from an idea i had a while back, i hope you all like it <3
how noisy are they? hetalia edition ♡
tags | smut , nsfw , masturbation , scenario , imagine , headcanons , axis & allies , accent kink , country names used , minors do not interact
author's note* here are my headcanons on what allies/axis sound like!! i'm planning to make another post like this but with the nordics. let me know if you'd like a version of this with the women!! or other select characters! you can read part two here and read part three here !
allies ♡
america has to take several breaths in the middle of jerking himself off. yes, even when it's just him he can tend to get way too excited. edging may not be his strong suit but in the short time he does spend touching himself, he imagines himself in front of someone he finds attractive, waiting for their next command.
has a surprisingly whiny moan, kind of like this.
england can be a little loud at times, other times not so much. mainly when it is not appropriate or acceptable to make such a raucous. as for whoever he's with, he'll also prefer to keep them quiet. (a hand across the mouth, perhaps) he likes to kiss them over and over to quieten his partner. he actually talks a lot during sex, albeit not without some serious stuttering. and though, he is most likely mentally kicking himself for doing so, his partner finds it cute.
when he tries to laugh the nervousness off, he sounds like this.
france likes to talk them through it, or rather, whisper because that is just so much more intimate. he makes sure his lover is comfortable and settled in before anything else happens. he could makeout for hours on end if it were possible—touching them through their clothes until they beg for him to finally start doing everything he told them he wanted to do.
his slow kisses make it feel as though it's been hours, and when he starts up it sounds like this.
canada tends to be grabby when he's with the person he really likes. he tries to at least be subtle in his protectiveness over that one special person. he sucks in a breath when he feels their body on his, desperately rubbing against his to cause some friction. he pulls them in closer, feeling their heat. he praises them, acknowledging the fact that they're not shy.
whenever he praises them, it might sound something like this.
russia seriously fights for his life when it comes to not being loud. he tries to moan as low as possible, which is much easier when he is on top. his voice is deep, and can be very loud when he is moaning. his partner insists that it is not a problem, but he'd truly be upset (and humiliated) if someone outside heard him. he likes to tease with his words, nearly mocking his partner. with a smile on his face, he'll tell them how adorably pathetic they sound for him.
he likes to call them cute nicknames in russian, just like this.
china doesn't care to feed into their accent/language barrier kink. so he tries to teach them chinese instead, even praising them for every word they can pronounce correctly. although, he does still find it sweet how they react whenever he calls them a nickname in his native language. he'd never admit it directly though, opting to call them silly for even liking such a thing. he then proceeds to give them a kiss, telling them to move on to the next part of their lesson.
he's very much a tease!! hoping they don't mind it too much when he sounds like this.
axis ♡
italy does whatever his love asks of him. he figures it'll keep him out of trouble if he does. he likes doing what pleases them. most of the time, anyway. if there is something that's kind of embarrassing for him, he'll whine about for a little bit until his love is able to remind them that he is all theirs and only theirs.
he's very, very cute whenever he sounds like this.
germany will explain everything he is doing or wants to do to his partner right before and as he is doing it. not too strict, but extremely disciplined in how he's working his hands over their body. he is able to coax out these short, low noises from their mouth. his touch makes them squirm, but he immediately holds them still. he's talking them down so they'll relax. giving him the green light to continue to touch them.
he's soft spoken, mostly speaking in german like this.
japan swallows loudly, happily so seeing as their tongue was just inside of his mouth. he kissed them so feverently, leaning forward to deepen it. enjoying the way they licked every part of his mouth. he feels so good it almost makes him dizzy. his partner will have to make sure to give him breaks in between for him to get some air. in the meantime, they put their hand to his chest, feeling his fast heartbeat.
he's cute, but out of shape—therefore not having a lot of stamina. he sounds like this.
prussia usually talks into their neck, or hair, when he's feeling a certain way. one time, his partner even brought it up to him that they can't hear what he's saying when he does that. he just grinned and shrugged. he told them it doesn't matter if they can't understand him, that they probably just like feeling his warm breath on their skin anyway. he talks them through everything, mostly saying vulgar things and praising how well they are taking him.
he can get cocky...but this is what he might sound like.
romano likes to edge his partner because it brings him satisfaction when someone else is feeling the same sexual frustration he often feels. he praises them when they do something he wants them to do and only after they do it. if they happen to touch him in a way he especially he likes, he'll demand they do it over and over. he believes there's nothing wrong with prioritizing himself sometimes.
...surely his partner can understand. he sounds like this.
“And if you’ll give me 40% of the MOST POPULAR VOTE, I’ll give you my SPECIAL REWARD... A year’s supply of NON-GLOOBY SLIME!!! Never or BARELY used!!!” Tenna concluded his speech with a huge smile, jetting his hands up in double peace signs.
The crowd roared in confused enthusiasm as Tenna gave a gracious flurry of low-FPS bows, pausing only for the occasional stink-nose at his audience plants who weren’t throwing enough 3D roses.
Eventually, the room fell silent. It was Senshi’s turn to speak.
He puffed out his chest, took a long, sweeping look over the audience… and shook his head.
“I can see not all of you are eating properly.”
The crowd murmured with embarrassment.
“I don’t know who needs to hear this, but it’s time to take the turkey out of your icebox. I have seen the ingenious technology with which your people store food... and I have also seen the waste which results from such convenience.
“The food you take had a life. Beasts grew fat on the grass of the field, plants grew from the sun’s rays, and mushrooms grew from minerals in the cracks of caves. And yet, it sits in your iceboxes, collecting moisture until it perishes.
“Eat what is given to you. Because its life will make you stronger, too.”
Without another word, Senshi left his podium and stepped away from the stage. The crowd murmured in confusion. “Is he really like that?” somebody said. “I only remember reblogging the photosets of him tripping and showing ass.”
--
Back in the Green Room, Tenna wrung his antennas nervously.
“Y-y-you think they liked me!? They HAD to!! I mean, I don’t know what Asgore was thinking, getting that weird haircut and running that food waste campaign, but… YOU thought I did good, didn’t you, Kris?”
Laios nodded aggressively, a streak of blue face paint peeling from his forehead.
“You did AMAZING, Tenna! By the way, now that we’ve seen all your insider campaign secrets, do you have any more videos of Susie? Especially her tail... If I could get a look at that, I could finally tell if she’s a dinosaur or --”
THWACK. Fake antlers butted Laios’s head.
“LAIOS?? Weren’t we dressed up to help SENSHI???” Marcille hissed, gesturing awkwardly with her hooves.
Suddenly, Tenna turned to the two adventurers.
“Hey, WAIT a second. SOMETHING’s not right here...”
Laios and Marcille held their breath.
“Where the heck are my POINTS!?”
Just then, the door opened. Chilchuck took one step into the room, whistling and holding a large bag.
Everyone turned to him.
Chilchuck paused, took a step backwards, and closed the door.
“CHILCHUCK!!!” yelled Tenna.
“How come Chilchuck got to stay Chilchuck!?” yelled Marcille at the same time.
