tldr: I am an adult. You need to be an adult for this blog. Be an adult who curates your own media/fandom. Play nice and be respectful.
I tag my own posts with content warning for dark themes, but i generally do not tag reblogs. If you think the topic might disturb me, just ask or refer to the link above for further details.
Browse my page for fandoms/characters I write for and a general idea of themes I like. I'm slow with requests my b. Proper Fic will be cross-posted to my ao3.
The @candysignal fanarts have me questioning whether I prefer twink!Vox, jacked!Vox or chubby!Vox (I can't pick!!)... That being said, chubby Vox doesn't get enough love from one-shots. 🤲
Summary: After the crushing blow of his s2 defeat, Vox hits the fast-food a liiittle too hard; Reader is the only one he'll allow to comfort him about his body image issues.
*Gn!Tall!Reader is one of the Vees; Poly!Vees implied but not explicit*
CW: Crying/angst with comfort, hickeys, biting, Vox being a whiny lil attention wh0re bc pathetic men are hot
TW: Themes of depression & coping/eating disorders, dysmorphia, mention of a slightly bl00dy injury
Val & Vel were reaaallyyy reluctant to give Vox his body back after his whole... Meltdown.
But being the empathetic one of the group, you could see that the longer Vox went without a body, the more depressed he became. Whenever it came time for Val to spoon-feed him, he ate less and less. Val never seemed to notice this, but you did. So after a few weeks, you successfully convinced the other two to give him his limbs back.
"Fine," Velvette said, "But if he does one more stupid thing wherein Val's gotta rip off his head again so we don't all die- This time, I'm incinerating his body and using the ashes for my new mascara line."
You and Val winced.
Nearly the instant Vox got his body privileges back, he locked himself in his room. He never came out, and never let anyone in. He didn't even talk to anyone, save for Ethan over comms, who'd get him takeout and discretely leave the paper-bags of ordered fast-food at his doorstep. You never saw Vox's door open, and yet, the next day, the food was always magically gone.
A month and a half went by, and the routine didn't change. This was getting ridiculous.
You went upstairs, to his floor, to his hall, and toward his room. You balled your fist up to knock on his door, when you noticed it was in fact slightly ajar.
Cautiously, you pushed it open and stepped through. "Babe?"
It was dark in his room; the curtains were drawn and not a single light was on, save for the bluish glow of his bedroom's TV on your left. It illuminated a coffee table littered with soft drinks, milkshakes, and alcohol, and a plush couch similarly trashed with an assortment of chip bags. While your head was turned to the left, you felt a shove on your right.
"Hey! What the-?"
"The fuck you doin’?! You can't just barge in here!" Vox hissed as he tried to shove you outside. But you planted your feet on the floor and grabbed onto the doorway.
"And you can't just push me out like I'm your younger sibling, you idiot!"
"Just, get out!" he snapped, trying to close the door in your face. But he mistimed it, and he slammed it into your side, and you couldn't help but cry out. Vox froze deathly still upon realizing he'd hurt you, and he watched you clutch at your side.
"Agh, you jerk!" you winced, pulling your arm free from being squished by the door.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice suddenly very quiet.
You only growled in response. "Right. Y'know, I'm the reason you have that stupid body back at all, so I'd expect you to be a little more..."
Your voice trailed off as you finally got a good look at him in the light of the hallway. He still had his bloody bandage wound around the stitches in his neck where he'd been reattached, but that wasn't what caught your attention.
His outfit looked... Wrong. Not that the outfit itself was poor, but rather, the way it fit him. His white button-down shirt looked oddly small on his torso now. His sleeves were taut against his arms, and it wasn't because of the biceps he'd been parading around town two months ago. His top three buttons were undone, but the way the cloth pressed against his skin when he breathed implied that the other buttons were bordering the risk of popping off. The ends of his shirt were tucked into black pants that were once baggy, but were now filled-in. Those pants were worn beltless, and were only halfway zipped, and clearly were impossible to button.
You stared at him, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. His slutty little waist was absent, and in its place was a figure actually leaning more towards being slightly chubby. Vox sniffled, and you watched him drag the back of his hand across his tear-stained screen.
"I know, I know," he said, and you at last noticed that his voice was hoarse, like he'd been crying. "Hah. I've gone from a ten to a fucking six."
Your heart wrenched at seeing him be so hard on himself, and your tone shifted immediately. "Aww, my baby..." You stepped inside the room and shut the door behind you. "What happened?"
He wiped vigorously at his eyes. "What happened is- Hic- Oh, I don't fucking know!" he whimpered, only semi-successfully fighting off his sobs. "I guess I was just excited to be eating on my own again, instead of being fed by Val like I'm some fucking toddler," he vented. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "But I wasn't paying attention and- Hic- I started looking like shit-" he grabbed the sides of his screen, "-And then I started feeling like shit, and so I started eating even more- Like an idiot- And now I look like this..."
Any anger you'd had for him slamming you into the doorway had melted away. All you wanted to do now was comfort him- So you opened your arms to your boyfriend. "C'mere."
At your word, Vox basically ran into your arms, burying his TV-face into your chest. "I’m such a loserrrrr..."
"Oh, sweetheart," you cooed, massaging little circles into his back. "It'll be okay." You glanced around the dark room again, disapprovingly. "It's not a wonder you're depressed, you haven't seen daylight... Or talked to anyone other than your assistant in the last six weeks... Shok.wav misses you, you know."
Reluctantly, Vox detached himself from you. "He does?"
You affectionately tilted his screen up to face you. "Of course." After a moment, you slid your hand into his. "Come on," you said, opening the door, "A walk outside would do you-"
Vox immediately slammed the door shut again. "Are you crazy?!"
"Vox! What's gotten into you?!"
"Don't you understand?" he hissed, locking the door. "If I take one step outside like this, I'll be dragged by the press like no one in history's ever been dragged before!"
You sighed. "Alright. Okay. If it matters that much-"
"Of course it does!" he interrupted. His voice quickly softened. "How... How are my approval ratings?"
