bugra644 - Tumblr blog

bugra644 · 7 months ago

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Nanook nsft alphabet

Author's Note: I was originally going to make a list of headcannons, when I realized that this would actually be a great prompt for them instead. So, I present to you: the nsft alphabet with the Aeon of destruction~ 💛

Pairings: Nanook x male reader

Credit: @/robothumpmycamel

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Despite being the Aeon of destruction, I do think Nanook would take good care of you after the fact. THEY can be surprisingly kind; tenderly touching any areas that hurt, or praising you for a job well done.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

As for THEMSELVES, THEY didn't pay special attention to THEIR own body before. It's not until THEY catch you admiring a specific body part that THEY take extra pride in THEIR appearance.

As for you, however, THEY admire your hands and arms — especially if you're muscular.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

So… you know how Nanook has gold ichor/blood dripping from THEIR wounds? I'd like to imagine that THEIR other bodily fluids are similar. THEIR tears are a more transparent gold, and THEIR semen is more of a milky gold hue. Or you could also picture THEIR cum being mostly white with glittery gold mixed in ✨ Sparkly gold piss as well 💀

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

……Don't tell anyone, but Nanook is a little embarrassed by how much THEY enjoy being your bottom 🤐

Aeons don't even know, nor care, about tops, bottoms, subs, or doms — but once you introduced THEM to the concept? THEY revel in the pleasure of submitting to THEIR human lover and taking your dick wherever you so please~

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

While THEY haven't actually had any sexual encounters prior to meeting you, Nanook is far from inexperienced. Perhaps it's due to some imitation of primal human instinct, or some other natural inclination — regardless, the god of destruction is the least virgin-like virgin.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Anything that keeps your bodies glued together. Smothering you against some surface is typically preferred, as is being the one smothered against a surface, when you top.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

100% serious. You'll never catch THEM acting silly, laughing, joking, etc etc. That's just not in line with THEIR personality.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

I can't decide whether I like the idea of THEM being shaved or unshaved… I'm leaning more towards shaved, but Nanook definitely has a happy trail. And yes, all of THEIR body hair is white too ☺️

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Extremely clingy, number one. Number two, THEY can be rather romantic, though I suppose that depends on your definition of the word. Aeons aren't intimately familiar with the human concept of romance, per se, but Nanook's actions would probably classify as far more romantic than most other Aeons.

THEY are capable of doing romantic deeds, and THEY often do spoil you selflessly. You may not get a candlelit dinner or a calming bath together, but THEY show THEIR love in other, romantic forms.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Perhaps this is self-indulgent, but… I think THEY would look so hot masturbating 💀

HEAR ME OUT — picture Nanook, covered in a sheen of sweat, sitting on your bed with THEIR legs spread wide, and THEIR hand gliding up and down THEIR massive cock… tell me that doesn't make you at least a tiny bit feral.

Uh, yeah, ahem. I don't think THEY would touch THEMSELVES often, exactly, but if you wanted to watch THEM, and made it very clear that you find watching THEM touch THEMSELVES attractive, then yes I think THEY would indulge you graciously~ 💛

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Do Aeons have kinks? Dunno, but let's imagine that THEY do for a second.

Somnophilia — sometimes THEY'RE so desperate to have you that THEY can't wait until you're awake. THEY'LL slide it in while you're sleeping, or sink THEIR ass down on your cock without waking you.

Choking/suffocation (giving) — lord, do THEY love it when you plead for THEM to wrap THEIR strong hands around your weak human throat~ Or when you moan and whimper while THEY get you in a chokehold, squeezing you with THEIR arm. Covering your entire face with THEIR large hand is sexy too, as is pushing your entire face into a pillow or something while THEY destroy your ass~

Hair pulling (receiving) — PLEASE pull on THEIR braids when you fuck! Use them like strings on a puppet to control where THEIR head goes! Pull THEM up by THEIR pretty hair and show THEM who's really in charge!

Fingering (if that counts as a kink) — Mmmm fingers in your holes, stretching you wide open. Fingers in THEIR holes prodding around as if you're mapping out new territory. Making THEM finger THEMSELVES for your amusement. Fingers down your throat until your eyes cross. Fingers down THEIR throat as you tell THEM how sweet and lovely THEY are for you. Just, fingering in all its glory 👆

Breeding — how positively possessive it is to fill and be filled with THEIR partner's lewd life essence~ Nanook may be destruction itself, but THEY will happily breed you and be bred by you as if THEY can create new life.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

THEY don't have any strong preferences really, THEY'LL stick to whatever you prefer. Although, THEY will admit that the fantasy of taking you in front of a crowd is pretty hot. Letting everyone see who you belong to…

…Maybe the thought of being publicly fucked by you turns THEM on too. How shameful would it be for an Aeon—especially one as strong as Nanook—to be face down, ass up in front of THEIR followers while a human pounds THEIR boypussy and calls THEM all sorts of degrading names? 😳

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Nanook as a dom: Seeing you under them in some way, or purposefully acting submissive just to tempt THEM. And seeing you in a position where THEY can easily thrust inside of you (such as bending over, laying down, etc).