--
Meanwhile, in outer space somewhere, some guy was making out with a rock.
got a crick in my neck and a frog in my throat and a chip on my shoulder and a stick up my ass and now you're gonna stand there puttin words in my mouth? haven't I been through enough?
trying to get my cretive juices flowing again and i have brainworms, so have some gross pervert boss tenna. i need to make him cry so bad.
cw: disgusting pervert boss mr. tenna, gn!reader but referenced 'eating out', so take that as you will, mentioned blackmail (tenna receiving)
nsfw under the cut!
tenna who hires you to be his secretary because you're pretty. jerks his cock and tweaks at his dials with urgency after your interview, all because you called him 'sir'. he's constantly perving on you, calling you into his office to run through something, all while he's hard as a rock under his desk.
daydreams about laying you across his desk and eating you out until you cry. you'd pull at his antennas and shiver, calling his name and begging for him not to stop, he knows it. just by the way you say his name, he knows you'd moan and scream it so prettily.
constantly calls you pet names just to see you get all shy and flustered. doll, sweetheart, star, starlet, darling, gorgeous... all of them seem to rile you up and leave you tripping over your words. it's so cute he has to go pull at his wires and rub at his cock to the thought of it. god, he's so gross, and he knows it.
you always care for him, bringing him coffee and asking if he's feeling okay when he gets embarrassingly hard and flustered behind his desk. your concern makes him feel even more disgusting about touching himself when you leave, biting his glove to keep himself quiet. he'd rather die than let you know how often he thinks of you touching him and moaning about how good he makes you feel.
when you do finally catch on, he drops to his knees and pleads with you to not tell anyone (even though everyone most CERTAINLY knows because of how he stares). gets all sniffly and pathetic, begging you to forgive him. you're just so gorgeous, he can't help it! you have the upper hand, and even then he's hard as a rock thinking about how you could blackmail him with it!
he really is pathetic. a gross old pervert. i want to fuck him so bad it makes me look stupid. him and his stupid little sleazy ball ex-husband can get it.
part two of monster fucker march: demon jester m!oc x f!reader;
for as long as you had lived, the king never allowed you to venture into the dungeon. then, when you were old enough to handle whatever truth there was, you decided to find out what was so bad • themes: yandere oc so he’s written in that kinda way, plot before the main course, he has good intentions but he’s a demon so he comes off as manipulative, kissing, smut, dubcon before the memory hits — w.c: 3.6k • on ao3
For as long as you could remember, your father, the King, had always spoken of the world as though it had belonged to you; everywhere from the highest tower to the faintest trickle of a river, everything indeed, except for the dungeon right below the castle.
It was a firm decision that was made early on, and he refused to ever answer anything more about it. Whenever you would bring up the topic later on in life, his voice changed into something colder, simply telling you that:
“There is nothing for you in there,” and then, that would be the end of it, until—
You grew up.
Given how your childhood had to unfold, you learned early on that silence was safer than defying him and everyone else in the castle head-on. You could learn a whole lot more just by listening rather than challenging those set in their stubborn ways, and so, while others your age demanded to know why, why, why something was the way it seemed, you digested any procured knowledge in silence. You became good at reading faces, body language and intentions.
Courtiers grew fond of calling you shy, and servants spoke of you as a gentle and withdrawn, if not shy, girl. You were easily favoured by the castle as kind-mannered and obedient, even if, deeper down, you did not feel that way. Just about everyone mistook your demeanour as weakness, someone to marry off eventually, because goodness, you were favourable.
Even if all the while, those very same people who watched you grow up and claimed to “know” you, never quite realised that this was intentional from the moment you could not shake off the curiosity of what was down there.
You picked up easily over time, how the guards would shift posts and when and where, and who would replace them on the next assigned shift. You paid extra attention to which corridors were avoided after sunset and which rooms the castle did not care for. Or how, sometimes specifically, the stairwell behind the tapestry was always watched by someone at least, making it the less than favourable route to take.
It was later, more recently, from one of your knights that you heard in passing, who finally shed some further light on the truth of what was right below.
“Just don’t see the point anymore,” your most trusted sword yawned out.
His partner shifted in his armour. “Of what?”
“Of guarding that place,” he followed up. “She’s probably forgotten all about it by now, anyway, so the old man’s just being needlessly paranoid, isn’t he? Besides, prisoners don’t go there anymore, since it’s straight to the yard with ‘em and it’s just empty space.”
You took in the news quietly, trying to make sense of it. If it were empty, then why was there such a big deal being made out of its secrecy? You could not fathom the logic behind the reason, and then, just a couple of weeks later, an opportunity to investigate the space opened up:
A banquet was to be hosted at the castle, which meant that a distraction could be formed. You hated those things even if you pretended you didn’t. Mostly, you just disliked exercising the idea that being confined to this place was anything less than thrilling. You hated talking to others your age who visited, also bearing the crown to where they had travelled from. You ended up not liking a single suitor who was picked out for you, which led you to the reputation that not only were you meek and reserved, but that you were difficult, too.
You’d show enough interest to stop the court from pestering you, sparing yourself the lectures from your father, only for anything beyond to fall flat from the exact moment they might attempt to woo you.
For others, however, it made you highly desirable, leaving you in a complex position.
You were expected to attend this party, too, and your father had even brought up—hope strong in his voice—that you’d perhaps, finally, at your grown age, find someone you liked. This was not on the agenda, though. Early on, you claimed that the noise made you nauseous, and you feigned feeling faint, which allowed you the reason to break away early on.
It was easy enough to avoid your knights, and especially all of the guards scattered around the castle. For the most part, they were all distracted. Your most trusted sword was stationed at the foot of the stairs leading to the banquet hall, ensuring that nobody could follow you, while the second in command was busy stuffing his face.
You, all the while, managed to finally slip past and into the dungeon tower, gulping thickly as you were granted the descent down the winding stairs. You ended up hating the way it spiralled, and so, even if you didn’t truly feel sick just before, you certainly did now.
When you finally managed to reach the bottom of what felt like a passage that spiralled on forever, you finally came to a stop. Cells bearing iron bars filled out the perimeter, but the cuffs and chains that sprouted from the cobbled walls were long rusted with disuse. Each cell was empty, and every gate was open. There was, just as the king had spoken, nothing there.
You turned on your heel to leave, feeling almost… disappointed?
Only then, to have heard the undeniable shifting of fabric—of a breath shuddering out—of a foot scuffing on the stone floor.
You turned around right away, expecting it to be your mind to have been playing tricks on you, only to be met with a life-size puppet now occupying one of the cells, staring right at you. Strange, you thought, you did not hear the door close, let alone the lock settle, but sure enough, it was there. Rich, yet dull fabric clung to their frame, displaying once vibrant colours that were now worn out from time. A ruffled collar sat around their neck, and small bells hung from their hat, ankles and wrists.
This was just… a puppet, right?
You stepped a little closer, taking in the painted smile that was drawn across its face and the dark crescents that marked its eyes, giving it an almost mocking exterior.
Then, their head tilted, causing you to gasp and take a step back.
“Finally,” it spoke, its tone kind and almost loving. “Finally, you have come back to me.”
You didn’t reply as it talked, backing away until you hit the cold stone wall.
“I have been waiting so long for you,” it added anyway. “So patiently. So faithfully.”
You blinked.
“Had the curiosity become too hard to ignore?” it asked, sounding almost amused.
Finally, you managed to say something.
“W-what…” you started, but then cleared your throat. “Who are you?”
The puppet shrugged casually.
“Someone you know, silly,” they replied as if it were obvious. “Don’t you remember me?”
You shook your head in response.
Their smile faltered, somehow, as if it had been erased.
“Then, my, oh my, it has been a long, long, long time,” it said wistfully.
Your head tilted. “What has?”
“Oh! Everything,” they replied, their smile creeping back onto their face. “For you see, once upon a time, long, long ago, I was the court’s jester, lonely and true, and goodness, I was in love with a girl that as fate had it, I could never pursue.”
It folded its hands behind its back, beginning to pace the cell, although its footsteps were quiet and made no sound.
“A crown above and bells below, such stories never end of how one dreams of them doing so,” it went on before abruptly stopping, stepping towards the cell and curling its wooden fingers around the bars. “A princess so royal and a jester so loyal, and yet never allowed to be.”
It pulled at the bars, its voice rising with volume and pitch—
“And so off went my head, rolling clean and spilling red…”
It quietened down just as quickly.
Its voice was now no more than a mere whisper.
A painted tear rolling down its masked face.
“Away went my darling, finding solace in poison instead, as lovers do, when…!all hope is… dead.”
You tried to walk away all the while as they spoke of their tale, the action executed almost by instinct, but no matter how far you would go, all that you felt was cold stone pressing against your back. The realisation grounded you, reminding you that this was all somehow real and not a dream.
The jester’s—the puppet’s—whatever they were—eyes softened as they looked at you, opening the door to the cell effortlessly, as if it had never been locked at all.
“But no fear,” they assured gently, walking up to you, “for souls are such… stubborn things; they wander, and they die, and then, they… come back.”
“What are you—” you started, only for it to keep going—
“Except for mine; I came back all sorts of wrong— a demon, it seems—for loving too deeply, for kneeling too… proud.”
Then, after a pause.
“Unlike my princess, who has found her way back to my heart,” it added, extending its fingers to brush along the trembling skin on your cheek, “back to me.”
