancing over the array of jians instead. Zoro was already picking one up and pulling it out of its sheath, checking the quality of the blade. 

“Don’t—” you hissed, and he glanced up at you, brow raised in question as he spun the blade around in his hand. “You’re going to knock something over.” 

Zoro sheathed the sword, a satisfying click filling the room with the motion. “Calm down.” 

“I am calm,” you snapped. “If you’d just stop stomping around with those big boots of yours, though—” 

Zoro looked far less affected by the entire ordeal than you did, and that pissed you off even more. Logically, you knew he didn’t show much emotion in general, and even his annoyances tended to be deep and quiet—but still. He strung the katana back up where it belonged. “I am not stomping.” 

“Yes, you are—” You cut yourself off as the bell of the store rang again, announcing the arrival of more patrons. These two were whispering to each other, gruff voices that sounded almost scared. “He came in here, right?” One of them asked the other. “Are you sure it’s him?” 

“He tore down his own wanted poster!” The other hissed back. 

You caught onto what was happening quickly, letting a sigh out from between your teeth and grabbing onto Zoro’s arm to yank him further back into the store. You turned a corner, where a narrow hall cut off at a dead end, a wardrobe of swords blocking off the area to any prying eyes. “Now look at what you did,” you grumbled, before you could stop yourself. “You’ve got fucking bounty hunters after us.” You glanced through the stands of swords for a double take—the pair were standing at the front, outfitted in familiar white-and-blue uniforms. “Scratch that, even worse. Marines.” 

“I can take them in a fight,” Zoro muttered, hand going to his swords. You grabbed his wrist and gave him a look. 

“No. We’re not due to leave the docks for another two days,” you snapped. “Can you figure out a way to get out of a situation without stabbing someone?” 

“How can you be sure it was him, though? The Demon?” The more timid marine asked. They’d started moving, and you shoved Zoro into the corner, attempting to hide his ridiculously broad figure with an armoire of weapons. He scoffed, but made no move to adjust, back flat against the wall.

“He had the three swords. And the three earrings, too. Of course it was him,” the other one replied. You rolled your eyes. 

“Ever try being a little less obvious, Roronoa?” you muttered, shooting another glare in Zoro’s direction. “You’re like a flashing red light for every marine within a two-mile radius with your stupid swords. I’m Roronoa Zoro, the pirate hunter!” 

“I don’t hear you yelling at Luffy to take his hat off,” Zoro hissed back. 

“They’re coming this way,” you answered, entirely ignoring his retort. “Hide your stupid swords. Shove them behind a stand or something.” 

“I don’t see why we can’t just—” 

“No fighting.” You swiveled around, tugging his holsters off his belt and tossing the swords behind him with a graceless clatter. Zoro just sighed. “Shit,” you muttered as the marines turned at the noise, starting to move towards the back of the store.

“Now look at what you did,” Zoro mumbled, mocking your words straight back at you. You glared at him. 

“Shut up and stay put,” you snapped. “Let me think of something.” The marines were coming closer, and you huffed out a nervous breath. Zoro watched you from his position. 

“They know your face, too,” he said carefully. Almost derisively, like he was looking down on your idea; making you seem stupid. “Just let me fight them. It makes the most sense.” The footsteps grew louder, then, the marines moving towards the back of the store. 

“I think I heard voices,” one of them muttered to the other. You shushed Zoro, unconsciously moving closer to him until your arm bumped into his. You startled, and then looked up, finding Zoro’s chest just inches away from your face. 

“Is this some new sort of hiding tactic?” Zoro asked, voice dry as a desert. “Are you trying to melt us into the wall—” 

The voices tapered off as the marines moved closer. Your hand shot up to cradle Zoro’s face, covering his dangling gold earrings with your fingers to hide them away. “Fuck this,” Zoro muttered, leaning back to pick up his swords. You shushed him, and he stopped, bent halfway over you so your faces were just inches apart. 

“Just trust me,” you snapped. Zoro opened his mouth to argue, but then the marines’ footsteps got louder—they’d turn the corner any moment now. 

“Fine,” he breathed. “But if it doesn’t work, I’m taking out my swords.” 

Your mind ran a million miles a minute trying to figure out what to do. The marines were just around the corner now, and your breath caught, eyes meeting Zoro’s as you wracked your brain for something, anything that might distract the marines away from the two of you. Zoro’s lips parted, a split-second away from undoubtedly whispering some grand insult when the marines finally turned the corner.

You were kissing Zoro before you could even think. 

“Oh,” one of the marines said, as your fingers nearly pinched Zoro’s earlobe, still covering his earrings. Zoro was frozen for a moment, but the marines behind you seemed startled enough that he realized it was working. A rush of satisfaction filled you for a moment—see, Roronoa, you don’t have to stab shit all the time—before Zoro was kissing you back.

And. Well. You’d started it, but you had not anticipated this. 

Zoro was almost rough, his hand curling around the nape of your neck and tugging you down closer to him. His other hand came to rest on your waist, so impossibly big around your torso that you shivered. What had started out as a simple kiss slipped into one all messy, your breaths coming out in sharp gasps as Zoro barely gave you a moment to breathe. 

His teeth dug into your lip, and you groaned into his mouth, tongue darting along his gums with the motion. He snickered at that, and you felt a little bundle of vexation starting at the pit of stomach at the sound. You ran your tongue into the crevices of his mouth, licking into him with ease. Another rush of satisfaction filled you as Zoro’s grip tightened on your waist. You were winning.

He fought back just as hard, practically merciless as his tongue slid against yours, prying into your mouth like he was trying to bare you empty of secrets. You felt stripped raw like this, but it wasn’t a terrible feeling—the opposite, actually, soft whimpers leaving your lungs as he dug more fiercely into you. Zoro sucked on your lower lip with teeth, and you barely managed to suppress the stuttered sound it tugged out from the back of your throat. 

There were hasty footsteps receding somewhere behind you, which was the only sound that snapped you out of your motions. You were the first to break away—another score gained there—glancing over your shoulder to ensure the marines had really left before fully detaching yourself from Zoro. The silver bell rung again, signaling the marines had made their exit, and you let out a relieved sigh. 

Zoro glanced over your shoulder, straightening his clothes as his tongue ran along his top teeth. The top teeth you’d had your tongue on just seconds ago. “If you wanted to kiss me, you could’ve just said so.” 

“I did not—” You sucked in a breath, all your general irritated feelings towards the man coming back at full force with just that one sentence. “Shut the fuck up. I got us out of the situation, didn’t I?” 

“You have questionable methods,” Zoro replied, leaning over to pick up his abandoned swords and strap them back along his hip. “Don’t think about that all night.” 

“You were not that good of a kisser,” you snapped, though you could feel your face getting hot. Your mouth tingled, like you could still taste him on your tongue; on your teeth; in your gums. There was a vaguely empty sensation at the curve of your waist you tried your best to ignore. “Don’t be so full of yourself. Roronoa. Now pick a sword to buy so we can leave already.”

Zoro seemed irritated, but he complied, brushing past you to inspect a few more of the swords before picking out one. You paid for it as quickly as possible, in a rush to get back to the ship; not even trying to talk the salesman down from his price like you usually would. 

Zoro followed you languidly, absolutely nothing urgent about his motions as you trailed after you back through the village. You wanted to uppercut him so badly. 

“Oh, there you guys are,” Usopp said upon stepping foot back onto the Going Merry. You shot him an apologetic smile before breezing past, beelining for your bedroom without a second thought. “Uh—okay! You good?” he called after you, but you were too far away to respond at this point. 

You slammed the door of your room shut upon entering, heaving out a breath of jumbled emotion all in one go. Fuck Roronoa Zoro and his three stupid swords and his three stupid earrings. He was the most lumbering, bullheaded oaf you’d ever had the displeasure of engaging with. 

He’d been a ridiculously good kisser. Now you hated him even more. 

You locked yourself in your room for the next four hours, busying yourself with various tasks whilst simultaneously seething over Zoro. It wasn’t even that he’d done anything specifically to you in the past. You just—didn’t get along, really. He was irritating, and stupid, and always tried to solve his problems with a blade rather than attempting to use his wits. Not that he had any wits of any kind. He was—

He was, as you were starting to find out, kind of attractive. Which. Okay. You’d known his face was at least easy on the eyes, despite his personality and general attitude not retaining the same qualities. But this was an entirely unappreciated development. 

Someone knocked on your door, snapping you out of your irritated haze. The sun had nearly set, a kiss of dusk coming in from outside as you shuffled over to the door. You yanked it open. “What—”

Zoro was standing in the doorway, arm propped against the side and keeping your door open even as you attempted to close it on him. “Roronoa.” 

