Imagine trying to have a normal Halloween party but all of your guests are REAL monsters that are horny as FUCK.
You see a fairy prince rubbing his bulge as you walk by, some werewolves eyeing your hips with each step, and you swear those “fake” vampire teeth just got longer as if getting ready to sink into your neck-
You’ve gotta stop having open invite parties unless you’re ready to feel tentacles and knots stretching you out.
Humans are cute, and you’re a particularly intriguing snack to monsterkind. With those plump hips and soft tummy, they’re about ready to tackle you and get to making babies.
A few drinks in and your giggling as a bottle spins. You end up in a closet with something you can’t quite comprehend and leave with your panties soaked with viscous black fluid and mind numb.
Some pretty vampire boys take turns kissing you, their cold fingers traveling down your body. It’s only later that you realize they’ve begun drinking from your neck, you’re too buzzed to even notice the pain.
Your pussy gets played with by an incubus who doesn’t even try to hide his flicking tail. Not like you’d notice anyways, you’re too focused on the feeling of his tongue swirling your clit.
Several cocks enter you that night, some slimy and long, others short at first before growing longer and thicker once they cum. By the end of your night they’ve all left some sort of claim on you, and you’ll be visited by different monster suitors until you pick which one to mate with.
You’ve got the sight after all, even if you’re not aware of it yet, and monsters prefer a human that came see them when they’re plowing into them.
Hopefully next time you’ll actually realize you’re getting pounded by actual monster cock, though.
Imagine you’re out on a Saturday night working, coming back from a botched pizza delivery where they skimped you on the tip when Yandere!Mafia Boss mistakes you for their new hire hacker and drags you inside HQ.
You’re a lil bit confused but one look at the coffee table filled with weapons displayed like they’re decorative center pieces and you figure maybe it’s best not to say anything.
Except suddenly they’re plopping you down in a chair and saying something about a test run to try out your skills. That’s when you finally break and calmly suggest that maybe they have the wrong person.
But Yan!Mafia Boss doesn’t even hear you as he stares at you with hearts in his eyes, letting out an empty laugh like you’d just told the most hilarious joke. From the moment he saw you idly standing by outside he knew you were the one, you had to be. His gut was never wrong.
So you really didn’t have much of a choice. They said something about hacking into a police station to free some of their guys but next thing you knew the computer was blaring loud, flashing red, and tell you your signal was being traced.
Yan!Mafia Boss didn’t seem as bothered by it as you were, simply asking what could’ve gone wrong.
“Sir, I just work at a Dominos,” you reply.
Yan!Mafia Boss throws his head back, releasing a hearty string of laughter. He claps you on the back so hard you jerk forward and sputter over your pleas for release.
“That's brilliant! Make sure to stick to that story when the police arrive,” he says through his laughter, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world now that he’s got you on his team.
Simon who loves Secretary! reader's curves and dips and her shy expression. Since that one night, Simon has been acting a little weird with Secretary! reader. How? Well, he keeps feeding her everytime she was close to him.
In the meeting room during a briefing, his hand would be on her thigh, squeezing the supple flesh, then without anyone noticing, he'd hand her a cookie under the table, whispering in her ear, "Go out and eat it, mama".
Or in the hallway, he'd pull her by her waist and hand her a big sandwich while saying, "Gotta eat it, mama."
Or when she goes to give him some files in his office, he makes her sit and offers her tea and cup cakes, saying, "keep yer tummy full, mama."
Or in the recroom while everyone chilled, he'll order a lot of takeout and sit with her to eat. If Soap dares to take a bite, Simon sets him back with a glare. He'll make her eat until she can no more.
It was strange. Simon wasn't the type to keep snacks on him or order food for anyone. If that was not enough, secretary! reader's new weight was 1 kg more than before...in the span of only two weeks.
So, when one day, she was tasked to deliver another pile of files in Simon's office, she decided to ask 'why?'
She entered his office, put the pile of files on his desk with a, "Captain sent these for the next briefing." When he told her to sit and eat before leaving, she asked finally, "Lieutenant?"
Simon replied, "yeh, mama."
Secretary!reader, flustered, now that he spoke in that tone again, asked stuttering and low, "W-why do you keep feeding me every chance you get? I'll get fat..."
To which, Simon paused. He set his pen down and hummed. He leaned back on his chair and fixed her with a look before saying, "Com'ere a sec."
Secretary!reader, who was already feeling so flushed and not to mention being alone with him and his words were reminding her of that night, she just stared back at him. She didn't move, just sat there hesitantly.
