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đŁČ SUMMARY: Getting caught staring at your boss's nose is one thing. Having him call you out on it, pin you to a table, and make your fantasies come true with his mouth - and his nose - is another.
đŁČ WARNINGS/TAGS: Human Vox, Fem!Reader, Boss/Employee Relationship, Power Dynamics Workplace, Office Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Light Dubious Consent, Nose Kink, Nose Fetish, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Humiliation Kink, Overstimulation, Grinding, Porn with Plot, Smut, Second Person, Dom Vincent, Size Kink (Implied), This is the filthiest smut I have ever written...
đŁČ NOTE: Happy New Year! This is self indulgent alright??? I HAD TO! I KEPT FOAMING AT THE MOUTH THINKING OF THIS- and ended up with 4k words.
There was one feature you had always, shamefully, found sexy in a man - a prominent nose. And with one, of course, came the promise of a good package in their lower region.
The thing is that, that deemed feature that you fetishize about was unfortunately gifted upon your boss. So instead of listening to him drone on about weekly visions and long-term growth strategies at the head of the conference table; his words were just a distant rhythmic drone, a mere soundtrack to the silent filthy thoughts that swirled through your head that would surely be considered a sin.
Your gaze, treacherous as it was, invariably drifted to the one feature that could unravel your composure entirely: that magnificent, commanding nose.
It had your thighs clenching beneath the flimsy shield of your desk. You imagined the feel of it, the slight scrape of it against your throat, your inner thighs⊠a wave of heat coursed through you so intense it was a miracle your blush didn't set the papers on fire.
A soft, choked snicker from your right, barely concealed by a demurely raised hand, pulled you from your reverie. Your colleague, Sarah, shot you a knowing look, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
She was well-aware of your particular weakness, an office joke that had become a shared, secret fantasy among the women in the office. They all saw it, the undeniable magnetism of Vincent Whittman, but you, you were the one who was completely undone by it.
Just then, Vincent paused his pacing, turning his head directly towards you. His sharp mismatched eyes pierced right through your flimsy professional facade.
You froze, a soft gasp catching in your throat as your body responded with a jolt of pure, unadulterated arousal. You coughed, a pathetic, dry sound, and quickly ducked your head, focusing on a random spreadsheet as if your life depended on it.
The heat in your cheeks bloomed into a full-body flush, and you could feel the slick warmth pooling between your legs, a damning testament to your sinful thoughts.
By the time the meeting mercifully concluded, you were a trembling, embarrassing mess. You felt utterly soaked, a state of acute awareness that had you praying the dark fabric of your skirt would hide. You waited for Sarah, gathering your things with trembling hands, desperate for the escape of the exit.
But just as you reached the door, a firm hand landed on your shoulder, the weight of it sending a jolt of cold sweat skittering down your spine.
You turned slowly, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. "YesâŠsir?" you managed, your voice a pathetic squeak.
You looked up, way up, into Vincentâs face. His expression was unnervingly stoic, his eyes a cool unreadable mask as they swept over you, from your flushed face down to your clenched fists. You swallowed hard, the sound loud in the sudden silence of the empty room.
Then, as if flipping a switch, his lips curved into that familiar, disarming smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes,
"I would like to have a word with you," he said, his gaze shifting to the doorway where Sarah hesitated. His smile tightened, a subtle, clear dismissal. "Alone."
She gave you a look of mixed concern and curiosity, nodding slowly. "I'll wait for you by the exit," she murmured, before pulling the door shut. The soft click of the latch echoed like a gunshot, sealing your fate.
"She'll be waiting for a bit then," Vincent stated, his voice a low, smooth purr that vibrated through the floorboards and up your legs.
"Pardon?" you whispered, your mind struggling to catch up.
He took a step closer, the scent of his expensive cologne; sandalwood and something clean, like ozone - filling your senses and clouding your thoughts further.
"I'm here to discuss your unprofessional behavior these days," he clarified, his tone losing its softness, sharpening with an edge of steel. "Especially during meetings. Your attention seems to be... elsewhere. Detached from the matters at hand. Is there a problem in your private life that is affecting your efficiency, or are you simply losing interest in your work here?"
He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as they scrutinized your every reaction, and you felt your blush deepen under his intense scrutiny.
"No-no, sir," you stammered, taking an involuntary step back, only to feel the cool edge of the conference table press against the back of your thighs.
"I just⊠I've been a little out of it, that's all! I have been trying my best with the journal you entrusted to me, so I've been working at home as well. I think I might just be a bit tired from pulling all-nighters is all!" You let out a dry, unconvincing laugh, the sound brittle in the charged air.
A slow, knowing smirk spread across Vincent's lips, a look that suggested he didn't believe a single word of your flimsy excuse.
 It was more than disbelief; it was the smug amusement of a man who knew the truth and was simply toying with his prey, enjoying the show. "Oh? Do tell me what you have been working on so diligently," he mused, taking another deliberate step forward.
You mirrored his movement in reverse, your backside colliding solidly with the table, trapping you. You began to ramble, your words a frantic, jumbled mess. "âŠAnd then the interview with the man who s-said about how they didn't like the atmosphereâŠ"
You could see it in his eyes, the utter disinterest in your report. He wasn't listening to your words; he was watching the way your lips moved as you spoke, the frantic flutter of your pulse at the base of your throat, the way your eyes kept darting back to his face, to that one feature.