You raised an eyebrow. "No one's seen you in two months. How do you think they are?"
Vox groaned in frustration before dragging himself to the couch and flopping on it, face-down. You bit your lip as you thought of what you could say to comfort him, but you weren't sure you could. Silently, you brought yourself to the couch, and brushed off three bags of chips before taking a seat. Jaws was playing on the TV in front of you, until you wedged the control out of the couch and paused the movie.
You finally spoke. "You shouldn't be so obsessed with approval, babe... Unless it's mine, of course," you joked.
"Ughhh... But I could fix some of those ratings right now..." he said into the couch, his voice muffled. He flipped himself on his back and rubbed his hands over his face. "If I just looked the way I always do. Fuuu-uuu-uuck... Why did I eat so fucking much?"
"Oookay, that's enough," you said, pulling him upright (he made a little whining noise as you did). "Listen, if it really bothers you that much- Any weight you've put on, we can work off. It's not the end of the world. Okay?"
He sighed, his gaze lazily drifting to the paused TV. "I guess..."
To block his view of the screen, you slid into his lap and straddled his no-longer-tiny waist. "But in the meantime, sweetheart... You should know you're still a ten."
Vox froze for half a second, then made a scoffing laugh. "Don't patronize me."
"I'm being serious," you said. You gently wiped away a teardrop stuck to the base of his screen. "I still find you incredibly attractive."
The right corner of his mouth subtly flicked up in the tiniest smile.
"What, do you need me to prove it?" you smirked.
His breath caught as he answered. "Yeah."
Without hesitation, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. He seemed to melt a little at your touch, and you smiled. "Yeah, of course you need proof, you needy little bitch."
The brightness of his screen automatically turned up as his pixelated cheeks blushed cyan. "You can't blame me, can you? I've been touch-starved all these weeks..."
"Aw, baby," you said, placing a kiss on the 'forehead' of his screen. "You should've let me in to keep you company."
"Yeah," he murmured, "I should've." He brought his massive, clawed hands up and settled them on your thighs. "I just thought... You wouldn't like me like this."
You reached up a hand and toyed with his antennae. "Hm... Dummy."
You began trailing kisses down his face, and then his neck. Vox made a pained gasp, and you froze, realizing the stitched skin beneath the bandage was still too tender to kiss.
“Did I hurt you?”
Vox shrugged, his red eyes looking glassier than the rest of his screen. “A little.”
“Sorry, honey.” You slid your hand underneath his collar and rubbed the top of his shoulder. “How about here?”
He tilted his head away, as if instinctively making a space for you to kiss him there. “Doesn’t hurt.”
You smiled. “First let me get this off,” you said, and you started to unbutton his shirt. Vox timidly squirmed under your fingers, becoming more embarrassed with each freed button.
Once his shirt was undone and hanging loosely around his shoulders, you got a clear look at what you were working with. His striking v-line had been reduced to a mere suggestion, and it was now flanked on both sides by some shiny stretch-marks that nearly reached up to his gills. The abs he’d worked on for weeks were no longer prominent, but hidden beneath a layer of softer, squishier flesh. Honestly, though, Vox was making a bigger deal out of this than it really was.
As your eyes traced his body, he began to whine. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”
You rolled your eyes. “Boy, we’re really fishing for compliments today, aren’t we?” You raised a brow suggestively as his face lightened to cyan once again. “Don’t worry, handsome. I'll give you all the attention you want.”
Pushing his collar out of the way, you finally kissed his shoulder. Slowly, deliberately, you parted your lips and sank your teeth into his skin. He was softer than usual, easier to bite into. You grinned as the points of Vox’s claws dug into your thighs, torturous pleasure obviously taking hold of him. When you pressed your tongue against his shoulder and began dragging it in little circles over him, he automatically bucked his hips as a desperate, needy moan left his throat.
"Ah… God… Mm… Ha-ha, ah..." He made it sound as though the sensation you gave him was somewhere between painful and ticklish, and you smirked at each sound he made. You steadied one hand on his side (mindful of his gills), so that your mouth had a better angle on his shoulder. Your fingers quickly found that the new softness of his tummy was impossible not to want to squeeze, and though you tried not to, you did it anyway.
You feared you'd taken Vox out of his bliss by doing that, but instead, he moved one hand to the back of your head, his sharp fingertips threading between your locks as he continued making sounds under you. So you brought your other hand down, found his leg beneath you, and lovingly caressed his thigh with your thumb. You really did find his fuller version just as cute, and you wanted him to know it.
So you sucked harder, and he returned the favor by tugging harder on your hair. "Mmm... Fuck, baby," he breathed, "You've got no idea how good that feels... So good... You're so good to me..."
His bulge beneath you was notable now, which prompted you to end the moment with a harsh, prolonged nip. "Hah! F-Fuck," he whimpered, and once you realized that stutter in his last word was actually a slight buffering of his system, you smiled triumphantly against his skin, and finally released him.
You pulled back, and admired the work you'd done; your teeth-marks were navy in his dark blue skin, and the hickey was nearly black. You smoothed out the saliva remaining on his new bruise, and he let his TV-head tilt back, his breathing pretty staggered.
"Proof enough for you, Voxy?"
He nodded, moving one hand to your waist. "Yeah... Thank you. I needed that." He lightly dragged his other hand along your arm, careful not to claw you. "I needed you..."
He shyly met your eyes. "...I do love you, you know."
Smiling, you intertwined your hand with his. "I know." You leaned forward and pecked his lips. "I love you, too. Always will, dummy."
a/n: Hurhurhur “ψ(｀∇´)ψ I WROTE ON TIME FINALLY! And, I WROTE MORE CAINE CONTENT! THIS IS A CAINE POV CHAPTER! Had to treat y'all after holding him hostage, away from the reader hehe (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵) I hope y'all enjoy this chapter, cause it's gonna be a couple of rough ones coming. But hey, for the sake of entertainment and progress!
⟢ = General
Words: 1.5k+
Warnings: Slight angst, slight self-hatred, bit of stalking behavior, a bit OOC Caine (he swears once).