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Nanook as a sub: Seeing you be bold, confident, and take control. This applies to any situation, really. Watching you stand up to another human would get THEIR dick hard just as much as watching you put THEM on THEIR knees and lure THEM into sub space.

Just in general: If you use the word 'destroy' in a sexual context. Whether that's begging for THEM to destroy your ass, or growling out how you're going to destroy THEIR ass.

Sharing. Sorry, but Nanook is POSSESSIVE AF and would not be receptive to the idea of sharing you with ANYONE. THEY would treat another partner as competition, and if THEY get jealous enough, or feel as if THEY'RE losing you, things will get messy…

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Oh, THEY love oral. Like, a lot. Seeing you choke on THEIR massive length is an easy way to make THEM cum. On the flip side, watching your face contort in pleasure while you fuck THEIR throat gets THEM going too.

THEY have zero gag reflex btw. You can shove the largest cock or toy in THEIR mouth and THEY'LL be able to take it without issue 😘

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Sensual for sure. THEY tend to err on the rougher side too, but THEY use both a fast pace and a slow pace equally.

Now, when you're topping THEM—THEY may have become addicted to taking your cock deep and fast. Just absolutely railing THEM until THEIR eyes roll back and unbecoming moans fall from THEIR drooling lips 🤫

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Quickies are ok, but not preferred. THEY'D rather take THEIR time and fuck properly, with passion and devotion.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Yeah, I'd say so. THEY'RE not really afraid of trying new kinks, fetishes, or anything. Even more extreme/dangerous kinks will be fine.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

As an Aeon, THEY have crazy stupid stamina. Sometimes you can't even keep up — which makes Nanook quite frustrated, and THEY end up desperately fucking THEIR fist or fingering THEMSELVES until you can go another round (or 3… or 4… or 5… 💀)

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Not until you came along. You introduced THEM to the wonderful world of sex toys and got THEM addicted to having a vibrator in THEIR ass and/or on THEIR cock. There are occasions when dildos or other toys are acceptable, but generally, THEY prefer real cocks in THEIR holes. THEY especially dislike using toys on you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It's hard to say; oftentimes, Nanook ends up teasing you accidentally because of THEIR insane stamina. THEY can hold out much longer, and THEY usually insist on cumming together, so you end up getting edged as THEY work towards an orgasm.

Sometimes the teasing is on purpose, but typically it's out of ignorance 😅

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Ok so I'm not super far into the game, and I'm not sure if any of the Aeons can canonically speak out loud, or if THEIR speeches vary from Aeon to Aeon, but this is what I think: Aeons are semi-verbal. Nanook doesn't typically speak out loud, but THEY sort of communicate telepathically? THEIR 'voice' comes through a little hazy and distant, more akin to an echo inside of your mind than a real voice. It's hard to explain.

SO– while Nanook doesn't speak much during sex, THEY do grunt, groan, moan, whine, etc etc. In fact, you're the reason THEY began to make noise at all. Feeling your hole squeeze THEM so good, or feeling your cock ravage THEIR insides brought out a side that THEY never knew THEY had in the first place!

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Nanook really, really loves eye contact. But THEIR eyes are so intense, it's hard for any human (even someone who loves THEM beyond words) to maintain it for more than a minute. Prolonged eye contact usually makes you tear up and tremble, even if those aren't things that you typically do. THEIR gaze digs out this deep, intense feeling from your psyche.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

LARGE! THEY are large by human standards and god standards alike. THEIR dick is also uncut because I said so~

I HC Aeons' bodies to be four times the size of a normal human's (at minimum), so that would already make Nanook's junk pretty big, but then it's even bigger than that because I said so 😚

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

I'm not going to say that it's all THEY think about, but… after meeting you, and having THEIR eyes opened to the pleasures of intimacy and sexuality, THEY gained a wild sex drive 😳

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Aeons don't really sleep, so Nanook doesn't pass out after sex. THEY will happily let you sleep though, even if that means THEY'LL get trapped under your body until you awake 💛

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bugra644 · 1 year ago

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BOOTHILL ❖ COWBOY'S GOT BUSINESS

Just kiddin', fudgehead.