And then, as if to confirm his suspicions, he slowly, consciously raised a hand. His index finger extended, tracing the strong, prominent bridge of his own nose.
If he hadn't been watching you so closely, he might have missed it: the sharp, involuntary clenching of your thighs, the way your breath hitched, and your words faltered for a fraction of a second before you stumbled to correct yourself.
âCaught you.â
The smirk on his face vanished, replaced by an expression of dark, predatory satisfaction. He cut you off mid-sentence, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur that sent a shiver straight through you. "Did you pull all-nighters working," he paused, letting the question hang in the air, "or pleasing yourself?"
You froze, every muscle in your body tensing as a wave of angry and undeniably aroused- humiliation washed over you. "W-what?" you choked out, your eyebrows scrunching in a mixture of fury and thrilling heat. "Are you insane?"
"You didn't answer my question," he pressed, his voice unwavering.
Fury took over. You raised your hand, intending to slap that smug, knowing look right off his handsome face. But he was faster.
His hand shot out, catching your wrist in a fierce, unyielding grip. The strength in his fingers was absolute, not painful, but terrifying in its finality, a clear demonstration that you were completely at his mercy. He held your trembling, captured hand for a moment, his eyes locked on yours, before slowly, deliberately, bringing it to his face.
He pressed his lips against your knuckles, a kiss that was both a mockery of chivalry and a brand of possession.
"Pardon me for my vulgar words," he murmured against your skin, his voice a low, velvety rasp that made your knees weak. "Let me rephrase."
He didn't release your hand, instead using his grip to pull you infinitesimally closer. You stood frozen, unable, unwilling to pull away. âDo you touch yourself thinking of me?"
The silence that followed his question was a physical presence, a taut string vibrating in the space between your bodies. A flutter of your fingers against his unyielding grip, was your only reply.
You didn't want to pull away. You were ensnared, held captive not just by the iron grip, but by the hypnotic intensity of his gaze and the intoxicating scent of his cologne that seemed to wrap around you like a silken trap.
"Mr. Whittman, I assure you that is not the case-" Your voice was a flimsy thing, a threadbare whisper that did nothing to convince him or yourself.
"Hm? Is that so?" He tilted his head, a predator studying its cornered prey, his eyebrows arching in mock disbelief.
He slowly raised his free hand, not to touch you, but to point his index finger, a single damning accusation aimed at the fabric of your skirt.
"And this," he murmured, his voice dropping to an intimate, conspiratorial whisper, "this patch on your skirt is from a water spillage then?"
Your eyes followed the trajectory of his finger, a dawning horror blooming in your chest.
There it was, a darker, tell-tale grey patch on the charcoal fabric, a slick sheen under the sterile office lights that screamed your guilt.
Mortification, so sharp and visceral it felt like a physical blow, crashed over you. You hung your head, the curtain of your hair a flimsy shield against his piercing gaze as you wished for the floor to open and swallow you whole.
He cooed, the sound a shocking contrast to the predatory tension of moments before. "Sweetheart, no need for embarrassment." The endearment was a spark against your feverish skin. "I am just hurt you didn't trust me enough to come forward and tell me."
You felt a cool, firm touch on your chin as his fingers gently but inexorably tilted your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes.
He leaned in closer, the space between you evaporating until you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. His left eye, the toxic one, seemed to widen a fraction, swallowing the light and holding you captive in its depths. His voice was barely a breath, a final, devastating question that sealed your fate.
"Do you trust me?"
A desperate, last-ditch effort to reclaim some semblance of control surfaced, a flimsy shield against the onslaught of his dominance. "No, I-" The words were meant to be a fiery declaration, a barrier of defiance, but they emerged as a meek, stuttering whimper, utterly unconvincing.
The sound was all the permission he needed.
A low, dismissive scoff rumbled in his chest, and then his lips were on yours. It wasn't a gentle persuasion but a firm, punishing collision, a deliberate silencing of your pathetic lie. You offered no protest, your body betraying you the moment his mouth met yours, and you could feel the curve of his smirk against your lips, a silent, gloating victory.
He pressed his body into yours, an overwhelming force that enveloped your smaller frame, lifting you with an effortless strength until you were seated on the polished oak of the conference table. Your legs, acting on pure instinct, wrapped around his waist, caging him to you in an involuntary act of surrender.
You tried to meet his kiss with a semblance of softness, a hesitant exploration, but he was having none of it.
He was hungry, a man starved, and his kiss was a consuming fire.
He licked at the seam of your lips, a demanding request for entry, and when you hesitated, a moment of foolish resistance, he retaliated with a sharp, deliberate nip at your bottom lip. Simultaneously, his hand, which had been gripping your hip, moved to deliver a quick, stinging pinch to the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh.
You gasped at the twin shocks of pleasure-pain, and in that instant of vulnerability, his tongue invaded, claiming your mouth with a possessive, thorough exploration.
It was a twisted, intoxicating dance, a duel for dominance you were destined to lose. But you found yourself leaning into it, meeting his tongue with your own in a clumsy, desperate rhythm. He sucked and licked with an expertise that made your head spin, and a raw, uninhibited moan was torn from your throat.
Your hands flew up, gripping the lapels of his expensive suit, your fingers digging into the fine wool as you tried to anchor yourself against the dizzying whirl of sheer arousal and the intoxicating scent of his cologne that saturated the air.
When you finally parted for air, a wet, obscene sound echoed in the sterile room, a thin, glistening thread of saliva breaking between your lips as he lowered his head to the vulnerable curve of your neck.