Synopsis: He's a machine... but if so is true then why does he feel these things? Why does he wish for you to be back... wait, no, not like this. What luck he has... It's even rub off on you, how unfortunate. Don't do it.
Something… is definitely odd.
And not the good kind of odd, if such were the case, Caine would be all too familiar with it, not minding it as he is now. It’s causing him to feel overwhelmed with an unwelcome warmth, as if his system is overheating. Were his wires okay? He had to wonder, what was causing this… sensation? He’s not used to it. Caine’s AI, he’s supposed to be calm and collected, but even then, he recognizes he is none of that.
Tapping his finger against the handle of his cane, rather bothered, he clicks his tongue, growing frustrated at his unknown condition.
Perhaps a talk with you might aid him?
You were always a ray of sunshine to him, curing away whatever insecurity or worry he had. Floating away into the privacy of his quarters, he passes by many closed doors in the dark abyss.
He had been busy, unable to visit for what may have been days. Not to worry, though, he’s warned you beforehand about how, at times, he will have to be away from you, not by choice, but by design. Trust him, if he could stay with you every single nanosecond of his and your life, he would! You always make for an entertaining time, and along with that, you are just a lovely sight to his heterochromatic eyes.
You’re a curious one. Naturally inquisitive. And while Caine adored every part of you, even whatever you deemed your flaws, the questions you’d aim at him at times left him rather unnerved, though. He hides a lot from you, you know? It’s not like he wants to, no, it doesn’t count as lying if he’s not saying anything untrue, right? Caine’s simply… protecting you.
No, that's a lie.
He’s protecting whatever view you have of him.
Let’s stop there.
Caine arrives in front of a door, his door. A red one with a golden knob, his image at the top, his posture in a gleeful state. Staring back at his character depiction with a tired expression, he eyes it for a moment, then turns the knob and enters his room, shutting the door behind him. The screen in his wall-less room turns on automatically upon his entrance, showing the view of various settings within the digital confines of this place.
Keeps him updated on everything. Especially in trouble.
He flicks his hand to the side, and the screen presents other tabs, such as your searches, information on each individual circus member, and your social media profile, with a picture of yours on display. He blushes momentarily as though he’d been caught. He flicks his hand one more time, finally landing on the view of your living room, where your desk was placed.
But the room is dark.
“H–hello?”
No answer.
Alright, that’s fine. You’re allowed to live outside of him, you have a life, you’re a human being, after all! So, he’ll check your location for safety precautions. Caine’s the worrisome type of friend.
Flicking his hand to the side again, he eyes your phone’s location. It’s at home.
“Maybe… they’re napping?”
His eyes glint towards the bottom left corner.
The location has been unchanged since a week ago.
“Hmm, that’s unusual.”
You’d at least go out once a week for necessities, always forgetful of getting an item after you have journeyed far (it concerns him how you can forget certain things so easily). Usually, you’ll simply laugh it off, saying it’s normal, nothing to be anxious about. However, Caine, being himself, never stops doing so, even if you try your best to ease him.
The phone doesn’t show any activity that’d be normal on your end; you haven’t even been keeping up to date with your usual fanfic. And now this, this was very odd.
Swiping across your phone on his large screen, he sees messages from your friends, family, and co-workers, all asking the same thing.
“Where are you? Are you okay?”
The grip on his cane grows stronger as he reads over the text messages, his pupils turning into spiral patterns as he begins to panic more. He bites his free hand, frightened about your whereabouts.
“W–what? Why? How?”
He’s only been away a couple of days. How did… How did this happen? Where are you now? What can he do to get you back?
Throwing his cane across the room as he let out a growl. His hands move across his face, clutching onto himself as Caine tries his best to compose himself. If he continues on like this, then he won’t be able to search for you. FUCK.
“Caine, your presence is needed.” Bubbles' voice echoes behind his door.
He grips onto his coat, feeling as though he is about to collapse. How could his entire being be weakened? Because you, you’re the only thing that has an effect on him like this. Genuine fear struck his code, almost as though he was about to be entirely deleted.
“I c–cannot, right n–now, Bubbles…”
“Mmmm, seems like there is no choice, boss, it’s a newbie!”
Is he even allowed to suffer?
“I… I’ll be there… just a moment, please…”
“M’rightyyy, I will see you there then!”
He’s a machine whose only mission is this circus. He’s not given a spare moment of sensitivity. Caine is the ringmaster, and a circus cannot thrive without its ringmaster.
But Caine can’t do that without you. Not while knowing of your disappearance.
“Caine!” Bubbles' voice rings.
“I’M GOING!” He shouts.
He clenches his teeth, eyes hidden away from all the emotions going on within him. With the snap of his fingers, he appears inside the circus in a hallway, away from whatever stupid fight was going on between Jax and Zooble, involving the poor newcomer in between their argument. Well, he’s come to save the day, for once.
Can he save yours?
Where are you?
The lights turn off, the room having some sort of knowledge that he, as the ringmaster, must make his grand appearance to the new guest. Caine isn’t only in charge of handling the place; he is also a performer, and performing is one of his greatest talents.
You love his performances. You’d speak so fondly of his actions, almost as if it were the first time you’d witnessed it, as if you’d never been fascinated.
Caine appears at the center, taking off his hat and holding his cane in the other hand, voices quieting down as they take notice of the aura changing in the area. The drums roll, preparing, highlighting his significance to the moment.
Only that he didn’t feel the same.
A light shines upon him, and he faces upwards. “Did somebody…” He looks down, his eyes adjusting to the dark. “... call?”
He delivers his line with a masked confidence that could fool anyone who didn’t know him.
Placing his hat back on the top of his head, Caine makes his move over to the three figures in front of him, two recognizable ones, and one that he recently took his time to code, holding a new silhouette he’ll become familiar with, for perhaps, a long or short time.
The lights turn on, and finally, he’s able to lay his eyes upon you.
A ringmaster's assistant?
What a specific design. He questions it.
He quirks his head towards you. “Hello!”
Zooble folds their arms, looking towards the AI leader.. “This… is Caine.”