You blinked.
“Me?” you asked.
It laughed at your surprise.
“Oh yes,” it confirmed, pressing itself further against you, close enough that you could smell something and distinctly metallic in the air that seemed to cling to it. “You have her eyes,” it observed. “The very same quiet fire within, the same careful light,” then, it lifted a finger, tracing the air without touching you further. “Her wit, her patience, her way of listening more than speaking.”
Its hand rose, and two fingers slipped right beneath your chin, tilting your head upward, and while you gasped, somehow, you did not resist.
“Even her taste for all things vanilla and spice, on skin that never quite sees the sun,” it added. “Tell me, my princess,” they added a moment later, their tone ripe with amusement, as if anticipating hearing your answer. “Have you loved anyone in this life?”
You reluctantly shook your head.
The puppet smiled.
“Right, because your suitors were obligations,” it suggested. “I should imagine that your heart longs for something much more substantial than being married off as mere political fodder.”
You hesitated, not quite too sure. “Well, I suppose?”
The thing in front of you stepped back just once, the courtesy of their actions almost intimate.
“Curious,” it remarked. “But do tell me, princess. Are you afraid of me?”
The abrupt change of topic once again disoriented you and left you feeling even more unsteady on your feet. You could not form a good response no matter how you tried, and yet, still, somehow, you could tell by the way this puppet was acting that it did not mean any real harm. At least not to you.
You ended up shaking your head.
Then, slowly, as if in response to that, its finger elongated, and its bones shifted from wood to something organic, presenting a soft, wet crackling sound. Instead of fingers painted into chiselled spears, it bore now pointed claws. Its eyes darkened, too; the once-painted smears almost glinted as though it had a soul. Finally, its lips parted, tying it all together that beyond its flat mask, there was something more insidious beneath, and it had very real, glistening teeth.
“Even now?” it challenged you.
You gulped thickly and shook your head again.
“And yet,” it whispered, pain flooding its voice, “you still don’t remember me?”
Hurt sparked in its eyes. “A shame, truly, because I waited centuries for you,” it revealed, tilting its head at an unnatural posture. “We were more to each other than mere strangers, just so that you know.”
Before you could stop it, it closed the distance suddenly, pressing its lips against yours. In the brief moment that it connected with you, something exploded within your mind like a memory, giving way to a life that felt as though it belonged to you, although not the one you were currently experiencing.
“Hold onto it,” it pleaded, its tone laced with something longing and aching. “Don’t you dare let go.”
It moved in even closer, daring you to remember more as its fingernails dug into the soft flesh of your skin, its body radiating a heat so unnatural that its puppeted body almost felt real, and despite the fear you felt, somehow, you leaned into the touch—finding that it felt familiar—that it felt right—
“Those suitors that they’ll keep on sending your way will never understand you as I do,” it spoke to you, its touch growing needy. “I know what makes you laugh,” it promised, its hand moving to tangle around your scalp, “of what makes you ache with what you won’t admit to anyone else,” it added. “I know what kind of dreams you have at night and the thoughts you have that make your whole face flush and your body—” it gasped, “ache for things you don’t even understand.”
Its hand was on your breast now, cupping the soft and pliant flesh with such reverence but also possession, the wooden thumb tracing circles around your nipple. You gasped under the pressure, not understanding why your body was leaning into its touch so well.
Then it kissed you once more, and something else surged past—
Revealing you standing in a bright stone courtyard, with sunlight spilling across the decorated floors. You wore a heavier skirt then, and your hair was much longer. There was laughter nearby, and when you turned, someone was bowing dramatically in front of you, their hand taking yours and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
You remembered a painted smile against real skin, matching clever eyes and bells that chimed softly as he moved, looking profoundly ridiculous. But god, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world felt truly magical back then.
Visions flooded you of him juggling fruit just to make you laugh and to purposefully trip over his own two feet whenever he knew you were looking his way. You could feel his fingers brush against yours whenever he handed you ribbons and flowers and trinkets and—
Goodness, you even remembered sneaking into the courtyard at dusk, with him waiting right in the middle with a bundle of wildflowers tucked behind his back.
The kiss deepened, and the memories came in faster; of him dancing barefoot in empty halls as he whispered jokes—crude ones, mind you—behind muffled sleeves; his voice low and quiet—
“I remember,” you finally confessed, and at that, his fingers dipped lower, finding the wetness between your legs as the anticipated recognition had finally surfaced at long, long last.
His words came out breathless after, his eyes locked on yours as he guided himself in between your legs—no longer protesting, and dare he even acknowledge—feel you welcoming him inside. Was this trickery? Or was this something else? It felt right to accept him, whatever it was, to let in the memories—to let him in—to feel him—
“I know you so well,” he promised, “because a stranger would not know what makes you writhe the very same way, nor could they—” he added, pushing himself further in, stretching you completely, “—know how to make your cunt clench like this; no, no, your soul remembers, your soul knows.”
Indeed, you had: you remembered not just of the fleeting glimpses but so much more. From the feeling of him, yes, but also to the devastation that he left behind. You remembered being loved so thoroughly in ways that something arranged could never fulfil. You remembered your wedding night and the look in his eyes as he strummed a wistful tune on his gittern, watching you walk down the aisle. You remembered being taken by someone you did not love, sharing a bed far too large, and on the same night, hating that it was not he who made love to you, dreaming of him the whole time.
You remembered it all; yes, god, yes, from sneaking out of your newly shared bedroom as a queen, finding Patch, your loyal jester, and how he fucked you properly and made you cum, finishing up what the other sorry excuse of a man could not do.
You remembered as he pounded into you—
—As you screamed out his name—
—Not your husband’s, down the hall.
You blinked, your eyes glimmering with reverence and hurt and love and awe as it all came flooding back, your hold on him tightening, returning to kiss him the exact way as before, as he kissed you back—his tongue slipping and catching against yours—his hips sawing back and forth, surrendering to the reunion that he had long been denied for centuries by now.
In turn, your own body rolled in arching circles as he held you up against the wall, even as your form leaned into his—his form feeling gradually more and more human—more and more real—the tighter you held on. You could feel as he stretched you and made love to you in the exact way you liked it, even if in this life, this was something new.
But he was right.
Your soul remembered.
Your soul knew.
“I have waited so long for you to remember,” he shuddered as his thrusts grew rapidly erratic, as his pleasure rose to blinding bliss. “For you to finally have the sense to come here, and fuck,” he gasped, “free me of this curse.”
He then redoubled his efforts, holding onto you with nearly a crushing force, gasping and rasping and yet still desperate for more. He pulled back ever so slightly, his hands coming to reach and cup around your face so that you could see the worship in his eyes.
“Do you love me?” he asked.
“Yes, Patch,” yes—”
Then, after a gasp.
“I always have.”
At the sound of his name, he just about melted away into you, his body succumbing to the recognition alone. He grinded harder into you, catching onto the spot that always made you whine with something primal, that made you come undone, spilling into your core with something that—given his form—should have been impossible, and yet, it wasn’t.
It all tightened from the depths of your core until it felt right to let go.
As he, too, came down from his high, and as you did, too, from yours.
He then asked, perhaps as a promise—
“Will you stay with me, princess?” he asked. “Will you choose me for eternity? Even if it’s dangerous to do so— Even if they’ll find us out yet again, and kill me—kill you—even if it’s wrong, even if—”
“Yes,” you said, seeing genuine and utter hope flood his face.
He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead, his voice suddenly light.
“Good,” he murmured, “because I will never be letting you go again.”
You then blinked, being plunged into the darkness, as the sense of something uneasy overwhelmed you. Not too far away, you could hear footsteps rapidly close in from around you, spiralling down the tower. The dungeon was no longer so dimly lit, either, but burning bright with closing in fire, and despite your dress and your body initially being in tatters and bruises and marks—everything else was back to normal—as though it had never happened at all.
Was all of that a dream?
Your knights found you in a hurry, swooping you up and carrying you back up to the surface of the castle.
Your eyes drooped shut, and you fell asleep—
Only to awake in your bed, with your father standing at the foot, his voice sharp with anger and accusation.
“What were you thinking?” he demanded, barely giving you time to wake up.