His hands roamed your body with proprietary confidence, mapping the curve of your waist, the dip of your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as if to claim every inch.
His nose, that magnificent, arrogant nose, nuzzled into the frantic pulse point at the base of your throat. The feel of it, the solid structure pressing against your skin, was almost enough to make you climax then and there. He placed a soft, open-mouthed kiss over your pulse, then began a slow, torturous drag of his lips and the bridge of his nose down to your collarbone. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably around his waist.
"You love my nose that much?" he chuckled, the vibration a low, mocking thrum against your skin.
"I- I don't-" you lied, your voice a shaky whisper.
"Come on, sweetheart, don't deny it," he murmured, his voice laced with dark amusement. "I heard you gossiping to your little colleagues. How- dare I quote: 'I wish I could ride his-'"
Panic, hot and sharp, shot through you. You lunged forward, slapping a hand over his mouth to stop the humiliating words. He simply stilled, raising a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow in an expression of supreme, unconcealed amusement.
"Mr. Whittman," you began, your voice trembling as you grasped at the last shreds of your professionalism, "might I remind you we are still in a public space- in your conference room."
A furious blush bloomed across your cheeks, but it died when you met his gaze. The amusement was gone, replaced by a dark, predatory heat that made the air feel thick and heavy.
In a blur of motion, he grabbed your wrist, pinning both your hands above your head with one of his, his grip like an iron shackle against the cool wood of the table.
"I guess I better share my strategies then," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "And this time, you will listen."
His free hand snaked down, disappearing under the hem of your skirt. You gasped, your head turning away in a futile attempt to hide as his palm cupped your mound, the heat of his hand searing through the damp fabric of your panties. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear:
"You become this wet just from fantasizing about riding my nose?" he chuckled, a dark, condescending sound that sent a shiver of shame and arousal straight through you. "You flatter me, my dear."
His voice was a brand against your ear, hot and possessive. The hand pinning your wrists tightened, a silent reminder of his control, while the other began to move with a maddening, deliberate slowness.
He didn't rush; he explored, the heel of his palm pressing against your sensitive mound as his long fingers curled, tracing the shape of you through the soaked cotton. Every movement was designed to unravel you, to stoke the fire he had so expertly ignited.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice losing its playful edge and sharpening with steel. When you didn't obey, too lost in the humiliating haze of your own arousal, he shifted. His body caged you in further, and he used the hand that held your wrists to grip your jaw, his fingers firm as he forced your face back towards his:
"I said, look at me. I want to see those pretty eyes when I make you fall apart."
Your lids fluttered open, your vision blurry with unshed tears of need and humiliation. His eyes were like storm clouds, dark and turbulent, lit from within by a fierce, predatory light. He watched your every micro-expression, his lips curled in a smirk of absolute triumph. With his gaze locked on yours,
The professional facade, the weak protests, the fear - it was all dissolving slowly, leaving only a raw, desperate need.
"Please," you whimpered, the word a broken, breathy sound you barely recognized as your own.
He dragged the bridge of his nose down the column of your throat, a slow, possessive gesture that was both a promise and a taunt.
"Please what?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against your skin. He increased the pressure on your clit, his thumb now working in maddening circles while two of his fingers poised at your entrance, a silent, teasing threat. " You have to use your words, sweetheart. Tell me what you want me to do with this nose you're so obsessed with."
Your last wall of resistance crumbled. The professional, the composed employee, the woman who tried to deny her own desires-all of it vanished under the relentless pressure of his touch and his words.
"You," you choked out, your voice a ragged, breathy thing. "I want to ride your nose."
A low, triumphant growl rumbled in his chest. "Good girl."
With a swift, decisive motion, his fingers hooked into the side of your panties, pulling the soaked fabric aside to expose you completely to the cool, sterile air of the room. The vulnerability was breathtaking, and you couldn't stop the shiver that wracked your body.
He didn't give you a moment to adjust. His fingers, now slick with your arousal, began to explore with devastating expertise. He traced your folds, circling your entrance without breaching it, gathering your wetness before circling your clit with a feather-light touch that was almost agonizing in its teasing. Your hips bucked off the table, a silent, begging motion.
But this was merely a prelude. With a final, lingering stroke, he removed his hand. A whine of protest escaped you before you could stop it, and he chuckled, a dark, condescending sound. "Patience." he murmured, his gaze holding yours as he began to lower his head, his intent unmistakable.
Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat of anticipation and pure, unadulterated terror. This was it. The fantasy you had only ever dared to entertain in the darkest corners of your mind was about to become a reality.
He moved with a torturous slowness, his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh, his breath hot against your skin. And then, you felt it.
The firm, distinct pressure of the bridge of his nose pressed directly against your aching clit.
A strangled gasp tore from your throat. It was unlike anything you had ever felt. The solid, unyielding structure, the slight bump of cartilage, the sheer, possessive weight of it - it was an overwhelming, pinpointed pressure that sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your entire body.
He didn't move at first, just held it there, letting you get used to the sensation, letting the humiliation and the reality of the act wash over you.
"Is this what you imagined?" he rasped, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Is this how you pictured it?"
You couldn't answer. You could only writhe, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as he began to move. He dragged his nose upward in a slow, deliberate lick of pressure, then circled your clit with the tip, the friction so exquisite it was almost painful.