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bugra644 · 1 year ago

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COULD VERITAS RATIO BE A WORM?

the answer 😏 may surprise you

ok listen to me. a long time ago aha made a worm really smart and tried to get it into the genius society. but even though that worm was smart as hell, nous did not give a fuck about it.

you know who else is smart as hell but nous doesnt give a fuck about?

heh. yeah. thats right. despite many people (including himself) feeling like nous should have recognized him a loooong time ago, that computer just doesn’t care.

now, we are left to wonder… why does nous refuse to acknowledge this man..?

i think it’s quite obvious.

my theory is that aha made a second worm really smart. and Then they made the worm into a sexy guy.

and now they’re outside nous’s window, giggling, as everyone in the universe ponders why veritas ratio is not permitted into the genius society.

“what’s wrong, nous? he’s a genius, isn’t he? let him in,” aha goads.

nous is glitching in frustration. “it’s the worm again. i know it’s the worm again.”

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bugra644 · 1 year ago

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AHH UR SO RIGHT, fucking him over his bike, his pride and joy, while he gasps and moans while blubbering on how good u make him, how good it is.

AHHH him in leather too, he'd look so fine with a leather jacket bro omfg (≧▽≦) the way he'd tremble when you'd bite his neck, marking him up all from his neck to his shoulders as he tries to he quiet, embarrassed that he's feeling this good with you railing him over his precious bike

Maybe he's known as the "bad boy," the complete opposite of you,, and nobody would expect the two of you to even speak to each other,, but here the two of you are, both of you pretty much trembling from overstimulation and how good you're both feeling aahdbsksbdjs

It's such a good idea omfg ahdhshdbs ur brain is so good it's amazing

-pera

"in an open match, 【 pera 】 has invited WRIOTHESLEY to play . . . dress for the slide

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!male!reader, sub!ftm!wriothesley, modern au, sex against a motorcycle, vaginal fingering, PIV sex, dirty talk + teasing + lowk praise, lighthearted bickering (mid- and post-coitus), slight breeding kink, creaming, creampie, alluded aftercare .

A/N : i know it technically wasn't an invitation, but . . ye<3 + fun references of dad!wrio with sigewinne <33

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

Wriothesley is not an arrogant, prideful man. He is humble; he tips generously at restaurants, holds the door open for anybody coming up behind him, greets people—you especially—with a kind smile.

The scars marring his body, the thick leather of his jacket and pants, the spikes and chains worn like jewelry, accessories—it’s intimidating, sure, but on him, it’s hardly such.

Little children—they bound up to him, pulled as if by a magnet. It’s adorable, it’s endearing; and Wriothesley takes it all in stride, smiling that toothy grin of his and giving lollipops and candies from God-knows-where. (He’s got a pocket in his jacket just for sweets.

It’s why he always smells like sugar, beneath his frosty cologne.)

And speaking of children... Wriothesley is so good with ‘em. He holds custody over small Sigewinne, for crying out loud! She’s quite popular in school, too; while she's certainly a ball of sunshine on her own, her father certainly seals the deal for her—especially when he drops her off and picks her up in that hot ride of his:

a goddamn motorcycle.

Now, you’re not exactly an expert in the things: all you know is that it looks badass, and it makes Wriothesley all the more ruggedly handsome to you.

And, well.

It just so happens that, now, you’ve got this ruggedly handsome, sugar-frosted man all for the taking, spread out across the seat of that damn bike. He’s got his usual get-up on for when he rides—leather jacket, torn jeans, simple tee—, his hair a mussed up mess from where he took off his helmet. The helmet is resting precariously on the back seat, a support for Wriothesley’s body as you kiss him silly.

“Hah—wait, wait,” he’s pushing you back, breathless, his leather, fingerless gloves accentuating his fingertips, the short, bitten nails of his. His cheeks are tinged pink, and he looks good enough to eat—to devour.

You hum, tip your head to the side to nonverbally ask, What’s up? but Wriothesley’s twisting around just-so, just enough to grab his helmet. He passes it off to you—with, to your delight, shaking hands—, and asks, “Can you put this on the ground?” You raise a brow, taking it anyway to do as he asks, and he continues, sheepish. “I—ah, I don’t want it to fall.”

You laugh, then, corralling back up to him once the helmet’s safely deposited on the grass (and not the pavement, thank you. You’re not a monster, letting something as sexy and sleek as that helmet risk getting scratched up).