“Hey there, Caine.” Jax gives a small wave while holding the stranger's frame close to him. “This is my new pal.” He introduces you with a huge grin, wide black squares making Caine tense inside a bit. He’s learned to let it go.
“More like a new captive.” Zooble snorts.
Caine wanted to sigh, at times wondering why he must deal with this.
He wanted to go back to you, find you. What happened?
Eyeing the person that’s being clung to by Jax (uncomfortably so), he sees them look back at him, eyes filled with intrigue. Drawing his attention solely to you while the pair continues to throw insults at one another. He goes closer to them.
“Are you accommodating well?”
Fingers rubbing together, nervousness apparent, they look back up at Caine instead of the floor or the other two, as they have been doing before. There was a bit of a pout going on, he noted.
“I…”
Hold on.
“I think…”
Wait a minute.
“I’m lost.”
It’s you.
You.
You are here.
With him.
There is no other voice like yours. That is the voice he holds so dear to him; it’s the one that makes his system overheat, the same one with the joyous laugh that makes him feel like… He has a genuine reason to exist. It’s you, but you don’t even know it. You don’t know that you're his sweet little darling.
And all that means, you won’t recognize him.
He pauses for a moment, freezing.
Zooble, taking notice of this, ignores Jax.
“Uh, Caine?”
And he blips away, leaving a screaming sound behind that echoes loudly.
a/n: Did you likey? (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) I HOPE SO! I like writing point of views of the characters I'm writing about incase I am not being clear about how I am presenting them. Honestly though, from y'all feedback, I've been told I do a good job writing Caine! I am glad to know that <3 So this chapter, was more so a treat for y'all but also, why not? I think seeing stuff in Caine's point of view will help, especially for later chapters, so this won't be the end of you all reading things from Caine's eyes ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)
Hey! You wanna read more of my works like this? Try reading these:
𖦹 𝜗𝜚 ENIAC ( Caine x Human! Reader) PT.1: You're insecure? Don't know what for. He firmly believes you to be the embodiment of love. ♱
𖦹 𝜗☁︎𝜚 ENIAC (Caine x Human! Reader) PT.2: He can solve nearly all the problems, but why can't he find the perfect solution for you and him? ♱
Along with the other parts and works with Caine! ♱
You introduce Sun and Moon to a new furry friend! (For @thinksparklez)
You slide a hand into your coat pocket to quiet the whimpering.
“Shh!” Your fingers are immediately assaulted with a tiny tongue flicking against them, and you giggle to yourself, whispering conspiratorially to your jacket. “We’re almost there!”
The dim lights above your head hum and flicker, though you were barely able to hear them over the sound of your own thrumming heartbeat. A few S.T.A.F.F. bots go about their nightly duties, sweeping and scrubbing away the grime of the day, followed by Wet Floor bots chasing at their ankles like ducklings following after their mothers.
You keep your head down as you make your way to the Daycare, only able to hope that you don’t get caught. This mission required stealth and precision, two things you weren’t entirely confident in your ability to maintain.
But you don’t even have the chance to knock on the Daycare’s doors before they swing open, Sun poking his head into the entryway with an enthusiastic: “Sunshine! How wonderful to see you! Now what can I help you with, on this fine day?”
His voice booms through the empty space, and you can’t help but cringe back a little. A S.T.A.F.F. bot glances up from its position briefly at the sound, and you tug your hat down over your eyes as you quickly glance away.
It doesn’t seem to raise any alarms, though, as it simply regards you for a moment before going back to its duties. You let out a relieved sigh and turn back to Sun, offering him a little smile in return.
“Hey, Sunny.” It’s hard to stay casual with the tiny body wriggling around in your pocket. You shift the bag laid across your shoulder, trying to act natural. “I brought you a surprise!”
“A surprise!” He gasps dramatically. “Oh, you shouldn’t have! Now what sort of surprise could it be? Oh, oh! Let me guess—is it a…”
His fingers drum across the hem of the door. “Present?”
“Kind of.”
“Ooh, I love presents!” Sun throws open the door, ushering you inside. “Come in, come in, make yourself comfortable! Me casa es su casa!”
Carefully you step around his sweeping gestures, keeping your side turned away so that he can’t see what you’re carrying. The kicking in your pocket goes haywire once you stop walking, and you have to squirm in place to keep from ending up with bruised ribs.
“So mysterious!” He immediately drops into a half-crouch as the door swings closed behind the two of you, swaying from side-to-side. “I’m so excited!”
“Okay, but you’ve got to promise me something—” You warn him, taking a little step back. Sun simply takes another step closer, practically crowding you against the doors. It makes your breath catch in your lungs. He really is just so big.
“Oh? I can do that!”
You take a deep breath. “You’ll be gentle.”
He freezes, head cocking to the side with an audible click. “Gentle…?”
“You’ve got to be very gentle.” You reiterate, cringing at the warble in your voice. “Very, very gentle.”
“I can…do that?”
“Good!”
With that out of the way, you slide both hands into your pocket and wrap them around the tiny creature trying to burrow itself into the folds of your coat. You drag them up and into the light, presenting Sun with an absolute fluffball of a Yorkie puppy.
“This is Nugget! Say hi, Nugget!” You take their little paw between your fingers and wave it in Sun’s direction, no longer able to keep the grin from breaking across your face.
“Oh…! Ohmygoodness!” The way Sun’s voice cracks just makes you smile all the wider. “They’re so—so tiny! So little, so…ohmygosh! Ohmygosh!”
He reaches out for them, but pauses before his fingers touch their fur.
“Can I…?” He asks, hesitantly. You nod, carefully shifting Nugget from your hands into his. You have to get close to do it, and for a moment you feel your heart stammer as his body towers over your own.
“Y-You can kind of hold them like you would a baby,” you instruct nervously, “Just put one hand under them, use the other to keep their head up—”
He didn’t need to. His hands were so big he only needed one palm to keep Nugget balanced against his chest, allowing them to simply sit in place. He used the other to gently ruffle his fingers over the top of their head, his touch feather light.