A string of incoherent moans and pleas fell from your lips. He was devouring you, not with his mouth, but with the very feature you had fetishized, turning your secret shame into your most profound pleasure.
Then, a new sensation shattered your focus. Something wet and impossibly soft licked at your fluttering entrance. A sharp cry was torn from your throat, and you quickly brought a hand to your face, biting down hard on the fleshy part of your palm to stifle the sound as your hips arched clean off the table.
The sick, wet sounds of his slurping flooded the sterile room, a depraved symphony of slurp! and shlick! that echoed the lewd rhythm of your heart. You whined, a high, needy sound, and your free hand flew down, fingers tangling in the thick, surprisingly soft locks of his hair, holding him to you.
He began to move his head in a slow, torturous rhythm, up and down, causing his nose to bump and grind against your clit with every pass while his mouth worked feverishly at your core.
In response, you pulled at his hair, a desperate, guiding motion, your back arching as you tried to grind yourself onto his face - onto his nose - chasing the friction with a single-minded need that obliterated all else.
You looked down, biting into the palm of your hand as drool escaping the corner of your mouth and trickled down your wrist. And when you saw the sight of him - your boss, his face buried between your thighs - it all dawned on you in a crashing, humiliating wave.
Your boss was eating you out in his conference room, and you were shamelessly grinding on his nose, using his face to chase your pleasure.
God, you felt so fucking filthy.
He felt your gaze and looked up, his eyes dark and possessive, and you felt a fresh wave of humiliation wash over you, so potent it was its own form of arousal. He chuckled against your pussy, the vibration a devastating addition to the already overwhelming stimulation.
"Look at you," he praised, his voice a thick, satisfied rumble that you felt more than heard.
 He brought a free hand up, using his fingers to spread your folds wide, exposing the sheer, glistening slickness that had poured from you. He collected a mouthful of spit, then let it glide slowly down his tongue, a single, glistening thread landing directly on your twitching, exposed clit. Your thighs trembled violently, a choked whimper escaping your bitten hand.
"So responsive. So beautiful when you're falling apart for me."
He went back down, and you tugged at his locks, returning to your previous frantic motion of grinding against him. But this time, he increased the pressure, his movements becoming more insistent, more demanding. The sound of his slurping grew louder, wetter, a testament to your arousal, and his nose bumped your clit with a faster, harder pace.
You felt the coil of pleasure deep within your belly begin to tighten, a white-hot thread threatening to snap and unravel you completely.
"That's it," he commanded, his voice a dark, hypnotic spell that wove through your haze of pleasure. "Let go. Come for me. Right here on my table."
With a few more frantic collisions of your hips against his nose and a few more masterful strokes of his tongue, you were coming undone.
The orgasm ripped through you, a violent, blinding wave of ecstasy that left you gasping and convulsing on the table.
He sealed his lips over your pulsing pussy, sucking and drinking in everything you offered, a low groan of satisfaction rumbling in his chest. Your thighs clamped down around his head, your fingers tightening in his hair, holding him to you as you rode out the most intense pleasure of your life.
You had never felt so blissed out, so utterly shattered and remade.
Is this what Heaven feels like? Not that you'd get to go there after these events.
He licked a few more slow, cleansing stripes against your sensitive hole, deciding you'd had enough as your thighs continued to tremble in the aftershocks. He rose slowly from his position, his gaze never leaving yours, staring at your appearance with a primal satisfaction.
Two words could describe it perfectly: utterly ruined.
He snickered, a low, dark sound, and his hands came to rest on your trembling thighs, pulling your hips flush with his. You let out a soft yelp, looking up at him with wide, dazed confusion.
"Did you think that was it?" he snickered again, and he rolled his hips slightly. You felt something large, hot, and firm poke at your still-sensitive entrance, and your eyes widened as you looked down.
Oh god. So it is true.
"Thankfully, I let everybody go home after the meeting," he murmured, his voice a low, possessive growl as he ground his hips into yours, letting you feel the sheer size of him through his trousers. "Or else they would see a hell of an entertainment."
He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and promising. "But you and I aren't leaving this room just yet."
âFreddy hardly ever argues with you. He just doesn't really have it in him to bicker, even if something really, really bothers him. There's a chance he'll bring it up, but never in a way that's asking for a fight. He wants you to trust him and for your relationship to be built on a mutual understanding of one another.
âYou can still tell when he's upset, though. Not mad, because it's nearly impossible to make Freddy genuinely angry, but definitely disappointed. His words are shorter, his tone more clipped, and he makes an obvious effort not to give you the attention you're seeking. ...He might be giving you the cold-shoulder. Just a little bit.
âHe does eventually apologize. Even if he's upset, taking it out on you in such a childish way isn't fair. If he wants clear communication in a relationship, then he has to put in effort to get there, right? So, he hopes that by taking the first step, you'll follow suit. Out of everyone, his reaction is the healthiest, by far.
âïžSunnydrop + "Arguing With Their S/O:"âïž
âThere are a few things that Sun will argue with you about, but they're mostly related to his need to follow the rules and various other anxieties he deals with (the cleaning, the lights issue, etc etc). He can usually be talked down from his spirals if you handle things gently enough. But there are still some bad days.
âThe more irritated he gets during an argument, the more he acts like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Stomping his foot, huffing and puffing, and if you make him mad enough he might even yell at you. By that point, he just makes the decision to "ban" you from the Daycare until he cools off again.