It wasn't long before Simon spoke again, deeper and with a little more authority this time, "Com'ere,mama. There's no point at being shy after we crossed that line already." He pat his thick muscular thigh as he continued, "don't make me wait, mama."
She felt like her head was spinning. Even so, she stood up slowly and with tiny steps and her head low from being shy, she went closer to him. Before she could say or even glance at him, he pulled her on his lap.
He mumbles a low comment as she was sat on his lap, "...I don't see where you're fat...". Then he answered her finally, "You've got such soft curves and dip, mama. Sooo beautiful and supple. But for sometime, I've been noticing that you're not eating well. Can't afford to loose these curves, mama." He pulled her closer and whispered, hot and low, "Gonna make you a mama someday. So you gotta eat everything I give you, 'kay, Mama?"
That, made her mind go all fuzzy. She could only nod. Her fingers fidgeting and breathing uneven. She could feel all of her body going hot and her guts twisting.
Maybe be he knew she was trying to loose weight, but well, not in his watch. He needed those tits that jiggle when he fucks her in missionary, her ass that ripples when he fucks her in doggy, that thick waist he likes to squeeze and those thick thighs that suffocate him while he eats her. He needs it all. So, no, if secretary!reader thinks she's going to loose weight, Simon won't let that happen.
Part-1. Part-3
A/n: It's kind of an extension of the previous one I wrote. If y'all like this one, let me know if I should make smut or fluff based on this storyline next.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬◞﹒୧. Onyankopon was a bit foolish to introduce his cute autistic sister—you—to Connie. You were a literal princess who deserved all his care. The most beautiful girl ever in his eyes, and he had no shame breaking Ony's rules to make you his girlfriend. Ony thought he had managed to protect you from his criminal friend, but for years Connie had been secretly coming at night to make love to you. Like tonight.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬◞﹒୧ . 2.5k words, black!fem!reader, plus!size!reader, hyperfeminine nonverbal autistic reader, sign langage, hispanic!connie, plug!connie, fluffy smutty fic, established relationship, forbidden love, stoner!connie, tattooed!connie, pierced!connie, affectionate!connie, check ins, sensory seeking needs, hyposensitivity, ‘mami, baby, princesa’ pet names, feet kissing/toes sucking, fingering, cunnilingus, choking, vaginal penetration, missionary with legs on shoulders, kisses.
𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬◞﹒୧ . first mini connie fic, i wanted something cute!!!! i have a longer one in my wips, hehe… hope you will like this <3
The sounds of the game Detroit Become Human lulled Connie into a high. Even Eren's grunts when he made a choice that would negatively impact the story were like a sweet melody accompanying him as he floated, staring at the ceiling with glazed over eyes. Everything was perfect; he was so relaxed he wasn't thinking about the addicted clients he'd have to serve tomorrow, or how hard Ony would beat him if he knew how he was going to make his sister cum tonight.
He glanced down the stairs, alerted by your footsteps, as if you were divinely connected. His eyes followed you down with your tablet, wearing a pale pink leggings and vest set from I AM GIA. No one in your family knew, but Connie had bought it, and he felt hot just thinking you were wearing it on purpose because he was there. You looked like a pilates princess, and your vanilla scent filled the room as you approached your brother's group of friends, making Connie intoxicated, as always.
Everyone greeted you except Connie, who must play it cool as if his dick wasn't making regular in-and-out motions inside you at least four times a week. As if his heart wasn't beating, his body wasn't breathing for your beautiful, sparkling brown eyes.
You glanced at Connie, smiling shyly as if he were a stranger and not your boyfriend of several years. It was a shame your overprotective brother was in the room; you would have loved to get down on your knees to kiss the tattoos on his stomach and take his pierced dick in your mouth, turned on by his dark streetwear outfit, contrasting with your pink one. He looked like a bad boy, but the only bad guy here was Eren; Connie was a loverboy. He returned your small smile by discreetly patting the spot next to him. You sat down next to him, pleased because you thought he was looking at the drawings you were making on your tablet, but the truth was that Connie was staring at your thick thighs, which had tripled in size in your seated position. He remembered what it felt like to have them trembling around his head and adjusted his sweatpants so his erection wouldn't be noticeable. He took out his phone. You had to know.
“I want to be inside you.”
Concentrated in your digital art and oblivious to the tension, your stylus stopped drawing, your eyes rereading the message in confusion.
‘In a food, stabbing, or sexual way?’ You sent.
Connie giggled softly when he received the notification. You and your autistic brain that takes everything literally. Dirty talk was a pain in the ass with you.
“All three. Your beauty stabs me, I want to eat you up to have you inside me, and I want to fuck you.”