“Oh?” You lean back in, making like you’re about to kiss him again—kiss him proper, now, without worrying about the precarious balance of his beloved helmet—, but you dip down at the last second to press hot, searing kisses across his throat. “Why would it fall?” you continue, chuckling at the soft whimper that falls past his lips. “Unless you’re thinking about something naughty.”

He goes silent; the motorcycle rocks, just a little.

You pay it no mind, though. “Dirty, dirty boy,” you coo instead, lapping at the heavy thrum of his pulse. He groans, strong, leather-bound hands coming to wrap themselves around your biceps, yet he makes no other noise besides the quiet sounds of each exhale.

Soon enough—because it seems Wriothesley truly is intent on keeping it zipped—, your mouth has landed on the softest, most tender part of his neck. You hone in on it like you’re some type of mosquito blood-sucker, lips wrapping around his skin and sucking, suckling, working your tongue over it until it blooms a pretty shade of purple.

You tire quick, though, of the lack of vocal reply from your lover. “You can’t tell me you haven’t fantasized about this already,” you murmur, suckling a new mark opposite of the first one you’ve set prominently, “about me, about me fucking you jus’ like this...” You slide your hands up from his side to cup his jaw, thumbing at the subtle stubble as he looks up at you with such icy-blue irises.

You don't expect Wriothesley to nod. “I do,” he adds on, to really fluster you.

“I—ah?” You hiccup, pause, bite at the side of his neck mere inches above your first mark. “Gimme the deets.”

(It’s fun, to be immature like this.)

He huffs above you, gentle laughter shaking you from where you suckle bruise after bruise after bruise, leaving him looking like he got mauled by a bear, or whatever. (Your possessive heart soars at seeing your claim spread across his skin, where even his jacket collar can't cover.

Everybody will know he's yours.)

“Stop talkin’ like that,” he grumbles—the effect lost by the way he laughs—, “you sound like a teenager.”

“A horny teenager.”

He barks out a true laugh at that, the sound spilling into a soft moan when you suck at the slight hollow of his throat, the area oversensitive because of the scars. “You're insufferable.”

“And hard,” you murmur, rolling your hips down into him. The motorcycle creaks at your movement, but, this time, it stays still—perfectly still. (You thank Wriothesley for the care he gave his bike, going as far as to invest in a good and proper kickstand.

He definitely didn't imagine this when buying that, though.)

It's time to up the ante, then (to really test the give of the product.)

“Lemme fulfill those dirty fantasies of yours, sweet thing,” you coo, suddenly dropping the pretense of light-hearted teasing and diving right on into adopting that tone of voice you know makes Wriothesley utterly helpless in his arousal.

Yet, “Sigewinne rides on this with me—” he tries to say.

“So?” You dip down, hot breath fanning against his lips. His eyes cross to follow your descent, trained on your mouth getting closer, closer. “I’ll clean it.

“Besides,” you continue, rubbing the tips of your noses together. His own breath tickles your face. “I want you to be reminded of this. Every time you go on a ride, you’re gonna be thinking about this—about me, about the way I ruined you right here, right on your precious lil’ bike.

“You’ll always be reminded of this.”

You don't expect the way he mutters, all breathless off of nothing but the pleasant ache across his neck from the hickeys and your dirty, dirty words—it’s a simple, a quiet but gruff, “Good.”

“Good?” You tip your head to the side.

Wriothesley only huffs again, pulling you closer with the hands he's moved to your shoulders. You swear you can feel the grooves of his gloves through your own shirt. “Good,” he repeats, easy confidence dripping from his voice. (You want him to drip with something else.) “I want to remember.”

And, really, the grin you give is downright ridiculous, this love-sick, dopey thing that has no place in such a charged environment; but Wriothesley shares it with you, your own private smiles, and then he's surging forward and pulling you down to meet him in a desperate kiss, one all tongues and teeth.

“Now quit talkin’,” he drawls, licking at the roof of your mouth, “and make g-good on that promise.”

“Promise?” You chuckle, dark, a play out of Wriothesley’s own book. It doesn't fit you, really—you, the epitome of a good boy, a handsome sonuvabitch who has grandmas tripping over themselves trying to marry off their granddaughters. (“Oh, isn't he charming, sweet Cecily?”

“Grandmama, I’m a lesbian.”)

“I didn't promise you anything, Wrio,” you coo, but your mouth and hands are hardly on the same wavelength; as you tease him with your words, dripping straight sin, your hands are unbuckling the heavy metal strung across his hips, thumbing down the fly ‘til you get your fingers wedged right between his thighs. “Maybe I should have you beg, hm? Beg to be ruined right now, right here on the same bike everybody sees you ride around town in.