âNo matter how bad your argument is, he always feels incredibly guilty about how he acted after--he should know better than that!!! And now you probably hate him, and you're never going to want to talk to him again and you'll probably want to leave and never come back and--!!! The guilt eats him up inside to the point that it Hurts.
đMoondrop + "Arguing With Their S/O:"đ
âMoon is a lot more combative than he thinks. Of course, he's a stickler for the rules and stuff like that, but his jealous streak can also be a big issue. He's just so used to having control over most situations that having someone try to "challenge" that control immediately makes him defensive. Which, in turn, causes him to lash out.
âHis immediate reaction whenever you argue is to try and intimidate you into backing down. Getting in your face, pinning you up against whatever surface you're closest to, and overall being a Grade-A Asshole. It's only once he realizes what he's done/doing does he resort to Option B: flee (like the big butthurt baby that he is).
âHe spends a lot of time stuck in his own little pity party afterwards. He wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see him again. It's probably better if you don't. Truthfully, Moon feels really bad about fighting with you and he really wants to tell you that he's sorry, but he just...doesn't know how. He's never had to, before now.
đșRoxanne Wolf + "Arguing With Their S/O:"đș
âRoxy knows that she tends to be the one who's picking fights when it comes to the two of you, but...she can't help it. There are just times when she starts beating herself up and then she gets sad, and then she gets mad, and then she lashes out at whoever's closest--and sometimes that person just so happens to be you.
âThey're less of big arguments and more spur of the moment insults that she snaps without thinking. Only to realize what she's said the second it leaves her lips...and crumble at the realization that she really is nothing but a total loser. She couldn't even let the one person she loves the most close enough to comfort her. Why is she like this?
âShe eventually just screams at you to "GET OUT!" and then spends a little bit of time avoiding you out of sheer guilt. It usually takes some pushing from Chica and/or Freddy to get her to finally approach you in order to make up, and she ends up breaking down again mid-apology. Wow, she can't even do this right!
Can we have a Vox version of the reader who throws herself at him when sheâs drunk? I canât decide if I want him to carry my drunk ass to bed or dick me down dubcon style fr
i couldnt decide either so i kinda combined?!?!?!?!??!?!/1/1?!
vox x drunk!reader
tw: intoxication, dubcon, d a d d y k i n k a n d a g e p l a y i f y o u r e a l l y s q u i n t
you had just gotten back from a night out with your girls, and definitely drank wayyyyyy too much.
you stumbled out of the elevator, giggling with your heels in one hand. vox's eyebrow rose as he came to meet you, hands reaching out to steady you by your arms.
"wooow, sweetness, slow down."
you hiccup and smile up at him, mascara a little smudged and makeup nearly evaporated.
"hiiiiiiiii voxxxyyyyyy."
"oh, i see. you had a little too much, huh?"
"no! no, i, i was good."
"sure, sure. give me that."
he takes your bag and heels and some empty fast food box, placing them on a table before he turns to pick you up. he does do effortlessly, sighing softly as he carries you in his arms, head against his broad chest.
despite vox's calmness you however cannot stop beaming. your eyes blink tiredly as you look up at him, hands reaching to his shirt, before slowly attempting to unbutton it.
he looks down at you, smirk slowly growing.
"oh dear, you want me honey? like this? that shit really makes you so damn needy."
you giggle at his words as he takes you to his bed. slowly, he lays you down on it, before taking off your tights, skirt, and top gently. your face flushes as he does so, and you cant help the warmness pooling at your core. just looking up at him, at his strong body, face worn out yet still content and happy to be around you.
he makes eye contact, and sighs again.
"come on, under the covers."
you whine in refusal, begging softly for him as he helps you snuggle under the covers. he smiles softly as he holds you to his chest with one arm, the other gently pushing your hair out of your face. your hands stumble to his chest, before attempting to travel down.
"no no no, no dick for you today. cant have you going cock drunk as well."
your hands keep trying to reach for his belt, but he firmly grabs your chin, voice lower and exacting control.
"y'gonna be good for me? c'mon, be my good girl."
his hand snakes down to your naked pussy and slowly rubs slow circles on your clit, before a surge of vibration forces a whine out of you. it hits perfectly, not overstimulating yet enough to make you question if you want more or to run away. you curl in more against him, savoring his warmth and muscle. he speeds it up, and you whine.
"youre so damn cute like this. just my drunk little girl, clinging to me. i bet youd do anything id want right now, huh?"
you nod, eyes clenching shut as you feel your orgasm approach you. letting out short pants and moans, your hands clench vox's shirt, desperation written all over you.
"you getting close? say thank you, tell me how much you like this."
"t-thank, thank y-you."
"'atta girl."
he presses firm on your clit, arm keeping you firmly close as you gasp, and finally finish. your body twitches and stutters as you come back down, back into vox's arms, back into his bed.
your eyes flutter as well as the exhaustion of the night catches up to you, suddenly very overwhelming.
vox leans down to kiss your forehead, before he whispers to your fading consciousness.
"thats it, princess. just needed a little bedtime story to get you to sleep."
THE FREAK CIRCUS SMAU -> âjealously is super uglyâ
Request: âSince your running out of ideas mabye you could do one of them seeing us wearing another members pin? Hope you get idea for these and the messages they are aways fun to read :Dâ
Let's get one thing straight- Bill does NOT like accepting when he's weaker than someone.
Bill says he knows everything, but I don't think he actually knows everything. He probably wouldn't even know that someone is more powerful than him unless they make that purposefully clear.
