pitiful thing

21 ♤ he/it/they ♤ 18+

[vitriolrabbit]

sick - en - ing. 2doc. 18+.

"You're just disgusting, you know," 2-D mutters, his thumb hooked in Murdoc's cheek, watching the way he squirms when he swallows a fat glob of drool, freshly spit onto his teeth and tongued off twice as eagerly. Murdoc is right where he belongs, hands cuffed around a bedpost, back slouched into a pillow as 2-D sits between his legs... Balls deep, just to feel the way Murdoc clamps down on him.

"You think so?" Murdoc urges, hips propping down as though he might just convince 2-D to move. He doesn't, though. Instead, his thumb slides down scruffy jaw, fingers crawling around the worshipper's throat to squeeze. It's barely gentle, but brief– a warning.

"Do I think so?" His voice is soft and reserved, but there's a dripping taste of vitriol at the tip of his tongue. "I know so," 2-D asserts, and three rows of brutal latex studs force out of Murdoc's hole when he pulls out until only the slick tip of his dick is prodding against it. Murdoc's sharp canines are rough against his bottom lip, and he flinches out a groan when 2-D bucks back in. "You're fuckin' sickening."

Fat, green tinted cock twitches violently against Murdoc's ebony black happy trail, leaving behind a sticky splotch of precum. A tight rubber ring resides at the very base of his dick, and he'd begun to ache almost fifteen minutes ago. So when 2-D's nails dig into his hips, yanking him down to meet with rough, untimed thrusts, he chokes on the sounds in his throat, eyes squeezing shut as he bites his tongue.

"Fuck! God dammit, Stu," He groans, pent up and sensitive. 2-D is busy panting, brows furrowed as though irritated as he watches Murdoc squirm beneath him. He's half regretting the condom, when he thinks about dumping a load deep-as in the other man. Murdoc always liked that. Getting messy.

But every now and again, the studs seem to grind just right, and Murdoc's ribs raise with the curve of his spine, breathing hoarse and low. And that's what's worth it, when 2-D sees a crystal-clear spurt of precum shoot from Murdoc's tip, landing high on the green man's collarbone. 2-D sort of likes seeing him a mess, too.

So a hand reaches up, and lanky fingers grip tight to a slobbering cock. Murdoc gasps when 2-D starts jerking him off– fast, and rude, and with little remorse.

"You gonna let me cum this time?" Murdoc snarks, between clenched teeth. His brows are furrowed, and his eyes would roll if they could. Instead, his thumb flits roughly over Murdoc's tip, almost snickering when he watches Murdoc's head tip back, hips grinding into the motion through the hurt.

2-D's tugging one of the other's hair-coated legs up to his shoulder, and Murdoc's lips crack into a smile when he thinks he's winning. Sweat slicks up 2-D's back, asserting a quicker, snappier thrust, eyes squeezing shut as his head turns to bite at Murdoc's calf. That was alwats 2-D's downfall– the desire to edge Murdoc to tears, and the trouble he got himself into when all he himself wanted was to cum.

So Murdoc settles in, tongue sliding over his lips to collect idle drool, propping his hips up just right. Rough strokes of 2-D's hand only push Murdoc closer, faster, until he's growling into the pillow beside him like some feral, starved beast.

"Fuck– Fuck–! Ave Satanas, you cocksucker–" Murdoc's mouth is almost as dirty as the slick, sloppy squelching of his hole baring down on studded dick. And 2-D already knows, exactly how far he can push. How many sloppy, quick strokes 2-D can get away with before he squeezes hard, right above that tight black ring. Murdoc's head tosses up, brows furrowed furiously.

"I'm close, dickhead–" He hisses, like a threat. Something desperate clashes a spark in almost-begging eyes. "You ruin me and I'll– I'll kill you," all empty words Stu had heard before. So he hums, light in his chest when he bullies his head deep as he can fuck it, and watches as Murdoc's chest heaves. Eyes flutter, and suddenly Murdoc is dizzy– voice cracking through a moan.

