Bugbear would wear the same dress as you (AND HE KNEW YOU’D WEAR IT HE DID IT ON PURPOSE) and be like ‘Well one of us has to change. And it’s not gonna be me :3’
He’d wear one of those short dresses with crocs (bear themed ofc) and somehow make it work
DRESS TO IMPRESS
pairings ; bugbear (damian lenoir lovecraft) x fem implied!reader but you could also be a femboy who am i to decide
warnings ; this is pure crack, bugbear is girlypop, he calls you every cringe ass nickname in the book, also bunny, sussy baka themes because it's bugbear, post good ending, man is ginemenasaurus, you make out, unironic use of the words skibidi and rizzler, reader wears dresses so implied fem presenting but you could also just be a femboy
a/n ; I feel much for this man, I also need him in my mouf
"bugs...why are you wearing that?" your boyfriend has done a lot of morally questionable stuff, so nothing phases you anymore, but there is always that part of you which thinks what sins you committed in your past life to end up with this piece of trash...who you love oh so dearly.
damian huffs dramatically, adjusting the straps of this virgin killer sweater, yes you heard right, identical to, well...yours. you're at least 99% sure you did not tell him about this...right?
"aww, why shnookums? I think I look real sexy in this, dontcha think?" He does, but you won't admit that...yet. Especially when he's paired it with a pair of crocs. the bugbear flair, truly. regardless, you're more concerned about another thing.
"wha- this dress came in this morning after ordering yesterday, how do you already-" you're rudely interrupted when he chuckles and leans down to wrap his arms around you, pressing his lips against yours with a mean grin. His fingers press against your bare back, tracing figure eights.
"bugs," you sigh, attempting to push him away, though there's not much eagerness in the way you push at him. He can tell, but he lets go regardless, flashing a wide sharp-toothed grin with his eyes hooded.
your face flushes and you huff and look away, elbowing his chest.
"whaaat? just wanted to surprise my precious pookie bear with my insane skibidi rizz and this sexy dress-"
"you did not just say-"
"cause you got all dolled up f' me and i just must repay the favour for my shnookums, no?" he finished, ignoring the way your lips curl upwards in cringe.
your face flushes as his words come to a halt, lips fluttering open and shut as you try to argue. really, it's just babbled nonsense, and you're not even given the freedom to finish the embarassing flurry of angry noises when he presses his lip down onto yours. the gasp you barely squeak out just gives his tongue access to slip into your mouth.
you squeak out in shock and he hums, lightly sinking his fangs onto your bottom lip as he pulls away. that's all the time you're given to catch your breath before his fingers lace into yours, body and hands pinning you to the wall as he moves impossibly closer to you, as if he's trying to become one organism.
you wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.
kisses with bugbear are never pecks, much the horror of the unfortunate bystanders at the library. luckily for you, you're not at the library so you can save yourself the embarassment.
bugbear does it messy, as he does most things. it's wet, hot, and open. drool slips down your lips as you barely manage to catch your breath, chest heaving against his. every time he pulls away, he goes in closer, grinning at the string of saliva that connects his mouth to yours. He bites at your tongue, lips, hard enough to sting but never hard enough to break flesh, to make you bleed.
you can hardly breathe as he pushes closer, desperately parting your lips through the kiss for some access of air, but it's never enough. he closes every crevice of your open mouth; it's possesive, he's laying his claim. hands gripping at your waist, hips, the other engulfing your hand with your fingers laced together. if it ever hurts him to keep his neck that low for the entire time, you wouldn't know. not over the muffled chuckles, the dirty words, and the way he keeps it going for as long as he possibly can. or as long as you can really, he'd go longer if he could.
it's infuriating when bugbear finally pulls away, wiping his mouth and reverting back to the mischief-making menace that he is. his cheshire grin is wide and grating on the nerves; you'd say something if you weren't so out of breath.
finally, he sighs, hands moving to his back.
"well, if you want me to take it off that bad," bugbear purrs, and your eyes widen as his fingers dig into the soft hem of the skirt, the sound of wool ripping hitting your ears.
"Damien, no-"
He's ripped the garment off and tackled you down to the bed before you can curse the heavens above for giving you this god-awful man.