This could either be because of denial or lack of interest- but you would definitely need to prove that you're more powerful.
After it's proven that you're more powerful he immediately hates your guts. He cannot stand feeling inferior. This can be connected to him feeling inferior because of his mutation in Euclidea, he doesn't want to feel that again.
I think it would also start a one-sided rivalry between you two. Like he would do his best to be better but constantly fail. And you wouldn't even notice- which hurts his pride incredibly.
So, the two of you getting together would be a slooooowwwwww burn. Like thousands of years type thing.
I think the only reason he would innitiate a relationship with someone stronger than him is to use them. But knowing this little pathetic triangle he would catch feelings two days into his big manipulation plan.
Like- You're giving him love, affection, and attention? What??? Then he's in love and has to include you as a bigger component in any world domination plans he has in the future.
At the begining he would do everything he can to feel like the one that's "in-charge" in the relationship. That includes anything from manipulation to fear tactics like threats and push and pull type stuff.
But when that doesn't work he'd be in a weird place where he both resents you but can't help but still have feelings.
Eventually, in his own twisted way, he would be into it though. Maybe one of his henchmaniacs talked to him about it and changed his perspective a bit.
"You don't like that your partner is more powerful than you?" Jheselbraum takes one of the shot glasses next to Bill and pours herself a drink.
"Psh- powerful? No... I'm better! I can- I can..." Bill trails off and opts to take another shot.
"Y'know, it's not that bad." She takes a shot, "You have scary dog privileges." She shrugs.
Bill pauses and then slowly turns to Jheselbraum. He begins to laugh uncontrollably. So much so that Jheselbraum takes the I'm Fine Juice bottle and awkwardly backs out the room.
She's right!
He can use you to seal more deals, make more plans, almost anything he can't get done himself he can use you for.
You'll be the one to shield him from consequences, you'll protect him, you'll be the one that makes sure he gets his way. You won't leave when the kitchen gets hot. You said you love him so you'll do anything for him, won't you?
He would start to gush over how strong and powerful you are because now he sees it as an advantage to him.
He sighs dreamily as he imagines all the laws of space and time you can break.
He'd most definitely daydream about the two of you conquering the world together. With you by his side it'll be so much easier.
Other than just using you though-
He'd test you. A lot. He'd push all the buttons he can to see what makes you snap. What are your limits? How many of his antics will you let slide? How will you make your anger known? If he goes too far will you hurt him somehow? He almost wants you to.
You want him to stop annoying you? Show him what you've got. Show him what all the buzz is about. What makes you more powerful.
Make him stop.
I think he would low-key like having you be angry at him. It makes him feel like he has all your attention.
you:* avoiding eye contact with the naked strangers in val's studio* *not batting an eye at any of Val's or model's perfect bodies* *laughs off attempted flirting and come-ons*
also you, a while later: *watching Vox suck off Val* ...You should cum in his mouth, I want some too.
val: *biggest, shiniest moth eyes while choking Vox on his dick* oh
spare nsfw hc's for sun and moon with an afab!reader? spare crumb of dick for the poor???
(hands you an entire bag's worth of dick) Go. Be free, my child.
(Minors DNI)
âïžSunnydrop + AFAB!Reader HCs (NSFW):âïž
âMost of your..."intimate" moments start off as games. Yes, actual games. Tag, Hide-and-Seek, Simon Says, etc etc. He doesn't care which role you give him, top/bottom-wise, he's pretty good at switching it up! Given how eager he is to please others, it's obvious that he adores being the one following your orders, but at the same time, there's just something about being able to make you do whatever he wants that gets his "engines revving," so to speak.
âHe is 100% a Boob Man. Tiny boobs, big boobs--boobs! If you have boobs, he is going to Grope them. His hands are so damn big and so very warm, and he knows how to use them. As a side-note: he'd never admit it, but one of his lowkey-highkey fantasies is you giving him a boob-job (regardless of size; you could have 0% boobage and he'd still bust a nut the moment his dick touched your chest).
âSunny does not know the meaning of "slow and steady." The second he's inside you, he's fucking you like his life depends on it. If you couldn't guess, he's a Master of Quickies. And though he is Weak for the way you look with his cum on your face/chest, he much prefers cumming inside of you. Less of a mess that way! That, and the sight of his cum leaking out from between your legs makes him feel...A Certain Type of Way. (And that way is Horny AF.)
đMoondrop + AFAB!Reader HCs (NSFW):đ
âHe has a bit of a weakness for sneaking up on you when you're least expecting it and groping you from behind. Consider it an impromptu game of "Hide-and-Seek," where he's the seeker, and you're the hider who doesn't realize you're supposed to be hiding...until it's too late, that is. The way you whine and squirm against him as his hands slide beneath your clothing is almost enough to drive him crazy. Such a cute, needy little thing.
âBeing Sun's opposite, he is 100% an Ass Man. Loves sneaking up behind you to smack your ass without warning, only to "fly" out of reach before you can turn around and get him back. Equally enjoys squeezing your thighs and butt as you sit (or better yet, grind) in his lap. You're just so damn soft. He's also got a big spanking kink, and the just sight of his hand-prints marking up your perfect, pretty skin is enough to make him drool (if he could, anyway).
âI know a lot of people think he's mostly into doggy/giving it from behind, but I think Moon is the kind of guy who adores having his partner ride him. Getting to just lie beneath you, watching the way your body moves as you bounce on his cock, his metal fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs when he wants you to go faster. It's much slower than with Sun. He likes to take his time with you, to make certain that you'll remember every moment you spent with him.