A lie crept out of your lips, the night catching up to you.
“Guess I wanted to rebel just a little,” you meekly admitted. “Stole a bit of the wine and I think I just… wandered away.”
At that, however, his anger softened, coming to look at you like you were just a normal girl, sighing heavily, leaving you be for the time being.
You always did get away with lying too easily.
And as he left, your two knights remained, bursting out laughing from the second that he was out of earshot.
“Next time you want to do something like that, invite us,” one of them suggested.
“Right,” the other said. “Spare us the heart attack, and our heads.”
You smiled faintly, but then, just a moment later, your father had returned, and everyone—including you, of course—straightened up.
“Also,” he spoke. “Another addition to the roster,” he said, stepping aside to reveal another knight. “To keep you in line.”
“But I already have—” you started, blinking between your two swords.
“For your own safety,” he interrupted.
Just as you were about to pout, however, the newest knight stepped in, and you heard his voice, your attention successfully caught, finding that he sounded familiar, like someone you knew far too well.
“Princess,” he greeted you with a nod.
You glanced up then, your words falling flat, catching a glimpse beyond what lay in the helmet: dark hair and dark eyes, glinting with timeless adoration, settled right on you.
“Do you… object to this arrangement?” the knight asked.
Your heartbeat faltered, remembering the promise you made in the dungeon, of the curse that you broke, or worse yet, manifested.
“No, you admitted softly. “I do not have a problem at all.”
Content warnings: Smut, p in v, degenerate, death (not reader or jester), violence and gore, usual crazy obsessive Yandere stuff, smut with plot
Synopsis: A princess mustn’t ever fall in love with any being deemed lesser. A peasant turned court jester would certainly be out of the question. However, a marriage proposal seems to blur this distinct separation.
—
"Toby!" You called to your family's jester.
"It's Tobias, my lady," he begrudgingly responded, grumbling to himself annoyances before you embraced him. You did this often, forgetting your status and treating those beneath you as though you were on equal footing. As though you weren't the one and only princess, whose mere presence would be considered a blessing.
Toby — or Tobias — is a renowned jester amongst your father's kingdom, a laughable sort with a depressing personality to contrast.
He was taken in by your father at a young age. Poor and cast away by his merchant parents, the boy's future was set; he would die of starvation no sooner than you would eat a hearty breakfast. That is, until you found him.
His savior, Tobias had thought to himself. A little girl adorned in jewels and ornate fabrics reaching out her hand to him.
Your father wasn't one to take pity upon the peasants, and your little attempt at breaching a friendship came with immediate protest by him and your handmaid. Tobias's saddened eyes, dark and threatening, held a disparity between them and his teasing tongue.
"How jovial!" Your father had cheered at the boy's poor attempt at a joke. It pleased him when his subjects humiliated themselves for his favor. "Perhaps I'll offer you a job."
Of course Tobias was not so stupid as to decline, even if the job was to strut around in white face paint and a hat adorned with bells.
And thus, the both of you grew up together (albeit, in secrecy).
A princess should never be seen showing such brazen affection to lesser born — and a man at that! Not that you ever particularly cared.
Your hand clasped around his before pulling him into the safety of one of the empty sitting rooms, shutting the door and clicking the lock. "So, what have you been up to? It's been ages! That trip was sooo boring!" You complained, sitting him on the couch and placing yourself right next to him, shoulders and knees touching.
"I only served the king and strolled the gardens. As usual." He shrugged. Despite Tobias's nonchalance, he loved these moments with you. Your eagerness to speak with him was a rarity in the world of royals.
Your ears perked up at the mention of the royal gardens. "Oh! That reminds me..." You stood from your place on the couch and began rummaging through a corner of the room, the space between you and your jester causing him to feel a bit of emptiness. Your back turned to him, the bouncing of your (h/c) hair shining against the diamonds lining your waist. "I got you something while I was away."
Quickly, you found your place beside Tobias once again, dainty fingers wrapped around a small flower pot.
"Blue roses?" Tobias cocked his head to the side before reaching his own hands out.
"Yes, for you. I had no idea blue roses existed!"
Your fingers just barely grazed eachother through your exchange, and Tobias pondered whether you had felt his touch as strongly as he felt yours.
"Me either." He muttered, scrutinizing the plant further.
He could see your expectant face in the corner of his eye. You wanted a compliment, he knew you well enough to know that much.
"Well... What do you think?" You shuffled closer, your chest just a few centimeters away from his arm.
He hated when you did that, got so close, so intimate. All Tobias could think about every time you closed the gap between you both was the swell of your breasts and the dirty thoughts of what could be beneath your gown.
Tobias cleared his throat, "It's nice."
"Just nice? Gosh, you sure are hard to impress, Toby." You giggled.
You noticed Tobias zoning out. His long, dark lashes fluttering as his eyes pointed downward at the flower. You took the rare moment to admire his features; the thick brows he always furrowed, the blue paint around his eyes, the deep red of the blush he wore that contrasted the pale white of his face paint. You wondered if he enjoyed putting it on every morning, as well as what his face might look like without it.
He never let you see, not anymore, not after you both had become adults. Perhaps he was insecure of his features. However, from what you could see you found him truly beautiful.
Your hand shakily made its way to the side of his face, your thump moving gingerly and wiping away some of the paint and blush, a tanned color unveiling itself. You noticed the weight of his face as he leaned into your touch, perhaps unconsciously. Though not unwelcome, you hoped.
Horns sounded, loud and blaring and a deep reminder of your difference in classes. You immediately pulled away and Tobias jumped up, standing and glaring at the door before shaking his head.
"It seems his majesty has invited guests." His voice was soft. He didn't want to leave, not yet. So he ruffled your hair a bit and nodded.
"You gotta go?"
Your big doe eyes almost anchored him to the room, the cadence of your voice pleading and intoxicating.
"Who else will entertain the royal guests?" It was a sarcastic comment. He had no care for jokes or the laughter of the pious rich nobles parading around in their filth.
Tobias despised everything about royalty.
Everything but you.
But, you were different. You were kind to everyone, sweet and trusting. You offered him a friendship that not even those in his same financial predicament could give.
—
It had been an hour since the king had requested the jester's business, forcing Tobias to parade himself like a complete and utter joke. There were two other noblemen present, a count from a faraway district and his eldest son, the heir to his estate.
A sir Joseph, he believed his name was.
"Your daughter, may we be permitted to greet her?" The count requested, laughing as Tobias recited an old comedic poem.
The king nodded fervently, clapping his hands once before shouting for a maid. "Yes, of course! Your future daughter in law must become acquainted with her future husband."
Tobias stopped his jokes, his voice hitching in his throat at the sound of the word husband. What did he mean? Future daughter in law?
(Y/N)? A wife? His eyes shifted to the son, his form larger, his hair thicker, his teeth straighter than Tobias's. A wife to him?
Tobias knew, of course, that you would never be his. Of course, he knew. But the jealousy flaring within his chest caused a migraine to form. His eyes darted back and forth, his body heating up and wishing to just be near you.
Tobias didn't deserve you, but, did anybody? You're perfect; a sweet angel walking amongst a bunch of perverted and corrupt humans.
And when you entered the large chamber, his thoughts were only amplified.
You looked worried, confused. A pretty little thing following behind your maid with no awareness that you were being shoved into a lions den.
"Our kingdom's greatest beauty, Princess (L/N)." Your father introduced rather arrogantly.
Tobias was lead to the side of the room amongst the other staff, the bells jingling and causing your attention to quickly turn to him. Your eyes locked into each other's, and the faintest smile across your lips was the only thing he could focus on before your attention on him was ripped away.
"It is my honor," the count's son greeted, kneeling and kissing your hand.
Frantically, you pulled your hand away.
A marriage proposal. For you.
It was a nightmare come true. You were taught to never speak up, to do as your father says with dignity and compliance. You knew this day would come; when your father would finally strengthen ties with one of the many powerhouses within the kingdom. When your father would officially sell you off to become the wife and second class leader of some random household, to be led by a man you didn't truly love.
No, of course you wouldn't love any of the men he would choose.
You glanced at Tobias again.
You simply couldn't love anyone else. Your true love, the man you hoped you'd spend your final days with was Tobias, the kingdom's jester.