“Oh,” you murmur, then, an idea springing to your mind as your fingertips press to the throb of his cock even through his briefs, “isn’t that an idea?” He whimpers, the sound so soft, so—so unbecoming, if you didn't know Wriothesley the way you do. “E’rybody’s gonna see you ridin’ this, and they're not gonna have a damn clue, are they? They're not gonna know the way you spread yourself so eagerly across her pretty seats—” you tease him by calling the bike a her, knowing how peculiar Wriothesley is about personifying the thing.

He nods, hips humping desperately into your fingers. The whole time, he's making these other soft sounds, and you're taken, over and over again, by how lucky you are to have such a strong man at your mercy. “Please,” he begs. “Quit talkin’, and fuck me.”

Snickering, you bump your palm against his mons, saying, “But you love it when I tell you all the things I’m gonna do to you.”

Unable to even deny it, he groans, deep and throaty. “I do,” he acquiesces while you take away your hand and help lift him enough to shimmy down his jeans and boxers both, “but I’d love it better if you'd do more than just talk.” You leave the fabrics bunched mid thigh as you stand him up proper and spin him around, pressing him gently into the leather upholstery.

It’s quick, after that, to curl over the heft of him, to nudge your fingers back down between his bare thighs to tease at this thick cock, his throbbing cunt. He's soaked, off so little, and it's easy, too, to slide in one, two, three, working him open in soft, gentle movements that stretch him without a biting burn.

“I’m ready,” he bemoans, shimmying his hips ‘til he bumps against your own erection, tenting at your own pants. “Fuck me!” His hips move, tantalizing, teasing, and you find, unsurprisingly, that pre-cum is seeping through the fabric of your boxers.

“Fine, fine,” you murmur, pressing your fingertips against his g-spot for the first time today, the spot swollen beneath your touch. He mewls, chasing the pleasure, and you give it to him readily as you dig your cock out from your fly, barely pushing your pants down enough to rest just past your balls.

Now that your cock’s out, you slide your fingers from his wet, loose heat. (It never ceases to amaze you, how loose a cunt he gets when he's sufficiently aroused. He opens so easily for you, sopping off of nothing but some words, some foreplay.)

No matter how wet he is, though, you're still careful to further slick him up with lubricant. You dip into him just-so, just enough to slather his hole and cock both in lube. He starts, slightly, at the starkness of something cold against where he's most hot, most sensitive. “Ah.”

Grinning devilishly against the nape of his neck, nosing down the high leather collar of his jacket, you drag out your fingers, terribly slow; and, only when you're sure Wriothesley is well aware of just where your hand is, you slather your own hard cock with the mess of lube and his slick.

“Ready?”

He huffs. “I’ve been ready, babydoll.”

You laugh at that, nudging your cockhead up and into his loose hole. The resistance is hardly evident—really, his body gives so easily for you—, your cockhead popping in in that perfectly saccharine way that always makes you groan low, makes Wriothesley whimper high in his throat.

“So open for me, babydoll,” you coo—his own word against him—, one hand dropping from his hip to brace against the seat of the bike. It hasn't gotten truly unsteady yet, but you always like to err on the side of caution when your beloved is involved. (Plus, you’re really not keen on having to buy a replacement bike for him.

A year’s salary alone probably couldn't buy a bike as souped up as his, the years Wriothesley put into the thing paying off beautifully in the long run. That damn bike's been around longer than you’ve been his boyfriend.)

Your cock slips in quick, easy, smooth, sliding right in down to the hilt, where you pause to let him adjust to your size. And, like clockwork, he shuffles his hips side to side against your one-hand hold and breathes out a low, whistling breath, says, “Okay.”

With that simple word—that small phrase, really—, you’re drawing your hips out slow n’ slick, the sound frankly obscene in the quiet around you. His bike doesn't so much as creak this time, either: it’s silent but swaying in time with your thrusts, barely noticeable and not at all that important, supporting the weight of you both and the heft of your next tender thrust.

Nosing at his sweat-damp hair, you drawl, “Look’it you, sweetheart, all open n’ pliant for me on my cock. You’re takin’ it so well, pretty thing right on your pretty bike.”

“Baby—” he starts to say something else, but he gets cut off with his own moan, your thick cock budding up against his g-spot. You feel him froth around where you're balls-deep in him, and you slide your hand from hip to mons.