“That’s something Chikage from Hakuouki would have said.”
“Who is this nobody from another otome?”
“Speak of my husband with respect.”
“Your real future husband is right here, princesa,” he whispered in your ear. You shivered at the sensual intonation of his voice, as close as you were, your body overheating at the thought of tonight. You checked that no one was looking in your direction so you could sign “I hope so, but you know it’s not possible.”
Connie didn’t lose his sweet expression, still a playful glint in his eyes. He placed his hand on your thigh to grasp the soft flesh. “Ony will have to kill me with his own hands to prevent our future together. Even my spirit will haunt him. He can’t do anything to me.”
You quickly brushed his hand away, heat rising to your neck and burning your cheeks.
Your relationship consisted of three things: acting like goofy fools together, him playing the hero of forbidden romances, and him making love to you passionately and tenderly.
Being with Connie was like living a real rom-com, even though he was a drug dealer.
You were writing a new message. “I’m going to leave you, you make my head boil.”
He laughed softly. “Since when does my girl understand metaphors like that?”
You playfully punched him and signed “I’m not a walking autistic cliché.”
“Yes, you are. Look at what you sent me a few minutes ago.”
You ignored him and went back up to your room and once at the top of the stairs you gave him the finger and he just gave you his stupid smile with his red eyes because of the weed.
──────── 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭,
Connie walked into your room, immediately ripping off his hoodie and t-shirt and throwing them on the floor, revealing his fully tattooed chest and abdomen. Filled with designs you'd done, like the rose that started its stem on his hip and whose petals touched his ribs, the soft style of the tattoo contrasted with the harsh lines of the ink. But Connie loved it. It was like having you and him inside him, on him, for him.
'Heaven or Las Vegas' by Cocteau Twins played softly in your room as you sat at your vanity. The dream pop song made Connie, who was stoned out, drift even further into the psychedelic atmosphere. You detangled your hair with hair milk, separating it into four twists—two in the front on each side, two in the back—so it would be easier to manage tomorrow when you went to get your hair braided by your favorite braider, who didn't charge an entire month's salary for long knotless braids. Connie admired the goddess who was his girlfriend for a long time, licking his lips as he noticed you were wearing that Savage X Fenty pale rose nightgown, which was sheer, with a ribbon bow at the center of your chest.
“Mami, I missed you,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your neck and burying his face in your scalp, inhaling the scent of rosemary mint from your Mielle hair oil, castor oil, and shea butter from your Skala leave-in conditioner. He bought that one for you after seeing a TikTok about a Brazilian influencer with the same curl pattern as you recommending it.
With your hands manicured in a French manicure, you used sign language to communicate “We saw each other earlier,” with a roll of your eyes.
“I know, but I’m obsessed with my princess.” He kissed the back of your neck, his cuban accent adding charisma to his voice.
His desire, love, and passion for you, dripping from his voice, made you feel all giddy and fuzzy in your stomach. You smiled shyly at him in the mirror of your heart-shaped vanity.
“Don’t smile like that,” he said softly, almost desperately, his red eyes and dilated pupils even more affected by your little smile. “You’re so gorgeous in this.” He played with the thin straps of your nightgown. “But I’m sure you’re even prettier without them, aren’t you, baby?”
Shyly, you ignored his compliment and finished styling your hair before protecting it with your satin bonnet, the same color as your wardrobe, before getting up to hug Connie. Thinking he wanted to make love now, you led him toward the bed, but Connie spun you around.
Chuckling, you understood he wanted to dance and followed him, as the dream pop song stopped to make way for “Punch Drunk” by Sade. A wordless jazz track, purely instrumental, that made you feel like you were in an old jazz bar with your secret forbidden lover.
His hand on the small of your back, Connie made you dance, roaming around your room, laughing when you bumped into furniture because the space was small, kissing you when the saxophone was more intense than ever. He took advantage of the kisses to move his hands up and caress the voluptuous curves of your chubby body. Your fat ass, which he gripped even though you tried to push him away, the pudginess of your belly that he loved to feel under his fingers, and your ample breasts that rose and fell rapidly before him because of your barely concealed desire.
“Use your voice, what do you want?” he teased, knowing damn well you had nonverbal autism.
You glared at him and tried to push him away, but he threw you onto the bed.
“Aww, I’m such a bad boyfriend, I have to make amends for my crimes.”
He removed the rest of his clothes, keeping his black boxer briefs on for now. He stayed on his knees on the bed as you lay there, resting on your elbows.
You nodded at what he said and lifted your legs to place your French-manicured foot on the center of his collarbones. Connie smirked, knowing what you wanted.