—
That night, Tobias couldn't sleep. The makeup from the day still coated his face, the spot where you rubbed off still showcasing what lies beneath.
He decided he'd see you. Perhaps speaking with you would calm his racing heart, get his head cleared from the incessant thoughts of a possible romance between the two of you.
He planned it perfectly; he'd speak with you, you'd tell him you did see a love forming for the count's son, and Tobias would quietly retreat, continuing his life as the depressed jester he always was. A true fool.
But, those sappy words of yours never came.
Instead, peering around the corner he saw the count's son opening your bedroom doors despite your chambers being off limits to anyone.
Walking closer, he began eavesdropping, only momentarily, only for your safety.
"My lady, I've come to wish you a goodnight." The count's son was a smooth talker, an idiot with a sword.
"Oh um," you smiled shyly. "Thank you, Sir Joseph. But you mustn't be here." Quickly, you stood to your feet, your body clad in a nightgown unbefitting of a stranger's eyes.
"Apologies. It is just-" Before you could usher the man away, his hands grabbed at the sides of your arms, holding you in place. "You are so beautiful. But you haven't responded to my marriage proposal."
You were at a loss for words.
It wasn't until you noticed behind the count's son, the slight view of a little bell hanging from a jester's hat, did you grow the confidence to reply properly. "I am... In love with someone else, I'm afraid." Your response was kind, quiet. And the jingle of the bells caused your heart to swell in anticipation.
"In love with another?" Sir Joseph's eyes straightened before lowering to meet your gaze. "Surely, he is nay better equipped than I am."
His boastful attitude and adrenaline caused him to push you back further, your thighs hitting the plushness of your bed.
"My princess," Sir Joseph hesitated for only a moment before speaking again. "If you are spoken for premaritally, then why not compare us?"
Your eyes widened, a yelp of a no escaping your lips before a large hand dragged at the top of your nightgown. "H-Hold on-"
A familiar tune, the bells swinging; it was all you saw before red splattered across your whitened gown and (s/c) face.
You fell back into the bed, crawling backwards until you hit the headboard. All you could do was stare at the scene unfolding.
An angry Tobias with a bloodied fountain pen in hand. He was smaller than Sir Joseph, his thin arms clasping around his neck and shoving the pen deeper into his throat before pulling it out and continuing elsewhere. The gurgling sound that emitted from Sir Joseph caused a shiver to run down your spine.
"How dare you? Such filth? Touching what doesn't belong to you!" Tobias was rambling, manic and angry and full of an adrenaline that only killing could subdue.
The count's son was already on the floor, his body limp and lifeless.
Tobias didn't stop. He couldn't.
He was angry. At everything. At your father, for marrying you off, at Sir Joseph, who only saw you as a body to fuck, and you, who admitted to being in love with someone.
In love! Truly! Such a thing in your life and he was none the wiser!
"Toby." Despite the softness in your voice, the tone was sharp, firm.
He stopped, of course. He always listened to you, even if he acted bothered.
"My princess." He replied barely audibly.
"Drop the pen."
Your chest was still heaving up and down from fear, a breast peaking through your nightgown from where the count's son had initially pulled, the fabric stretched and tattered.
Tobias dropped it.
The expression on his face was new, even to you. There was a desperation laced within his usually sad features.
"You killed a man."
"I did."
"You seemed to enjoy it." It was less an accusation and more of a confirmation on your part.
"...I did."
You analyzed Tobias's form, crawling forward only slightly. He was still your kind Toby, maybe.
Hopefully.
"You're angry."
"I am." There was a crack in his voice, tears beginning to brim the edges of his eyes. In all your years by the jester's side you had never, not once, seen him cry.
"Why?"
He turned to you, the distance between you both closing as he brought a blood stained hand to your throat.
Not squeezing. No, of course he wouldn't. But just a place to rest his itching fingers. And god he loved the way the skin of your throat felt when you gulped.
"Because of all of this," he snapped. "This court that sees me as nothing more than a damn fool! Sir Joseph, who had the gall to touch you! You!" He pushed you down onto the bed, the velvety sheets enveloping your bare skin. "And you, for not loving me back!"
Your crazed jester ducked down to bite at your ear to force a squeak from your throat, the sensation from your neck causing Tobias to press his body into yours. It was subtle, but you felt his desperation.
Your hand covered his forehead and pushed him back. Gently, with no force at all really. You wondered why such a scary man would allow you to push him away so easily. “How impudent,” you smiled, “Treating your princess in such a way.”
Your thumb went from his forehead to his eyelids, his eyelashes tickling you before you trailed down to his nose and then his lips.
“You’ve killed a man in my chambers, and yet all I want right now is for you to touch me.” Tobias’s eyes widened, his mouth hanging agape as you decided to move your thumb inside. “Am I a bad person?”
Tobias couldn’t speak. He wouldn’t. There was a fear inside of him; that he would mess up this chance with you. That speaking would alert you to the detriment that would be having intimacy in the same room as the man he just killed only moments ago.
Instead, his hand slid from your throat down to your exposed chest, pinching at the erect nipple. You whined, and he decided to push his luck further.
It didn’t feel like you were being dirty. He treated your body as though he were studying it. Slowly, deliberately.
Tobias rubbed at your nipple, his pointer finger flicking at it before rubbing again. “Toby…” You whimpered. Your hand left his forehead to rest against the lower end of the motley he wore.
His head ducked down to your chest, a wet tongue beginning to suck and nibble at your breast. His warm saliva trickled down the side of your ribs, an erotic groan resounding from his throat at your taste.
Tobias pawed at your other breast, still covered by the stained nightgown.
You had never experienced intimacy to such a degree before. You hadn’t even kissed someone yet.
You decided to lead his face up to yours, your legs spreading to invite the jester closer. “Kiss me first.” You pleaded, clashing your lips against his.
“Fuck-” was the only word that came from Tobias as he devoured your lips. He nipped at your bottom lip before shoving his tongue deep into your mouth, exploring you with an eagerness.
His hands travelled farther down, tugging your dress up and sliding beneath. Amidst your making out, you clasped at his wrist before he could reach the pooling wetness between your legs.
“Wait,” you breathed out. “Your hands. They have blood- I don’t-” You were certain you were a degenerate, a perverted succubus tainting your precious jester. You had your limits just like any other person.
Though, the violence wasn’t going to stop Tobias, not when you were so close to finally being his.
He took your hand in his and led it slowly to his hardened erection, the bulge poking through his tight pants. When he nudged your hand lightly, you squeezed, forcing a guttural moan to sound from his throat. “God!” He groaned out, head falling back and his jester hat slipping from its place.
You liked the way it looked; his bigger, bloodied hand guiding yours to make him feel good, pleasured. “Let me see it.” You commanded.
“Yes, my princess.”
“(Y/N).” You corrected.
Tobias pulled the stretchy material of his pants down, his erection springing out and slapping at your hand. You felt an odd sensation near the bottom of your belly, and a need for friction seemed to grow at the sight of Tobias’s penis. He brought his head to the side of yours, stepping close enough that his dick was now resting against your gown. “(Y/N),” a shiver ran down your spine, “Allow me. Please.”
Tobias’s normally stoic manner was entirely shattered. He was begging you.
You stared down at the erection before grazing your fingers along the base, causing his hips to buck into you lightly. “Don’t tease me.” He warned.
You laid on your back and pulled your dress up, revealing your bare wetness to the jester, who seemed to begin drooling at the sight. “You… You may use me… If you wish.” Your face was a blushing mess, embarrassment evident.
Tobias grew quiet, and you worried you may have ruined the moment with your lack of experience.
“No. Not like this.” Tobias pulled you by your waist and sat you atop of him as he situated himself on your bed. “Much better.” He muttered, beginning to suck at your neck.
Missionary, in which he could mark you as his with his teeth and tongue, see your precious expressions, and still reach deep inside those places that’ll make you feel perfect.
He licked a stripe up your neck and down your jawline, making his way to your lips to continue kissing you. The wetness between your legs was becoming unbearable, but Tobias made no move to insert himself.
He would wait. For you to do it yourself. For you to feel even a hint of the desperation he felt for you all these years.