AO3 creators... have you ever posted something you didn't want associated with your main account?*
Yes - created a separate account
Yes - posted anonymously
Yes - orphaned it after posting
Yes - posted it under a different pseud (but clearly linked to my main)
Yes - Multiple of the above
No - I don't have fanworks I feel that way about
No - I do have fanworks I feel that way about but don't post them at all
I didn't know about these options and am going to go learn a thing
Vanilla extract /answers please
Remaining time: 1 day 16 hours
*Could be something kinky, dark, "weird," off-brand in some way, etc! But I'm not talking about "I split up my different fandoms into different pseuds" or something else where it's purely an organizational preference.
Daydreaming about Jester idling a deck of cards while reading or in thought, the deck seemingly floating in perfect cuts, cards twirling around his fingers, subconscious flourishes and one handed tricks mesmerizing you. The cards daring not to disobey as they reveal their suits to you in order, only to be shuffled again, mixed in a dazzlingly perfect pattern of suits and numbers only to be sorted by suit again. Something so impressive to the average person a mere fidget to keep his hands busy. Like and anglerfish luring his prey, or a spider setting up it's net, you fall for it every time.
"If something so boring is impressive to you, I can't imagine how you'd react to something actually monumental."
â· â ·âœâŻâŸÂ· â ·â
Or how those blurs in the corners of your vision, ones that you swear were something moving around, only to vanish into thin air are actually Ticket Taker keeping tabs on you. Using his ability to travel throughout reflections, making notes of your day to day habits and assuring your punctuality to visit the circus. Even pitying you by helping you find items you frantically pace around your apartment for. You swear your keys weren't in plain view on the counter before. Or how your dryer's buzz startled you, reminding you that you forgot to start it in the first place.
â· â ·âœâŻâŸÂ· â ·â
I love to think about how Pierrot would be your personal guard dog, protecting you from unwanted advances from people. Someone persistently asking you personal questions nearly instantly dropping the conversation to make peace with whatever religion they have. The sheer presence of him being enough to ward anyone from treating you with nothing but curt kindness. The public overall being on their best behavior whenever the crimson guardian with his golden authoritative glare is in vicinity.
â· â ·âœâŻâŸÂ· â ·â
I often find myself daydreaming about Harlequin and his aversion to genuine care and love. His flirty remarks and empty promises being his only defense against receiving anything outside of annoyance or bashfulness from you. Until you become desensitized to his front, giving him a taste of what your relationship could be. Gentle touches causing him to stop his remark in it's tracks. You fixing his hair causing his sly posture to stiffen. A genuine compliment followed by reinforced praises causing his brain to revert into a defensive wall of self degradation. Although, all of these gestures haunt his lonely nights.
â· â ·âœâŻâŸÂ· â ·â
Or our sweet Doctor, who has a secret notebook dedicated to you and your health. Documenting your sleep schedule, any irregular changes to your blood pressure or blood levels, even so much as a cough getting documented in it's routinely worn pages. How he's the first to notice when your body is preparing it's war on a cold, or how your aches and pains dull after taking up his offer on a medicinal tea. His vigilance being your unknowing safeguard from any minor medical threats you face.
â· â ·âœâŻâŸÂ· â ·â
Small Personal Update below the cut!
Ya girl managed to secure an apartment and I'll be moving in over the weekend. So posts/requests will be a bit delayed while I get internet set up. (I absolutely refuse to type out my blurbs on mobile, not to mention I need my PC ready so I can do my fancy colors!)
I don't expect me to go without wifi for longer than a week at most, but that is also considering that my father will help with transporting me to where I need to go to get things set up.
I know some of y'all are worried about me given my fathers deadline to move out but I'm out here manifesting the best environment for me to absolutely thrive out of spite and determination alone!
You moved across the daycare, sweeping up the pieces of construction paper and little piles of glitter beneath the tables. Far across on the other side, Sun stood seeing off the last of the children for the day, and you paused as you caught a motion in your periphery. Your eyes met Prologue and Epilogues where they stood outside the plexiglass, and you automatically smiled. They returned it, gesturing you closer, and you walked over to them curiously.
They held up a cup with your name written on it, curls of steam rising from the lid, and beamed at you as you gasped excitedly. Quickly, you gestured to them to meet you at the doors, and hurried across the daycare as they nodded.
Sun watched you jog across the room, rays clicking slightly as he saw the form of the security bot outside the window match your movements, and quietly walked away, out of sight. Whatever was happening between you and the two other animatronics, he didnât want to be seen as in the way of it.
You pulled open the doors and stepped out, hands reaching out eagerly with gesturing fingers as Prologue smiled, but Epilogue held the cup just out of your reach. You put your hands on your hips and huffed, before lifting your hands and signing at them.
âExcuse me, sir. That is mine.â You moved slowly as you said it, their eyes tracking your hands. They were still learning how to communicate with you, and although they understood how to make it easier to speechread their lips, signing was more complicated. They had taken a great interest though, and you were happy to teach them whatever they asked about. They seemed dedicated to learning everything they could, about both ASL and you.
This had led to quite a few long conversations, sitting cross legged in front of them with a notepad as you gradually built up an initial library of words and phrases.