“Want my hand, Wrio?” you ask, fingers brushing the mess of black curls sprouting from between his thighs.

He nods vehemently, his bangs splayed across his sweaty forehead. God, if anybody walked by, drove by—they’d get an eyeful of your Wriothesley, fucked silly and hot by your cock; they’d get their heart’s content of punked-out Wriothesley, leather gloves and leather jacket spread across leather upholstery, his accessorizing chains rattling off with each thrust.

But Wriothesley is yours and yours alone; you wouldn't dare share the sight with anybody else. As such, you curl yourself further over his stretch-out, prone body, breathing hotly against and moaning against the blushing shell of his ear.

“There we go,” you murmur, taking to circling the throbbing head of his cock with a gentle finger. He mewls into the air, his head almost limp on his shoulders. “There we go.”

“F-feels good,” he moans as he tips his head into yours. “So good.”

“Yeah?” you ask, rhetoric, switching from circling to stroking him, your pointer and middle finger lightly squeezed on either side of his straining erection, moving forwards n’ backwards in gentle undulations. You swear you can feel his heartbeat in each throb of his cock, driving you to give it to him better, sweeter. “I can feel you throb for me, sweet thing: are you already that close?”

No longer trusting his voice (which is a shame, really, considering how much you love to hear those ruined syllables pass from his lips), Wriothesley can only nod, letting his head loll even further forward ‘til he’s practically curved over the seat of the bike. You follow him all the way down: you, wrapped over his curled back; and him, head pillowed on his crossed arms. A shimmer of sweat makes itself known on the sleeves of his jacket, the leather of it catching the sun. He’s devolved to helpless moans.

While he trembles beneath you, around your cock, you hone in on that perfect angle—the angle of your fingers stroking him off, the angle of your cock bumping against the spots deep in his cunt that never fail to pull Wriothesley apart. “There we go,” you repeat, your own words coming out muddled with the pleasure threatening to pull you under, instead. “‘m gonna cum in you, gonna fill you up ‘til you can’t take anymore—y-you want that, baby? Want me to breed you while you cream my cock—”

“—yes!” His voice is shot to hell, this raspy thing that’s somehow thrice as gruff as normal and equally as hot, as absolutely, resolutely ruined. “Yes, yes! Breed me, w-wanna be bred...” He tapers off with a whimper, cunt beginning to tighten up around you as his orgasm threatens to pull him under with you—no longer just apart, but wholly wrapped in you, safe and protected.

“Cum for me, then—mm—, Wrio, Wriothesley—”

He whimpers, again, and you barely catch a whisper of your own name in the intelligible mess before you’re cumming, too, your cock pulsing with each involuntary squeeze of Wriothesley around you. Even as blood rushes through your ears, though, you’re whispering sweet words—nasty words, each one making him whimper n’ whine—, your fingers—long-trained, by now—keep up the gentle strokes of his cock until he’s too sensitive to go on. You withdraw them slowly, even as you’re still pumping him full with cum, even as his cock is still helplessly twitching and cunt still milking you for all you’re worth.

Coming down from your highs, then, is a slow, drawn out thing. You stay seated to the hilt, but you tease at the way his cunt’s spread open around the base of your cock, your fingers coming back covered in opaque white. He whines and weakly kicks his leg back, but you only laugh, bringing his cum up to your lips, tongue darting out to lick it clean. You groan—more-so for show, to get a rise out of your boyfriend—at the taste, and he seems to finally find his voice at that.

“Quit it,” he says; and, damn, did you do a number on his voice. It seems to have dropped an octave, all syrupy-slow and gruff in that way he always gets post-coitus. “‘s nasty.”

“I’m nasty?” Laughing, you nuzzle your cheek against the back of his head, cat-like in your affections. “You begged for it.”

Wriothesley groans. When he attempts to lean up, you help by wrapping your hands around his abdomen—surely leaving a patch of saliva somewhere on either his tee or jacket—and prop your chin on his shoulder... all while you’re still balls-deep.

“Hi,” you say, grinning. You can feel his eye-roll.

But he says “hi” back anyway, letting his head fall back onto your own shoulder. He tilts his face towards you and meets your gaze with a satisfied sort of smile.

“Well?” you ask. “Did I live up to your fantasies?”

He nods. “And more,” he adds; but then he’s pulling off of and away from your cock, leaving you no time to dwell on it. “I starkly remember you saying you would clean my bike.”

“I did.”

“Get to it then.”

You grumble, though, tugging him back into your with the bear hold you’ve got wrapped across his torso. “You and the bike,” you finally correct, “and you come first. C’mon.”