And just like a true princess, you were impatient. Quickly, far too quickly, you lowered yourself onto the tip, the foreign sensation causing the both of you to moan out curses and praises. The sudden feeling your tightness enveloping his dick caused Tobias to buck up, thrusting himself halfway inside of you on accident.
“T-Toby! It’s too much!” You whined, arms clasping around his shoulders at an attempt to ease yourself.
“Shhh. It’s okay.” Tobias began stroking your hair. “You can take more, can’t you?”
You nodded immediately, wanting to be good for your jester.
He eased himself further until fully inside, your cries a reminder that Tobias could surely please you better.
Certainly better than the degenerate count’s son.
Tobias looked down at the floor, at Sir Joseph’s lifeless body as he began thrusting in and out of you. The fact that he, a lower born jester, was fucking the Princess of the kingdom in front of her deceased admirer caused a rush to travel lower.
“Fuck!” Tobias groaned out, standing and pushing you to the adjacent wall.
He wondered if you could see Sir Joseph behind him, if you were also thinking the same thing. If you enjoyed having your brains fucked out of you by a bloodied and dirty fool.
“You’re so good for me, (Y/N).” Tobias pressed a tender kiss to your cheek, purring sweet nothings into your ear as he continued abusing your cunt.
There was a heatness building between the both of you, Tobias’s once aggressive thrusts turning sloppy and frantic. His hand slammed at the wall as he neared his climax.
“Fuckfuckfuckfuck. I love you, I love you (Y/N).” You were too sex drunk to truly understand what your maniacal jester was whispering about. All you could think about was his fat cock ramming into your cunt and hitting that spongy spot right where it counted.
The thick, white ropes of his cum shot out, coating your walls and dripping outside of your cunt. He road his high and continued on, not stopping till you reached a high of your own.
“Toby, I’m feeling strange!” You yelped out, rolling your hips into his more aggressively than before.
Tobias didn’t slide out of you until he heard that satisfying, final moan of yours. Your nails clawing at his clothed back and gripping his hat tightly.
When you both calmed down from your shared high, you wondered if this would be it.
Two secret, forbidden lovers caught having sex next to the man they murdered. You supposed it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be executed for.
Tobias, however, had other plans. He shifted your weight to carry you bridal style, lifting your gown up to cover you fully. Taking off his jester hat, he placed it on your own head, the jingles a comfort you always appreciated.
“I’ll take you to my chambers.” He sighed out. “I need to get rid of the evidence.”
You furrowed your brows. “What do you mean?”
Tobias hinted towards Sir Joseph’s body.
“I’ll take care of everything, my princess.”
—
(A/N): GOOD LORD this was a long one. Total jester brainrot today. I love me a loser scrawny poor man sorry. I’m working on a succubus fic next ;3
I've been on and off thinking about how entertaining it'd be to play hard to get with Tenna after finding out he really likes you, yet hasn't made the outright move to ask to date him. Stuff like acting like you're getting too close when he was the one to stand right behind you, or acting like you didn't hear him comment about you (probably your ass TBH) properly and responding with some entirely different. Just absolutely tormenting that TV until he's had enough :3c
the patience of a saint . Tenna x reader
not sure how nsfw i was allowed to go with this ask, but it's definitely suggestive!! though now that i think of it... fuck it, it's nsfw! kinda dom!reader but like, they're just teasing him
Tenna isn't very good at hiding how much he likes you, so why the hell hasn't he done anything about it yet? a gentleman calls first, a gentleman brings flowers, a gentleman absolutely does not stare at your ass while you're walking away but ohhh goodness, he's been doing plenty of that.
a perverted, desperate, pathetic coward who can't stop staring but folds the second you catch him. you've learned this, and now you're milking it for all it's worth. standing just close enough that he could lean down and catch a whiff of your shampoo, then stepping away like you forgot something in the other room, leaving him there with his grin flipped upside down and his gaze gone all droopy. bending over to adjust a cable, taking your sweet time, knowing damn well that his antennae are twitching. Tenna thinks not having eyes is gonna save him, as if the way his screen immediately tilts down every time you turn around isn't a dead giveaway. the too-long pause before he remembers he's supposed to be saying words, it's not exactly a mystery what's got his attention. you straighten up, glance back with a clueless little smile, and he recovers eventually, coughs into his fist, mumbling, “goodness, sure is balmy in here, huh?”
leaning down to pick something up reveals exactly nothing scandalous, but Tenna acts like he's been handed a glimpse of heaven itself. how easy it is. a gentleman he calls himself, but a gentleman would at least have the decency to hide the way his slacks are tenting obscenely, the outline of him pressing obvious against the zipper. it's so painfully clear what Tenna's thinking about that you almost feel secondhand embarrassment. almost. poor thing genuinely seems to believe that if he just keeps talking, about the weather, the ratings, anything, nobody will notice the way he's half-hard just from the curve of a spine bending in front of him.
the torment continues. Tenna finds reasons to be behind you now, always reaching over your shoulder for something he doesn't need, just happening to be in the same narrow hallway, offering to help you grab a box from a high shelf so he can stand right there while you're bent over.
maybe he deserves a little gold star sticker right on his screen for bravery, for finally pressing close without an excuse, but it's still not enough. you're getting bolder too. a hand planted on his chest, fingers splayed over the suit as you ask him if he's feeling alright because he seems a little warm tonight. huh, what was that? a tiny helpless thrust into nothing? Tenna's hips just bucked the air like a dog who hasn't been taught any manners and you're supposed to pretend you didn't notice? goodness..
maybe now. maybe now's the time. yes... now, definitely now. Tenna's absolutely sure of it. he's never been more sure of anything in his life. this is the moment he finally gets what he's been craving, right?
begging without saying the word, Tenna tells you that everyone's busy, starshine, nobody's around, and five minutes is all a man would need, surely that's not too much to ask, honey, just five minutes, please, he'd make it so good, he swears on his ratings.
how cute. you check your watch. oh, would you look at the time... his screen goes blank for a solid two seconds and when it flickers back on, the wide grin is trembling at the corners. no. no, no, no, this isn't happening. you're not actually looking at the time right now, are you? he finally works up the nerve, pours his heart out, promises the best five minutes of your life, and you're checking your wrist like you've got somewhere better to be?
he's not getting a damn thing, is he?
“you're leaving? oh, my star, don't do that.. c’mon.“ Tenna croaks and it's the most pathetic voice you've ever heard he could do. giggling, you pat his screen right where a cheek would be and tell him maybe next time, big guy. maybe next time.
you're already halfway down the hall, aroused as hell and proud of it, when Tenna’s hopeful voice calls you again. “y-you mean there's gonna be a next time, love? you really mean it? oh, goodness, oh! i-i'll be so good, i'll be the best, you just wait, a fella’s gonna treat you right! just say when, just say when and i'm yours, i'm all yours--“ he's still babbling long after you've turned the corner.
but next time never came. and the next time after that never came either. Tenna stopped finding it funny somewhere around day four, when his usual lurking tactics earned him nothing but a distracted wave and a “sorry, Tens, busy tonight.” the absolute torture of not knowing if you meant it or if you were just toying with him had him pacing his dressing room at odd hours. how come your schedule is suddenly always full? his little star's always got somewhere to be... and isn't that a shame.
however, Tenna's clever enough when he wants to be, which is rare, because most of the time he's too busy drooling over your backside to form a coherent thought. but when the prize is worth it, apparently the man can string two brain cells together, so eventually he decides that next time is gonna be on his terms. no more waiting by the door like some sorry salesman.
bold of him. adorable, really. watching him try to take charge after weeks of following you around like a sad puppy.
deep breath, Tenna, you've got this.
you don't even see it coming. all those weeks of reducing your TV to a staticky mess and suddenly he's figured out how to use those long legs for something other than trailing behind you. maybe he did learn something from all those game shows after all.
is there a predator lurking somewhere under all that pathetic? or is that what Tenna's telling himself while he finally, finally makes a move?
seems like your little game just got hijacked, because he's got you pressed against the wall before you can even open your mouth to tease him. of course you knew this was coming, hell, you'd been counting on it, but the sight of him now still sends a thrill up your spine. has Tenna always been this huge?