“You’re hiding,” Zoro said, a tinge of mirth just barely visible in his eyes. You glared at him. 

“I am not.” 

“Do you have to disagree with everything I say?” Zoro asked. He was still wearing his swords even now, though he’d dressed down as the hour grew late. “You skipped dinner.” 

“Leave me alone,” you muttered. 

Zoro took that as an invitation to step fully into the room. “I told the rest of the crew about the marines,” he said, and you flinched. “Not about that. Just that we got away. Nami wants to leave tomorrow evening now, so we’ll be busy.” 

You stared at him, suspicious right from the start. “And you care enough to tell me? Did someone put you up to this?” 

Zoro stiffened. “I just thought you might want to know.” 

Your eyes narrowed. He looked as normal as ever—face blank, leaving no expression to be seen. But his muscles were tenser than usual, and the veins running up his arm were prominent, like his hand was tightened into a fist where it hid away in his pocket. “You have ulterior motives.”

“You’re so annoying,” Zoro muttered, but he didn’t budge. You scoffed. 

“What, are you here to admit that you were wrong and my plan really did get us away from the marines?” you asked, voice sugary sweet as you riled him up. His jaw clenched, a vein tracing up his neck bulging with the pressure. “You don’t need to inflate my ego—”

Zoro moved across the room swiftly, and you stumbled back in surprise as he pinned you to the wall, hand tight around your arm. Your words died in your throat as his lips sealed over yours with a bruising kiss. His fingers dug into the skin of your bicep—tight, but not tight enough to hurt. 

“I don’t need to inflate your ego,” Zoro snapped, finishing your sentence from where it’d died on your lips. “You do that enough yourself.” 

You stared at him, the tingle of his lips still left as an afterthought on your mouth. “If you’re going to make out with me, take your fucking swords off.” 

Zoro barely suppressed an eye roll, hands working at his belt to slide his holsters off from his hip. “What’s your problem with them?” 

“I think your emotional dependency on a bunch of oversized butter knifes—��

Zoro’s head jerked up, eyes dark when they met yours. “Don’t call them that.” 

You couldn’t resist the quip off your tongue. “You asked.” 

Zoro slowly made his way across the room again, steps careful and languid as he moved closer. “I take it back,” he said, voice a near whisper, every word crisp on his tongue. You shivered. 

This time, you expected it when he kissed you. He wasn’t careful with it, and you didn’t want it any other way—your arms wrapped around the back of his neck, tugging him down closer to you. It got aggressive quick, his fingers coming down to clutch your waist, one of your hands tight around the locks of his hair as you pried open his mouth with your tongue. 

Neither of you complied easily, both trying to get the better of the other. Zoro’s tongue forced itself into your mouth before you tugged on his lower lip with teeth. Both his hands came to wrap around your waist, now, hoisting you up and onto your hanging bed in the center of the room. His fingers dug in hard enough to leave bruises. 

Zoro abandoned your mouth in favor of your neck, biting open-mouthed kisses into your jawline before moving down your jugular. Each one was more hasty than the last, wet and warm with licks of tongue and scrapes of teeth. You didn’t bother moving to give him better access—he had to do that himself, a large hand coming to rest on the back of your skull and pulling your head back to bare the rest of your neck to him. You heard him mutter something in Japanese—probably some obscenity, which pleased you more than you’d like to admit. 

His kisses stopped at the hinge of your neck and shoulder, Zoro pausing to lean over and work his fingers up your spine. They danced over the clasp of your shirt, and you had to choke back a wry laugh, surprised. “I thought the Demon just took what he wanted,” you murmured. 

Zoro didn’t seem to like that. He started unfastening the buttons going down the back of your top. “At least I was polite enough to ask,” he muttered. 

“Just take my clothes off already,” you said, and he stopped his work, leaning back to glare into your eyes. You let out an annoyed sigh, and he rolled his eyes, going back to what he’d been doing. “Are we going to talk about it?” you asked, eyeing Zoro’s chest in front of you. 

You pressed a kiss to his neck, sucking at the skin before grazing it ever-so-slightly with your teeth. His throat hitched under your mouth. 

“Nope,” he grunted, finally unclasping the last button and pulling your top over your head. Since you didn’t have an issue with that arrangement, you didn’t say anything, even as Zoro practically shoved you flat on your back. 

“Rude,” you muttered. Zoro didn’t bother apologizing; he just leaned down to take your breast in his mouth, tongue circling around your nipple. You weren’t fast enough to suppress your gasp this time—a point in Zoro’s favor then, one you allowed with a bitter taste on your tongue. Zoro’s mouth formed a smile against your skin. You brought your knee up between his legs, shoving into his crotch in retaliation. 

“Stop,” Zoro hissed, the consonants of the words brushing across your skin when he spoke. You ignored him, and he let out a groan, hand clamping around your thigh to keep you from moving. “Do you have to be such a brat?” 

“I am not a brat.” You hooked your ankle around his, causing him to slip from where he lay suspended above you, mouths mashing in another too-aggressive facsimile of a kiss. “You’re just a gigantic manwhore with an overinflated ego.” 

“You did not just call me—” You shut him up with another kiss, teeth digging deep into the inner gums of his lip. You ran your hands up the sides of Zoro’s figure, trying your hardest to ignore the stiff muscles of his ribcage. He wasn’t that well-built. He wasn’t even that attractive, you tried to convince yourself. Still, you found the buttons of his shirt, trying to unfasten them quicker than Zoro had with yours. 

One of them caught, and Zoro had the audacity to laugh. You grumbled something incoherent under your breath, tugging his shirt off all the way and tossing it somewhere behind you. “Shut up.” 

“You’ve been the one complaining this entire time,” Zoro replied easily. He leaned down, tugging at your trousers to pull them off, pressing sloppy kisses down your torso now. You resisted the urge to say something in response, knowing it would just give him the satisfaction of being right. Were your points tied now? You couldn’t remember. 

Zoro had pulled your pants down to your knees by now, and you kicked them off all the way, watching as he pushed them off the bed and leaned down to work at the inward slope of your hip. You shivered, legs trembling as you felt your core grow tight, the cloth of your underwear already wet with anticipation. Seeing the ever-steadying tent in Zoro’s pants made you feel just a little bit better, and you were nice enough to let a stuttering moan out as his tongue licked down to the band of your panties. 

He pulled your underwear all the way off, then, but to your distaste completely ignored your fully exposed core to unbutton his own pants instead. “I hate you,” you muttered. 

Zoro stopped in the middle of what he was doing, pants halfway down his thighs and length already out. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, voice careful—you could still hear the mocking tone beyond the coolness of his voice, though, and your jaw clenched in irritation. “Did you want something?” 

“Yeah, for you to shut the fuck up.” You pushed yourself up by the elbows, grabbing one of Zoro’s arms and yanking him down onto the mattress. You used both hands to strip him of the last of his clothes—God, his legs were long—before returning to press your own open-mouthed bruises along his neck. His hips bucked up against yours, insistently chasing any friction, but you tightened a grip on his thigh to get him to stop. “Give me a second.” 

“I don’t like that I’m suddenly under you,” Zoro said drily, and you could feel the words as they formed in his throat, still biting hickeys into his skin. You rolled your eyes, lips disconnecting from skin with a dull pop.

“Deal with it, Roronoa. I’m not moving.” With that, you finally reached down to coax his legs apart, hovering your core over his hips as you lined your entrance up with his length. 

There was an audible hitch of breath on Zoro’s part as you sunk onto him. Point. 

One of his hands tangled in your hair when you started moving, the other coming to press on the small of your back as you worked yourself up and down around him. For the complaining he’d done about the position, he didn’t seem so bothered about it, pulling you into a rough kiss. 

You bit back with force, breath escaping you as your hips bucked against Zoro’s. The wet pool in your lower belly only grew stronger with every thrust, pressure building up inside of you as Zoro’s tongue ran across your teeth. You moaned freely now, too lost in the daze of your pleasure to remember to be annoying. Evidently Zoro felt the same way—he swallowed every one of your gasps up, grunting as you pulsed around him.

Your hips stuttered, thigh muscles contracting with the effort as you clenched down on Zoro. Still, you pushed through even as your muscles started to tire, encouraged by the deep, throaty sounds that escaped Zoro's lips between each kiss. He was big, filling you up damn near wholeheartedly, the crevices inside of you seeming to mould to his skin as you worked yourself on him.

Zoro started moving against you, and you gasped as his angle changed, somehow reaching farther in your body and causing tingles to erupt all along your skin. Your mind buzzed as he thrust into you with renewed vigor, core pulsing as you felt yourself come closer and closer to the edge. 