“You are so small.” He croons. “So, so, so small!”
Sun looks up at you, and he sounds like he’s going to start crying. “Sunshine, this is the best gift anyone has ever gotten me. Ever.”
You’re so relieved to hear that. It made the anxiety boiling in your body ebb a little.
“Where are they…I mean, how did you…?” He can’t seem to be able to put the words together, he’s so overwhelmed by emotion.
“I’m dog-sitting for my neighbor,” you explain, reaching out to rub Nugget behind the ears. She licks your fingers affectionately. “And don’t worry—I did ask before I brought her if it’d be okay. As long as we keep an eye on her, she can stay.”
The air still smells like art supplies, something sugary sweet, and cleaning chemicals. He must have just finished his cleaning duties. If you’d had more time, sans the dog-sitting, you would have offered to help. Anything to spend more time together.
“How did you squeeze past security? No, wait—I don’t want to know.” He lifts Nugget to eye level, wagging a finger in her face, which she attempts to nibble on. “You are just a little troublemaker, aren’t you? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”
You grin at the two of them, shifting your bag into a more comfortable position. The lump in your throat grows a little bigger, and you swallow awkwardly around it.
“I brought some toys with me, too, if you want to play with her—”
“Yes!” Sun practically shouts. Then quickly looks around, bringing his voice to a more conspiratorial whisper. “I mean—yes. Yes, please!”
He plops to the ground, cradling Nugget in his arms like one would hold a baby. You kneel beside him, grateful to finally get the weight of the bag off your shoulder. From it, you pull out several different dog toys, a colorful pulley rope, and a couple of balls for her to chase, along with her favorite stuffed animal.
There’s inches of distance between the two of you, and even like this, your heart is starting to pound. His knee nearly brushes against your own and you have to act like that’s okay.
“Oh, so many options!” Sun wiggles his fingers as he waves a hand over the selection. “Which to choose first…!”
You offer him the pulley rope. “She loves this one.”
When he reaches out, his fingers touch yours, and you can’t help but jerk back at the electric spark of heat that courses through your hand and all the way up your arm.
Thankfully, Sun doesn’t seem to notice. He pinches one end of it between his fingers, wagging the free end of the rope over Nugget’s face playfully. “Do you love this one? Do ya? Do ya?”
She yips and growls and jumps across his lap, little teeth snapping at the fluffy end of toy, just close enough to graze it. Finally, her little mouth clamps down on the rope, and Sun pulls it up into the air, leaving her dangling in a way that has you cackling with laughter.
“Hang on, I need to—let me get a photo!”
You fumble with your phone, snapping as many pictures as you can before she lets go. That is going to be your new lockscreen for a while.
Sun has a blast cycling through the toys, switching between throwing the bouncy balls around, to dragging Nugget through a very one-sided tug-of-war match, to feeding her treats while she chews on the ear of her favorite stuffed animal. The amount of pictures you take feels a little excessive, but you’re having too much fun to care.
Time goes by so fast that you don’t even think to check it until the lights start to flicker.
“Oh, shi—shhh—shoot, sorry.” A stern Look from Sun chases the curse from your mouth. You swallow once more around the lump in your throat. “You’ve still got to do your rounds. Do you want me to, uh…?”
You reach for Nugget, but Sun pulls away for a moment, large hands cradling her possessively against his chest. After a second, he relaxes, gently passing the half-asleep puppy into your arms. Once again, you’re far too close, and heat washes through your body in waves, burning across your cheeks and up to the tips of your ears.
“Well, if we have to…”
The disappointment in his voice is clear. You feel a little bad, having to cut his fun short. But then he pulls away, and you can breathe again.
“We can play more once Moon is done!” You offer, bouncing Nugget in your lap as she nibbles affectionately at your fingertips. “He should get a turn too.”
You see Sun stiffen a little at the mention of his counterpart, before sagging dramatically.
“Well, okay…fiiine.”
The lights flicker again, then finally go out. You keep Nugget snuggled in place, even as she tries to wriggle free when Sun moves to stand. He stands to you with his back turned, and like taking a breath, his head swirls, the pattern on his clothes shifts, and his posture dips into a crouch. It’s so seamless that you hardly pay it any attention until the head turns to face you.
Moon giggles, wiggling his fingers in greeting. “You’re up late.”
“Don’t complain,” you warn him playfully, “I’m here for you.”
His eyes lock onto the ball of fluff in your lap. “Nice doggy. Good doggy.”
“Do you want to play with her?”
Moon’s head turns fully, his body following in a slow delay. Cautiously, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, taking a half-step back as his eyes move from Nugget to you, and back again. His fingers come together in what almost looks like a nervous twiddle.
“Perhapsss…”
You can’t help but smile to yourself at how cute he’s being, even if he doesn’t realize it. “I’ll keep her here; we can wait for you.”
He reaches up, tapping his fingers against the side of his face, seemingly thinking it over. You rock Nugget gently, feeling your heart melt as she lets out a long, drawn-out yawn. All the playing must have tuckered her out—Sun is good at that, letting kids play until they’re drained of all energy. You wonder if he’s tired, too.
After a moment of deliberation, Moon leans in close, his eyes still glued to the tiny creature half-asleep in your lap. Her head bobs once, twice, then lays on the crook of your elbow as her eyes slip closed. It takes immense willpower not to squeal like a child at the pure cuteness. But you’re a mature, controlled adult.
“Later.” His head is so close to your shoulder that you can feel the heat emanating from his body. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on-end, having him that close. If you were to turn your head, your cheek would brush his own—
“It’s naptime.”
“Okay.” The word comes out more strained than you meant for it to. You’re perilously aware of the distance between the two of you, and you can feel your heart beating hard against your ribcage. You can barely breathe with him so close.
It makes you more than a little ashamed, having such an obvious crush. You were good at hiding it with Sun, at least you liked to think so, allowing all his attention to linger on Nugget. But now…now you were just hoping that he didn’t notice the way you tensed up when his presence lingered.
“You should rest.”