Not long after meeting them, you had noted their frequent use of nicknames for you, and realized the specialized symbolism of name signs would be of interest to them. You had already been thinking of possible name signs for them. Some things felt too plain, like âsunshineâ, while others almost worked but didnât quite fit how you viewed them.
Eventually, you had begun thinking of it less in literal terms and more in emotional, to indicate the building affection you felt for the joint animatronics. They needed separate signs, you had decided, because although they shared a body, they were very much their own robots. Where one ended, the other began. Like a sunset fading into the night, flowing into the sunrise before the brightening day. The motion was fluid, the thumb and index of one hand circled, lowering towards a level arm for one, rising from it for the other.Â
Teaching them what a namesign meant, and demonstrating theirs, was a highlight of your interactions. Their attention was rapt as you gestured âsunsetâ and âsunriseâ, their eyes large as they followed every movement with dawning realization.
Afterwards, they had spent time practicing on their own, and came up with their own special sign for you. Your delight when they first used it in conjunction with the spoken word had sent Prologue's rays fluttering, and Epilogue's sharp smile had grown even larger than usual...
The smell of hot chocolate brought you out of your reverie as they knelt next to you, and you took the proffered cup, inhaling the steam with a soft sigh and sipping it. Your shoulders relaxed as you indulged, raising your eyes to theirs with a grateful smile as they signed somewhat haltingly,
âWe know you⊠like chocolate.â You beamed at them and nodded, stepping forward and holding out your arm in invitation of a hug. They took it and bent to wrap their long arms around you carefully, the soft material of Epilogues hat pressing against your cheek pleasantly. You hesitated when they pulled back, glancing back into the daycare, but you could see Sun across the room finishing tidying up. His eye caught yours, and he nodded, gesturing for you to go.
You looked back up at the two in front of you, who were watching you with a soft smile. You used your free hand to point at the tables nearby, and they walked over with you, their long legs folding gracefully to lower them to the ground in front of you as you sat down and set the cup on the table.
âWhatâs the occasion?â You signed, tilting your head. Epilogue shrugged, the motion of one shoulder echoing across their frame as Prologue rubbed the back of his head for a moment.
Epilogue spoke, and you watched their mouth carefully. It wasnât easy, speechreading an animatronic with minimal lips to speak of, but he pronounced them carefully for you.
âWe wanted. To spend time. With you. little. star.â As he said the words aloud, their hands raised, palms facing each other. They moved them slightly closer together, then pointed both index fingers up and brushed the sides of their fingers together twice with a small upward motion. The special name sign caused your chest to tighten with happiness and longing, as it always did when they used it, and you scooted closer to them on the bench seat.
âIâm always happy to spend time with you, with or without hot chocolateâ You signed with a giggle, and they smiled at you. You blushed and looked away for a moment, before Prologue reached out and touched your hand. You looked up at him, and he made the sign for teaching.
âAnother lesson?â You asked, and they nodded eagerly. âWhat would you like to learn today then?â You used the joint sign that merged their names, raising your circled fingers above your level hand and spreading your fingers in a wiggle, indicating âTwilightâ.
They hesitated before their slender hands raised, signingÂ
âHow do we say âdateâ?â You blinked, tilting your head.
âAs in, what is today?â You asked, and they shook their head with a smile.Â
âOh, like a romantic date!â You signed, then raised your hands and made a D shape with both of them, your index fingers pointing up but your other fingers curled. You faced your palms toward each other and tapped your curled fingertips together twice. They mimicked the gesture, and you reached out to gently correct their hand positioning. Their hands were smooth and pleasantly warm as you guided them, and your heart sped up for a moment as they brushed your fingers with theirs to copy your motions. They tried again when you pulled back, and you smiled approvingly, nodding.Â
âYou got it!â Only then did it register what they had asked to learn. You pulled back slightly, confused, and watched as they seemed to have an internal dialogue, then refocused on you and carefully began to sign.
Prologue pointed at you with his index finger, and they both held their hands out with palms up and clawed fingers, then pulled them slightly toward their body. Their hands came together as they touched the curled fingers together in the sign you had just taught them, then Epilogue's index finger pointed to their own chest. They leaned forward, raising their eyebrows, and waited.
âWill you date us?â
Your breath caught as you looked up into their eyes that seemed to glow with an inner fire as they gazed back at you. Prologue's rays were twitching nervously, and though Epilogue looked more at ease, they were both holding their metaphorical breath.Â
You blinked, then pointed at yourself, raising your own eyebrows. You could see the vibration of Epilogue's chuckle as he grinned, and Prologue flushed as they nodded. They watched you as the heat climbed up your face, and finally you took a breath and stood, composing yourself before nodding vigorously and launching into their arms for a tight hug. You pulled back, tears sparkling in your eyes as you gestured rapidly, incoherent. Laughing, they caught your hands in theirs, holding them to their chest in the equivalent of a shush. You stopped, flustered, and they smiled as they leaned down to you. Releasing your hands, Prologue signed teasingly,
âSo cute, little star.âÂ
You giggled and stuck your tongue out at them, and Prologue smiled and signed the words as Epilogue spoke aloud, cupping your cheek in their large hand affectionately.
âOur. Little star.â
So it's here I stand, as a broken man
But I've found my friend
(At the curtains of the waterfall)
Now I'm falling down, through the crashin' sound
And you've come around
(At the curtains of the waterfall)
And you rushed to me, and it sets us free
So I fall to my knees
(At the curtains of the waterfall)
So say Geronimo
Make this leap