You came all at once, teeth biting down in Zoro’s mouth before you parted from him. You let out a gasping moan, attempting to toss your head back as stars burst across your vision. Zoro’s hand in your hair dragged you back into a kiss, though; this one was slower, less teeth this time, like him coming had lessened the urge to bite. 

Your movements slowed, coming to rest against Zoro’s skin, warm and—although you wouldn’t say so out loud—almost comfortable. His hand hadn’t budged from where it was pressed against your lower back, holding you tight to him. 

There was a sticky wetness spreading fast by your thighs, and you grimaced, lifting yourself off of Zoro and rolling beside him on your back in one fluid motion. He stifled a groan at the movement, clearly irritated at the fact you hadn’t given any warning. 

You lay there, breath heaving, rising out your high and making no move to touch the man laying by your side. 

After you’d regained some of your dignity, you sat up, eyes narrowing at Zoro. “Get off my bed.” 

Zoro gave you an exasperated look, but he didn’t argue; he just climbed off your bed, retrieving his clothes from where you’d tossed them about the room. He donned them slowly, like he had all the time in the world. Your eyes traced along his figure while he did, and you only felt sort of annoyed by it. 

“I still hate you,” you snapped, after he’d finished changing. Zoro just scoffed, picking up his swords and slinging them across one shoulder. You could see a bruise purpling by his neck. At least you’d done damage. 

“Fine by me,” he replied, straightening his shirt and giving you a look—not quite irritated, not quite sarcastic. “Dinner’s still waiting for you.” 

You glared at his back as he opened the door to your bedroom. “Get lost, Roronoa,” you said, and that was that. 

© halfvalid 2023

[chososcamgirl]

SHIRTS! - megumi usually goes for a casual button when playing on stage but ideally shows up in practice/when he’s not playing with an old oversized dad tee. when he gets really excited about playing he’ll be a bit scandalous and wear a wife beater to show off his arms and trust this man is RIPPED like im talking muscle nation.

BOTTOMS! - we all know megumi isn’t! what who said that yall… megumi strictly only wears denim for some reason (totally doesn’t have to do with the fact that toge pantsed him on stage one time when he was wearing basketball shorts (don’t ask me why he was wearing basketball shorts yall i don’t control this man!!)) but he usually leans towards vintage jeans and buys them in flea markets/thrift shop/depop. this man has a keen eye for the good shit. you do NOT want to see his ass in goodwill. i know a thrifty bitch hate to seem him coming…

OUTERWEAR! - this man treasures his jackets like it’s a newborn baby fresh from the vagina. he is a carhartt FEIN and has like 5 variations of the same jacket in his wardrobe. talk about overconsumption… he’s also a whore for a good leather jacket… motorcycle megumi au when… heh..

MUST HAVES! - you will not see megumi leave the house without his holy trinity. his beautiful baby electric guitar of course; also named as bessie (do u guys get it? no? ok.) a pen specifically MUJI (yes shamelessly promoting them muji sponser this post pls) for writing any beat/lyric/sound that comes to his pretty little head. and lastly his MF DOOM ring cause he wouldn’t be a real musician without some affiliating to doom let’s be real.

ACCESSORIES! - this man is a sucker for a good belt. not only bc he buys his jeans in 3 sizes from his normal size but because it makes the outfit together. if this man ever forgets to put a belt on just know he’s going to be in a pissy mood for the rest of the day. his go to besides belts is hats! specifically baseball ones. he doesn’t feel like styling his hair? no fear! his trusty acne studios cap is here! he also sometimes just shoves the cap on the inside of his pants as well just barely sticking out. yuji clocked him one time as to why he does it and his answer was simply ‘for the aesthetic’

masterlist

taglist: @shokosbunny @luvvmae @catobsessedlady @satoryaa @prozacprinc3ss @essjujutsu @therealsatorugojo @yeehawslap @gojodickbig @dawnisatotalqueen @j2upiters @nappingnai @lalalasillybilly3000 @totallytatum @3cst4syy @lysaray @saltypuffin1040 @aozui @noodles-icetea @makeshiftproject @kurtcobaingirlie @kokoiinuts @renbittt @dashingaurries @slvttycorpse @cuupidsss @mochroialainn @tenjikusstuff4 @oroborosttheiii @ichcocat @iiwaijime @drugzforyou @sugurubabe @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @tyigerz @yoyo-yui @megoomies @yizmiu @jasminasblog22 @yomamablazeit @marst4rz @guitarstringed-scars @qtnfer @kalulakunundrum @lovefrominaya @beepbopzlorp @iheartlindz @itsdragonius @meguemii @chilichopsticks @7kn0wn @starantulas @1l-ynn @bonitoflakez @rcveriees @solaqes @starrysho @sukunaspillow @evry1luvssm

*if i can't tag you please change your tag settings otherwise i will remove you from the list!

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Hell 2 Pay

℣ Pairing: Vox X angelic!reader

℣ Summary: A naïve angel descends to Hell looking for Vagina. Finds Vox instead.

℣ Content notes: Voyeurism, first time for everything, explicit sexual content,use of a vibrator, guided masturbation, loss of virginity, creampie, Vox being Vox, pet names: mostly sweetheart, babydoll and baby, reader is a girl, reader has a pussy, reader has a name and it's a fucking stupid one.

A sequel to Heaven Spent

Taglist

@it-gal888 @jurijyuu @bishiglomper @brunette-bet @bapple117

@diffidentphantom @leonotlara @redvexillum @nyx-umbrakinesis

“You sure it’s okay for me to come to this with you?” you asked, quietly, as you walked out to the limo, holding Vox’s arm.

“Baby, everyone who is anyone is going to this party.” Vox gestured wide with his talons, an arc of electricity between his fingers. “I hear even Lucifer himself is on the guest list. If this friend of yours is still down here, and she’s as powerful as you say she is, she’ll be there.”

In the days since you’d met Vox, you’d come no closer to finding Vagina, though not through lack of trying. You’d searched every database Vox had access to for her name, scoured security feeds and drone footage from across the city looking for a glimpse of her aquiline nose. You’d searched until your eyes watered, until Vox came round to your console each evening and told you it was time to stop for the night. To sleep.

Half the time you found yourself passing out against him in the elevator on the way to the penthouse, waking up in his arms as he carried you to bed. It was embarrassing to admit how much you liked the sensation- the fact that he lifted you almost effortlessly, strong arms cradling you against his chest. A kiss goodnight was as much as you managed to give him, though he didn’t press for more, his tired voice a gentle rasp against your ear as he told you to rest up for the cameras the next day.

In exchange, you’d taken the job as spokesperson for Angelic Security, and spent your days in fitting rooms and in front of cameras, chirping out your lines with as much enthusiasm as you could muster.

You thought you’d hit a dead end, until Vox had arrived on set one afternoon with a change of costume for you; an off-the shoulder floor length pleated gown with an empire waist, and a hair ornament that made your breath catch when you looked at it, beads of glossy pink glass, shaped like pomegranate seeds, spilled in a cluster and connected by fine gold thread. The extravagance of it had made you nervous, but when Vox showed you your reflection in the mirror, you’d had to cover your mouth to stop yourself squealing with delight. You looked important and refined. Like a princess. And the look Vox gave you told you he thought so too.

You bit your lip. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

“And why would I be embarrassed to have a beautiful girl like you on my arm, huh?” Vox’s talons squeezed gently around your shoulder, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks.

Vox’s business partner and roommate Valentino got into the limousine first, stooping to get into the spacious cabin inside, followed by his date, a pale pink spider demon who was only a little shorter than he was. Both of them were dressed for the event; Valentino with a silk top-hat in the place of his usual hat, and the spider demon in a tailored satin-lined jacket that hung open at the chest, no shirt or waistcoat underneath.

“This party better have an open bar, that’s all I’m saying-” the spider demon paused to look up as you climbed into the limo after him. “Who’s the skirt?”

“Angel Dust, this is Angelic Security’s newest spokesperson and my date, Ari. Ari, this is Angel Dust, Val’s-” Vox squinted, a glance at the big moth. “-most valued employee.”

“Oh.” Your grip on Vox’s arm tightened as you stared at Angel Dust. His soft pink fur didn’t make him look demonic, certainly. “Are you really an angel?”

“That depends who ya ask, toots.” Angel winked lasciviously.

“A lot of people have seen his pearly gates, that’s for sure.” Valentino wrapped a possessive arm around Angel, his long fingers sinking into the chest fluff that peeked from Angel’s half-open jacket. “But rest assured my cariño here is just as soaked in sin as the rest of us. Other things, too.” Valentino grinned, flashing a gold tooth, and you watched as Angel’s smile dropped fractionally.