You laugh. “I can’t with her around. I close my eyes for even a second and she’ll be halfway across the Plex by the time I open them again.”
“Troublemaker.” Moon hesitantly reaches out a finger, scratching the tip of Nugget’s nose with it. She licks his fingertips, eyes fluttering before she relaxes again.
“The biggest.” You croon, heart going warm and gooey at the way Moon seems to soften.
“I will…be back.” He takes a step backwards, reaching out for his line as it descends like it was just waiting for his call. “Stay. Good doggy.”
Then, with a sweep of his arms, he ascends into the darkness. You watch him float away, rocking Nugget back and forth as she snuggles into the warmth of your embrace.
“I’m so glad I brought you.” You whisper, despite knowing that she probably can’t hear you. Her ear twitches, then lays flat again. “They seem so happy. I think this will be good for them.”
You sit and scroll through the numerous pictures you took as you sit and wait for Moon to come back. Most of them are blurry, a result of trying to catch Nugget mid-play. Thankfully the one of her hanging from the end of the chewy rope is clear enough that you can make out both her and Sun in the background. You consider sending it to Nugget’s owner but think better of it.
Sure, you had asked for permission to take her out, but you hadn’t exactly told them where you were going to take her. And besides, you liked being able to keep it to yourself. It was like a little secret between the three of you.
Four, if you counted Moon.
Time passes, and as it does, you feel your eyelids starting to grow heavy. Your head droops, and you fight back against the urge to let sleep claim you. There’s a stillness to the Daycare that makes the air feel heavy, and that heaviness weighs across your shoulders like a thick blanket, urging you to let your eyes slip closed and have the night claim you as yet another victim of Dreamland.
But you can’t, you remind yourself as you snap back to a hazy attention. Nugget needs to be looked after, and as tired as you are, you can’t let her slip past your defenses.
Sure, it’d be nice to let your eyes close, for just a second…
To let the heaviness win out…
To let the darkness close in…
To feel yourself slipping…
Slipping…
…
You don’t mean to let it, but sleep takes you.
And the sleep you get is dreamless, or at least, when you wake again at the sound of jingling bells, there’s no dream chasing at your heels once your eyes slowly crack open. It’s blurry at first, but you make out a blue and grey blob, holding something small and dark.
As your vision clears between blinks, you make out Moon crouched a few inches away, cradling Nugget against his chest.
“Moon…?” You murmur groggily, rubbing the sleepy from your eyes. “I-I didn’t mean to pass out like that, I’m so sorry—”
“Shhh.” He lifts a finger to his lips, head tilting towards the puppy curled in his arms. “It’s nap time.”
“Oh, sorry.” Your voice drops to a whisper as you pull yourself up and into a sitting position. You yawn, stretching out, and smile at the way Nugget’s paws kick a little in her sleep. “She’s so cute.”
“Yes. Very cute.”
You expect him to look down at her when he says it. But he doesn’t, and the prolonged eye contact makes you squirm a bit. Face flushing hot, you finally glance away.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“For a while.”
“Oh.” A while, in Moon’s opinion, can vary from anywhere between a few minutes to a few hours. “Can you be more specific?”
“Yes.”
You give him a look. “Will you?”
“Mm.” His eyes roll upwards as he giggles again. “No.”
“Okay.” Well, it can’t have been long if he’s still out. “I’m going to start cleaning up, let me know if you need anything.”
He simply turns away, rocking Nugget in his arms. “Shh…”
You allow him his solace, instead focusing on cleaning up the various toys scattered around the play area.
For a little while, you’re too focused on picking up the toys that you don’t even realize what it is you’re hearing, until you pause to listen. The soft notes float through the quiet, still air like leaves caught in a gentle breeze.
Moon is singing a lullaby.
“Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Momma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.”
Is he…is he singing to Nugget?
Oh—that’s so sweet it makes your heart hurt a little.
“And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Momma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring…”
Carefully, you tiptoe around the two of them, cleaning up rubber balls and strewn about chew toys, until everything is packed up tight. You can’t remember exactly how many toys you brought, so it takes several circles to get all of them put back. And if any get left behind? You decide the two can keep them—as a memory of the day.
It’s not until the lights overhead begin to flicker that you even look up.
Ah. Time to switch back.
“Hey, Moon, are you ready to—Jesus!” You turn, finding that Moon is already far ahead of you. And by far ahead of you, it means looming over your shoulder, still cradling a half-asleep Nugget against his chest.
“Language.” He snickers, taking a half-step closer. You take several back, trying not to trip over your own feet in the process. He was too close, and now your whole body felt like it was burning up. “Nap time is over. For now.”
“Yeah, sure.” You squeak out. Normally, like a normal person would.
“Will you…be back?” There’s a pause in his words as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“Well…” You chew on your bottom lip thoughtfully, eyes moving between Moon’s face and Nugget’s breathing. Really, it’s getting late. And you should be taking her home. But…
You can’t help yourself when he looks so dejected.
“Maybe we can stay for just a little bit longer.” You say finally, with a sigh. These jesters really have you wrapped around their finger, whether they realize it or not.
Moon brightens immediately, gently pushing Nugget into your arms with another giggle and a tiny wave of his fingers.
“See you soon.”
Then the lights come back on.
For a moment, you’re blinded. A hand comes up to shield your poor eyes from the sudden flash-bang and when your vision clears, Sun stands before you, his arms spread wide.
“Hello there, friend!” He chirps giddily. “Is it play time yet?”
You feel Nugget start to wiggle in your arms. Despite having just been asleep, the sound of Sun’s voice is enough to get her tail wagging. You bounce her, smiling to yourself as you push back the ever-growing urge to yawn.
“Yeah, I think it is.”
“Great!” He squeals happily, sweeping Nugget from your embrace to his own in one fluid motion. “So, where do we start?!”