His ribs flare, and his pulse thuds, and a familliar fog creeps up at the corners of his mind. 2-D fucks him right to that cliffside, until Murdoc is gagging on what should be an orgasm. Instead, 2-D's hips snap back, the head of his cock catching on clenching hole.

Murdoc is left gasping like a fish– twitching helplessly in 2-D's hand in the bitter glow of an abruptly ruined climax. Black, void-like eyes watch Murdoc's balls twitch in time with his gape, proud of a punishment well-fuckin-earned. And he's sort-of sweet, when he presses a kiss to the inside of Murdoc's thigh– voice soft and reserved.

"Think you're gonna behave now?"

[vitriolrabbit]

camp chores. kieran duffy x lenny summers. sfw.

"Damn hot out," Lenny complains, when he thumbs suspenders from his shoulders. A hatchet loosely hangs from his belt loop, slightly too dull to be useful. He's sweating through the underarms of wrinkled, creamy-white linen, as the sun beams through green leaves.

And that Duffy boy is about the same, forehead slicking down unruly pieces of black hair. Grey ones, too, and he swears up and down they're a new addition, courtesy of Dutch. While Lenny chops, Kieran carries-- piling up a hefty sum of firewood.

Chop! Lenny returns to work, hardly eyeing Kieran. It wasn't out of any sort of distaste-- just not much to say, when there's work to be done. Kieran, though, stares. Some sort of deer-in-headlights gawk, teeth showing slightly through parted, and cracked, lips. It was true that Kieran had always had a bit of a staring problem, when it came to the men he camped with.

Kieran was a mousy sort of man. Not short, and not skinny, and to be clear, only an inch shorter than Lenny himself. But Lenny's hatchet raised, and shoulders flared, muscular and resistant to the labors of such a motion. And he swings down, splitting a piece of wood in two with the axe. Kieran's cheeks grew slightly redder, when he recalled trying to use that same axe just the night before, on a much smaller chunk of wood. Arthur had called him a damn fool, when the axe bounced off and almost knocked him in the face.

Lenny, though, was resilient. Consistent, and capable. And, also, staring right back.

"Duffy." He clips, with all the same sudden whack of a dull axe. "D'you... Need a break, or somethin'?"

When Kieran spits out a few filler words, trying to latch himself onto a real sentence, Lenny grins, flashing mostly-straight teeth save for the gap right in front. Kieran wonders if he even knows, that he shines brighter than the sun above. He does not say that, though. He can't.

So instead, he gulps, and nods. "I uh-- brought lunch," Kieran finally manages, sorta-stiffly turning to go grab the deerskin satchel he'd left leaning against a skinny birch. "It's just sandwiches, and... The bread's kinda stale, but... Miss Karen stiffed Pearson into letting me have a few of those tomatoes from Sunday."

Lenny hums when Kieran takes off. He'd always thought it kind of silly-- the way Kieran struggled to talk until he took off, and then babbled on for longer than Jack ever would. But he lets him, and doesn't complain. It's nice to have another face around that likes talking.

So they both settle in, beneath the dappled shade of the trees. A sandwich is split in half, and shared without question. It's not a lot, and definitely not enough to properly sustain two. But they're content, shoulders and fingertips brushing together as Kieran passes the slightly-bigger half to Lenny.

"Y'ever think about what you could'a been?" Lenny proposes, when the silence grows too long. "I always thought if my pops were still around, maybe I could'a done something. Smart work, not all this bandit stuff. Honorable-like."

"Naw, not me," Kieran mutters, and it's slightly bitter at the end. Not me. "Really ain't good at much but horses."

Lenny laughs, and it's boyish. Kind. "Stablehands are plenty honorable. Tough work for tough folk."

"You think I'm tough?"

"Hah! Not really."

Kieran's sure that wasn't a compliment, but they're both laughing anyways.