“Alright, alright, save it for the afterparty, jeez.” Vox waved the air in front of him, opening a chilled compartment in the table between the four of you and pulling out a tray of drinks in a puff of condensation.

“Oh, thank fuck. My thirty four inch hero.” Angel reached out with two of his arms, took a glass in each, and dumped them unceremoniously into his open mouth. Vox and Valentino exchanged a look.

“I’d better not have to send anyone to scrape him off the floor this time,” groused Vox, his mouth sliding to the bottom corner of his screen as he watched Angel down another drink.

Valentino laughed. “He’ll be good tonight. Won’t you, cariño?” Valentino’s fingers slid up Angel’s neck, tilting his head to force eye contact.

Angel rolled his eyes. “Yes, daddy.”

Vox held open the door of the limo to let his other business partner, Velvette, in as she arrived. “No plus one tonight?”

“I’m meeting someone there.” Velvette ducked under Vox’s arm and climbed into her seat, phone in the palm of one hand as she grabbed a flute of champagne from the tray and took a sip, making a face. “One of my all-time least favourite people just died.”

“Ohh?” Valentino looked at her over the rims of his heart-shaped glasses. “That fashion editor bitch you hate?”

“That’s the one.” Velvette grinned at him. “I said I’d give her a job if she let me piss in her mouth.”

Vox snorted, pulling the door shut. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Of course I’m fucking kidding,” Velvette’s gaze went back to her phone. “I’m not giving her a job.”

You snuggled up to Vox’s side as the limo wound its way through Pentagram’s streets. Little by little, you were starting to suspect that Vox’s associates were not nice people.

You were afraid that the five of you would be overdressed until you actually arrived at the party, helped out of the limousine by stately-looking demons, and ascended the steps to the venue. Everyone there looked majestic, in white tie or glittering gowns, tall bird-headed demons mingling with a practical menagerie of others. You found yourself clinging tight to Vox’s arm, and were gratified to feel him shift his grip, his claws sliding down your back to your hip, pulling you against him. The quiet thrum of his body was a comfort, and you grounded yourself with it.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, his voice a murmur in your ear as the attendants at the door checked his invite and waved the two of you through, Valentino and Angel behind you.

You nodded, though in truth you were still a little intimidated. A bird-headed demon thrumming with power floated past you, accompanied by a pair of hellhounds. “It’s just… sparkly, that’s all.”

“Me and Val are gonna mingle, so take your time looking around. I’ll be right here if you need me. And-” Vox sighed, straightening the lapel of his jacket, the pocket square he wore deep pink to match your hair ornament. “-this should go without saying, but you’re here on my invite, so I’m responsible for your actions. Try not to get yourself in trouble, okay?”

“I won’t.” You looked down, your face hot, your fingers squeezing Vox’s upper arm. “I-” you swallowed, gathering your courage, before raising your head, and planting a single kiss on the edge of his screen. “Thank you, Vox. For everything.”

Vox gave you a look that was meant to be suave. “Anytime, babydoll.”

“So, uh, what are you looking for, exactly?” Angel swayed after you with a backwards glance at Valentino and Vox, and you stopped to let him catch up. “Seems like you’re pretty bent outta shape about it.”

“Vagina,” you answered, your voice soft as you scanned the room from your vantage by the canapé table, dazzled by the reflected light of diamonds and rubies round the throats of the female attendees as you looked for her face. The grey skin, like yours, the aquiline nose, the short white hair. You looked and saw nothing, an ache in your heart.

Angel grinned crookedly. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help ya much there. Any particular type of vagina or are you not picky? Cuz I do know some people.”

“No.” You shook your head, frustrated. “Vagina is my friend.”

“If you say so.” Angel sighed, grabbing a drink from a passing attendant. “I’m more of a penis man myself, but if I meet any vaginas I’ll send em your way. Later, toots.”

And just like that, you were alone in the crowd, still looking for Vagina's familiar face.

You saw her, across the room, a glimpse through the crowd that had you moving closer to check that you weren’t hallucinating. Her hair was longer than you remembered, a large red satin bow at the back, and she was missing an eye, but you would know that face anywhere. Hope crested in your chest. She was here. She was alive. You could go back. You could take her hand and go back to Heaven and things would go back just the way they were.

“Vagina!” Unable to wait a second longer, you rushed towards her, calling her name, dodging a waiter and a stuffy-looking pair of owl demons.

“Hey!” A hand on your shoulder stopped you in your tracks and you looked up to see a tall blonde girl in a ruby-colored tuxedo, frowning as she looked down at you. “Excuse me! That’s my girlfriend you’re talking to there, you can’t just-”

“Charlie.” Vagina joined you, a soft touch on the tall girl’s arm. “It’s okay. I know her. Can you give us a minute?”

“Oh.” Charlie gave a small smile, looking between you and Vagina. “You know her. Of course you know her! Okay. I’ll just… give you guys some space.”

“Vagina!” Your mouth felt dry, tears beading in the corners of your eyes as Vagina steered you behind a pillar in an unpopulated corner of the ballroom. “Oh thank goodness. You’re safe! Your eye-” you reached out. What had happened to her?

“Stop calling me that.” Vagina pushed your hand away with a scowl. “It’s Vaggie now.”

“Sorry.” You drew away, your back against the pillar. “But it’s okay! I’m here now!”

“Look.” Vagina, or rather Vaggie, sighed, her one remaining eye closing. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you should go. It’s dangerous here.”

What? The world seemed to stop around you as you stared at her. Of course- she didn’t want to put you in danger. You straightened your back, pulling yourself to your full height, feet a little wobbly in the high-heeled shoes Vox had given you. “I’m an exorcist, just like you.”

“Areola…” Vaggie scrunched her nose. “You’re a janitor. You clean the showers. The only weapon you know is mop.”

You persevered, an ache in the back of your throat. “I came to save you.” That had to count for something, didn’t it? You had come all the way down from Heaven, malformed wings or no, you had risked your life, your immortal soul against the forces of Hell, for Vaggie. She had to be able to see that.

Your statement seemed to have the opposite effect to what you intended, Vaggie’s expression darkening. “Why? I never asked for your help. And I know for sure Lute didn’t send you.”

“Because you’re my best friend.” My only friend, you thought, your bottom lip quivering. “That… that counts for something, right?”

“Oh, for crying out-” Vaggie buried her face in one hand, giving a deep sigh before she looked up at you again. “Let’s set the record straight here. We weren’t friends. We were coworkers.”

You stared, unable to speak, every word out of Vaggie’s mouth like a knife to your chest. All the times you had brought out iced drinks to her when she’d been training, all those times she’d listened to you talk about your day. That had been friendship, hadn’t it? Real friendship? Your hands shook. “But-” you managed to squeak out, feeling like you were falling, as if the floor of the ballroom was dropping deep beneath you.

Vaggie’s gaze went past you, to the milling crowd of dancers, and the tall girl in red. “I don’t need to be saved,” she said. “Go home, Areola.”

It was all you could do not to burst into tears as you watched Vaggie's retreating back, a lump in your throat as she walked away from you, red ribbon bright in her white hair.

“Everything okay?” Vox seemed to sense something was up when you rejoined him, pulling you close, his voice low.

Silently, you shook your head, tears hot and painful in the corners of your eyes. You knew that if you said too much you’d be bawling right in the middle of the dance floor. “Take me home?”

Vox paused a second, watching you, then nodded, slowly. “Car’s on the way. I’ll give the others a call on the way back.”

In the privacy of the limo, you buried your face against Vox's chest, gratitude welling in you as your throat tightened. “I’m sorry, I… I know you had things you wanted to do tonight, I don’t want to be a burden.” You rambled, swallowing a sob.

“Val and Velv will do just fine pissing on people without me,” said Vox, his tone wry.

“Are you my friend, Vox?” you hiccuped, leaning into his chest. “Do you even like me?”

“What kinda dumbass question is that?” Vox’s arm tightened around you. “Someone said I wasn’t your friend?”

“N-no. I just-” your bottom lip trembled. “I found her.” You felt your voice crack. “She said- she said she wasn’t my friend. She said she’d never-” a small sob escaped your lips, and you felt like you were falling again.

“Hey, babydoll.” Vox’s talons caught the underside of your jaw, tilting your head up to face him, until you were staring into his red eyes, the view made blurry by the tears in yours. “Hey,” he repeated, his voice dropping a half octave, and he kissed you, softly, lips brushing yours, fingertips up over your jaw, over your cheek. “You’re my girl. You’re mine. No-one in this city gets to make you doubt that, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you murmured as you found yourself on top of him, your body clinging to his as if he were the only solid thing in the world.