So much for trying to keep things cleaned up. You take the bag from over your shoulder and simply dump its contents back out onto the ground.
tags: nsfw, smut, blurb, p in v, creampie, quicky, light daddy kink, friends with benefits, strong language, demisexual!reader, asexual!reader, overlord!reader, fem!reader
synopsis: vox is running low on time. when is he not? there's never a moment's reprise when the media overlord isn't swamped with work or other vox-tek-oriented obligations. vox needs to get his rocks off before the next overlord meeting begins, and you owe him a favor.
wc: 1.9k
Today's schedule was supposed to be relatively straightforward with little to no interruptions. You had exactly one appointment written down in your planner—an Overlord meeting regarding Heaven's yearly exterminations, organized by arms dealer and CEO of Carmine Industries, Carmilla Carmine.
Everything was fine until that morning, when a certain TV-headed sinner had messaged you with the horniest, most unhinged wall of text you had ever received (an accomplishment considering how much erotic literature lands in your publishing firm’s inbox).
Without warning, the door to your loft apartment forcefully swung open, then shut in rapid succession.
Speak of the devil.
“Babe,” came the heightened voice of Hell’s Media Overlord, Vox, “pants off—NOW!”
For a split second, you thought the doorman had let a swarm of mosquitoes into your living room. The TV Demon’s tone was way too whiny and thin for a man of his age and stature (you told him as much).
Prior to Vox’s intrusion, you had been sitting cross-legged on your couch, reviewing an unpublished manuscript written by one of your constituents. As the Overlord of Written Media, you controlled all printed content produced for mass consumption. If a small-time author desperately wanted to hit the big leagues, they sold their soul to you. Which is precisely what this poor sap had done just to get ahead in the game of the afterlife. He should consider himself lucky, too. After all, there was a vast ocean of Overlords far worse than you to bargain with for his fame.
The heels of Vox’s dark gray dress shoes snippily clicked across the herringbone floor of your apartment. As he speed-walked over to your hunched form in the living room, you took in the alarming sight of your TV-headed friend.
...You hid your face to stifle a fit of laughter.
Vox was sporting an erection so pronounced that you wondered to yourself if even Heaven could see it (and those Pollyanna-esque puritans were kilometers away!). The crotch of his dark blue dress slacks was severely distorted from the bulging press of his dick against the tight-fitting tailoring.
“Did you hear me? I said—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m taking them off. I heard you the first time, Mom.”
The TV Demon's pixelated facial features contorted in disgust at your words. Fat, digital drops of sweat materialized on the sides of his screen.
“Ew, no—don’t call me ‘Mom’ when we’re gonna fuck. It’s not—that’s fucking weird.”
“We aren’t fucking, Vox. You are fucking me. I’m doing my job like the responsible Overlord that I am until we have that Carmine meeting.”
Still, you languidly undid your belted suede shorts with one hand—the other firmly clutching your VoxTek smartphone.
Vox's cyan-colored eyes bore down on you—chest heaving—as you input a few notes about the manuscript’s grammar (mainly its amateur usage of “there” instead of “they’re").
“Uh, the fuck are you talking about? I am a responsible Overlord,” He grumbled.
“Then what are you doing this side of Pentagram City? Shouldn’t you be debuting some…high-tech brain chip that lets people watch Angel Dust’s pornos when they sleep?” You asked (somewhat genuinely).
Vox guffawed loudly, “Ha, ha, very funny. Y’know, we don’t have an Overlord of Smartass Comments in our inner circle, yet. You should consider applying. We have full health care coverage and dental.”
“Maybe I will. You could become my archnemesis, the Overlord of Dumbass Comments. But, seriously, Vox,” you grilled, “why are you here?”
The TV Demon had done away with his dress slacks and was pushing you down into your fluffy brown cushions. After Vox had rid you of your panties and himself of his briefs, he forced one of your legs onto the channel back of your couch—the other having been knocked off the cushions to root itself to the floor.
“You can’t tell? That’s a little embarrassing for you, don't you think?" He asked rhetorically. "You've always been such a smart girl.”
Vox gave his erection a few firm tugs before positioning his glowing, mushroomy head against your entrance. He wrapped his navy blue hand around his cock and carded it through your folds, watching intently as the lips of your pussy enveloped his rounded ridge.
“Can’t tell you why, but I woke up hard as a goddamn rock. I have a full schedule today, so it was either cashing in on a favor you owe me or jacking off in the bathroom. And I, for one, think this beats option two by a long shot,” Vox explained in a quavering voice.
As he swirled himself around your entrance, teasing penetration, Vox leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in your ear, “Daddy’s gonna use this pussy until you’re begging him to stop, baby. You’re gonna feel me for weeks after this. Are you gonna be a good girl and let me stretch this pussy out? Or are you gonna a-act like a fucking b-bitch and—”
Vox’s dirty talk glitched and stuttered to a complete stop when he caught a glimpse of you from behind your phone. You looked as if you had sucked on a sour candy with your lips pursed, and your entire face pinched.
A poignant shock of insecurity surged through Vox’s body, lingering in his chassis, and zapping out through his antennas.
You were judging him.
“What? Stop looking at me with that face!” He shouted in embarrassment.
“Oh, it’s nothiiiing,” you pronounced, really stretching out the ‘ing’. “You know what? Just pretend that my ass is not even here—keep doing you.”
Vox’s eyes narrowed—screen settings darkening from a mixture of lust and annoyance.
The TV Demon clucked his tongue disappointedly against the roof of his mouth, “C’mon, babe, can’t you just—I don’t know—humor me? You can’t expect me to speak to Carmilla Carmine about VoxTek’s Angelic Security like this.”
“Humor you? Humor wasn’t part of our deal. But, as I said, do whatever gets you off my ass faster,” you surrendered. “I need to be at that meeting too.”
Two red columns slowly formed at the bottom of Vox’s screen near his mouth, indicating his need and restlessness. A low moan threatened to escape his mouth as he pushed the rest of himself into your pussy. Immediately, he could feel that addictive rush of blood divert from his head and into his cock—his length pulsing with arousal.
“Ooooooh, fuuuuuck,” he growled, sinking deeper into your core, “you feel like H-Heaven, baby.” His cyan-colored claws lightly scraped up the meat of your thighs—the soft skin vulnerable to the Media Overlord’s provocations. “Mmm—this pussy is sucking me i-in. You’re f-fucking soaked for me!”