He took your foot in his hands and kissed it all over, from heel to toe, appreciating the softness of your skin as you had just come from the shower where you had exfoliated. He wrapped his tongue around your toes, then sucked on them, his gray eyes fixed on you, a fire igniting from your core and spreading through your body.
You wanted this, you needed this. You gave him your other foot where he did the same, little shivers running through you at the movements of his tongue on your skin. Your breathing quickened as his lips moved up your leg, venturing under your nightgown. You couldn't see Connie because of your chubby belly, so you lay fully on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Not being able to speak or see him should have made your sex life difficult, but it was quite the opposite. Connie regularly checked for your consent and comfort; your nonverbal communication wasn't an issue. You tugged at his hair to let him know you liked what his tongue was doing, and you patted his shoulders to tell him to pause because the wave of overstimulation was near. As for the details—how fast or slow to use his tongue, which spot to lick—Connie paid close attention to your breathing and the way your thighs clenched around his head to gauge whether he was doing a good job.
“I’m gonna keep this on you,” he breathed, liking the lacy pink panties you were wearing. He pushed it to the side, his warm breath on your cunt, in need for attention.
The music switched to “Iceblink Punk” by Cocteau Twins, and the combination of the psychedelic sound and Connie’s tongue plunging into you was surreal. You felt like you were floating high in the sky.
Connie was truly gentle, slow, and calm when he was eating you out. Eating pussy was an art, and he was the Mozart and Shakespeare of the field. He took his time pleasuring you, smiling because even when you couldn’t speak; you didn’t fake your panting. The warm metal ball of his piercing kept rolling around your throbbing bud, just to feel your legs tremble, but his tongue explored every corner, collecting your arousal in his mouth. He was even disappointed you'd just showered, because it lacked flavor. He was a perverted loverboy like that, yeah.
Lapping through wet folds, he groaned every time he felt the pulse of your pussy in his mouth. His hands gripped your thick hips, making them grind against his face, to guide you, to show you it was okay to do that, because your autism sometimes made you a motionless robot during sex.
“You’re okay, baby?” he asked softly, reassured when you stroked his scalp to say yes.
After a comfortable rhythm of hip movements settled in, he removed his hands and sank his fingers inside you, all the while sucking your clit. A searing, burning sensation in your lower abdomen, almost setting your whole being ablaze, as you pulled at his short hair that had grown since his buzzcut to indicate to him that the combination was perfect.
When you reached your peak, there were no dramatic expressions or noises, just Connie nearly choking as you pushed your pelvic floor into his head and painfully squeezed your thighs around him.
“Still in a hyposensitivity mode?” he whispered, as he managed to pull away from your grip.
You nodded, catching your breath. Connie was always attentive to your autistic sensory needs, especially when you were in a sensory-seeking mode, or a mode where your sensitivity was low and you needed a lot of stimulation, like now.
He removed his underwear, nudging your entrance with his pierced tip as he laid down on you, putting all his weight on you. You were crushed by him, but it was perfect. To further satisfy your sensory needs, he wrapped his hand around your neck, squeezing comfortably. It was the perfect combination of pressure for you.
“No tits touching?”
You shook your head. Sometimes, you needed a lot of stimulation while simultaneously hating stimulation somewhere.
He leaned down to kiss your neck. “Okay, mami. Gonna take of you, now. Do you feel my piercing?”
He slid his pierced dick through the folds, still not entering for the moment. Your hands caressed his back, digging your nails into it to communicate that yes, you feel it, and you like it. He groaned, placing more passionate open-mouthed kisses on your skin. He pushed his hips, your warmth welcoming him like a king. He smiled against your skin hearing your usual gasp when his full size was inside you.
“Can’t handle these inches, huh?” he teased, sucking your earlobe. “You’re gonna take this dick anyway. Too bad for you, princesa.”
He leaned back to see your eyes widening every time he penetrated you. He moved his hips backward to let you breathe and pushed back in.
“Why is she wetter than usual?”
He looked at your slick cock, which covered his face with awe.
You pointed at his red eyes. His smile widened.
“Are you turned on by my stoner self? You’re so cute.” He kissed you, his tongue entwined with yours. You breathed softly into the kiss, overwhelmed by him, his dick, his affection.
He slipped his hands under your bent knees and placed them on his shoulders. The position you were in made it impossible for him to hide your belly rolls under your sheer nightgown. He looked terrifying with his low groan and his eyes dilated by weed and your beauty, staring at your curves as if he wanted to devour you whole. He wrapped his hand around your neck again, to your great pleasure. He increased the speed of his thrusts, panting above you, obsessed with the sight of your eyes rolling back when he touched a sensitive spot inside you.