“I know something that will definitely make you feel better.” Vox reached into a compartment under one of the seats and pulled out a small object; a tapered, bulbous cylinder in VoxTek silver, cyan light shining from its contours.

“What is that?”

“Personal massager. Top of the range. Fully submersible, adjustable frequency and torque. Self-warming, body-grade silicone sheathe.”

You glanced up at Vox’s face. This was more than empty commercial copy, a flash of pride in his eyes. “You… helped design it, didn’t you?”

Vox quirked an eyebrow. “If I say yes, will you let me use it on you?”

You felt your face heat. “W-when you say personal massager…”

“I figure a few good orgasms are just what you need right now,” said Vox, eyes half-lidded, grin toothy.

“A few!?” You felt the pulse at the apex of your legs as you remembered what just one had felt like, Vox’s leg between your thighs.

“Lay back, baby,” Vox practically purred. “Let me take care of you.”

You hesitated, a little. Letting this happen to you was clearly not a thing that a good and chaste angel should do.

But what had being a good girl ever got you? You had been good, every day of your life; you had worked hard, and abstained, and been modest and never complained. You’d put yourself in danger, for someone you had assumed was your friend. And what had you gained? Aside from Vaggie’s disdain, the Lieutenant’s disdain, the disdain of every angel who saw your malformed wings and assumed you had done something to deserve it? Maybe this was a part of the grand plan the higher angels were always talking about, paid for in full with your deformity.

Who would even be waiting for you, if you went back to Heaven? Maybe you were meant to fall from grace, here, in Hell, in the arms of the one person who seemed to actually like you.

You placed your hand over Vox’s, fingertips over his blue talons. “I’ve never…” you said.

“I know that, baby.” Vox’s other hand was at the hem of your gown, pulling it up over your calves, over your knees, the fabric a silky whisper against your skin. “All you have to do is lay there and hold your legs open nice and wide for me, let me take care of the rest. Trust me.”

“O-okay.” You closed your eyes, feeling Vox push your skirt up over your thighs, your back flush with his chest as he pulled you into the position he wanted.

“Knees apart, sweetheart,” Vox murmured into your ear, his voice sending a shiver through your core.

You choked back a sob as you parted your thighs for him; one leg slung over his thigh, the other half-bent on the leather seat under you.

“Don’t cry, pretty girl,” Vox rasped, talons tracing thin lines over your knee, your quad, your inner thigh. He trailed the vibrator along the same path, its surface warm as skin as it shivered against your flesh. “I’m gonna make you feel so good you forget everything else that happened tonight.”

You turned your head, pressing the side of your face against Vox’s shoulder, and squeezed your eyes closed as you felt his hands ascend to the apex of your thighs, fingertips teasing at the lacy edge of your panties.

“Hey now, don’t be shy. I can feel how wet you are for me already,” said Vox, his fingers continuing to move. As if to demonstrate his point, he pressed two fingertips to the gusset of your panties, pressing your sex through the fabric in a languid up-down motion, then lifted them to your mouth, brushing the wetness that had seeped through your panties onto your bottom lip.

You opened your mouth, letting Vox slip his fingers inside, and were rewarded with a low groan from Vox as he smeared your tongue with the taste of your own arousal, musky and slick. “My good girl,” he growled, his other hand pushing your panties to the side. “So fucking obedient.”

He teased the vibrator against your outer lips, its setting still a low shiver as he moved it, smearing the arousal that leaked from you up towards your mons and then back down again, his fingers in your mouth echoing the slow, deliberate action. You shifted, and Vox parted your sex with his fingers, the vibrator against your inner lips, then up over the hood of your clitoris. It felt good, better than something this sinful had any right to feel, and you moaned around Vox’s fingers.

“See, baby? Didn’t I tell you I would make it better?” Vox exuded smugness as he kept the vibrator moving, and even if he hadn’t had his fingers in your mouth you weren’t sure you could have formed a coherent response.

Tears slid hot down your cheeks, your mascara running as Vox slid the vibrator over your sex, the shiver it had started with becoming a low thrum as he increased the power. He murmured sweet nothings as he slid it over your inner lips, the barest touch on your clitoris like a beam of heavenly light that had you forgetting that you were in the back of a limo with your sex spread open on a man’s hand.

“Tell me you want it inside,” said Vox, voice low as he pulled his fingers from your mouth, his other hand guiding the vibrator down a little, the thrum of sensation round your entrance, teasing at untouched flesh.

“Vox,” you gasped, as each tilt of his hand brought an answering shiver from your body.

“I wanna hear it, babydoll,” coaxed Vox, his second hand on your inner thigh now, spreading you further apart. “Tell me to fuck you with the toy.”

You swallowed, the concentric circles he was drawing around your entrance at war with the mortification you felt at using such crude language. “P-penetrate me-” you managed, to a soft chuckle from Vox.

“You’re just about the cutest girl I’ve ever fucked, you know that sweetheart?” he said, as he dipped the narrower end of the vibrator into you, just the tip. The sensation made you catch your breath, the thrum of it fluttering against your nerves. “Here you are, wide open for me, my toy in your sweet little pussy-” as if to demonstrate the point, Vox pushed the vibrator in another half inch, then out again, drawing a lewd little whimper from your lips. “-and you can’t even say the word fuck.”

“S-sorry,” you stammered, screwing your eyes shut.

“Don’t be sorry, Ari.” Vox’s lips were in your hair, kissing the beads from your hair ornament aside as he rocked the vibrator in and out of you, his other hand at your sex now, index and ring finger either side of your clit. “You’re my sweet baby girl. All for me, aren’t you?”

“Vox,” you whined, tears threatening to form in your eyes again. “I’m yours.”

“All mine?”

“Y-yes,” you squeaked

“Tell me again. I take good care of my things, babydoll.”

“I’m yours,” you repeated for him. Yours, yours, all yours. And each time your reward was that soft affection, that sound of approval, Vox’s thumb stroking the sensitive nub of your clit, making you squeak, and cry out, all the while the vibrator penetrating you in a shallow rhythm, slipping easily in and out of the slickness of your core. It wasn’t as if anyone else wanted you anyway.

“You’re close,” Vox purred against your ear, and you could feel that he was right; the sensation of his thumb on your clit the most vivid thing in your mind, along with the thrum of the toy against your inner walls. It felt like you were floating, pleasure your only compass, as Vox’s touch urged you to your destination. “Gonna cum with my toy inside, aren’t you?”

You whimpered an affirmative as you crested the wave, your core pulsing, twitching around the intrusion of the toy as Vox’s thumb stilled on your clit, pressing down but not moving.

Vox slipped a finger inside you with a groan, the width of the digit along with the toy bringing with it another round of little quakes. “Cumming hard for me babydoll?”

You gave a mortified little whimper, and Vox’s thumb pressed hard on your clit again, the sensation bringing more aftershocks as you found yourself fluttering round the toy and Vox’s finger.

“Holy shit, you’re still going,” Vox muttered, something like excitement creeping into his voice. “Hope you’re planning on cumming on my dick that hard.”

“I’m not planning!” you protested, to Vox’s indulgent grin.

“Course you’re not, sweetheart.” Vox’s voice was low as he dragged the tip of the vibrator from your still-twitching hole and up over your clit, its setting the gentle shiver that it had started on.

It was both too much and not enough, a flame on nerves already afire, oversensitive and quivering. “Vox!” you cried, hand going to his wrist, and he lifted the toy from your flesh, leaving you aching with its absence.

“Too much?” he asked, a prideful edge to his voice.

“Y-yes,” you admitted, breath coming in fast little pants through your lips.

“You wanna try using it yourself?” Vox pressed the toy into the palm of your hand. “I can talk you through it.”

You nodded, hesitant, and Vox took your hand in his, guiding the toy in your hand back to your slick and quivering sex. “Don’t worry about the settings. I can control those for you. Just press the tip here.”

The toy quivered in your hand as you pressed its bulbous end against your engorged clitoris. A stroke had your eyes fluttering closed, breath catching in your throat as you felt sheer, unmitigated pleasure. You drew back, swallowing saliva before you ventured another touch, a whimper on your lips.

Vox pushed two fingers into you, not the teasing in-out he had done with the toy, but in deep and curling, pressing something sweet at the apex. You drew the toy against your clitoris again, more steadily this time, feeling your body pull taut, a soft, birdlike noise in your throat as Vox’s fingers bullied the tender spot inside you.

“You need a little more power, babydoll?” Vox asked, and you only had to nod for the vibration to intensify, each moment threatening at too much before you drew your hand back, gasping as his fingers squelched in and out of you. “You should hold it there, hold it down, so you can cum round my fingers. Yeah?”