“honey... please. don't be so mean to me, we both want each other, don't we? i know you feel it too, i know you do,” big hands braced on either side of you against the wall. “you said next time, you promised... and i waited and waited and you never came back! oh sweetness, that ain't fair to a guy who's been nothing but patient, haha... you've been torturing me for weeks and for what? for fun? you could just have me, darling, you could have me right now, please, i'll be so good, so good for you, i'll make you feel so... oh, the things i'd do to you. just just stop pretending you don't want this too. i'm begging you, is that what you wanna hear? i'm begging.”
you’d laugh at the way the so-called lord of the screens is standing in front of you now, an ordinary darkner, down on his knees, if he weren't panting hot and humid against your neck with little oh, oh, goodness whimpers every time your body presses back against his bulge. Tenna's hands finally land where they've been wanting to for weeks. claws out to snag fabric and drag it slow over your hips, over the curve of an ass he’s been staring at so shamelessly.
as if this pathetic TV hasn't already debased himself enough tonight, humping you like a desperate animal and panting against your neck, you decide he can go even lower. so you reach back to grab a fistful of that yellow tie and yank, making his screen knock against your shoulder with a burst of static, a garbled jeepers! crackling out as you ask him what happened to all that showman confidence.
did it evaporate the second he got on his knees? because a gentleman oughta know what to do with his mouth by now.
Synopsis: Dust from the lust-plant burrows into the lungs of all that inhale it, prompting desperate and primal urges to eclipse their natural senses. All that inhale the pollen need aid in navigating through their urges, some urges stronger than others. NSFW, mdni, 18+.
Blackleg Sanji: Someone Help Me & Thank You (afab!reader)
Roronoa Zoro: You Deserve Better (afab!reader)
Trafalgar D Water-Law: You're The Cure (afab!reader)
Buggy D Clown: I Can't Do This Without You (afab!reader)
Massacre Soldier Killer: Will You Let Me? (Gn!reader)
Doflamingo: Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes (f!reader)
Part 2 Here, Part 3 (Alternate Ending) Here
Katakuri: I Don't Want To Hurt You (f!reader)
Eustass Kid: You're So Much More To Me (gn!reader)
Shachi & Penguin: Caught (afab!reader)
Dracule Mihawk: I am a Swordsman: Disciplined, Stoic, Hardened (afab!reader)
Portgus D Ace: I trust you (afab!reader)
Usopp: I need help in here, I-I-I’m gonna die! (afab!reader)
Could you make an alternate pt 2 or a pt 3 of play stupid games get stupid prizes where reader just decides that crocodile is more fun? Fucks around with him more than doflamingo? And when I say fuck I mean... 😏
Notes: I hope you enjoy this short and not sweet alternate ending to Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes. It's very short, not so sweet at all, and simply devastating.
Ask Stupid Questions, Get Stupid Answers
Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes Alternate Ending.
Masterlist Here, Pollen Masterlist Here
Part 1 Here, Part 2 Here
Word count: 1,500+
Synopsis: Upon the question hanging in the air from the king of Dressrosa, sitting in his soiled brief on the bathroom floor, the only answer that you could find is a simple single syllable: "No". The repercussions and an old acquaintance both find you while you retreat from the bathroom and back into the marine soiree.
Warnings: Doflamingo x f!reader, Sir Crocodile x f!reader, alternate ending, flirting, NSFW mentioned but not explicit, drinking, we reject doflamingo and choose crocodile ending, aftermath of smut.
Notes: This fic was a long time coming, and I hope you enjoy reading what would happen if we abandoned the flamingo!
“Will you marry me?”
The question echoes in a lingering whisper in your mind the longer Doflamingo lay kneeling on the tiled bathroom floor at the marine gala. Cum still flooding his pants from the former touch you pressed into him with your foot, he asked you to marry him with all the genuinity and sincerity he could muster at the worst possible time.
Holding up his hand with the small, mahogany box, your eyes focussed on the circular band and the warlord that was bound to it. Flashes of what your life could look like while being bound to his side as his wife. What consequences should you endure if you answered him incorrectly? Where would you find yourself if he decided to don his arms in a variety of concubines? What should occur if you found yourself on the receiving end of further cruelty, such as the initial occurrence that drew you to take him inside you for the first time?
Before you could halt the single word from fleeing with absolution, it tumbled over your lips and slapped the warlord across the face with the cruel sting of your answer.
“No.”
“What did you say to me?” Doflamingo gasped, his rubied eyes fluttering behind his lengthy, blonde eyelashes, “You… mi Reina, you… Would you mind answering me again-?”
“-I said,” you reached down and took his larger cheek in your hand, stooping to tilt your head low enough to almost brush your nose with his own, yet withholding it far enough away to maintain absolute control, “No.”
A beat, a thumping pain ricocheting deep within the reserves of his ribcage, caused the king of Dressrosa to shudder his lip and gawk up at you as if you'd slapped him. He searched your eyes with your own before you completely retracted your hand from his skin and swiped your shoe along the base of his thigh to rid it of the warmth he left there while painting the inside of his pants with his viscose ecstasy.
“Mi Reina-?”
“-Goodbye, Doflamingo.”
There, on his knees and feeling the shame seep into his body through the cool marble of the bathroom floor, sat Donquixote Doflamingo: the king of Dressrosa and warlord to the marine, watching your silhouette slowly leave the room and hold him captive to his own spooling thoughts. Every moment replayed within his mind: his treatment of you with the aphrodisiatic toxins, the serenity he found between your thighs, and his yearning every day since that single moment, all ending with his confession and proposal.
And you had said… No.
Doflamingo felt his heart simultaneously shatter and harden while vindicated rage consumed his every pore. A roar withheld itself within his throat as he rose to his feet and began to take the plunge of cleaning up his pants of the moment you had shared together moments prior. He slammed the booth door behind him while he gathered tissue paper and cleaned out his briefs, all the while uttering curses of your name in his every breath.
After exiting the bathroom, you exhaled a breath you didn't realise you were holding while shaking away that shuddering thought that the man who toyed so easily with your heart and your emotions asked you to become his queen. Donquixote Doflamingo, after all his shortcomings and horrific brilliance, was still simply a man: a man you could say ‘no’ to.
“Something upsetting you, my little co-conspiritor?” The purring voice of your former drinking partner purred down at you. His presence was followed by a cloak of thick tobacco smoke and that Cologne that held you hypnotised moments prior, “You seemed in such high spirits moments ago. What changed?”
A huffing sigh of frustration departed your lips while you shook off the final feeling of both loathing Doflamingo and loathing yourself for succumbing to his will once more. You found your professional smile once more plaster on your lips while you turned to face Sir Crocodile.
“The king of Dressrosa expressed an interest in tying a noose around my neck in the form of an ornate betrothal ring,” you nodded to him politely while your eyes darted between his dangerous lenses, “And I was disinclined to pursue that future with a man I loathe with my entire soul, my lord.” You curtseyed sweetly while allowing your eyes to fall to the floor.
Where you assumed there would be a few moments of silence between you and a polite nod before he dismissed you completely, you found in its place a large uproar of laughter from Sir Crocodile’s belly through his diaphragm up and spurting from his lips as if he was choking on the air he breathed. His eyes watered, his smile broadened, and his frame shook with every reverberation coasting through his body and sprayed into the atmosphere to draw the eye of every admiral and officer within the space below the balcony.
Shielding your face from view, you attempted to hide yourself behind your hand to no avail. Crocodile’s laughter finally concluded with his hand coming up and slowly swiping at his lashes with a gentle cough to follow.
“Oh, my sweet,” Crocodile whimpered softly with his laugh still on his tongue, “I have not laughed like that in some time. Thank you for warming this old man’s reptilian heart.” His hook came to touch the place on his chest above his buttoned breastpocket while he gave a bow far more polite than you would find within him.
“I am overwhelmed with joy to be at the forefront of your entertainment,” you snarled with sarcasm dripping from every word. Sir Crocodile shook his head and extended his flesh hand out to take your own within his large palm, an action you begrudgingly offered out to him with a roll of your eyes and bat of your lashes.