A fever rose in your belly; you were embarrassed to come so quickly again, but every movement of Connie's was precise and deep, so he chuckled when he felt your legs clench his head once more.
He kissed your forehead.
“My baby is needy tonight.”
You nodded, cuddling him, pleading with your eyes to go even faster and harder.
He gladly spent the whole night taking care of you like he always does. Because that’s the thing about Connie: when his princess wants something, he’s going to give it to her. Even if his best friend, your brother, would kill him if he knew.
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Computah, gimme yandere being absolutely delighted with his horny captive!darling that’s ovulating and allowing him to make her cum out of pure desperation.
You haven’t felt human touch in months since he’s taken you captive and he’s been pretty patient, so when you’re suddenly opening those pretty legs of yours and showing off your slick cunt and we’re fingers, he’s diving in immediately. You’re needy enough to allow it…
He’s eager to show you how much pleasure he can give you if you just give in and let him love you. His pretty darling, babbling out pleas for more when just yesterday you were coldly telling him to go away… it’s music to his ears.
cw: chubby!fem!Reader; anxiety; hyper–independence; fluff (Hi, I need this:))
Simon knows that you’ve been running on fumes lately—and he hates whenever you try to wave off or diminish your strained mental health.
Each “I’m fine,” or “Other people have it worse,” makes him angrier—not at you, but at the people who made you think exhaustion is the price of being strong.
Sure. Pot, meet kettle—but you were the one who taught Simon to rest, to stop treating stillness like weakness, so he can’t understand why you won’t extend yourself the same mercy.
He lets you be—for now. You’re already stretched taut, and he won’t risk snapping the thread.
Until one morning.
You’ve gone quiet on him again; have been for a few days. Just functioning in your misery. Living in your own head. Survival mode. Anxious. Stressed. Agitated.
And Simon understands, truly, but he’s selfish when it comes to you—and he’s determined to help. Especially when you have a mental breakdown after finding out your favourite jam has gone bad and your box of peppermint tea is empty.
He watches you toss the empty box and ruined jam into the trash with unnecessary force, grinding your teeth and huffing like a bull. It feels like a nature documentary—some rare, furious creature losing its last bit of sanity.
When you march back into the master bedroom, not even grumbling obscenities under your breath, he knows you’re about to try and hide your breakdown, because you hate crying in front of people. Even him.
Simon gives you a minute or two. Takes one last sip of tea. Then he sets the mug down and follows—leisurely.
He finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the floor like it personally offended you. The kind of silence that hums, thick and shaky, and hangs between you.
You flinch when the mattress dips beside you. He doesn’t say anything yet; he just sits there, elbows on his knees, studying your hands clutched in your lap. He can practically hear the war inside your head—don’t cry, don’t make a scene, don’t be weak.
He sighs through his nose. “Yer allowed to fall apart over jam, love.”
Your laugh comes out half-scoff, half-sob. “It’s not about the jam, Si.”
“Didn’t think it was.” He leans back on his palms, voice low, steady, that military calm he saves just for you. “You’ve been pushin’ too hard, love. Y’do this thing—wearin’ yerself down, then act bloody surprised when ya can’t breathe.”
You mutter something about being fine again, eyes glassy, throat tight.
Simon huffs a quiet, humorless chuckle, “You’ve said that so many times, it’s lost all meaning.”
He reaches over, rough fingers brushing your jaw until you meet his gaze. No mask, no distance—just the man who’s seen worse than most and still can’t stand to watch you flinch from yourself.
“Lemme help, aye?” he asks softly, as softly as a man like him can. “Y’don’t have to fight the whole bloody world alone.”
You blink, finally letting a tear slip free, and he catches it with his thumb before it can fall. He doesn’t say I told you so, though you know he’s thinking it. He just gathers you into his strong arms, slow and sure, until you melt into the warmth of him.
Your breath stutters against his chest, and his hand moves up and down, rubbing your back soothingly, patient as the tide.
For once, you finally let him hold you through this—no apologies, no pretending needed.
Telling Ghost/König you are too heavy for him to pick up or sit on his face, and he doesn’t say anything at first so you think he just accepted it even if your heart kinda twinged a little in pain because you know you are just not skinny enough-
Only for him to send you a video the next day: in the gym, looking mighty hot in a compression shirt and sweatpants just a touch low on his hips, and lifting a bar with ease. On a closer look? The weighs attached to the bar weigh far more than you do. And he so easily maneuvers and controls and manhandles it…
Between the heat curling in your stomach, face pink and thighs clenched shut, you almost miss the incoming text.