Whether or not you actually get to cleaning that leather upholstery, well... Wriothesley may be driving Sigewinne to school tomorrow while sitting on a barely-there, all-dried patch of his and your cum.

i got rlly carried away . . this was 3k words before i even knew it >< . . but: was this inbox from february? ye. does my pera anon still show their face? idk ! if ur still here, this is dedicated to u, honey <33 i know this may feel shallow of me, but i really do miss u guys when u disappear (；′⌒`)

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bugra644 · 1 year ago

Text

truth to be told, it takes a lot for aventurine to fully trust someone, let alone loving them.

the man had already lost so much, including his own sense of self. to be stabbed in his back, to be betrayed, to be mocked and used and made fun of—he was used to it. it would take aventurine a while for him to feel comfortable being vulnerable with someone, considering he didn't trust anyone in particular.

though the man wore a gorgeous smile, wandering through the streets of penacony, it wasn't a genuine smile, but a mask he put up. expensive clothing, his beautiful countenance and the abundance of money he liked to toss around... it was just a mask he put up. it was also for the sake of his own reputation, too. especially when you were directly under diamond herself.

the main suspect of his suffering. and the cause of his success. a double edged sword that he walked upon. his own life was theirs. a mere toy, a mere chess piece to gamble with.

...but when he met you, he was confused. afraid, even. but he put up a fake smile, some flirtatious words here and there, but the man did not trust you, nor did he believe you would be willing to stay by his side for an eternity for aeons know what.

when he met you, you were kind, understanding. you were a little stubborn, too, and humorous. you never failed to have aventurine laugh at your cute little jokes, and you never failed to protect him, whether it was against the ipc's mocking him in his name, or against nightmare infested monsters that dared to consume his flesh within a dream.

he was terrified of you.

he didn't know what you were doing to him.

every time he saw you, he felt... weak. vulnerable around you. and he hated it. he loathed it. he hated everything about how you were making him feel, as though you were a curse that came to haunt him due to the sins of his past.

every time he saw you, his heart began to palpitate, his chest aching. and it got worse whenever he saw you so happy with someone else. but... maybe you were better off with someone? everyone kept leaving him, after all, whether it was death or it was simply due to some gambling... game-thing. a business transaction, even.

but you stayed.

you stayed throughout the hardships he faced.

why?

just why?

why, of all people, did you want to stay with him? a once upon a time slave, now a business man specializing in manipulation, gambling (an addiction, to put it), and flirtatious words to soothe the mind so he could win his way.

even through everything, you were still here. that was when he decided to seek out a certain doctor.

he sat across from him, forcing a smile across his lips, but the doctor could see it. the mask that aventurine donned himself with.

"you're in love."

aventurine's eyes looked up to the other, "you must be misreading your books like usual."

"you came here... to me, for your thoughts."

aventurine chuckled to himself, nervously, even.

"love? i haven't heard that word in ages."

"it is a complicated thing. especially with how you can be, gambler. a man who is unpredictable, keen to the eye, and... well, unfamiliar with the positive things."

aventurine cleared his throat, toying with the golden coin in his hand. he purses his lips, his mask wearing off for a moment.

"...now, dr. ratio, i am not doubting your knowledge and intelligence, don't get me wrong. i just don't believe that it truly is such a strange thing called... love."

the genius sighed, "you complained to me the other day that you couldn't stand seeing (y/n) talking to others, smiling and laughing. i recall that i was not assigned to be your therapist, here. the rest should be obvious, but it appears you're too stubborn to catch on... or rather, you're unfamiliar with this feeling. this term. love."

bullseye. it was as though ratio had called him out completely. for once, the gambler was silent. here, he would try to make little comments here and there, some jokes there and wherever but... the man was actually silent.

"... what do you suggest i do, then?"

dr ratio leans in, resting both elbows on his knees, eyes fixated on the gambler's own pristine eyes.

"if you are comfortable with it, move at your own pace if you wish to pursue. this is ultimately your choice. you can pursue these feelings, or you may leave it. there is no right or wrong answer, here. this all depends on you and what you wish to do. love is about being vulnerable with each other. accepting each other at their lowest. being for one another. your lover is considered to be your number one companion, truthfully."

aventurine was quiet.

"what is your gambler's intuition?"

a sigh left aventurine's lips. he stood, flipping the coin in his hand, before showing the result of heads or tails.

"...i suppose i'll make a bet with myself. one that doesn't cost money or the finest of gold and jewelry."

the genius watched as the other male got up from his seat, retrieving his sunglasses from his expensive outfit, before placing them on. "i'll make a gamble, to be specific, about this."