"... Well, maybe that's true." And Lenny looks over to him, crows feet crinkling his eyes when he smiles.

"It is. But you've got charm." Kieran's busy stuffing a tomato back in between bread, wilty lettuce, and mayo when Lenny says it, but he pauses mid-bite when the words finally process through him. Caterpillars wriggle behind his ribs, and his eyes flit away stubbornly.

"Yeah... Thanks."

[vitriolrabbit]

roronoa zoro × monkey d. luffy. 18+.

"Ah-! Ah-! Hnnnf, little more, little more, just... Fuck, can you stay like that? Ohhh my god—"

Monkey D. Luffy's incessant rambling is almost enough to drown out the sound of soft, half-pace panting down below. Roronoa Zoro is laid out beneath him, ribcage suppressed by Luffy's hair-matted thighs.

Zoro's never seen Luffy like this before. Pupils blown out like a wild animal, seething and drooling when he pads rough thumbs against Zoro's nipples, pushing at muscle to bring it closer to the middle. Hotter. Warmer. More. And, truth be told, he's never seen himself like this, either. His own hands grasped at Luffy's wrists, huffing out breaths as though catching up. He'd never pictured himself as this sort of man— where was his dignity now?

He decided, upon looking down at himself, shiny and slick with the incessant leaking of his captain's precum, that he didn't care. What he cared for much more, though, was the buck-buck-bucking of the captain's hips, and the beads of sweat holding desperately to the rough hair that drew a messy, shaggy apex from his navel to his fat, drooling cock. He reaches, short-cut fingernails raking down it and relishing in the way the captain shivers and flexes.

"You're making a mess of me, you know," Zoro huffs like it's a complaint, and Luffy just about folds, when that hand drops and grips him at the base. He slows down, biting hard on his bottom lip like it might just keep him going a little while longer. Green brows furrow, and hazy eyes narrow. "Don't reserve yourself now, Luffy. It's alright... I'll let you. Just this once."

That sort of permission, negligent and taunting, is all Luffy could've asked for— he whines when his full aggression returns, dizzy in his own numbing frenzy.

"Zoro—" He breathes out, like the words are choking him, "M'gonna cum all fucking over you, kay? Pleasepleaseplease, I can't help it, I can't– I can't–"

Before Zoro can muster any sort of taunting reply, though, Luffy's eyes squeeze shut, and he thrusts his hips forward, and hardly seems to notice when his cockhead starts bumping against Zoro's adams apple.

"Iloveyou," Luffy spits out when he finally cums, words meshing together into something like a simpering whine. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, s'too much," And Zoro is inclined to agree— thick spurts of cum splattering up his throat, pooling in the crooks of his collarbone. It's a lot, and Luffy won't stop bucking, milking every last bit he seems to be able to muster. Half lidded eyes are full of tears by the time he's finished— threatening to spill at any moment.

Only then does Luffy collapse, toppling all of his weight on Zoro... Who is sticky, and sweaty, and surprisingly patient. No snarky remarks are made— fingertips glide through Luffy's messy hair, and scratch at the nape of his neck. He's already snoring, and Zoro's eyes roll.

"... That's a good boy."

[vitriolrabbit]

Feathered fingertips brush idle circles into your thigh. The soft skin there is bare— exposed, intimate, and safe.

"And as that fated blue bird flies overhead, I can not help but think of... Home," Gale recites, his voice quiet but strong as he flips to the next page. You hum softly at the word: Home. Your eyes are closed, and sun flits through the window into Gale's study, falling kindly atop the both of you. His nondominant hand returns, higher on your leg than before.

By now, he's three sentences ahead— taking on a voice to match the main character's dialogue. It's burly, and silly, and not at all like him. The corners of your lips curl into a smile, and you hum.

"Gale?"

"Yes, my beloved?"

"I love our home."

There's a pause. Quiet. Your eyes peek open as his fingers squeeze your thigh— meeting his, glossy and narrow, crow-footed at the corners.

"... As do I."