“Y-yeah,” you agreed, voice small, bracing yourself for the sensation as you pressed the toy once more against sensitive flesh. The quiver of the toy built into a tremble, the bliss of its touch into something almost painful, and you found yourself biting your lip to not cry out. You couldn’t keep going; it was too much, too much-

“Keep going,” Vox murmured, a light pressure on the back of your hand. You nodded, keeping the quivering toy held against the most sensitive part of you, an insensate noise on your lips as every muscle in your body seemed to shake, your legs drawn wide as they would go, riding bliss upon bliss upon bliss.

“Attagirl,” growled Vox, plunging his fingers in deep, and you were hit by a climax you hadn’t known to expect, a noise from you that was neither dignified nor sexy as your body spasmed, curling in, your thighs closing round Vox’s hands. “Attagirl,” he repeated, as your walls fluttered round his fingers, the vibrator still purring against your overstimulated clit. “Be a good girl and cum again for me now.”

“T-too much,” you whimpered, the rumble of the toy against your nerves threatening to blot out all other sensation, all thought, all language. “Vox, I can’t-”

“You can,” he encouraged, his hand guiding yours, keeping your hand in place, keeping the vibrator in place as you whined and bucked your hips. “See, I’m a very good judge of character, and I wouldn’t give you anything you couldn’t handle. I think you’re a good girl, and you’re gonna cum round my fingers when I ask you.”

“Vox!” your voice was starting to feel hoarse from the moaning, and the curl of Vox’s fingers inside you made you scream. You were still twitching from the previous orgasm as Vox pulled you inexorably to the next one.

“Tell me I’m right. Tell me you’re my good girl,” Vox pushed.

“I’m-” you started but were unable to finish as you crested the wave, pleasure flooding you, leaving you twitching senselessly round Vox’s fingers again, your back arching, thighs squeezing, head back. Vox stole the rest of your words with a kiss, his strange lips against yours as he cupped your chin with a hand coated with your arousal.

Warmth welled in your chest as the kiss deepened, Vox’s tongue twining with yours, the toy stilling as it powered down in your hand. Vox drew his fingers from you, wiping the slick on your bare thigh.

“Doing better now?” Vox asked as you broke the kiss, the limo slowing as it pulled up to the Vee tower.

“Yes,” you admitted, looking down at your rumpled dress, the heeled sandals still on your feet, anywhere but Vox’s smile. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, babydoll,” said Vox, smug as you’d ever seen him. “Let’s say you and I continue this in my room, huh?”

Your legs felt like jelly, but it still surprised you when rather than help you up, Vox simply scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the private elevator that went straight to the penthouse suite, taking the time it took for the elevator to ascend to unlace and remove your shoes, along with Vox’s jacket and tie.

You stroked the sides of Vox’s wide screen as you kissed him, and he carried you unerringly up the small flight of stairs that led to the mezzanine of his living space and through his bedroom door. He spilled you forward, onto the bed, and you sat back, your hands behind you, looking up at him.

Vox was looking at you with unashamed, undisguised desire, two lines of red from the corner of his mouth as he crawled onto the bed after you, pulling your knees apart to kneel between them, your dress once more riding up over your thighs.

“Do you want me?” you asked, quietly, part of you afraid of the answer. “You’re not… you’re not just doing this to make me feel better, right?”

Vox caught your hand by the wrist and pulled it to the fly of his tuxedo pants. Your eyes widened at what you felt there; his erection, hot and stiff and straining at the fabric. “What do you think, babydoll?” He pulled your hand more firmly against his hard-on, rutting against your palm with a movement of his hips, another line of red from his mouth as he did so. “Because I think you should take that pretty dress off for me and let me fuck you into the pillows til you scream.”

“Y-yes, of course.” Gratitude flooded you, your hands going to the clasps of your dress. You found yourself fumbling with it, your fingers shaking as Vox watched.

You failed to undo the same clasp on your side three times before Vox intervened, leaning into your personal space, a gentle hand on yours. “Lemme get that for you, sweetheart,” he said, voice soft enough to set you blushing as he undid the clasp with ease, his fingers finding the zip and easing it slowly down your side.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your cheeks hot, then, because it felt right, “I love you.”

Vox paused, his fingers under the shoulder of your dress, and you felt doubt rise to the surface again.

You looked at him, biting your lip. “I’m sorry, was that too soon? Am I not meant to say that?”

Vox lowered his face to your shoulderblade as he pulled off the shoulder of the dress, screen against skin, kissing his way down your back. “You are three orgasms too far in to be worrying about shit like that,” he said, in a tone that reminded you exactly what each of those had felt like. “You can say whatever you like to me, babydoll.”

“And you won’t leave?”

You felt Vox chuckle, a soft exhalation of breath against your back as he shimmied your dress down over your hips, hooking his fingers through the sides of your panties and pulling them down with it. “Does this look like leaving to you?” he asked, and you gulped, feeling exposed as you were naked under him, a prickling over your skin that had nothing to do with the temperature. “Tell me you love me again. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I love you,” you said, your eyes fluttering closed as Vox maneuvered you onto your hands and knees, lifting your hips a little until the bulge of his erection pressed your ass. “I’m yours.”

“Holy fuck, you’re beautiful, Ari,” Vox’s voice was thick with arousal as one finger stroked your exposed labia, still dripping slick from your adventures in the limo. “You’re gonna let me fuck that beautiful little white feathered pussy of yours, aren’t you?”

“Mm.” You nodded, nose to the sheets.

“Say it for me, babydoll,” said Vox, voice low, his clothed erection still pressing against you.

“I’m gonna let you…” you paused, breathless, searching for a way to paraphrase Vox’s words. “…take me,” you finished lamely. It was ludicrous, really; what you were about to do was something much worse than swearing, and plenty of angels swore, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“Still not gonna swear, huh?” Vox’s hands were gentle over your hips, his voice more amused than annoyed.

Silently, you shook your head.

“That’s okay.” Vox gave your ass a reassuring squeeze. “Still gonna fuck you, though.”

You waited, your face pressed to the soft sheets, your sex presented to Vox, as he unzipped himself and lined himself up. The tip of his cock was warm, running hot like the rest of his body, unfamiliar but not unpleasant as he slid it between your outer lips, gathering slick. You whined as he stroked it against your clit, still oversensitive, and found yourself clutching the sheets between your fingers, your body tensing.

“Ari.” Vox curled himself over you, a kiss between your shoulderblades. “Relax for me, yeah?”

“S-sorry.” You squeezed your eyes shut again, and felt his hand cover yours.

“Don’t be sorry. Just trust me.” Vox’s glans slid over your clit again, back and forth, and you moaned into the sheets at the sensation. “You’re gonna feel so good on my cock, I promise.”

“I trust you,” you whimpered, and Vox lined himself up with your entrance again, the head of his cock teasing it just as the toy had. “That… that feels nice, Vox.”

“Good girl.” Vox pushed himself a little further into you. His cock was wider than the toy or his fingers had been, bringing with it a stretch that had you panting open mouthed into his bedsheets. Another inch and he was pressing the sweetness inside you that his fingers had found, drawing another whimper from you.

“Can you feel me?” he coaxed, pushing further in. “Can you feel me inside?”

His cock inside you was an ache that stirred your guts and left your eyelids fluttering closed, his big hands clasped over yours. I love you, I love you, I love you, lay heavy and sticky as treacle on your tongue as your face pressed into the high-threadcount cotton of his pillows. “It's big,” you murmured. You buried your face deeper in the pillows. “I’m yours.”

“All mine, babygirl,” Vox answered, pushing himself into you a little further, moving one hand onto your hip as leverage. “Fuck, you're doing so good. Taking me so well.”

His knees between your shins, your face to the sheets, you found yourself helpless to do anything but accept him in, soft chirps of pleasure escaping your lips as he stretched your insides to his form.

“Shit, you are incredible. Made for me.” Vox pulled out a little and thrust back in with a snap of his hips, his balls rocking against your clit as he bottomed out again. “You’re gonna look so pretty once you’re all fucked out and filled with my cum.”

You called his name as he pumped his cock into you, one hand reaching round to stroke at your engorged clit, each snap of his hips an obscene squelch, slick dripping down your trembling thighs, his cock both hitting divinity and burning with its stretch, the apex of each thrust leaving you deliciously, sinfully full.

“Be a good girl and cum for me now,” Vox ground out, fingers sliding a cruel back-and-forth across your oversensitive clit, the intensity of the sensation almost painful, making tears bead in your eyes. “Cum on my cock, babydoll, milk me dry.”