“You are an absolute diamond amongst the coal within this soiree,” he purred lovingly down at you, elevating your hand and pressing a kiss to the tip of your knuckles, “I feel as if I should return the favor for your purchasing of the earlier bottle, darling.” He released your hand from his lips while still maintaining contact with your fingers within two of his own to compensate for the pure difference between your sizes, “If you would care to join me.”
“The bottle ran out already, Sir Crocodile?” you offered him with a smirk, rolling your shoulders back to fix your posture while maintaining contact between your hand and his own, “I would have thought you would savour the flavour just a little.”
“Without my little plover on my lap to sharpen my smile?” Sir Crocodile narrowed his eyes while smirking in the corner of his lips, “I could hardly bear the thought of finishing that bottle. However, after the disappearance of your sweetness followed by the feather-donned flamingo, I resigned myself to using it as a balm to my loneliness.”
“You are far too sharp with your words, my lord,” you slowly move your hand down his hand and over his wrist before drawing yourself to his side with your arm tucked within the crook of his elbow, “A wit I would enjoy finding my own entertainment within for the remainder of the night.” Sir Crocodile’s stature reverberated with power in every movement as he escorted you to the bar and aided you onto the stool by the countertop.
“I would be delighted to share some more of my wit here this night,” Sir Crocodile repeated your words back to you, “Albeit, I would not be remaining here until the soiree concludes.” His golden hook was found beneath your chin, tilting your face towards him and finding your gaze within his own, “Tell me, my sweet: if I was to suggest further entertainment were to be found between us in a more intimate setting after another glass, would you be agreeable to such a notion?”
The steel of the gold hook was not as intimidating as you thought it would be. It was almost warm, the same warmth found in Sir Crocodile’s eyes and upon his scarred cheeks as his lips curled up to reveal his charming smile. You took your time in pondering your answer, knowing full well the man who haunted you was exiting the bathroom and searching for you at this very moment. You could see the pink feathers in your peripherals, an aura of completely controlled rage following his intentional footfalls as you leaned in closer to Sir Crocodile.
A moment was spared while both yourself and Sir Crocodile chose the other to gaze at while your attention was drawn to Donquixote Doflamingo. The light ricocheted from his rubied lenses onto the ballroom floor, which then flickered onto the hook at your chin. Your lips curved into a smile while you took your time to annunciate your words in a way he could read from across the room should his attention be drawn to you.
“Yes,” you whispered softly, “I’m yours to play with.”
Thank you for reading! If you would like to leave a tip for busking with my words, my Ko-fi is here! If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist for other One Piece fics, my monsterlist pinned at @sultrysnail for original content, or my JJK masterlist pinned at @heavenlysnail.
♡ Tenna loves dry humping. no one can convince me otherwise. i think he craves friction and pressure and being able to feel your body against his fully clothed. like, humping through the suits, clumsy and desperate. he’s gripping your waist too hard and you can hear the squeak of the fabric under you. Tenna gets way too close from it, and he’d cum while crying out your name three times in a row.
♡ hes always too excited about any physical contact with you and gets feral during buildup. kissing turns into licking turns into dry humping with your clothes still halfway on. he gets so flustered and desperate he’ll just pin you somewhere and hump with shaky rhythm
♡ well, Mr Ant Tenna’s quite a busy man and. . . he doesn’t mean to do it against a wall or a desk or inside the studio but he’s in too deep. it starts with you pulling on his tie, pressing kisses to the parts of his screen. so he just shoves papers off the desk and drags you up by your thighs, can easily pin you with one hand
♡ oh and about his tie. play with it! he’s already on his knees. that thing is a leash, tbh. Tenna also loves when you grab the knot and use it to pull his screen closer. or you undo it slowly while straddling him! or you wear it yourself after sex. . . he’s so painfully gone over you it’s embarrassing
♡ he is big and tall and he doesn’t know what to do with his body. he keeps apologising for being heavy or wide and you have to keep grabbing him, pulling his hands back, assuring him “baby if you don’t shut the fuck up and use that size i’m gonna cry”, he's really excited when he realises you like how big he is
♡ and while we're talking about his size i want to say that his hands are massive too, stupidly big. if you try to lace fingers, he swallows yours whole. or if try to jerk him off with both hands, he still ends up helping, one big paw folded over yours while he’s gasping through his teeth pleasepleasepleasethisistoogood. (oh so that’s how Spamton felt, huh)
♡ of course i think he likes it when you look at him. so, Tenna is obsessed with eye contact. he doesn’t even have eyes in the normal sense, but that screen locks on you everytime. he gets kinda whiny if you close your eyes because he wants to see you take him
♡ he is very very needy! you have no pity for this pathetic tv with abandoned issues if you're teasing him :( Tenna will whimper if you’re not touching him. i think he’d dry-hump your leg if you teased him too long, because his whole programming is just fasterfasterfasterneedneedneed. it’s like a dog that needs to be walked every day or he explodes.
♡ Tenna is SO scared of breaking you. he apologises every thrust, testing if you’re okay, but you love the stretch and that basically fries him alive. he’ll try to be soft until you order him to go harder, and then he absolutely destroys you with a half-panicked “s-sorry sorry sorry sorry“ while still pounding you so good you can’t breathe (oh so that’s how Spam- agh fuck it)
♡ likes to fill you up. oh he’s a breeding kink machine, although he is most likely unfamiliar with such concept, but even if it’s just dirty talk, smth about “g-gonna keep you stuffed, sweetheart” while he’s so flustered, rutting into you so he can feel everything, is so on brand for him
♡ he’s so overwhelmed he switches like three times in five minutes. riding? reverse riding? back to missionary? maybe doggy? he just doesn’t know what to do with his hands and wants to see everything, so he ends up grabbing you constantly until you pin him down. cannot do long positions!
♡ remember, Tenna needs a lot of verbal reassurance. he’d get way too in his head, constantly panicking that he’s hurting you or that you don’t really want him. so always be sure to tell him at least once “you’re so good, baby, you’re perfect” or simply say you love tv. . . he'll eat it up
♡ i think he's very sloppy like. . . he has no rhythm when he’s too turned on. he’ll try to go slow but end up rutting into you in erratic thrusts because of your little sounds. Tenna never expected you to be so warm and so soft around him, it’s almost embarrassing how easily he loses composure, screen changing between static and bright error messages.
♡ ohhhh he definitely has an overstimulation kink, no doubt he’s a mess for it. you riding him until he’s babbling nonsense, gripping your hips but too weak to stop you, moaning so loud you’d think he’s in pain
♡ clingy!! so so clingy, this man is chronically clingy. he’s busy and he’s got paperwork. he’s working, okay? but if you even hint that you’re walking away, It's more than painful for him, so all your attempts to leave end with him grabbing your wrist, begging you to stay. Tenna wants to be touching you at all times, pinkies linked, your legs over his lap, your arm around his shoulder while he’s chain-smoking and filling out forms. he’ll crawl into bed with you and make full-body contact
♡ im like 1000% sure Tenna is a giver. loves to please you, eats you out and moans while doing it, curling his fingers against your thighs, scared he’ll be pulled away too soon. i mean . . . he’ll go down on you for hours. take breaks just to rest his screen against your stomach and nuzzle you before diving back in.
♡ never be quiet with him, please. he’ll beg you to say something to let him know how good he’s doing.
♡ oh i think Tenna prefers his tv screen covered in your lipstick prints, handprints, sweat, etc. uguhhg. . . imagine licking the glass mid sex
♡ suit stays on. mostly. he gets flustered undressing, but unbuttons enough for you to shove your hand down and feel how hot he is under all those layers
♡ please don't think that he is a pervert but. . . the idea of fucking you somewhere you might get caught or you touching him under the desk, his screen would be one endless strobe of error messages. he’d still let you though
♡ Tenna really likes it when his buttons are touched. play with the knobs, wires, trace the ridges of his screen, put your fingers in the vents. he’s sensitive everywhere.
♡ he just has the most massive praise kink imaginable. whenever you have sex you always hear how beautiful, cute, gorgeous, perfect you are, too good to be true. Tenna gets too hot and overwhelmed during the process, so he immediately starts thanking you, just like that
♡ also big yes to Tenna’s possessive tendencies that he doesn’t even realise are borderline yandere but he has a lot of unpleasant feelings any time someone else makes you laugh
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