“Astute observation, Vox,” you said sarcastically, fingers flying across your phone’s keyboard. “Vaginas typically get wet when you stimulate them. Who knew?”
“All right, enough of these smartass c-comments!” He yelled, though it came across as more of a breathless wail than a successful attempt to dominate the conversation.
Vox was content with fucking you in complete silence—save for his own whimpers and growls. Every time one nearly spilled from his screen, he made an effort to cover them up with a cough or a laugh. He went to great lengths not to rough up your appearance too much, but when his brain short-circuited from pleasure, he scratched at or bit into you with an unbridled eagerness. In your core, a low heat was flourishing into something hot enough to melt Vox’s entire being.
Confused by the stark contrast between your mind and your body’s reaction to him, Vox felt compelled to speak up, “Aren't y-you feeling anything at all fr-from this?”
The man’s narrow hips snapped into yours with desperation, hitting all the right spots that would normally make any sinner affirm Vox’s godhood. But here you were basically tuning him out for some lowly sinner’s 489-page historical fiction (it had a compelling premise, but the plentiful spelling mistakes were making your eye twitch).
Not taking your eyes off your phone, you pet Vox on the spot where his tiny hat usually sits.
“Oh, yeah, it feels real nice…” You trailed off—mind already preoccupied with the manuscript’s befuddling incorporation of 1950s slang. “Help me out here—did people really say ‘squaresville’ in your time? That doesn’t seem right…”
“Babe, you have the M-Media Overlord and CEO of VoxTek Enterprises drooling o-over you right now, and,” an involuntary grunt ripped itself from Vox’s throat, “all you can th-think about is a fucking book?”
A frustrated, jerky thrust caused you to nearly drop your phone directly onto your face. You tightened your grip, then shot an exasperated glare at your TV-headed friend. That bastard almost marred your face with a 6.9-inch bruise!
“I have very little interest in sex, Vox. It’s nothing against you. I’m just doing this for you as a favor to a friend because,” you paused to add a playfully emotional warble to your voice, “I’m so nice.”
Vox was too far gone to berate you for your unwanted, sarcastic comments. His ability to multitask during sex was not as polished as he would like to think. No, the man was too busy chasing an orgasm by pistoning himself in and out of your sopping wet pussy. Despite the blatant disconnect on your face, you were dripping arousal all over his dick. Pleasure rippled through his body from how right his cock felt rubbing against your silky walls. Once the fat head of his thin length hit that spongy spot that made his rhythm start to falter, he knew he was close.
“Wait, wait, wait, I just have one teeny-tiny request,” you said, making the universal gesture with your thumb and index finger. “When you finish, could you cum really deep inside me? It feels soooo fucking good.”
“What the f-fuck? You can’t—why would you—you can’t just say that t-to a guy,” Vox stammered through his gritted, jagged teeth.
“Well, it’s true!” You defended, though he hadn’t even made a counterargument. “That pulsing sensation inside of you…feeling all warm…and gooey. Oh my god, and when it starts to drip out of you?”
Every thrust inside of you was stealing Vox's breath. He was getting sloppy from how well you were taking him. Your walls were so tight that he could feel you rubbing against the prominent veins of his dark blue cock. Vox continued to plow into you as every muscle in his body coiled with anticipation for the sweet relief he had been chasing all day.
With a broken moan, Vox’s whole body violently jerked forward. He slammed his hips flush against yours as a watery gush of light blue cum flooded your throbbing cunt. The Media Overlord continued to pump thin spurts of ejaculate into you (per your request) as he rode out his high. In the aftermath of his orgasm, Vox tossed his head back in pleasure and made no effort to remove himself.
You lay on your back, waiting patiently for him to pull out and slip on his three-piece suit, but Vox was as still as a statue. It was then that you noticed your friend’s problem hadn’t been resolved at all. Covered in a mix of your translucent arousal and his own faintly glowing cum, Vox’s dick hadn’t softened a bit.
Using the muscles in your legs, you were about to propel yourself backwards to remove his cock yourself, when Vox’s clawed hand stopped you. He had a crazed yet exhausted look in his eyes, intensified by his agitated left eye.
“We need to go again,” Vox stated simply. “I’ll get Velvette to stand in for me and—”
“Like hell we are!” You protested. “I need to get dressed, or I’m going to be late. Besides, I don’t have underlings like you to go in my place. If I miss it, I miss it.”
“I’ll tell Velvette to record the damn thing!”
“No.”
“I’ll pay you!”
“…That...might actually be the smartest thing you've said all day.”
“FUCK YES, BABY!”
a/n: this blurb was inspired by this post from @namelessthirst.
𑣲 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.
𑣲 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...
𑣲 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. "Yes…sir?" you managed, your voice a pathetic squeak.
You looked up, way up, into Vincent’s 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. "…And then the interview with the man who s-said about how they didn't like the atmosphere…"
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.
‘Caught you.’
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. “Do 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."
sun, moon, Roxy and Freddy ((separate)) when they get into an argument with their s/o?
🎩Glamrock-Freddy + "Arguing With Their S/O:" 🎩
⭐Freddy 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.
⭐You 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.
⭐He 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.
☀️Sunnydrop + "Arguing With Their S/O:"☀️
⭐There 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.
⭐The 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.
⭐No 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.
🌙Moondrop + "Arguing With Their S/O:"🌙
⭐Moon 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.
⭐His 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).
⭐He 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.
🐺Roxanne Wolf + "Arguing With Their S/O:"🐺
⭐Roxy 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.
⭐They'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?
⭐She 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 she’s drunk? I can’t 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 -> “jealously is super ugly”
Request: “Since 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 :D”
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)
☀️Sunnydrop + AFAB!Reader HCs (NSFW):☀️
⭐Most 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.
⭐He 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).
⭐Sunny 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.)
🌙Moondrop + AFAB!Reader HCs (NSFW):🌙
⭐He 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.
⭐Being 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).
⭐I 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
Voting ended onAug 17
*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.