You didn’t have words anymore, only sensation as Vox worked you, his voice gentle and coaxing as his hips set a pace that had you crying out into the pillows, fingers on your clitoris first slick pressure and then light as he brought sparking blue energy to his fingertips, moving over your skin and alighting on nerves. You were giving soft cries into the bedding, your throat hoarse as Vox hit sweetness upon sweetness, your body aching with the intensity of it, a string pulled tight, tight, tight.

“You’re close,” Vox told you, words penetrating your brain somehow, his screen pressing close and static-y as his hips and hand kept the rhythm. “Gonna cum with you, okay?”

You nodded, no words, only a string pulled tight, tight, tight as you felt him swell inside you somehow, and a flash of hot, white bliss hit you, your body clenching around him as he pulsed inside you. He was filling you with his seed, a pulse of warmth inside you, and then another, and then another as your walls twitched tight around him.

“Fuck. Ari. So fucking good.” A groan escaped Vox that sounded not unlike a modem noise, his chest against your back, and the lights flickered off, plunging the both of you into darkness.

“Vox?” you asked, in a small, hoarse voice, the only light in the room the dim blue of his screen, his arms wrapping around your chest. His cock, mortifyingly, still inside you. You touched his arm, the back of his hand. “Vox?”

Vox gave an affirmative grunt. “Gimme a minute, sweetheart. Just took out the power in the block- shit.”

You swallowed, a vague feeling of guilt welling in your stomach. “Was it my fault?”

“It happens sometimes, babydoll. Don’t worry about it.” Vox pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Emergency power kicks in in another thirty seconds.”

“So you don’t need to go?”

“No, I don’t need to go.” Vox breathed out, a shuddering exhalation. “Baby, you made me cum so hard I caused a power cut. That means; a) I am not going anywhere in a hurry, so right now I can give you the care and adoration you deserve, and b) you can stop being so damn insecure about it. You got that?”

“I think so.” You found yourself smiling, almost despite yourself, as Vox pulled out of you, his seed dribbling out over your thighs, and rolled you over to face him, your face against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head, the beads in your hair ornament clacking as his lips nudged them. You were dirty now. Ruined. Willingly full of a demon’s seed. Heaven would never take someone like you back.

But Vox’s arms were around you in the low light as the emergency power came on, his screen casting strange shadows across the sheets. And he made you feel warm and happy and safe, in a way no-one in Heaven ever had. You were his. He took good care of his things. In his bed, basking in the afterglow of the orgasm you had shared, was the happiest you had ever been.

[mr-downer-2024]

With your height do you ever have difficulties during sex? I like to imagine you get a knapsack and a torch and put on your red gnome hat and enter the vagina like the fellowship entering the mines of moria.

I- what the fuck man

[xo-cod]

https://www.tumblr.com/xo-cod/738798264594415616/141-k%C3%B6nig-sex-bloopers

sorry yeah that's it i meant irl it's not perfect and stuff happens sometimes :) whatever ignore this im silly

you're not silly, i loved this :') <3 this might be cringe and it's ooc/rushed/headcannons but LMAOO i tried my best :") nsfw/sfw ahead!

part 2

the not so sexy moments of sex with the 141

price trying to be all sexy and suave loosening his top and removing his bucket hat in an act of seduction which results in him stubbing his toe and yelping in pain for a good few minutes

gaz panicking at the thought of his cum going into your eye after a blowjob and proceeding to scare himself for days on the off-chance you develope some sort of eye infection

soap after getting slightly confused with what he was doing grabbed a diagram of a vagina and made you hold it so he could have better success rate of making you cum

simon screeching loudly after snapping on his latex condom a little harder than recommended. bear with him, he has to take a few minutes, his body took a screenshot from how intense it was

price ending up falling asleep during a hand job but in his defence he was on five days with three hours of sleep and a whole bunch of coffee that was keeping him going

gaz very confidently and with that half smirk of his, mid way giving you the best head asking you if you're about to have an organism

soap realizing very quickly that food play is not like the movies and that it stings/burns, proceeds to awkwardly hop and waddle into the bathroom

simon trying be all cute and romantic which results in him spooning you close to his body, only to proceed to hack and choke when he inhaled your hair by accident

price having the lack of coordination after he tried to undress himself trying to come over to the bed and ending up face planting into the floor with a huge thud and a string of curse words following by (this mans just stays falling LMAO)

gaz genuinely ashamed about tearing your expensive lingerie in his excitement that he gives himself a time out and learns the true meaning patience

simon, bless his heart, already breaking the bedframe in his excitement when he grabbed you and pinned you against it.

gaz frantically trying to get it back it up, cussing his cock out and trying to awkwardly laugh but it comes out as a cry for help

simon slamming his forehead into the doorframe when he tried to be all hot and sexy, proceeding to cut himself and cuss everything out within a 10 mile radius (never you though :3)

soap's confidence absolutely obliterating when he was so turned on he ended up cumming while trying to get inside you

gaz making you take a survey after sex and telling you to rate the experience and what he could improve on next time

simon absolutely enraged at the mark on your neck thinking someone had hurt you, completely forgetting he was the one to leave it on you and it was a hickey

soap falling asleep while trying to go down on you after he finished a long mission. his head was buried between the warmth and comfort of your thighs and his eyes fell like shutters, nuzzling deep unconsciously into your heat

simon just zoning out when staring at your tits, lost in a trance and you're wondering if he's going to actually touch them. he does so but after a good 15 minutes

price squeezing your tiddies to paw at them and get them all perky but ends up feeling your ribs in the darkness and gets excited.

soap just poking at your nipple mid thrust in pure curiosity. not even to flick or pinch them, just a small poke before he goes back to doing what he was doing

gaz having a sneezing fit when he tried to lick your neck and chest only to be allergic to the perfume you were wearing

[sinisterexaggerator]

Little Red Dress

Hancock x Fem! Reader | AO3

Summary: You're wearing a little red dress, one that teases and tantalizes Hancock. You're the Mayor of Goodneighbor's prized possession, and it does not bode well for you to tempt him so, especially in public.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ for KNIFE PLAY, Penis in Vagina Sex, Exhibitionism/Public Sex. Kissing, tit sucking, finger sucking, explicit language, PDA, and self-indulgent smut. Basically, I wanted to write something quick and dirty. >D

*Hancock is a little bit rough with you this time, but he would never hurt you.

Word count: 2.2k+

Notes: I've got it bad for Hancock. This is my second time writing for him! Sort of came out of nowhere. Ultimately, it could be interpreted as Hancock x female Sole. It's up to you to decide! Enjoy!

Hancock—he is decidedly more comfortable with public displays of affection than you would have imagined him to be, your throne expressly atop his lap, legs crossed for the sake of modesty in the presence of proper company. Your nights out are spent dolled up, clutched like a trophy by the Mayor of Goodneighbor—his prized possession over caps or chems—and what a lucky girl you are to be his favorite.

Hancock, with eager, explorative hands, hugging you from behind with his chin on your shoulder. His touch is firm, yet gentle, roving over every inch of your smooth skin left bare and assailable, the ghoul fondling your thighs, working higher, higher, skirting your lap to squeeze your waist with often unpredictable, gratifying tenderness.  

The man is anything but a mystery; you could read him like an open book if such things still existed, his lustful looks starting a fire between your legs that could just as soon be doused by how wet he can make you with a single glance, a single caress beneath the hem of your little red dress.

It drives him crazy, that dress, John desperate enough to pinch your ass in public—worse than that—whispering dirty little nothings in your ear, forcing you to suppress your giggling as the man himself pretends all is well, conversing with the good people of the Commonwealth.

It's a game. He doesn’t care—he’s into that sort of thing— not above making another man green with envy when it comes to you. Hancock has no trouble in reminding everyone just who you belong to, his favorite pastime sneaking you off to shadowy, secluded corners to fuck you with his eyes while withered fingers glide over tight curves and refined angles, just vague outlines in the dark, though his pupils glow like dwindling embers among black, charred logs, captivating you like a moth toward a flame.

“You wanna get out of here?” he asks in a gravelly, self-assured tone, pulling you close, diggin’ your scent, and he knows you sure as fuck taste damn delicious.

It’s been too long, like chems that wore off; he needs another fix, and he’s willing to take it where he can get it. In fact, railing you in the back room of the Third Rail ain’t soundin’ too shabby right about now—you’re wearin’ a dress, after all—just hike it up.

“No,” you whisper, egging him on, desiring to get a rise out of Hancock in more ways than one. It works, the man leering down at you from beneath the short brim of his tricornered hat. His eyes are glistening, shining like polished marbles, staring into the depths of your soul. It can’t be helped, John’s hard-on riding against your thigh without shame, causing your breath to hitch.  