"then i wish you the best of luck, aventurine."

months had past, and the two of you were already in a relationship. it had been months, but the man didn't dare to tell you, 'i love you' just yet. as a matter of fact, those words were terrifying for him. what if he lost you after he said that? what if something were to happen to you? he was terrified of saying it, as he wasn't ready yet.

dr. ratio was right—he was paranoid to the bone but hid it. yet, aventurine played a few cards and decided to gamble this relationship with you, to see if it could work out. and so far, everything was well.

you were understanding, kind, beautiful, patient... the perfect partner someone could ask for.

but it also felt undeserving.

did... he deserve this love? did he truly deserve to experience the harmony that his heart fluttered to? he began to doubt. then he spiraled into a panic.

he began to sleep restlessly at night, rendering himself vulnerable to nightmares and the instability of his mind.

... but you were there, throughout all of it.

his eyes shot open, the familiar warmth of your hand gently cupped at his left cheek. he had fallen asleep on the couch, reading a long text presented to him by his supervisor, which was mainly just work and business related things. he didn't realize he had fallen asleep, and at first was confused when he woke up.

his phone was placed securely on the table, and there was a blanket draped over him. the air conditioning was turned on for his comfort, and before him was a tray full of biscuits, tea... for him to savor in once he woke from his nightmare.

"are you... alright?" you asked. "you were having a bad dream."

his eyes traveled to your voice, finding your concerned expression, his palpitating heart now steadying at an easy rate. he began to breathe, his eyes softening.

you were here, at his most vulnerable state, concerned for his well-being. he was silent, but he immediately reeled you in for a gentle hug. he was reluctant, but he wanted to feel the rest of your warmth. your head was buried into his chest, and you could hear his heart slow down. he closed his eyes, calming down from his inner demons.

"...you're okay." you murmur, brushing the top of his hair with your hands. "i'm here for you."

you didn't know much about him at all, truth to be told. the man wasn't really comfortable sharing his past with you, yet. he was a locked chest, and in order to find the key to his past, you had to be patient. time was key, but whatever demons he was facing at night... he knew you would be there.

he had doubts, at first, and always believed that he'd always be alone.

but... you were a different story.

"...thank you," he whispers onto your ear, cradling you close to his chest, "for being here."

your gaze softens, and you were silent for a moment. this was the first time you've seen aventurine like this. so vulnerable, so... reliant on you. but you were okay. because everyone has their own weakness. not everyone was perfect, and you understood that.

"... don't thank me." you say, closing your eyes, taking in his scent as the two of you nuzzled up against each other on the couch, "please don't. it's my job—my duty, as your other half, to be here for you."

dr. ratio's words echoed into his brain, reminding him of what love truly is. being there for one another, no matter what.

"you haven't been here?"

months past, and aventurine is presenting a beautiful, scenic view of penacony for you. the night sky was phenomenal, and the beautiful sounds of crickets and late night critters were no more than music to your ears. you seat yourself at the bench, whilst the gambler was walking around, admiring the view... taking pictures, even.

"i haven't, but now i am." you say, flashing a smile.

aventurine took some time off today to take you out on a date. the man had more than enough sick and vacation leave to do this for you, and it's the first time where he actually used it.

he sits next to you, admiring the night sky, and the sight of you above all else.

"it's a beautiful sight. i come here when i want to... relax."

your gaze softens, and your hand comes towards his own. digits intertwine, and you murmur something, audible for your lover's ears.

"thank you for taking me here. to your safe place."

aventurine looks over to you, puzzled.

"... safe place, huh? didn't expect to... call it that. but i guess that's what you can say for this spot. i can feel at peace here." he nods slowly, looking back to the scenic view.

"... it's a spot where you can feel vulnerable and be okay with it," you say, instantly catching his attention, "and i want to thank you for trusting me to bringing me here. i really, really do appreciate it."

ratio's words echo through his mind once more, the pad of his thumb suddenly reaching over, gently lifting your chin. he leans in, granting you a subtle kiss, in which you've returned.

"... may... i be vulnerable, once again?"

he lowered his guard, his voice coming to a whisper.

"you... can always be vulnerable around me. i want to be your safe person." you respond, in a whisper.

"..." he was silent. "i love you."

it was the first time, too, that he said such a thing to you. such strong words that let your heart skip a few beats. your face comes to a faint, vermillion flush, but you were happy nonetheless. you smile, cupping each side of his face.

"i love you too."

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