“No?” he presses, his negation laced with arrogance and disbelief. A hidden blade whisks out from decadent, stained sleeves, teasing you with nothing more than a good time. The cool texture of sleek metal grazes your skin, skimming your pulse point. Hancock’s knife trails down the swell of a breast to take a dilatory, lackadaisical dive between your cleavage; it threatens to slice shimmering red fabric in twain.

“I’m going to fuck you either way, sunshine,” he rasps, skinny lips, still so kissable, hovering tantalizingly over your own.

The knife end of his blade drifts along your belly, an expert flick of the ghoul’s wrist twirling it to catch betwixt two dexterous fingers. The hilt disappears up under your skirt; he knows you’re not wearing panties, that bit of cold steel broaching your entrance, sliding into slick, taut confines to penetrate you with ease.

“I-I know,” you offer demurely, a tremor to your voice, Hancock sliding the hilt in and out with delicate, precise strokes. His weapon of choice is carefully wielded, knowing what damage he could cause. He leans in close to your ear, reveling in the awestruck expression you’re sporting; he would stop in a heartbeat should you wish him to, yet you make no move to protest, nor do you plan to.

“Did you take your Rad-X like a good girl?” he asks dissolutely; his breath is warm, the combat knife’s handle slipping out once more to brush against your clit on its way up. The action causes you to dip forward even as you try to keep yourself steady, hands flat to the wall as he holds you in place.  

“Yes,” you answer bravely, your tongue moving to kiss your lover with all the passion currently welling up inside your chest; he skirts your attempt, his forefinger pinning your tongue, slithering its way past lips and teeth to delve into the moist cavity of your mouth.

“Of course you did,” he replies, sliding that digit in and out as you hold on, cheeks hollowing to the concave depths of a ghoul’s. You suck his index like it’s his cock; Hancock watches every nuanced movement with a tilt of his head, eventually pinching your cheeks closed with his thumb and middle, pulling his finger loose with a rousing pop.

“I’d say you’re good and ready,” he comments silkily, voice darkening as he holds the knife aloft for your inspection. It’s saturated in your own excess, Hancock licking the handle clean with the flat of his tongue. You watch, enthralled, though you’re sure you’re not the only one seeing this event unfold—the people of Goodneighbor talk—you’re not above being a source of gossip.

“Come on, sister,”  he coaxes, pallid fingers curling around the shoulder strap of your gown to tug you forward, still withholding that kiss you so sorely crave.

He drags you by this single strip of fabric, avoiding all other eyes but yours; you see people nudging, whispering, sharing glances, but it only adds fuel to the fire, Hancock ushering you to a lesser used area of the bar.

“But, Hancock, there’s peo—” you begin, the ghoul concealing his knife once more for later use, perhaps, clicking his tongue disrespectfully as he interrupts you mid-sentence.

“—Let ‘em watch,” the mayor of this seedy settlement snaps, escorting you past its nosy denizens to the farthest room, splaying his open palm across the small of your back as he gently drives you forward, directing you toward one particular chair in the process.

“Don’t play coy with me…” he grates, positioning you before a plush red high-back that rests against worn, chipped tile. He prods you with his skinny ribs, prompting you to rest your knee against its seat. You oblige, taking hold of sturdy wood to balance yourself as you feel a sudden draft—Hancock wastes no time in slinking your dress up past the round shape of your ass.

You feel like a cheap whore while at the same time exhilarated beyond measure, bending forward for a more pleasing angle as you glance over your shoulder at the ghoul whose cock is withdrawn, John trailing his mushroom tip along the moist line of your slit.

“But I can’t kiss you like this,” you beg, faced with rock and not Hancock, his idle hand slipping up the front of your risqué little number for his thumb to part pillowy lips, nestling its way in.

“Good girls know patience,” he slyly replies, rubbing soft circles against your already swollen clit. An indecent moan accompanies the insertion of his cock into your tepid core, Hancock beginning to roll forward, thrusting his hips against the meat of your ass as he fucks your pretty cunt from behind.

“Just admit you planned for this,” he hisses, one hand still working you as the other squeezes the fullness of a breast. You are hardly able to contain an audible expression of lust, breaths deep and slow as you attempt to curtail your mounting orgasm.

“You can’t resist me,” you brazenly claim, causing the man to rail against you harder, faster, the small flare of his temper only serving to please you; two fingers tweak a raised nipple as a form of punishment.

“Ought to make you suck me off instead; shut that smart mouth of yours,” he whispers bitingly, though he doesn’t mean a word. His favorite place is buried between your loins, so glossy and warm, like an inviting hug—one he wishes would never end.

“Do it,” you bait, although thoroughly enjoying yourself, John’s ribbed flesh hitting just the right spot, only to be ripped away just as suddenly. He slides out and whirls you around abruptly, causing a momentary sensation of vertigo, afraid you might lose your balance, though his grip is strong and secure.

You’re met with piercing black pupils amidst a sea of the deepest crimson, rivaling the color of dried blood. The mayor is testing you; you don’t back down, holding his gaze with the same intense, quiet ferocity.

“I have a better idea.” A shuffle down below, and he hoists you up with the use of with both sinewy arms, kicking that damned chair out of his way as he slams you back against the wall. You tighten your legs about him with his aid, enclosing his slim waist to lock him in; the ghoul fumbles to reinsert his aching prick inside you before you have time to say another word.

His tongue is in your mouth only briefly; you moan around it, muscles contracting and roiling like the waves of a once vast, unpolluted ocean as he plows you like there’s no tomorrow—and there very well may not be.

His hands are grasping, clawing, hungry, desiring to touch every part of you at the same time, though impossible— it is an infuriating truth he condemns. Hancock’s dick hounds your G-spot; you are no longer able to withhold the lewd noises you wish to make, the ghoul rudely clamping a palm over your mouth to temporarily deaden all sound.

“You’re lucky I don’t just rip this off you,” he grumbles, sucking the salt off your skin, buried in your throat for the purpose—he’s referring to that damnable dress that gets his irradiated blood pumping like nothing else. You manage a smile once he dislodges his hand, cloyingly sweet and meant as mockery, squeezing your thighs tighter to draw him in close.

Your own hands find the flesh of his belly, groping and molesting scar tissue and lean muscle, your pelvic floor flexing unfairly around him. You almost laugh at the visceral reaction that follows, Hancock having bitten down on his own ruined lip.

“You wouldn’t dare,” you insist, knowing just how much John loves you in that dress, loves how good you look in it, your actions pulling a moan from your lover that is like the most heavenly music to your ears.

“Wouldn’t I?” he asks defiantly, a series of quick movements causing you to gasp as he rips clean through the right strap; that pesky blade had reemerged to do his dirty work.

“Hancock!” you protest. The ghoul’s not listening, having loosed your tit for anyone who dare try and interrupt you; John kneads its doughy flesh in the crook of his palm.

“What’s that, sunshine?” he asks derisively, jerking his hips, his neck craning downward as he lifts your breast toward his mouth. He sucks your hardened nipple while pinching the other that has inevitably joined its twin, the single strap left intact not enough to hold it up, or in.

The bastard knows all your erogenous zones, this being but one of them, his patient suckling and the steady pump of his prick sending you over the edge.

You cum, coating his dick in your secretions, this time the ghoul allowing your voice to soar—it’s a pretty song, one he likes to listen to on repeat, and for the moment you don’t care who hears you.

“That’s my girl,” Hancock purrs, having released your breast from his puckered lips to watch the gesticulations of your face mid-throe. Your pleasurable spasming only causes his girth to convulse inside you, filling you full up with his infertile sperm.

Truth be told, it’s one of the benefits, being with a ghoul—no risk of an unwanted pregnancy at the end of the World. Only now, you are left half naked in the middle of a public space, Hancock’s ejaculate beginning to run down your leg.

Like coming down off a spectacular high, Hancock pulls out, stuffs his junk back in his pants, and looks you over.

“What a mess I’ve made,” he teases. You frown outright, though he thinks it’s cute, like you’re pouting or being petulant like a spoiled child—it’s one of the things that tugs on his heartstrings, though you never intend to abuse it.  

“What am I supposed to do now?” you whine, “I can’t go out there like—”

“—Hey, here,” Hancock proffers, taking a moment to remove his red frock coat. He gently shifts to stand behind you and slips it over your bare shoulders, assisting in the lift of your arms until you are comfortably sequestered in its warmth.

It fits, covering your naughty bits well enough that you will be able to make it back home to the State House. Hancock seems unable to help himself, a smirk tugging impishly at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” you ask with a hint of attitude, pushing lightly against his chest with the palm of your hand. It’s as if he has a secret not worth keeping, his expression devolving into something a bit more playful.

“Looks good on you,” he affirms, taking up that offending hand to kiss. “But maybe next time you’ll listen to your mayor.”